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Quick Author Note: Links throughout the story take readers to glossary terms in the back of the book, which contain definitions and extra content about characters and the series. There are BACK links to return you to your place or you can use your eReader’s back button feature. Enjoy!
Early October 2019—Remote Scottish Countryside, UK
Today was the day he would resurrect his father from the crypt.
Anthony MacDougal pushed his glasses up his nose and winced as a strand of his brown hair caught in the wire frames. He squinted through the lavender-tinted lenses into the unexpected fog bank across the narrow road and depressed the headlight knob. The white glare faded to a soft purple glow, and he blinked to clear the assault on his sensitive eyes.
Grass and weeds lay crushed and wilted along the two dirt ribbons snaking through the mist and distant darkness. Until last week, it had been six years since he and his father had driven this lone road. He shifted into first gear and eased his classic 1986 Ford Capri toward the church ruins and his father’s resting place.
Parking at the edge of the graveyard, he ratcheted the emergency brake into place and killed the engine. A flip of a lever popped the trunk before he hopped out of the car. Gravel crunched under his black combat boots as he strode to the rear.
Anthony lifted the trunk door and frowned. “Dammit, you’re awake.” Acrid sweat tore through his nostrils and he recoiled.
Terror-filled eyes gaped at him. The two men squirmed against their bonds, the silver duct tape over their mouths muffling their pleas.
“All right, mates, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” One at a time, Anthony yanked the men out of the boot and set them on their feet. With a twirl of his wrist, he unfolded his butterfly knife and sliced through the ropes at their ankles. Pointing the blade toward the large crypt at the end of a matted trail, he nodded. “Just walk straight ahead into that graveyard and this will all be—”
Both men scattered.
One through the surrounding, waist-high field and the other in the opposite direction.
“...over soon.” He scrubbed the heavy stubble on his chin and sighed. “They always want to do it the hard way.” Anthony twirled the knife and shoved it into his back pocket before slamming the boot closed. “Bugger it all.”
A quick glance left then right, he noted which was the faster of the two and dashed after him. Though his night vision and superhuman speed gave him the advantage, he had no trouble catching up to the clumsy lout, who’d tripped twice, allowing Anthony to easily overcome his prey and take him out with a swipe of his leg. The convict crashed face-first into the wispy grass, his hands still bound behind his back. With a nudge of his boot, Anthony flipped the moaning man, revealing a nasty gash on his forehead from a tombstone. He winced, but hoisted the delirious victim onto his shoulder, spun on his heel and sprinted after the other bloke.
As he passed the matted trail to the large crypt, he dumped his load to the ground and picked up speed. Though this guy was slower, he was surer on his feet. Anthony used the man’s shaved head as a beacon and, in a few leaping strides, caught up with his escapee and grabbed him by the collar.
The bloke dropped to his knees and whimpered through his gag, tears streaming down his face.
Anthony folded his arms and let the man carry on with muffled protests for a few moments before he leaned forward and stripped the tape from the convict’s mouth in one, swift yank.
The man yelped, his lips and cheeks pink from the brutal unmasking, and blathered an incoherent string of pleas.
Anthony rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah...have mercy on me, for God’s sake, blah, blah, blah.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Like the mercy you showed those children you molested and strangled?”
“I swears, I’ll never do nuffin’ like that again, mate!”
“Do you seriously think I’m going to let you off the hook just like that?” Anthony snapped his fingers, piercing the midnight blackness of the graveyard. “Even over one child, I wouldn’t listen to your bullshit. But you wouldn’t be ’ere if you’d only killed one, which is inexcusable enough. No, you killed twenty-three. You think I didn’t do my homework? I’ve picked the vilest pieces of shite I could dig up. You, mate, are getting what you and your fuckin’ friend deserve.”
He grabbed the back of the convict’s collar and lugged him through the grass and mud.
For someone being dragged through a graveyard, the asshole gave Anthony a run for his money. The prisoner kicked and tried to use his legs to hug a stone pillar marking a grave. The stinking bloke writhed and screamed until Anthony whirled and punched him in the jaw.
Silence reigned. “Blimey.”
The other victim still lay on the path, moaning and his head lolling back and forth. Seizing him by the ankle, Anthony schlepped both men between the moss-covered headstones and lingering mist.
The generous, gray-stone crypt was nestled beside an ancient oak, whose roots embraced the crumbling granite steps in a comfortable disarray. Dark-green ivy shimmered with moisture and smothered the trunk in earthy splendor. Moss clung to the cracked walls of the tree’s broken companion and perfumed the air with soil and decay.
Anthony dropped the bodies at the base of the crooked steps and fished a ring of eclectic keys from his pocket as he proceeded to the entrance. Inserting the medieval skeleton key into the hole, he twisted his wrist and unlocked the iron door, which cried on its hinges as he shoved inward. Crossing the narrow antechamber, he swept his arm to move the curtain of ivy aside, unveiling the modern security door. He hooked the vegetation on a protruding brick. The shining silver key on his ring opened the ABS euro cylinder lock and he slammed the steel door wide.
Smooth, cement walls, three-feet thick, encased the sunken chamber. At the center of the dry, dusty room was a large, masonry sarcophagus, carved and with various angelic keys bound with protection spells and invisibility sigils. The lid was still half-open at the same angle he’d left it yesterday. The floor was littered with the bodies of eight men he’d brought into the chamber over the last week.
He wrinkled his nose. The stale air was redolent of sour flesh. They were beginning to ripen.
He reclaimed his victims from outside and descended the staircase into the underground crypt—one man hoisted over his shoulder and the other thumping behind him down the steps. Anthony dropped them beside three bodies, their faces frozen masks of terror. Whipping out his butterfly knife, he cut the ropes from their hands as the convicts stirred. Another twirl of his wrist, and the butterfly blade was closed and in his back pocket.
Anthony trotted up the staircase to the exit.
“Wait!”
Pausing with his hand on the door, he poked his head inside. “Yes?”
The child molester was on his hands and knees. Sweat trickled over his bald head. “You can’t just leave us ’ere to rot!”
“Don’t worry, mate. It’ll be over soon.” Grinning, Anthony slammed and locked the door. A chipper melody whistled from his lips as he leaned against the wall and twirled the keyring on his finger.
Both criminals chattered nervously, conspiring to find a way out of their fate. They argued under their breath and paused.
“Did you ’ear that?”
Anthony stopped whistling and inclined his head. “Wait for it.”
Frantic screams and shouts erupted from the chamber.
He smiled and resumed whistling.
Two screams became one and grew quite loud. The door vibrated against Anthony’s back as the convict pounded for his freedom.
“Open the door! For the love of gaaaahhhhhhh!”
He cringed as the molester gurgled and groaned.
Silence.
Anthony paced a few steps, letting a small measure of time pass before he fanned the keys in his palm and selected the one for the inner chamber.
Two loud thumps shook the steel-enforced barrier.
He turned the key, then yanked the door open.
Broderick MacDougal braced his forearm against the stone frame, panting and frowning like he had a monster hangover. He licked the last of the blood from his lips. “This had better be good or I’m draggin’ ye with me into this stinking crypt.”
Anthony smiled and his father pulled him into a backslapping embrace.
“It’s good to see ye, lad.” Broderick patted Anthony’s face. “So, what news do ye have for me?”
“We agreed I wouldn’t wake you unless there was a way around the prophecy, right?”
Rick straightened. “Aye.”
“Well, it seems she’s found a way. I’ll explain on the drive.” Anthony pivoted on his heel and stepped out of the antechamber into the graveyard.
The crypt slammed closed. Broderick caught up and matched his stride. When they reached the car, his father glared at him over the left-hand side of the vehicle. “She?”
Anthony nodded and they both climbed in. He slipped the key into the ignition and the engine purred to life.
“Ye mean Malloren Rune.” Rick frowned.
“The one and only Prophetess.” Anthony eased the Capri into gear.
Broderick leaned back, rubbed his face and grumbled. “I can’t wait to hear this.”
* * * * *
Under the porch light, just after sunset, Malloren Rune raised a trembling fist to the massive oak-and-iron door. Son-of-a-bitch! She squeezed her eyes shut. Just do it and get it over with. She knocked before she could change her mind. Her heart staccatoed in her breast.
Long moments stretched, and she prayed someone wasn’t home. Unfortunately, the entrance creaked and her pulse shifted into high gear.
The Prince, Jesse Amir, unfurled a wolfish grin. His white, button-down shirt lay open, revealing his smooth muscular chest and tight abs, belying the Ancient’s true age. He certainly didn’t look over two-thousand years old, one of the first Vamsyrian Council Members. The shirt was a tempting contrast to his dark, olive skin. The teasing trail of hair dusting his six-pack disappeared into the waistband of his black, tailored slacks.
Crossing his arms, he propped his shoulder against the frame. His eyes traveled appreciatively down her figure before returning to her scowl. “You look like a lawyer in your slacks and conservative blouse.” He pouted. “Delicious, nonetheless, but this means you’ve turned my summons into a business call rather than one of pleasure.”
Malloren pursed her lips and planted her hands upon her hips. Willing herself to breathe steadier and slow her pulse, she tried to appear in control. “Of course, it is, Your Majesty.
The Prince pushed the door wide and grinned. “Of course.” He stepped aside and ushered her in with a possessive hand on the small of her back.
Trying to put as much distance between them as possible, she marched across the marble tiles of the foyer, the determined click of her heels echoing off the high ceiling and rattling the crystals of the monstrous chandelier.
“You’ve been away far too long, Mal.” He sauntered past her and into the living room. “What’s it been? Six years?”
Too long, my ass. “Not long enough,” she muttered and paced the length of the Turkish rug while he stopped at the wet bar in the corner. And who was he kidding? Somehow, Jesse Amir was never far from her. Somehow, since Victorian London, he’d always known where she was.
“Shall I make you a drink?” He grabbed a pair of tongs and lifted the lid on the ice bucket, forever the gracious host.
“Nothing, thank you.” She continued to wear a spot in the rug, waiting for him to finish his annoying pleasantries. Malloren had learned the Prince and his methods over the years. No conversations would begin until he fixed his libation and settled in for a cozy chat.
Jesse shrugged, dropped a few cubes into his rocks glass and poured himself a drink.
“Southern Comfort and club soda? That’s so unlike you.” Malloren’s eyes slid down his frame to the slacks hugging his backside and thighs. She snapped her gaze to his face as he turned around.
“Yes. Ammon introduced the liqueur to me and, surprisingly, I’ve taken a liking to it.” Jesse swaggered to the couch and sat, stretching his arm across the back of the mocha leather seat as it creaked. Crossing his legs, he rested his glass on his knee. “So, how’s the prophecy coming along?”
She ceased pacing and folded her arms over her chest. “You know very well how it’s going. Nowhere.”
Jesse tilted his head, non-committal.
And now the games begin. “Are you going to tell me why I’m here, or are we going to create small talk until you get to the point?”
He sipped his liqueur and soda, but a touch of that ancient fury rimmed his eyes.
Malloren backed down and executed a modest bow. “I meant no disrespect, Your Highness. I have a lot on my plate at the moment, so I’m short on patience.”
“What other responsibilities could you possibly have? Broderick MacDougal has been missing since you told him the sixth sign, and only he knows where Davina is. The prophecy cannot be completed without him, so what else is there to do?”
Malloren seethed. She may be the custodian of the prophecy, but she did have other things going on in her life. It irked her that he had such a shallow impression of her place in the world.
“Unless, of course, you’ve had a vision?”
She bunched her fists under her arms. “No.”
“I see.” Jesse tilted his head to the other side, regarding the ceiling. “Have you been able to get MacDougal to come out of hiding?”
Malloren dug her fingernails into her palms. “Not yet.”
“You seem angry you haven’t been able to succeed at that. But why? None of this is in your control.” He sat forward and put his glass on the coffee table. “We had everything lined up. You were given the sixth sign. I gave you my coins, so you had all twenty-nine pieces of silver, and I had the mold ready to forge the silver stake to kill my father. And then Broderick MacDougal decides to give everyone the finger and not do his part.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “That wasn’t my fault.”
“Precisely my point. This is all in Broderick’s hands, not yours. When will you learn you cannot manipulate the outcome more than you already have? You were given the signs to follow and warned to observe, not meddle.”
She hated when he repeatedly shoved this in her face. Those signs were a symbol of punishment for her impatience and interfering with God’s timing.
“Those prophetic milestones were for you to—”
“I realize that. Would you please...” She paused to suck a calming breath. “Will you please tell me why you summoned me?”
Jesse shook his head. “In due time. You need to be forthcoming about what’s really happening with the prophecy.”
“Excuse me?” Malloren swallowed the bile rising in her throat.
“I have known you too long. Don’t you think I noticed your little quirks when I asked how it was coming along?” He tapped his temples. “You get this little crinkly thing going on with your eyes when you’re hiding something.”
She did not! “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jesse’s smile faded. “You’re not the only one who is short on patience.”
Her gut knotted. Damnit. “Okay, fine. I lied to Anthony MacDougal, telling him there was a way around the prophecy. But I’ve run out of options. Now that Broderick may finally emerged, I need to give him something concrete by tomorrow, or he’s going to disappear again.”
“There. You see?” Jesse smirked and sat back again, stretching his arms along the couch. “Tell me, Mal. Why didn’t you come to me with this concern sooner? We could have done something about this years ago when MacDougal disappeared.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Because of the very expression you have on your face now. Go on, say it.”
“What? That I finally have the leverage to get what I want?”
“I told you before. I’m not telling you where I hid the coins.”
Jesse rose and glided toward her, wearing his bedroom eyes. Though she wanted to flee, she stood her ground as the Prince closed the distance and the heat of his body engulfed her. He curled an index finger under her chin and sneered. “Why would I be trying to get back what I originally had? I could’ve kept the coins I possessed, but I gave them to you, the one gathering them. Come now, Habibi. You have been playing hard to get for almost a hundred-and-thirty years. What do you think I want?”
Her stomach fluttered under the spell of his Middle Eastern charm and exotic Arabic endearment, but she shoved his hand away from her face. “Go to hell.”
Malloren took two steps away before Jesse grabbed her by the elbow and swung her into his arms.
“You want this prophecy fulfilled worse than I do.” Challenge ignited his amber eyes.
“Broderick MacDougal can rot in Hades, for all I care,” she lied with a trembling voice.
He jeered. “Malloren Rune, you selfish little bitch.”
She shoved his chest, trying to pry herself out of his embrace.
“You’re going to sacrifice the salvation of all those souls over a few nights in my bed?” Jesse tsked. “Remember, it’s not just the Vamsyrians you’re saving. I’ve told you my father has placed our kind in positions of power. We’re talking world domination. Surely, the pleasures of the flesh are minuscule in comparison.”
Bastard. “And this is exactly how Eve was tempted. Committing sin to gain knowledge.”
Jesse snickered and his liqueur-sweetened breath puffed against her cheek. “Lying with me would not be a temptation unless it was something you desired.” He brushed his lips against her ear. “Admit it. You’ve been dying for this opportunity.”
His hot words sent shivers through her body. Malloren sighed and rolled her eyes, feigning boredom with his endless pursuit. “Why aren’t you concerned for the fate of all mankind?”
“Because I can go either way. If we can get this prophecy business taken care of, we save the world. If not, I can always go right back to my father’s side. I am the prodigal son, after all. My father will always take me back.” He winked. “Your heart is hammering in my ears, and I smelled your arousal as soon as you told me to go to hell.”
She cursed her traitorous body. Yes, the man was alluring. Yes, the very presence of him set her blood on fire. But sleeping with him was tantamount to lying with Satan, himself.
And what scared her more than anything was the simple fact that she just might enjoy it...a lot.
He nuzzled her ear and Malloren trembled. When she tried to pull away, Jesse held her close. “You still haven’t slept with anyone after all these centuries, have you, my chaste English Rose?”
His tongue lapped at her lobe, and Malloren panted.
“I have obtained my father’s silver piece.”
Her breath hitched.
“What’s that worth to you?”
The final coin. “You’re going to give it to me?”
“Of course, I will. You’re the one gathering the coins for us.” His wicked grin widened, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. “But you know my price.”
When Malloren squirmed, Jesse released her and shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He strolled to the coffee table and picked up his drink. Taking a sip, he swaggered out of the living room and toward the hallway. “I’ll be in my bedroom if you change your mind.”
God, the man was infuriating. And cocky. And arrogant. And presumptuous and...ungghh! But he was right. Malloren knew their encounter would end like this and it was the very reason she’d let this damned situation with Broderick carry on for six years. She’d hoped the stubborn Scotsman would eventually come to his senses and go after Davina, but no such luck.
Unfortunately, Rick had also taken the Star of Bethlehem with him—the magical compass that could find anything—so she’d had no means of locating him or even Davina. Only Anthony knew where Broderick was, and feeding from the hybrid vampire would have gleaned her no information. His blood was a blank slate. She’d had no choice but to lie and pray she’d come up with a convincing enough reason for Rick to finally go after his soul mate.
Now, she was up against the wall with nothing to tell him.
Malloren glared at the hallway where the Prince had disappeared. She huffed. Apparently, the time had come.
She wanted to scream. In truth, the coin would do nothing to make Broderick budge on his position. This wasn’t for him. She needed it for leverage. For Cordelia.
All of this for Cordelia. She’d have to figure out how to handle Rick later or get something out of the Prince to help.
Gritting her teeth, she marched down the hall and shoved open Jesse’s bedroom door. There he was, lounging on his king-sized bed, his hands laced behind his head and a cavalier smile on his handsome, arrogant face.
She narrowed her eyes, shoved the knob and locked it. Tossing her purse to the chaise lounge, she kicked off her heels and fumbled with the buttons on her shirt.
“Not so fast, my luscious prophetess.” In an instant, the Prince stood before her, his immortal movements too quick, even for her to perceive. His fingers caressed the opening of her blouse and liberated a button...and the next. “Do not deny me the pleasure of disrobing you myself,” he whispered against her cheek as he freed another button.
Her chest heaved for air seemingly absent from the room.
Jesse feathered his lips along the column of her throat, his tongue darting to taste her. She gasped as his fangs brushed her skin and tried to jerk away, but his steel grip held her shoulders tight. “I know you feed from Cordelia to mask your blood.” He kissed her neck again. “Allow me to safely sample your nectar, Habibi. You know I won’t learn anything.” His mouth lingered over her fluttering pulse. “I’m not trying to gain information I already know I can’t have. Allow me the erotic indulgence of penetrating you with my fangs and my cock.”
Desire slammed into her gut from his wicked words and she near collapsed.
Jesse slid his hands over her shoulders and under her blouse. The silken material whispered to the floor and he deftly removed her brazier, tossing it to the carpet beside her shirt. The silver core of the Hunger blazed in his eyes as he admired her breasts, his soft hands cupping and caressing her flesh. The prince dipped his head and lapped.
Malloren hissed and plunged her fingers into his hair.
Jesse’s fangs pricked her nipple and she gasped. The act of feeding spread carnal heat across her chest and surged through her limbs. She was vaguely aware of him lifting her from the floor and cradling her in his arms.
Jesse had guessed correctly. She hadn’t been intimate with anyone for centuries, but the haze of her mind was still puzzling. The bed was beneath her, and he had somehow stripped her pants from her legs.
His face hovered over hers. Blood on his lips, he covered her mouth with his and the Hunger ignited in her belly at the taste of her own blood. As his hand probed between her thighs, he pressed his neck temptingly against her mouth. Pain sliced her gums, her incisors extending, and she accepted his invitation, driving her fangs into his neck while his fingers dove inside her.
Malloren panted. What the hell had she gotten herself into? Why could she not glean anything from his blood?
Jesse plunged his cock into her slick quim and she arched as his fangs pierced her shoulder. His hips rolled, and she careened over the edge. A feral growl left his throat. He tensed and climaxed.
A comforting blackness engulfed her whole.