by Caris Roane
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My deepest gratitude to my agent, Jennifer Schober, who worked one very fine miracle on behalf of Ascension.
To my editor and sister-in-enthusiasm, Rose Hilliard, who loves the world of books and storytelling almost as much I do. Okay … as much.
My thanks to Danielle Fiorella, who created an amazing cover that exceeded all expectations.
To Laurie Henderson and Laura Jorstad, who blew me away with the careful and considerate production of this book. The copyediting was outstanding.
Thanks to the marketing team of Anne Marie Tallberg, Brittney Kleinfelter, and Eileen Rothschild, who have worked to put this book in the hands of the readers.
And finally, many thanks to Matthew Shear and Jen Enderlin, who said yes. Now there’s a powerful word.
I have loved being part of this team.
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Ascension Terminology
Copyright
Baileyd @ Demonoid.me
Vampire.
A most sacred mantle lost to the desecration of those who partake of dying blood.
Vampire.
Keep thyself pure.
—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth
CHAPTER 1
Kerrick stood by the bar at the Blood and Bite, looking for a woman, the right woman, the one who would keep his head straight, the one he craved. His thighs twitched, heavy muscles he’d worked hard an hour ago, muscles demanding relief. Hunger lived in him now, deep, begging, fierce. He was a vampire and a warrior. He needed what he needed.
Yet something had changed and now he craved.
What he craved, however, he couldn’t have.
He’d taken vows.
His gaze slid around the south Phoenix club, into the many dark corners, the deep padded booths covered in red velvet, past the flashing strobes meant to disguise the various dark deeds that brought mortal women in droves to the vampire joint. The bar had the only real light, enhanced by a tall mirror behind a landscape of hundreds of gem-like bottles. The rest of the club slid to darkness all around the edges.
Vibrant moans punctuated the noise of the club and made his thighs twitch all over again.
Still, what he needed wasn’t here, wasn’t the fuck anywhere. He’d awakened a few hours ago with a hum in his chest that wouldn’t go away, a need unfulfilled and now screaming. It wasn’t just sex but sex was what called to him as an opener, a place to begin. He hunted with his groin but couldn’t find her. Not here. He wasn’t even looking. He couldn’t look. He’d taken vows, goddammit.
“You listening?”
Kerrick shot his gaze to Thorne. “Shit. Sorry. No.”
“What the hell is the matter with you tonight?” Thorne, the leader of the Warriors of the Blood, sat on a stool next to him nursing a tumbler of Ketel One.
Kerrick leaned his hips against the bar and turned to scan the dance floor. Loud sexy music pumped through the dark club. Shadows passed back and forth, women giggling, men chasing as they had from the beginning of time. He shook his head. “You ever had an itch you couldn’t scratch?” He heard Thorne suck in a deep breath then exhale like he’d been breathing water.
“Sure. Every night of my life.”
Kerrick palmed the back of his neck and rubbed. The muscles were tight, but then they’d been tight for a few centuries. How long had he been here? Twelve. Yeah, his muscles had been tight for twelve centuries. What would it be like to have the strain worked out of every muscle?
He turned in the direction of the barkeep then tapped his glass on the counter. Sam Finch, owner of the Blood and Bite, drew close with a bottle of Maker’s and refilled the tumbler with two fingers of liquid gold.
Kerrick nodded his thanks then threw back the whiskey. He was used to the burn as he swallowed. He let the fire eat up his throat. He breathed in the vapors, felt his veins melt a little, yet no relief. Never relief, just a slight unwinding. “Where’s Medichi?”
“I told you,” Thorne said. His voice always sounded like he’d roughed it up with some coarse-grade sandpaper. “I sent him to Awatukee. Everyone’s out already. Again, what the hell is with you?”
Kerrick scowled. “Shit.” The rest of the warriors had received their assignments for the first round of battling, but—like every night for a warrior—anything could happen and usually did. “I’ve got this uneasy sense that all hell is about to break loose. And it isn’t even a full moon.” Kerrick tapped the bar once more. Sam refilled. He always took care of the warriors, staying close. “That will be Endelle.”
“What will be Endelle?” Thorne’s phone buzzed. He flipped Kerrick off then slashed the small flat card to his ear. “Give.” He nodded and let loose a bunch of yes, ma’ams for the next minute.
Kerrick shifted hips and torso, his gaze locked on Thorne. The brother’s hazel eyes were red-rimmed and not from weeping—too much Ketel One and no reason to put the bottle down. Thorne kept his fingers around the tumbler, stroking his thumb up and down the cold glass. He was Endelle’s numero uno, and Endelle answered to no one. She headed the main peacekeeping force in their world, and the warriors were hers to command. She was also a stick of dynamite, lit, ready to go off.
Kerrick drew in another deep breath. His gaze drifted to the dance floor. A wicked beat had the ladies gyrating and the men putting their hands everywhere. A few fangs pierced necks, which forced Kerrick to take another deep breath. He should get out there and get some relief. Blood would help. So would getting inside a woman. Yet how long would the buzz last? These days, not even two minutes, so what was the point?
Besides, what he needed wasn’t swinging her hips on a dance floor and what he needed he’d vowed never to take again. What he needed was a scent meant only for him, a myth, a woman who could fill all the deep gorges of his heart. And even if he found her, he was bound, hands together, ankles lashed, mouth gagged, heart blocked by a steel cage of guilt. So … shit.
He slung back the Maker’s and tapped the bar again. Sam was once more at his elbow.
“Yes, ma’am.” Thorne slugged Kerrick’s thigh and caught his attention. He looked up at Kerrick but kept speaking into the phone. “Sure you don’t want someone else? That particular warrior needs some R and R. In fact, I think he ought to be pulled for the night.” He drew the phone away from his ear and winced. Kerrick could hear the shouting; the words were the same set he used when he was just a little pissed off. He smiled and sipped. Endelle had lost her subtlety a few millennia ago.
Endelle. Bitch-on-wheels, yet he’d die for her. She was what kept their world from sinking beneath the enemy’s boot and Kerrick served her, they all did. The Warriors of the Blood loved her, hated her, goddamn respected her.
“Yes, ma’am.” Thorne’s head bobbed, and more yessums followed. Finally he thumbed his phone and replaced it in an upper slit of his black leather kilt. He wore battle gear and would soon head out like the rest of them. “You’ve got an assignment.”
> “Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” He needed his sword in one hand and his dagger in the other. Battling always helped, always took some of the strain from his neck. He stood upright, ready for action. Thorne just looked at him.
“What?” Kerrick snapped.
“It might be a woman.”
Kerrick shook his head. “She wants me to protect a mortal female? What the fuck? You know the vow I took and so does Endelle. I don’t guard females.”
Thorne met his gaze head-on, no blinking.
“Shit.” Kerrick dug in his heels, lowered his chin. He split his resonance. “Not gonna do it.” He’d taken a vow and the hell he’d overturn it just because Her Supremeness willed it so.
“Endelle requested you on this one, no one else. She never pushes me about assignments so she must have her reasons. Besides, she didn’t have any details. She saw something in her meditations, which as you know do not always pan out.”
“I’m better off battling. With the mood I’m in, I could crush skulls with my bare hands tonight.” His biceps flexed and quivered, a thoroughbred at the gate.
“Sorry. She wants you.”
The song ended abruptly and Kerrick’s voice boomed the length of the building: “Fuck you.”
All conversation, from one end of the club to the other, got knocked off track for about three long seconds. Kerrick glanced around and anyone looking his direction immediately looked away. Warriors weren’t known for their sweet tempers.
Thorne rose from his seat, his hazel eyes hard as steel. He met Kerrick’s gaze dead-on. “You don’t have a choice.”
“The hell I don’t and that would be Jeannie.”
“Jeannie?” Thorne cried. “What the hell are you talking about?” His phone buzzed, and he flipped Kerrick off again as he drew the card to his ear. “Give,” he barked. “Oh. Hey, Jeannie. Sorry. What’s up?”
Jeannie worked at Central Command. All the night’s assignments flowed from Central straight to Thorne. Central mapped the entire metro Phoenix area and knew exactly where the enemy operated and where the warriors needed to be. Kerrick narrowed his eyes, his fingers flexed around his tumbler. He imagined his sword in one hand, dagger in the other. His heart rate increased.
“Got it,” Thorne said. He returned his phone to the same pocket and let another juicy set of obscenities fly. “Okay. You’ve got a reprieve. Four pretty-boys active in a downtown alley. You know the drill.”
“Four,” Kerrick murmured, nodding. He almost smiled. He clapped Thorne on the shoulder. “Thank you,” he said. “But please just get me the hell out of this other bullshit assignment.”
* * *
Alison Wells sat in her office, perched on the edge of her cream-colored wing chair, the therapist’s chair, her BlackBerry clamped to her ear. The last thing she wanted to do was have a conversation with her sister about her love life, but for some reason Joy was pressing her to start dating again.
Taking a deep breath, Alison said, “I think you’re forgetting that the last man who made love to me ended up in the emergency room … bleeding … and unconscious.” She gripped her phone hard, painful memories crowding her head.
“Not so loud,” Joy cried. “I have regular eardrums, remember?”
“And I’m telling you that I don’t want to talk about my ex. I closed this chapter on my life the same night I rode to the hospital and nothing, nothing, will cause me to open it again.”
“Lissy, it’s been three years. Maybe things have changed. Maybe some of those special abilities of yours have calmed down a little. Maybe you could find some huge bodybuilder who could handle all your power. I mean … really. You should try again. Really.”
Alison sighed as a familiar longing filled up her chest until she could hardly breathe. Why couldn’t she have been more like Joy, even a little bit, Joy the younger sister, the normal sister, the sister with the gorgeous husband and nine-month-old adorable baby boy?
They were like night and day. Joy with her curly brown hair and dark eyes who resembled their father, while Alison with her straight blond hair and blue eyes took after Mom. The only thing she shared in common with her sister was her height. At six-foot apiece, they’d both been teased all through middle school and well into high school.
Joy had made the best of it and took up cheerleading.
Alison had known her height for what it was, one more thing that set her apart from everyone else.
Her gaze skated over the empty wall unit opposite as well as the pictureless walls. She had sold the furniture a week ago to the therapist taking over most of her practice. Other than the foot-high unity statue sitting in the center of the coffee table, her office was a desert, as dry as the air outside, as lifeless.
Her gaze shifted to the alabaster carving, and a silent curse worked her tongue. The last remnant of her eight-year stint in private practice was that aggravating statue. She smoothed back hair already pulled into a tight twist. If only her sister hadn’t called to discuss her love life, maybe she wouldn’t feel quite so ready to scream.
“Please, Lissy,” Joy said in a voice that sent a warning chill straight down her spine. “I really, really think you should try again.”
All the breath left Alison’s body as she stared at the alabaster family. She thought of her nephew whom she loved more than she had ever thought possible, one of her links to normalcy as Aunt Lissy.
Her heart fractured then broke into a million pieces.
This couldn’t be happening, this truth, which Joy’s desperate tone had finally unveiled, the reason for her phone call.
Oh. No.
At last she drew breath. She took several. “Joy,” she whispered. Her heart thumped through a couple of questionable beats.
“Yes?” Nothing more than a squeak this time.
Dear sister. Dear normal sister. “How far along are you? Six weeks? Eight?”
“Did you just read my mind? You’re not supposed to, remember? You just broke Mom’s rule.”
“I didn’t read your mind. I wouldn’t, not without your permission.” Another breath, another effort to calm her unsteady heart. She needed the truth, but she didn’t want to hear it. “It’s just that you haven’t brought up my love life in, oh, let’s see, three years. Really. So how far along are you?” She didn’t want to know. Joy, please don’t say it.
A heavy sigh followed. “Two months, one week. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”
Alison used her free hand to white-knuckle the armrest of the chair. “And you thought I’d be upset?” Dammit, her eyes burned like she’d just rubbed them with chili peppers. Upset didn’t begin to describe what she felt. Upset would have been a lazy walk on the beach.
She squeezed her eyes shut and bent over, folding up like a taco to keep everything inside from spilling out. She had only one wish: that the world would end right now.
A second child. A husband, a home, little T. J., and now another baby on the way.
“Of course you’ll be upset,” Joy said. Her cadence had slowed down. “You think I haven’t noticed how anytime we’re together you pick T. J. up and don’t give him back until we’ve loaded the car? Even then I have to pry him out of your arms.”
“Saw that, did you?”
“Oh, Lissy, I know how you look at Ryan and me. Do you suppose for even one second I don’t get how much your heart’s broken? What kind of sister do you think I am?”
Alison could have sworn she’d been more careful, more circumspect, but maybe that was like a ripe tomato trying not to be red. She should have known her sister would see through her. “I’ll be all right.” She swiped at damp cheeks.
“Like hell. I’m so sorry, Lissy.” A soft sigh, then, “Maybe you could—”
“Please don’t,” she cried. “Not another word. Please.” She squeezed her eyes shut as she pulled herself together. “I have an idea. Why don’t we just forget about me for a moment.” She arched up from her hinged position and forced herself to be a good sister. �
��I want to hear every single detail about this new life, so tell me everything. When did you find out?” More tears tracked her cheeks.
The tenor of her sister’s voice returned to the usual soft wind-chime treble as she rattled off all her symptoms, travails, and excitement. She had to pee too much already, her hemorrhoids were a bitch—and she wasn’t even three months along, thank you very much—and she had the worst time just staying awake. But oh, God, she could hardly wait until she felt the first movement of life, the fluttering deep inside, the certainty a new baby was on the way.
Alison listened and made every appropriate ooh and aah even though she pressed a hand to her chest the whole time. Her gaze became fixed to the heavy-as-hell alabaster statue, sculpted to show the images of father, mother, and child, a symbol of internal unity, the exact representation of the goal of therapy. She had thought herself so clever at the time buying it.
“I have to wear maternity pants already…,” Joy rattled on, a car on a salt flat gaining speed.
Alison stood up and rounded the coffee table. She positioned herself opposite the window then looked down to stare at the alabaster figures once more. She had loved everything about the sculpture until her sister’s first child had come into the world. Then the meaning had changed, shifted, taken on razor-sharp edges, which kept slicing Alison up.
“We’ve already been talking about names. Ryan really wants a girl…”
Alison’s mind drifted over her own peculiar struggles. She had been born with a bizarre assortment of weird abilities that made it impossible to get close to a man; strange extrasensory “gifts” that didn’t always have a controlled end, especially if she was caught up in a moment of, well, increasing passion.
A vow of celibacy had followed the trip to the emergency room, an absolute requirement given her oh-so-special abilities.
But this, Joy getting to live out her life in the usual manner, had set coals to the bottom of Alison’s feet.
“We’re looking at cribs tomorrow and Ryan wants to get one of those double strollers…”