by T Stedman
SOUL BREATHER
by
T. Stedman
Copyright 2015 T Stedman
All Rights Reserved
Website www.tstedman.com
Cover Art
by
Anna Dittmann
Kindle edition
Edited by
Helen Williams
This edition published: February 2015
Acknowledgements
A special thank you to my long-suffering children for putting up with their obsessive-compulsive mother, and to my readers, Diane Burke and Sarah O’Brien.
Dedicated to the memory of Craig Wisdom, a rare spirit and a dear friend.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, events, businesses and places in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
21st Century Siren Series
Soul Breather
Blood Sister
Shield Maiden
The Royal Families
of Atlantis
Dubonnetti
Bonaci
Santalini
Florianna
of Murrtaine
Borge
Contents
The Royal Families
Prologue
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
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Prologue
Dubonnetti Estate, west coast of Ireland, eleven years previously
“Get off me you little wankers!” Dante wheezed, from beneath the pile of tangled arms and legs of the bundle that was his four younger brothers.
His father breezed into the room. “Get up Dante. Stop messing around. I’ve called you here for an important reason.”
Dante threw off his brothers one by one. They scrambled to their feet to sit on the leather chairs dotted around their father’s study. The last one made sure he let off a noisy fart to prove a point, much to the amusement of the boys. Even Jay, the young friend of the family, smothered a smile, which threatened to break out over his usually serious face.
Dante finally stood to his full tall and lanky height, rearranged his clothes then sloped over to join Jay on the tatty brown leather sofa.
“No Dante. Come here. You need to be standing,” his father said from his perch at the front of his heavy oak desk.
Dante stopped, ran a grubby hand through his tousled mop of black hair, turned and wandered over to his father with a cocky limp. Shit. He’d hoped his father would leave him alone today, as it was his birthday.
The room fell silent. Dante knew they were all holding their breath to see what his father would do next. But instead of speaking he reached into the breast pocket of his blazer and pulled out an old-looking velvet box; the sort that jewellery came in.
“What is it father?” a brother called out.
Christian Dubonnetti didn’t answer, but opened the box to reveal a large unusual oval ring. It had an opaque white stone that bulged from an ornate gold setting.
Dante stared at it. He spent as little time as possible around his unfathomable father, so for him to give him such a gift was a big deal.
“Today you are thirteen, Dante. For a prince, that means you have become a man.”
More sniggers around the room.
Dante rolled his eyes. Here we go again. His father was slipping into the madness.
“Shh! This is a divining ring. It is ancient from our homeland!” Christian shouted, demanding respect.
Dante shifted his weight uncomfortably and looked at Jay who locked eyes with him as if to steady him.
“Hold your hand out, boy,” his father continued.
Dante snapped his head back round to his father. Wary now, he held out his hand, palm up.
Christian impatiently turned it over and took the ring from its box. Dante’s eyes widened in horror as Christian pressed the side of the ring and a spike shot out about a centimetre long.
Christian looked deep into Dante’s eyes. “Now listen to me, and listen to me good, boy. This ring could be the secret to everything, to you, and to this house.”
Dante stared at him blankly, but the rest of the room was deathly quiet.
“You are the eldest son of a family of five sons. It will be in this generation Dante, I know it.” Christian’s voice raised with his fervour. “The Soul Breathers are hidden somewhere in the world. This ring,” and he held it up high, “will tell you when you get near one. It will change colour to turquoise. But if it ever turns to deepest purple, you have found your queen, Dante; your most compatible mate in the world. That is, if you find her before the sons from the other four Atlantean families. Then you will be king, not of just one country, but of the whole Atlantean world.”
“She will bring you riches Dante, and such exquisite delight such as you could only dream about. And power, so that Atlanteans and Humans alike will bow down to you. And if ever our forefathers venture back to Earth, then you could have the power and standing to represent us.”
Dante looked around him. All he could hear was the old clock ticking. Gone were the giggles, replaced by rapt faces; even Jay looked riveted. They were all actually buying this shit.
His father sensed his distraction, picked up his left hand and slid the ring part way down the middle finger.
Dante knew what he was going to do before he did it. He looked his father in the eye insolently and saw the hint of a smile there. Dante narrowed his in readiness. Then Christian rammed the ring onto his finger ensuring the spike entered the soft flesh between the knuckles.
Although Dante jolted with the pain, he made no sound. He heard murmurs from his brothers and felt the warmth of his blood run down between his fingers and onto the floor.
Something made him glance down and look at the ring. It was swirling with white smoke mixing with his dark red blood until it settled white again.
He looked nonchalantly back at his father and waited to be dismissed.
“Never take it off.” Christian snarled.
Dante turned on his heel, as if nothing had happened and strolled towards the door. “Come on Jay, I’ve heard enough of this bollocks.”
The other boy shook the wisps of blond hair from his brilliant blue eyes, got up and followed him out of the study.
But Dante never took the ring off.
Chapter 1
London, present day
The sign was old fashioned. ‘The Bluebell’ it said simply – pale blue and gold on a polished wood background.
This was the place.
She skipped up the steps, clutching her biker jacket and helmet, pushed through the double-sprung doors into a stylish wooden clad foyer and slammed into the feeling of being hit round the head with a cricket bat.
Whoa!
She stopped, gripped her temples, hugged her stomach and grabbed her mouth. Searching ahead for a place to run, the beautiful blue and gold rug in front of her undulated and rippled like a rough sea. Concentrating, she tried to centre her steps on it, fighting the overwhelming need to spew.
She had no clue of the layout of the place as she scuttled through. She leant on the sides of beautiful furniture and the odd anonymous arm, saying whoops, and sorry at intervals. She ran past the lifts on her left and the open double doors to the noisy bar on her right, until her lolloping steps took her to a door with a brass sign on the front meant to look like a woman.
“Thank God.”
Falling into the room, she was soon alone as two chattering women left. She lurched over to the sink, clasped the sides and leant over. She spat and heaved. Her mouth watered and her eyes streamed. What was wrong with her? Had someone spiked her drink? Wracking her brains over where she’d been that night she came up with a big fat, unlikely. This was so not like any drug she’d ever done.
She realised that trying to work it out was a waste of time and whipped off the red sweatbands she wore on her wrists and plunged them under the cold tap. The water ran over her scarred pulse points and gradually calmed her and cooled her raised temperature, which was causing her head to pound.
Mesmerised by the spot-lit diamonds in the water and its tinkling sound, she stood, gathering herself together.
The door was bashed open.
“There you are, Tia. I said you must be here by now.”
She turned and looked over her shoulder at her friend Sian. Not a great friend; more of an acquaintance really; a drinking buddy.
“Flippin hell, you look like shit.”
She tried to smile. You have no idea. “You say the nicest things. I felt a bit sick, that’s all. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Sian did that thing with her eyebrows, which said, ‘Yeah right.’ “You’re not…you know?”
“Piss off, Sian. You have to have sex for that, remember?”
Sian laughed, “True … hurry up then. We’re in the bar. Oh, and don’t forget your shades, Tia. Your eyes look well weird.” And she went back out.
Tia chuffed a mirthless laugh to herself, turned back and closed her eyes and breathed in and out deeply. The nausea was passing.
She opened her eyes and looked down at the soothing water again. Shit! She grabbed one of the neatly folded white towels on the shelf next to her and rubbed her skin vigorously all over her lower arms as if to rub off the emerging black bands on her skin.
It wasn’t working. She looked around her frantically and noticed a redundant hand dryer. Quickly she shoved her arms under it and punched the button and prayed the warm air would magic away the markings.
She stood as long as she dared before her friends sent out a search party again. What possible explanation could she give about her weirdness? She replaced her sweatbands, pulled down the sleeves on her silk top so it almost covered her hands and walked back over to the mirror.
Her eyes were more weird than usual and really dilated. She reached into her shoulder bag for her large shades – her barrier to the normal world – and put them on.
She felt much better. She adjusted her top, put on a bit of lip gloss, picked her jacket and helmet up off the floor, walked out of the loo and turned left into the crowded bar to the safety in numbers.
***
The bar was packed. People had piled in from the surrounding pubs, theatres and restaurants, attracted by a late drink and the cool ambience. Situated where it was in London’s West End, it could stay busy till three or four in the morning.
Jay walked in looking crisp as usual in a light grey suit. He was here to socialize with his staff and check everything was running smoothly, as he usually did towards the end of the evening. As he leaned with his back against the bar scanning the heads of the lively crowd, his eyes stopped and backtracked instantly.
She was standing with her back to the far wall with two or three friends. Her hair was honey blonde, falling down to her waist in luxurious waves. Even at a distance her beautiful tanned skin stood out in contrast. She wore bug-eyed shades – probably to cover those large unusual eyes – but they didn’t detract from her one bit.
Jay weaved his way through the crowd until he came up next to her.
She smelled fresh like the ocean and looked exotic; even though she was wearing beaten up jeans and boots teamed with a sheer African print top. She somehow looked effortlessly sophisticated.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he said, as he leaned over, flashing his brilliant blue eyes and one of his affecting smiles like butter wouldn’t melt.
She turned to look, taking him in from the floor up, and smiled when she reached his face. “Should I know you?”
“No, not really,” he replied, “but we have met.”
Smoothly, he touched her elbow pointing her to a quieter corner of the bar, “Shall we?”
Amused, she allowed herself to be led and excused herself from the group she’d been drinking with, telling them she’d catch them later.
They stood together and sipped their drinks in sync – scotch on the rocks. She continued to impress him. “I hear Dannyl met a sudden end?”
She squinted at him, searching his face and trying to make the connection.
He enjoyed tormenting her, and took a sip of his drink as he gauged her response.
“Card game. At his club,” she concluded, pointing as she said it.
He tipped his drink and nodded, secretly pleased that she had registered him enough at the time to remember him. “I’m Jason. Everyone calls me Jay,” and he offered her his hand.
“Tia,” she said, shaking his. “Lovely bracelet.”
“This was Dannyl’s,” he said, while he remembered the occasion, letting the stones run through his fingers.
“I know.”
“Of course,” he conceded, and hoped she didn’t harbour feelings for the dearly departed.
“Some said it was a heart attack, some said he was killed?” he continued, staring into her face.
She just looked at him and blinked.
“I heard his girlfriend went away for it?” he persisted.
“If you mean did I go away for it, then you’d be right, but I wasn’t his girlfriend and I wasn’t away long.”
“Glad to hear it.” He really was. She was being very direct with him, looking him straight in the eyes – a complete turn on, and not without an element of danger. Oh happy days.
“Do you always wear sunglasses?”
She laughed at the change of subject as if she’d read his mind, “I am light-sensitive and to be honest, I get bored with people commenting on my eyes all the time.”
Jay remembered how arresting her eyes were from the first time they’d met. He snapped into action. “Do you fancy going somewhere more quiet?” he asked, flashing her another smile and half expecting her to say no. Hey, it was worth a shot.
“Just for a while; I have an early start in the morning.”
His eyes widened – his lucky day – and he gestured the way.
She grabbed her stuff that was bundled on the floor near her friends and followed him through the foyer.
The lift pinged open, and they stepped in.
***
She faced front riding up in the lift. Jay studied her profile. She really was exquisite. He watched her blink slowly behind her sunglasses. Her accent was all South London, but somehow she was separate, rare.
He glanced down at the leather jacket and motorcycle helmet she was carrying and thought she was as hot as hell. “It’s not every day you meet a woman who rides a motorbike.”
Without looking at him she said, “I wouldn’t know.” She stepped out of the lift. “I just want to get from A to B as fast as possible.”
She wasn’t taking any old flannel and he liked that.
He overtook her and led the way to the door of his suite.
They walked in and she dumped her
stuff by the door and headed for the main room through a small hallway. There was no hesitation as she took in his large bed; nothing remarkable, modern maleness.
He loved the large window overlooking the city and thought it was the best part of the room. He watched her make a beeline for it and smiled.
“How does someone your age get all this?” she said, as she let the thin gauze of curtain fall out of her fingers and back into place.
Jay smiled again while he poured two scotches from a decanter. “Why, don’t I look the type?”
She sat down and took the drink offered. “I dunno… you look posh on the outside…” She pushed her glasses on top of her head. “But there is something ‘street’ about you.”
“Ah,” he grinned sitting opposite her, “There’s me thinking I’m fooling everyone.”
She narrowed her eyes, “I doubt there is anything you do without realising.”
He sat studying her for a minute making up his mind. How far should he push his luck?
“No they’re not contacts,” she said, pre-empting his next question.
He stood up, “I’m going to take a quick shower.” He put his heavy glass down on the table and began opening the buttons of his cuffs and front of his shirt, giving Tia a good glimpse of the heavy black tattoos which covered the length of his arms and his chest, and then he turned, showing that they continued onto his back.
She was left blinking. “You sure I’ll be here when you get back?”
He laid his shirt on the bed. “You could always join me?” he said, arching a cheeky brow as he walked towards the connecting bathroom, feeling her eyes on him.
Smirking to himself, he knew he was pushing it, but half the fun was in the gamble, and he always won.
Chapter 2
He wasn’t sure what he expected; she was so difficult to read. She might be gone by the time he got out.
Turning on the spray in the wet room he tilted his head back, allowing the jets to massage him. He slowly turned around, put his back to the spray and looked straight into Tia’s eyes.
He grinned.
He held his breath as she reached past him and turned the heat dial, plummeting the temperature way down to cold. “I get too hot,” she explained, and stepped into him.