“I doubt a man like Miocic wants me decorating his family home.” She pulled the door closed.
“Don’t make any more assumptions where that man is concerned. He has two daughters he adores. I don’t see how he won’t do the same with you. Be prepared for more alpha male protectiveness.”
“At this point, I don’t know if I can prepare for anything.”
“Except for an eternity with me.”
She lilted a smile. “That is the absolute exception.”
They had an hour to the hotel and Dison wanted to make the most of it, sitting back, and bringing his beloved’s body between his legs, her back to him, holding her close. He traced his nose along her neck, wrapping his arms around her middle, his teeth growing with the need for her blood.
With a moan, she arched back and laced her fingers around the back of his head, as eager for him to take from her as he was to drink her. He cupped her breasts and kneaded them gently, sinking his sink in her flesh and closing his eyes, the ecstasy hitting his mouth in an instant.
The car eased forward out of the park while Dison drank from his pürist, certain their destiny had only revealed a fraction of what was to come.
The Centurias Newsletter
*A Century in the Making*
Greetings & salutations from Frostwythe Tower!
The Centurias keys are officially sold out, even with the significant increase in price. Of which I’m not surprised, considering what the fairies are charging to keep the event’s location hidden from the rest of the world with their cloaking magick so we can play. They claim it’s getting more difficult to achieve and who are we to argue? It’s absolutely vital. Nine whole nights where the sun never rises? In my opinion, I don’t think they get paid enough. In conclusion, if you were unable to purchase a key, your only hope at this point is to acquisition it from someone else (good luck!) or pray to the gods you will win the Centurias lottery (alas, there can be only one…).
I’ve just finished the final touches of my offering to Oesis, our king, the god of darkness. It took me months to arrange it just so. No, I won’t reveal what I’ve included, as everyone has their own way of showing the gods’ their respect and reverence. Next, I’ll be working on Yeva’s offering. The goddess of beauty is only slightly harder to impress with the hundreds of stunning gifts I see every century laid at her altar. Even so, I think individuality speaks more than anything else to please her. As long as it’s beautiful to you. *wink*
If you are seeking guidance on what to offer the gods, you might want to consult an oria, if you can find one, that is. They’ve been harder and harder to seek an audience with.
The following events have been confirmed:
Master of Fate. A famous game for those that seek a little danger at their Centurias. Hosted by Julian Kravish.
Black Rose Garden Party. Always a favorite. Don’t forget your shears. Hosted by Mistress Elizabeth.
Sins of the Past. Yearning for old traditions? Experience them again. Hosted by Vessers Helen & Raul.
Personally, I’m waiting to hear if they’ll be having another Midnight Sail & Swim. While I do covet wearing all manner of gowns and finery, there’s something about watching our elite sail across the lake by the light of the moon! After all, it is one of the only times we vampires can be near open water without the threat of the sun looming.
Some of your letters have been getting quite serious, asking about somber topics and begging for confirmation of rumors. You know the last time I indulged you for such things my newsletter was banned from publication. It took a great deal of shameless groveling to get it back.
So, as much as I would love to gossip with you dear readers, I have to abide by UCC rules.
For now.
Immortal Forsaken Series #3
Coming June 2018
Subscribe to My VIP Newsletter
Fitz McEvoy. A fateblood borne into a privileged but purposeless life...
On the precipice of making a decision that could ensure he maintain this lifestyle for another hundred years—or doom it altogether—he meets an enchanting woman who’s dying of a mysterious blood disease. When she asks Fitz to grant her one night of passion, he’s too weak for her to say no. Everything inside him tells him she's belongs with him, but a human cannot be meant for a fateblood. Ever.
Gaelen accepted her death sentence a long time ago. Now she meets a creature of night who has no idea what death is. Vampires exist. A secretive underworld exists, one whose dynamics both fascinates and intimidates. With all she’s been told, she is unaware Fitz has placed them in more danger by that one choice he made that night.
Fitz has no intention of joining Marex on his suicidal crusade to end the shifter/vampire war. His world will never be the same, and perhaps it never was meant to. If only he could promise Gaelen the forever she deserves.
He is an immortal forsaken…
Turn the page for a sneak peak at Chapter One!
Did you miss Vol 1? Snare your FREE copy of Marex here!
Fitz
Vol 3
Fitz stealthy landed on the roof on one knee, his right hand splayed by his foot, head bent.
He whipped his gaze over his right shoulder, eyes narrowed, swore he was being followed…
But no one was there.
Satisfied he was just being paranoid because of the upcoming meeting tonight, he straightened his tall, statuesque frame and swiped the dirt from his palms.
Meeting? More like setup. He continued to wrestle with his conscience to go through with it.
But, that was hours from now. He looked toward the skyline. Staring at the medley of colorful lights and diversified rooftops, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, planted a foot on the ledge, and stepped up. The air at this height was just a little cleaner, breezier, and therapeutic, with a hint of rain on its way. It was agony to stay in such a toxic fog below without a reprieve.
Above the scuffling bodies, chronic noise, and glutted traffic, there was a tranquility in the Big Apple at this elevation. Oftentimes, his kind met one another on such rooftops. Most humans feared heights, and for that, vampires were appreciative. They’d convene in secret, or like him, seek true solitude outside of his main dwelling.
Which became less and less pacifying to his incessant restlessness.
Now that his parents had ascended, he was free to do whatever he wanted, with whomever he chose, and yet, he was more alone than ever. He’d struggled to connect with any of his kind deeper than a posturing level, and gave up on ingratiating himself to a covenant that didn’t bore or disgust him.
The McEvoy estate in Vermont was too isolated to reside in comfortably by himself, so he’d chosen to live in the Upper East Side loft, where he slept, seduced, and sulked. Before ascending to Ecca, his father stressed for his son to find purpose and uphold the McEvoy name. They had a dozen alliances and more money collectively than most fatebloods, and all Fitz had to do was maintain.
Maintain was mundane.
He sighed, looking down. So far, he hadn’t done much to endorse either of his father’s wishes…
“Don’t do it.”
He jerked his profile at the unexpected interruption. So much for solitude. Smoothly, he turned on the ledge on his toes and faced the feminine voice. A sweet, human scent drifted to him. Hm. Must’ve been very deep in thought not to have sensed her behind him. He lifted a brow. “Don’t do what?”
“Jump,” she said, clutching the blanket around her. “Please don’t jump.” She stepped closer, the vague glow of the moon catching one side of her face, a hospital ID bracelet on her wrist.
Naturally, she assumed a man standing on the ledge of a building in the middle of the night had serious problems and was thinking of ending it all. Cocking his head, toying with her, he asked, “Why shouldn’t I?”
“Surely you have something to live for,” she entreated with such tender compassion in her voice, he almost wanted to let her keep thinking he was suicidal. Not that a fall at th
is height would actually kill him.
The night breeze caught strands of her thin, light brown hair, half-hazardly pinned up, and blew them across her face. His keen night-sight could see her features clearly, her eyes perfectly almond-shaped, a remarkable mix match color of green and amber.
“What are you doing up here?” he asked.
“Come down from there and I’ll tell you.”
His mouth twitched at her superb tactic. He lithely jumped down.
She appeared vastly relieved, and smiled as though she’d achieved something monumental.
Gods, what a smile she has. One of those contagious grins that gave a cynical man pause. Even in this dull light, she radiated with her full lips, a faint dent in her chin, as though her maker had barely pressed his thumb there, just to add an eternal stamp of adorability. He guessed she was in her late twenties. Hard to tell because it was more or less evident from her delicate condition she was on the ill side of health.
“I’m Fitz,” he told her, perplexed at how drawn he was to her. “And you are?”
“Gaelen.”
The name echoed in his head like a caress, filling him with wonder and an even deeper attraction. Foreign, unexpected warmth expanded in his chest, bewildering him. His reaction to her was irregular, yet it made her all the more fascinating. He stared into her eyes, daring her to run away. “Are you scared of me, Gaelen?”
“Should I be, Fitz?”
His mouth quirked. “Odd question to ask in return.”
“Well, to answer it, I’m not afraid of much anymore,” she declared, turning around.
Well, she should be at least wary of talking to strangers on rooftops. Intrigued, he followed her.
She walked to the roof’s access door, placed her blanket on a set of pallets and hopped on top. The soft light of the singular bulb above casted a near halo effect. “It’s a good night to be fearless.”
“Fearless, are you? How about some company then?” he asked, grabbing a discarded box crate and setting it next to hers.
“Sure. I might not be the most exciting companion, however.”
“If I get bored, I’ll just leave.”
She found that amusing. “Deal.”
Though, so far, he was too captivated to abandon her yet.
They sat in silence for a short stretch, though he kept dragging his gaze back to her, questions swarming in his head. Curious why he felt compelled to draw out this acquaintance, he leaned back and studied her profile, setting an ankle on his knee. “How did you get access to the roof?”
“One of the custodians. We chat every night about herbs and airplanes, two of his favorite subjects. I convinced him to let me up here. I tore off my hospital gown and found my way.”
Good for her. Though he couldn’t imagine any man turning her down for whatever she requested. Not with a face of an angel and a voice to match. Her clothing was plain: pajama pants, a light blue scoop-neck tee and ballet flats, but, he noticed uncomfortably, they were unable to hide her enticing curves. Snapping out of it, he said, “I wasn’t contemplating jumping off, by the way, just enjoying the view.”
“Why so close to the edge then?”
“Nothing to fear except hitting the ground. What are you doing out here? It has to be against the rules for patients to venture on the roof unattended. Or at all.”
She sighed. “I’m tired of the hospital. It has a smell to it. Like death. If death has a scent, the place reeks of it.” Her tone turned wistful. “Or maybe I just think that because it’s coming for me.”
He instantly frowned, taken aback. “You’re—dying?”
She nodded, pressing her lips together, and glanced at him. “Oh, don’t feel sorry for me. I was told a couple years ago. The doctors don’t even know what it is. A rare, almost unheard-of blood disease wearing out my organs, something like that. It’s like I’m aging ten times faster on the inside than I am on the outside.”
Fucking human diseases. “How can they be so certain of your death if they don’t even know what’s killing you? You don’t look like you’re dying. You look…” Beautiful, he wanted to say, but held it in. “like you’re healthy.” While she wasn’t a glowing example of salubrity, she wasn’t sickly-looking, gaunt, or invalid. She could stand to gain a few pounds, though.
Gaelen’s lips moved in a wry smile. “Only dying on the inside for now. I’m sure the rest of me will catch up soon enough.” She paused, changing the subject. “Is your full name Fitzhugh or Fitzgerald?”
“Fitzgerald. So, do you know how long you have?” he asked, suddenly obsessed with the fact.
“Hm. I love your name,” she mused, ignoring his question. “It’s so old world and noble.”
If only she was aware of how old world he really was. “Then that makes one of us. I go by my nickname so I don’t sound like sycophantic snob.”
“Well, you don’t look like a sycophantic snob, so there’s nothing to worry about.”
“You know, your name is unique as well.”
“I suppose. I was named after a character in a book. Some warrior princess with magical abilities. Silly, isn’t it?”
“How long, Gaelen?” he insisted to know about her death sentence.
She sighed with an air of annoyance that he’d redirected the subject, crossing her arms. “Not long. That’s why I’m here at Guardian. More tests. Specialists and needles and guesses and research. But anyway, why are you up here? Obviously you’re not a patient or an employee. Are you here to visit someone?”
“No. I come up here sometimes to think. The view always draws me back.”
“It is awesome—” She suddenly began to cough. It sounded coarse and harsh on the lungs and just when he was about to ask if she needed some water or something, she took a deep breath and the coughing ceased. “Sorry. Don’t worry, it’s not contagious. So. Think about what exactly? Have a big decision to make?” At his pause, she added, “If you’re worried about telling me some deep dark secret, don’t be. I’ll take it to my grave—soon enough.”
He shook his head at her candor, smiling. Not many women would joke about their impending death. Either she’s known so long she’d gotten used to the idea, or it was a brave front to armor her despair. Either way, it revealed her strength and maturity. “I was thinking about choices. I’m supposed to do something tonight, but I’m not absolutely sure I should.”
“Why not?”
He scratched his chin with his thumb and shrugged. “It involves some dangerous people.”
“Oh? Well you look like you can handle yourself. What does your gut say?”
To do the right thing. Whatever the hell that is. And at my age, I should know. “It’s not talking.”
“You’ll know when the moment comes. This might sound crazy to someone like you, but I’d like some danger in my life. Just a hint,” she emphasized when he regarded her with a rueful glance. “Life is short, so they say, but I say it’s endless at the same time. There are so many things I won’t touch, taste, see, or hear…” The last few words came out raspy. She cleared her throat, shaking her head quickly. “Then again, I’ve experienced more than others, less than some. Pinch my arm if I start giving in to self-pity again, will you? I told myself no more of that crap.”
“Deal.” He smiled at her, captivated by her spirit. That didn’t happen very often. A lot of women in his circles annoyed him with their superficiality and blasé attitudes. At least the ones in this city did. He hadn’t even fed from a human in months, disgusted at all the sewage running through their veins and poisoning their blood: recreational chemist drugs, an obscene amount of sugar and salt, and toxins galore from their perfumed lotions and strange injections. Good thing he didn’t have to rely on blood alone to survive.
He gently licked his bottom lip, imagining. What would Gaelen taste like?
As if she heard him, she sharply met his eyes. “What?”
Did he say that out loud? “Nothing.” He faked clearing his throat. “Tell me, what do you
want to touch, taste, see, and hear?”
A blush bloomed on her cheeks. “You really want to know?”
He nodded.
“I’ll tell you if you tell me first.”
“Everything always has to start with me, huh?”
She smiled and nodded.
He considered his answer for a moment. He’d been told what to do for so long, he’d never been asked what he wanted to do. A fateblood like him didn’t have choices; they were preset even before his birth. But of course, there were secret dreams every man had. “I want to touch a home I built with my own hands. See the world with new eyes, see it slow down instead of speeding up. And…I want to hear a child’s laughter. My child’s. Someday.” If he ever found his fated that is. Gods, how he ached for her more and more every day, yet every fateblood woman he tasted hadn’t been her.
He broke their gazes with a somewhat sheepish half-smile. Though it felt good to share his hopes, to hear him profess them aloud was embarrassing. The human somehow brought out a sentimental side of him. “Your turn,” he encouraged, wanting the spotlight shifted.
She hung her head back, gazing up at the stars. “Okay. Easy. I want to see something—amazing. That’ll blow my mind and make me forget I’m sick. Even if it’s just for a second. And taste? I want to taste…” She moved her fingers to her mouth. “passion. Real passion. I’ve been kissed, but they were mostly forgettable. I know I’m missing out. As for what I want to hear…that is yet to be determined.”
He swallowed the lump closing his throat. “And touch?”
“I want to be touched. But, let’s face it, who would want to…” Her voice drifted. She was silent for a few moments, then jerked her gaze to his, as if she didn’t mean to say those things out loud. “I sound pathetic, don’t I?”
Dison: Immortal Forsaken Series #2 (Paranormal Romance Novella) Page 11