Hearts Unleashed: A Limited Edition Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by C. D. Gorri

  That did not mean she couldn’t feel pain. It simply meant there was no way to release it from her body. She realized that vampires were selfish things. They could only take in, never give out. She took in blood, but could not give back tears. What she would have given to be able to cry in that moment.

  Tears for her broken trust, her broken heart. Tears for her fears for herself, for Dorian, for their coven. As it was, she could only heave dry sobs and release grinding, primal moans. Cold, gentle hands pressed down on her, grasping her shoulders and arms, drawing her in against a chest where no heartbeat.

  “Hush.” The voice was gentle and kind, and she was too stunned, too lost to do more than notice that she was being held and rocked. Exactly as Dorian had done in those first months after he turned her, when her world was upside down and wild.

  “Calm, mi tesoro.” It was Fanti’s voice. She blinked. She was being held by Fanti, who crouched on the floor beside her. “You, of all sweet things in this world, should not be made to grieve by one man’s foolishness.”

  She clenched her jaw tightly to keep all the words she wanted to say from spilling out. No matter what Dorian did, she would never betray him by confessing her fears to another, certainly not to Fanti.

  “I have lived long enough to see such things happen,” he said with a sigh. “It seems that we immortals are not immune to the foolishness of the mortal heart.”

  Mila closed her eyes, thankful he had not guessed the true reason for her pain.

  “I have also seen good, strong coven leaders unknowingly led astray. I have seen them grow too confident of their status, too assured of their prowess. Such pride becomes a sickness, weakening them, year by year. They ignore those who would counsel them well. They chase after impossible things. They forget their duty, their obligation to the covens that depend on them.”

  She went still in his arms. A memory from another life flashed before her eyes. Two figures, a man crouching beside a woman, holding her. Their skin was blue, and icicles hung from their noses. The haystack they had huddled against had not protected them from the creeping death of ice and frost of winter on the steppes.

  Fanti’s embrace was no protection against the cold truth of his words.

  “What becomes of them?” she asked unwillingly.

  He sighed and stroked her hair, careful not to disarrange any of the curls or pins. “Many things can happen, few of which are good.”

  Mila pulled away from him and studied his expression. His scarring made it nearly impossible to discern any one emotion. Fanti’s eyes were dark and serious, but there were too many possible motives for such a look.

  “Why are you telling me this?” It was time to be blunt.

  “Because, there is always a chance for things to be put to rights.”

  “What do you get from such a...happy...conclusion?”

  Fanti stood and brushed down his banyan before holding out his hand to help her up. “It means, cara, that I do not have to deal with a leaderless coven wreaking havoc in my city. I prefer discretion to cleaning up messes.”

  She could see he spoke the truth, so far as it went. It was clear, though, that he was giving her one chance to bring Dorian back in line before he took matters into his own hands. She nodded curtly and curtsied before pushing past him.

  One chance to save Dorian.

  One chance to save them all.

  Chapter Nine

  A long day of searching in the sun had left Mila weak and full of fear.

  The shadows of evening were falling now, easing some of the strain on her senses, but she was growing restless from the Thirst. Hints of blood were everywhere in the healing scabs of beggars, women who bled with the moon, and butchers heedless of their heady work. It was easier to ignore the smell of blood when she was full from the night before and weak in the sunlight. She had simply focused on sifting through scents to try to catch Dorian or the girl, straining to listen for the patter of his footsteps or catch a glimpse of her.

  But now? Now, twilight was waking the beast that demanded blood. She needed to return to Fanti’s palazzo. If Dorian was not there, she would have to cajole and browbeat the coven into submitting to Fanti for tonight’s hunt. She was indifferent to the idea of God, if not a little resentful since all His houses were forbidden her. Still, she prayed that Dorian had come to his senses and resumed his place as head of their coven.

  Mila knew the exact moment the sun slipped below the horizon. She flexed her fingers and rolled her shoulders at the sensation of preternatural strength and speed returning to her. The skin of her wrist exposed between her glove and sleeve glowed a ghostly white in the intense blue light of twilight. Mortals hurried past her, their breath coming in icy puffs. Her breath would do no such thing, for there was no life to it.

  It was time to go back to Fanti. She slipped along the shadows of narrow passages of wet stone, skirting the grand campos and keeping to side streets with their prowling cats and leering journeymen. Neither frightened her. After all, she was the one they should truly fear.

  “Snegurochka!”

  Mila froze. She heard pounding steps behind her, and Gavin Girard caught up, coming to stand before her. He doffed his hat and offered a mocking, elaborate bow. Straightening up, he grinned.

  “You haven’t melted away,” he said.

  “Not yet,” she conceded. He looked much the same as the day before, but she noticed additional items tucked into his sword belt and boot tops.

  “It’s getting colder.” Gavin closed the space between them. “I think you’ll be staying around for a while, Snow Maiden.”

  His smile promised sin. From a nearby tavern, the song of a plaintive violin dressed the air in a rush of desire. A deeper shade of darkness fell over them, and Mila found herself wanting something she could not name.

  Or perhaps she could.

  Time. She wanted time to stay and unravel Gavin Girard’s meaning. But the Thirst was rising, and the throb of the vein in his throat stoked a different, more deadly desire in her.

  He raised his hand to touch her face, and she jumped back. Reality, with its damp, chilly streets and taunting street urchins, blasted away the blue, shadowy idyll of the moment. She couldn’t let him touch her. By now, her skin was too cold. It would feel smooth and hard like stone under his fingers. He would know instantly that it was unnatural, that she was unnatural. His touch had the power to unleash the hunter in her, and she did not want to drink his blood. She did not want to kill him. She didn’t even want to frighten him.

  Then, she saw the set of three wickedly sharp wooden stakes tucked into his belt and everything changed.

  Now, he was the one who frightened her.

  He was a Hunter of the Order of St. Marcellus.

  Gavin Girard’s entire existence had one purpose: to hunt and destroy creatures like her. Vampires. He would not hesitate to plunge one of those stakes into her heart, or use the sword at his side to slice off her head.

  “What’s wrong, Snow Maiden?” Gavin frowned down at her, confusion and the suspicious instinct of a hunter in his eyes.

  “It...it is not proper,” Mila said, grasping at the first excuse she could think of.

  “Is that all?” He laughed, relaxing. “Well, my little snowflake, if you were truly a proper lady, you would not be wandering the streets unattended, and certainly not in the dark.”

  “You presume to know quite a bit about me.”

  “On the contrary, I know nothing at all about you. It is precisely that which I seek to remedy.”

  “Do any women truly fall for such drivel?”

  Gavin twisted his face into an expression of mock hurt. “You wound me, signora. I would have you know my romantic nature is a bit of a byword in Venice.”

  “You say that as if it were a good thing.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  Mila couldn’t help the sly smile that slid over her lips. The moment before sinking the stiletto between the ribs of arrogance was always the sweetest. “
Let me ask you which is coveted more? That which is freely shared to the point of being commonplace, or that which is elusive, exclusive, and forbidden?”

  Gavin stepped into her space once more. She fought the urge to move back or even turn and run. All of this was a very bad idea, but she simply could not let this rake walk away with the idea she found him attractive at all. Because she did not. Not at all.

  “Are you forbidden, then?” he asked, snaking his arm around her waist with lightning speed and pulling her to him. As she had the day before, Mila made herself soft and pliant in his grasp. Every fiber of her being was screaming for her to break his arms and crack his spine. She was a wild thing, not to be caught, not to be held prisoner, especially not by a mortal consumed with lust.

  “I am more than forbidden,” she replied, ducking her head so that he could not study her cold, hard, alabaster skin too closely. “I am impossible.”

  “Never issue a challenge like that to a man, my dove. He will move heaven and earth to prove you wrong.”

  “What care I that he moves anything for me? You assume that because you want me, I must want you in return.” She nearly bit her tongue in half with her fangs when he tangled his free hand in her hair, careless of her coiffure. This was too much, too close. Dangerous. Deadly. She had to leave. Now. “Let me be clear, signor. I have no interest in you or your silly games of seduction. You had best move on from me and chase after easier prey.”

  “And if I do not care to take your advice?”

  Mila shrugged, testing the strength of his grip on her by trying to pull away. He was unyielding. “Then, I would say you are a twice a fool. Once for not heeding me, and once more for rushing in where angels fear to tread.”

  She tried once more to extricate herself from his grip, but he was strong for a mortal. No doubt due to his training as a Hunter for the Order.

  “I fear no angels,” he countered, his dark eyes crinkling as he smirked.

  “Then fear the Devil,” she whispered, using only enough of her strength to wrench herself from his hold.

  Without any hesitation, she turned and ran, literally as fast as humanly possible...or rather humanly plausible. For his part, Gavin seemed inhumanly fast, catching her and spinning her so that he could back her against a building.

  “You’re no Snow Maiden,” he panted. “You’re a bloody gazelle!”

  If she hadn’t been so desperate to get away, she might have smiled. As it was, she had to bow her head once more to try to keep him from studying her too closely, but it was to no avail. He frowned and cupped her cheek before she could do anything to avoid it. He pulled his hand off as if it was burned, though she knew it was the opposite.

  “Your skin is ice!” he exclaimed.

  She ducked and twisted away from him, taking advantage of his momentary hesitation. “I told you. I am a Snow Maiden, and I have a heart of ice. Now, leave off!”

  He frowned, his body now still in the way a hunter would hold himself when sighting prey. She pushed him without warning, using an approximation of a mortal woman’s strength and sending him stumbling back a few paces. The few moments it would take for him to regain his balance were enough for her to take off running again, putting on a burst of vampiric speed once she was unobserved.

  Mila lost herself in the streets, blindly crossing bridges and praying she was not simply going in a giant circle that would bring her back to Gavin. How could her day have gone so terribly wrong? From the moment she awakened, everything had been a disaster. Now, she hadn’t been able to find Dorian, the hunt would be beginning without her, Fanti would be furious, and her heart hurt from too many unkind words, unsaid threats, and unintentionally frivolous seduction.

  She slowed to a quick walk, trying to get her bearings. But in the darkness, one campo looked much like another, and the narrow streets were as tangled as her thoughts. She was almost grateful when she was seized by the arm and dragged into a foul-smelling alcove, coming face-to-face with Fanti.

  “Where have you been?” Fanti’s voice was rich, but his words were cold.

  “Doing what you asked me to do,” she replied, hoping this small nod to submission would placate him. “Trying to find Dorian, but I have not come across him at all.”

  “Your fellow coven members began the hunt without me once again.”

  Mila wanted to sink into her shoes for shame, mentally berating their abject stupidity.

  “We know how this ends. They will be sloppy. There will be more bodies to find in the morning. And I will be inconvenienced.”

  A hysterical laugh rose up in her throat, but she swallowed it back. How could such a poncy word sound so very menacing?

  Fanti’s grip on her arm softened, and he patted her cheek. “You poor, sweet dear. Look at you, frozen and hard. The Thirst must be terrible by now. Come, hunt with me again tonight. At least I know that you may be trusted.”

  Another laugh threatened to escape. Her world was upside down.

  Fanti trusted her.

  Dorian didn’t.

  Could she even trust herself?

  The fact she could not answer that question was by far the most frightening revelation of the day.

  Chapter Ten

  Twilight fell upon the darkening sky and Sophia shivered as the chill of the wind enveloped her. She drew her arms around her waist, running her hands up and down her arms for warmth. She needed to find this man, the one who barricaded her the other night. Feeling as if she had been drawn into a terrifying game of cat and mouse, she had questions that warranted answers.

  After she crossed one of the many bridges in Venice, she turned a corner down a darkened alley. She headed toward an area she presumed he would frequent, close to the site of their prior meeting. At the thought of his lips as they teased her cheek and neckline, the way he held her to him, Sophia shivered now for a different reason. Letting out a long breath, she pushed away the thoughts and continued her hunt.

  The alley grew darker still as the shadow of the buildings blocked any remaining remnant of the setting sun. Shoes, possibly boots, struck the stone. The footfalls continued and a figure appeared in the shadows. The person continued to close the distance, then the steps ceased...and the figure came into view. She paused for a moment and as she opened her mouth to excuse herself and pass him by, the cloaked, hooded figure turned. She froze as she realized the person wore a mask.

  Red eyes glowed through the eyes of the mask, staring at her. Her heart skipped a beat as she gasped and took a few steps back. The chill of the wall behind her stopped her and she quickly turned back the way she came. Taking a quick turn down another alley, feeling as if she had fallen into a maze, she heard quickened steps behind her. Sophia turned and looked, but no one was there. She quickly turned back and ran into a strong frame. She screamed as the cloaked figure stood before her.

  “Who are you?” she whispered hoarsely, before fear claimed her voice and she backed away one step, eyes closed. Fool, she thought to herself and opened them once more. The cloaked figure had disappeared. She blinked and furrowed her brows. She looked to her left and right, finding herself alone. Taking in a deep breath, she started down the alley once more.

  Had she been followed or had she imagined the figure? She felt tired, but not so deprived of sleep she would hallucinate. Sophia hurried down the alley toward stores.

  She thought of the man from her visions and their brief encounter. She needed to find the man from the other night. Maybe he held answers to the plague, her visions, and now the cloaked person with red eyes. She felt drawn to him, but why? She barely knew him, if at all. He had an essence that pulled her to him, like a moth to flame. As she turned yet another alley corner, she abruptly stopped. The cloaked figure quickly made his way toward her. The mask glowed with the red of his eyes.

  She screamed again and ran back the other direction. Sophia stopped once more as another figure approached, also with red eyes.

  “What is this madness?” she screamed. Her heart hamm
ered and she cried out once more. Looking behind her, she realized that the first cloaked figure had again disappeared. Picking up her skirts, she ran in that direction, taking herself away from whoever these cloaked figures were that appeared to be pursuing her. Had she lost her mind? Had someone cast a spell upon her to drive her mad?

  As she ran, her vision clouded once more and she groaned. “Not now!” Coming to a stop, she pressed her hands against the wall for balance, heaving in breaths. Fear escalated like a running spike up her spine. Her sight blackened as the vision took hold.

  As the image in her mind cleared, a woman ran past her through stone corridors. Sophia looked in the direction the woman had fled, but found no one pursuing. She turned toward the fleeing woman and found men shouting inaudible claims as she sped past. Sophia inhaled the smell of smoke. She turned back to the woman running, only to realize that it was Sophia herself.

  How could this be? she thought to herself. How...me? No. She shook her head as the vision had an abrupt ending. She blinked as the darkness of the alley settled around her. Glancing behind her, then in front, finding herself alone, she exhaled the breath she had been holding. As she fisted her hands, her fingertips tingled. She looked down to her gloved hands and opened them, closed them, then opened once more. Typically, a tingle in the fingers like this would be a precursor to manifestation of powers, or so she had been told, especially during moments of extreme stress.

  And this would constitute extreme.

  She thought back to her earlier childhood as she began to come into her powers and recalled the tingling sensation, then the sound of a footfall brought her back to the present.

  She took off running once more and turned another corner and ran into the strength of a solid wall. But this was no wall, this was a man. She looked up and gasped as red eyes stared down into her own. Sophia turned and as one foot planted to run, arms as strong as ten men wrapped around her slender frame.