by Jessa Slade
Ecco crossed his gauntleted arms over his chest as they approached. “Had a call from the boss. They found Thorne workshop at the industrial site, but he wasn’t there. Just a bunch more bombs—most of them not even finished—and a note saying ‘Don’t Open ‘Til Christmas.’ And you just let all those tenebrae escape without sending even one back to hell. Tonight was a total bust.”
“Actually,” Bella said as they pushed by him. “This is going to be my best Christmas ever. Peace on earth and all that.”
Fane kissed her temple. “At least for tonight.”
Epilogue
Fane leaned back on the pillows of the big, red bed and sighed. He should have guessed grandma pillows rescued from yard sales would be cozy, especially with sayings like:
Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
May angels watch me through the night
And wake me with the morning light.
He thought, as prayers went, that one he could follow.
Bella bounced on his chest. “Seriously, I can’t believe you haven’t seen The Nightmare Before Christmas! It’s one of the greatest Christmas movies of all time.”
“It has monsters in it.”
She stared down at him. “Yeah, and?”
He sighed again, just to watch her bounce some more. “Fine. You get to pick the Christmas Eve movie, but I get to pick what we do after.”
She traced her finger down his sternum. “Sounds like a win-win.”
After the carry-out Chinese dinner and movie—which he admitted was pretty great, especially the music—she hustled him back to the bed. They’d brought up a bunch of votive candles from the bar below, and the lights danced as they sprawled across the mattress.
“Now for dessert.” She tipped him over backwards and undid the button on his jeans.
He let her, then caught her hands. “Wait. I have something for you.”
“That’s what I’m trying to get to.”
“I have something else for you.” He snaked his hand under the pillow and presented the small ribboned box centered on his palm.
Bella sat back on her heels, a small line between her brows. “We’re going to do gifts now? Aren’t gifts for Christmas morning?”
“We’ll make our own traditions,” he said. “Besides, it’s almost midnight.”
She pursed her lips, then hopped up and went to the chest underneath the window. The framed square of night was frosted at the corners, a lovely frame for the snowflakes falling on the other side, a perfect backdrop for his even more lovely flame, Bella.
She returned to kneel on the bed, a wrapped box about as big as his shoe in her lap.
They stared at each other a moment. “You first,” they said at the same time.
Bella smiled. “Ladies first.” She handed over her box.
He started to admire the foil wrapping, but she made an impatient noise, so he tore past the paper. The box inside was plain.
She nibbled her lip. “It was sort of a last-minute thing, obviously. The old guy at the Christkindlmarket knew a guy…”
Fane opened the box and stared down. He whistled. “Snazzy.”
“This guy does custom glass too. A little different, obviously.”
Fane lifted the sunglasses out of the box. “Purple tint on the lenses. The talyan will be jealous. Nice.”
“Shatterproof glass, of course, and glare-proof—which I think will be useful if you’re working with the league—and a lifetime warranty on the black iridium frames.” She smiled, almost shyly. “I had them inscribed…”
He unfolded the sunglasses. Along the inside of the temple piece, etched in gold, it said: Welcome to the dark side. Love, Bella.
He traced his fingertip over her name, feeling the slight serration, sharp and bright. “Perfect. I love it.”
She let out a breath, as if she’d been nervous about his response. “I talked to the guy a little bit, about polarizing and half-silvering and polycrystalline diamond coating, and I was thinking… What if there were glasses to let people see etheric emanations?”
Fane slid on the shades. “If people could see tenebrae, they would freak out. Which would be bad since there’s little the tenebrae like more than a good freak-out.”
“But if people could see the demons, maybe they would know why sometimes the world seems so dark.” She looked down at her clasped hands. “Mirabel would have known she was being stalked, and maybe she would have been able to fight back.”
He pushed the shades to the top of his head. “Maybe you’re right. You should bring it up with the talyan. If ever there was a league willing to try something new, it’s them. They took me in. But let’s save that for the new year.”
She nodded. “My turn?”
He handed over the box, swallowing down the sudden acceleration of his heartbeat. “I hope you… Like you said, it was sort of last minute…”
She untangled the wide ribbon nearly obscuring the box and ran her fingertip over the velvety exterior. She angled a glance at him. “Cyril…”
His pulse shot back toward critical. “Open it.”
She flipped back the lid and gasped.
“It’s not a diamond or anything,” he said hurriedly.
“I wouldn’t be able to see a diamond.” She lifted the ring from the box. “This I can see.”
The ruby glimmered in the candlelight, dancing with its own inner flame. He took the ring from her and slipped it over the middle finger of her left hand.
Not the ring finger. Not yet. But close.
She held out her hand to admire the twinkle. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s a reminder. Every ruby has flaws in its heart. That’s how we know it’s real.”
Her lips quirked. “You’re saying I’m flawed.”
“And real. And I’m hoping you’ll forgive me—and love me—for being the same.”
She leaned forward to kiss him. “Demon and angel.”
“And to all a good night.” He kissed her back. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” she whispered.
And so it was.
Glossary of Terms
abraxas: An angelic-possessed’s blessed weapon.
ahāzum: A gathering of djinn; forbidden since the First Battle.
ascendant: The rise of a demon within a possessed human; refers to the initial incident of possession and subsequent risings.
birnenston: Also, brimstone. A sulfuric compound leached from some demonic emanations interacting with the human realm.
desolator numinis: “Soul cleaver”; a demonic weapon.
djinni: djinn (pl.): Upper echelon of demonkind; fallen angels who are content to stay fallen.
djinn-man: A human possessed by a djinni.
ether: The elemental energy of spiritual and demonic emanations.
feralis: ferales (pl.): Lesser demonic emanation encased in a physical shell of mutated human-realm material. Physically strong, but not so impressive in the brains department.
heshuka: The unknown darkness; from Aramaic.
horde-tenebrae: Blanket term for lesser demonic emanations, including malice, ferales, and salambes. Also, tenebrae.
ichor: A physical by-product of demonic emanations not compatible with the human realm.
league: Isolated clusters of possessed fighters assigned to high-density human-population areas with the mission of reducing demonic activity.
malice: Incorporeal lesser emanation from the demon realm, typically small and animalistic in shape with protohuman intelligence.
mated-talyan bond: The synergistic combination of male and female possessed powers.
reven: The permanent visible epidermal mark left by an ascended demon.
salambe: Highly emanating demonic form from the same subspecies as malice.
solvo: A chemical version of the desolator numinis; produces opiatelike effects in humans while splitting off the soul.
sphericanum: The realm of angels, se
parated from the human realm by the gates of heaven. Also used in reference to the ruling body of angelic powers.
symballein: A token, such as an engraved metal disk, that is broken into two pieces and used to establish identity when reunited; from Greek.
talya: talyan (pl.): 1. Sacrificial lamb; a young man (Aramaic). 2. A human, typically male, possessed by a repentant demon.
tenebrae: Blanket term for lesser demonic emanations, including malice, ferales, and salambes. Also, horde-tenebrae.
tenebraeternum: The demon realm, separated from the human realm by the Veil.
teshuva: A repentant demon seeking to return to a state of grace.
Veil: An etheric barrier between the human and demon realms and composed of captured souls.
Thank you!
Thank you for being a reader! I hope you enjoyed THE DARKEST NIGHT. If you did, I hope you’ll tell a friend, and if you’d like to keep up with my latest news and releases, you can sign up for my newsletter.
New to the Marked Souls? You can find all the books on Amazon and other etailers:
Seduced By Shadows, Marked Souls #1
Forged Of Shadows, Marked Souls #2
Vowed In Shadows, Marked Souls #3
Darkness Undone, Marked Souls #4
And don’t miss the first book in the new paranormal romance Steel Born series:
Dark Hunter’s Touch, Steel Born #1
If you’re looking for something farther out there, try some science fiction romance:
Enslaved By Starlight, Sheerways #1
All caught up with my books? (Yay, you!) Turn the page to read the first chapter of my January 2013 release, A Little Night Muse, Steel Born #2.
And thank you again for reading!
A LITTLE NIGHT MUSE
Chapter 1
“...For the crime of treason against the phaedrealii, the court of our steel-born Queen, the punishment is—and seriously, this should surprise no one—death.”
As the goblin chamberlain made the pronouncement, Adelyn stared down at her clasped hands where the iron chains burned. True enough, everyone knew the penalty for treason. It was easy enough to remember. The same sentence was meted out for sedition, insubordination, noncompliance, obstructionism, incompetence, various forms of folly, and—sometimes—yawning in the presence of the Queen.
So, no, Adelyn wasn’t surprised. But terror squeezed her heart. With each frantic beat, crimson welled from her blackened wrists to smoke against the manacles. Even looking at the dull metal brought tears to her phae eyes.
Phae blood in every rainbow color—red like her own, yellow, green, purple, even black—had been shed in the Queen’s court. But Adelyn never imagined she would be the one in chains. She was best beloved of all the musetta who served as inspiration to the phaedrealii courtiers. How had she fallen so far?
Though she could not flee the iron agony, one tear did escape. She ducked her head to hide her emotion, but the droplet traced a cool path down her cheek. For a heartbeat, it trembled at the edge of her jaw, refracting shards of light. The sparkles danced across the nearest courtiers who leaped back, swatting at the unseemly display as if they could knock away her forbidden expression of feeling.
The tear fell. It struck the marble floor not with a splash but a chiming ping.
The faceted emerald teardrop bounced away from her gilded slippers—less gilded after what seemed like an eternity in her iron-clad prison cell. Cursing courtiers scrambled from the stone’s path. No one wanted to be touched by her disgrace.
Between the fleeing bodies darted one of the chamberlain’s imps, freakishly fast on three crabbed limbs. It snatched the rolling emerald between its rubbery lips. A single bulbous eye boggled at her before the imp tipped back its head and swallowed. Then the wretched little monster burped.
No shining proof of her innocence would be allowed. Not that Adelyn believed her guilt or innocence was at all relevant.
“Take her away.” The chamberlain’s peg-toothed sneer reflected in the blank screens of stolen smart phones strung around his scaly neck. “She is nothing to us now.”
As one, the courtiers in all their phae glamour furled their wings or tightened the luxurious falls of their cloaks or closed their eyes. Shutting her out. Their whispers chased to the far edges of the hall like the distant hiss of a retreating tide.
As if the terror wasn’t bad enough. For a musetta like her—desired for her power of inspiration that compelled thoughts and dreams to dizzying heights—such rejection burned worse than iron.
Hands reached for her, but she strained away, tearing the spider silk of her veils. She had wrapped herself in the fluttering scarves—an age ago, it seemed—to emphasize her dusky-skinned, dark-haired beauty. Now the pale veils only served as a stark backdrop for her blood. “You can’t send me away!”
“Silence,” the goblin barked. Everyone knew the last words of the condemned held particular power.
Drawing in a deep breath, she forced down the pain of her scorched wrists and the humiliation of exposing her knack of jeweled tears. Every reluctant eye was on her now. Musetta inspired music and poetry, art and science, the wildest flights of fancy.
But she could also inspire fear.
Adelyn took no pleasure in the stark faces, but she would not let them pretend as she had pretended she was untouchable. She swept her gaze around the hall, slashing at the phae with a glare as edged as a shattered jewel. “Any of you could be next.”
Adelyn had time for nothing else as she was pushed into the dark corridor that led to her death.
Her tears—mere water now, her knack drained—blinded her. Unbalanced by her bound hands, she stumbled. The rip in her veils dipped forward over her breasts. Stupid gilded slippers had no traction.
A sudden burst of illumination flared beyond her tears.
“Musetta.” The voice of her looming death—low and rough, as she might have guessed six feet deep would sound—froze her in her tracks.
The Queen might be capricious and terrifying, and her goblin chamberlain was petty and horrendous, but the Queen’s vizier existed in a dark realm all his own.
Adelyn closed her eyes, hoping death took her quickly. The vizier’s grim countenance was known to send courtiers into fits of madness. And those were phae who weren’t convicted of treason.
“Musetta, look at me.” A note of compulsion forced her eyes open.
She clamped her tongue between her teeth to stop herself from begging for mercy. The Queen had no mercy. And no mercy’s name—at least as it was screamed by hopeless phae in their last moments—was Raze.
Swathed in a gray samite robe, his hulking figure was a drear wall, his glare equally gray above cheekbones as whetted as the exposed steel of the athame hanging from his belt. Amongst beings who could conjure any masquerade, his stark—and, frankly, uninspired—presentation seemed a mockery, as if he had never left the Iron Age behind. It vexed Adelyn’s musetta power to no ends; a muse did not do gray.
Not that she would say so aloud, not to Raze the Ruiner.
A glint in his half-closed eyes made her think he read her thoughts, despite her determined silence.
“Musetta.” His voice sliced, slowly and dagger-cruel, through the word as if he might trick—or torture—her into sharing her real name. With such precious insight he could twist her into whatever he wished. “You find yourself in desperate straits.”
She lifted her chin to an angle between elegance and disdain. “Straight as an executioner’s blade.”
He laughed. “The Queen’s death sentences are—like most words from phae lips—open to interpretation.”
Adelyn bit her tongue again. She would not beg. As inspiration personified, she could not be moved by necessity or entreaty.
Though she longed to let her wrecked golden slippers move her far, far away.
The Ruiner crossed his arms over his chest, his gray-gloved hands gripping his biceps with knuckles aimed her way. “Don’t you wish to hear your opti
ons?”
She scowled at his malicious teasing. “Musetta I am, but I will not incite you to more enthusiastic methods of murder. Specifically, my murder.”
Raze drummed his fingers. “The Queen wants you out of her sight. Death would do. But exile accomplishes much the same results.”
Exile? Her heart twisted in her chest. “Exactly the same results for me. I cannot leave the phaedrealii.”
Raze snorted. “Many musetta have journeyed out of court. Where do you think humans find their inspiration?”
His offhand reassurance gave her no comfort. “I never wanted to inspire humans.”
“And yet you’ve done it so well,” Raze purred. He fingered the torn neckline of her veils. “You are everything a man could want to inspire him.”
She leaned away, holding her breath against the stink of lightning that clung to him. Out from the gap of his sleeve, a hairy gray spider as big as the vizier’s hand scuttled over her breast. She gasped as it pattered across her skin, but Raze’s grip trapped her.
The spider gathered the edges of the tear. With a few pumps of its spinneret, it laced the rip, then it vanished up Raze’s sleeve. Adelyn sagged back, and this time the vizier let her go.
He glanced over his massive shoulder. “William, come. And bring the key.”
A hysterical sob congealed in Adelyn’s throat. “Why is he here?”
“He wanted to see you off. And to tell you—”
William elbowed Raze aside as only one of the Queen’s lovers would dare. “Sweet muse, I had no idea it would end like this.”
“You are fucking our Queen,” she snapped. “Yet you wrote a poem to my eyes. How else would it end?”
William’s cherubic blonde curls bobbed as he ducked his head, though his ravenous gaze on her was anything but saintly.
Raze tsked at her. “Poor boy, he just couldn’t help himself. You are musetta. You inspired him.”