Devil’s Dream
Shade of Devil Book 1
Shayne Silvers
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Shayne Silvers
Devil’s Dream
Shade of Devil Book 1
© 2019, Shayne Silvers / Argento Publishing, LLC
[email protected]
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.
Dedication
To that person in front of me at the coffee shop who didn’t pay for my drink…this book is dedicated to someone else.
* * *
And to anyone who thinks I didn’t deserve that drink, I once won a race against a billion other competitors. It was do or die. If you’re reading this, you probably deserve a coffee, too.
And a laugh.
Enjoy my words. This book is for you, because you’re a winner.
I’m not buying you a coffee, though.
* * *
-Shayne
Epigraph
“There is no death. Only a change of worlds.”
Chief Seattle
Contents
The Shade of Devil Series—A warning
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
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
TRY: OBSIDIAN SON (NATE TEMPLE #1)
TRY: UNCHAINED (FEATHERS AND FIRE #1)
TRY: WHISKEY GINGER (PHANTOM QUEEN DIARIES # 1)
MAKE A DIFFERENCE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT SHAYNE SILVERS
BOOKS IN THE TEMPLE VERSE
The Shade of Devil Series—A warning
Many vampires were harmed in the making of this story. Like…a lot of them.
If you enjoyed the Blade or Underworld movies, you will love the Shade of Devil series.
The greatest trick the First Vampire ever pulled was convincing the world that he didn't exist.
Before the now-infamous Count Dracula ever tasted his first drop of blood, Sorin Ambrogio owned the night. Humanity fearfully called him the Devil.
Cursed by the gods, Sorin spent centuries bathing Europe in oceans of blood with his best friends, Lucian and Nero, the world’s first Werewolf and Warlock—an unholy trinity if there ever was one. Until the three monsters grew weary of the carnage, choosing to leave it all behind and visit the brave New World across the ocean. As they befriended a Native American tribe, they quickly forgot that monsters can never escape their past.
But Dracula—Sorin’s spawn—was willing to do anything to erase Sorin’s name from the pages of history so that he could claim the title of the world’s first vampire all for himself. Dracula hunts him down and slaughters the natives, fatally wounding Sorin in the attack. Except a Shaman manages to secretly cast Sorin into a healing slumber.
For five hundred years.
Until Sorin is awoken by a powerful Shaman in present-day New York City. In a world he doesn’t understand, Sorin only wants one thing—to kill Dracula and anyone else who stands in his path. When the descendant of an infamous vampire hunter steps into his life, Sorin is torn between conflicting feelings in his heart—revenge or love. But to a woman like Victoria Helsing, it might just be considered a bloody good date.
The streets of New York City will flow with rivers of blood, and the fate of the world rests in the hands of the Devil, Sorin Ambrogio.
Because this town isn’t big enough for the both of them.
Now, our story begins in a brave New World…
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1
I stared out at the forest, smiling absently at the sounds of laughter and conversation coming from around the crackling campfire behind me. I felt like the luckiest man in the world as I let the vibrancy of the American Indians’ lifestyle—my new family—pour over me. None referred to themselves as Indians, of course—that was a term my fellow Europeans had given them.
My new family were part of the Mohawk tribe, but they were led by a peaceful man named Deganawida who had been adopted into the tribe. It had been rather difficult to get an accurate understanding of the various tribes and how they interacted with one another due to the different languages they spoke, but Deganawida knew enough English for me to parcel out a vague concept of their cultural climate. Essentially, there were several other neighboring nations, and they often warred with each other for goods, territory, or over personal feuds, but Deganawida longed for lasting peace between them all.
Overall, the Americas—or the New World, as many called it—were wild, savage places compared to the other civilizations across the ocean, but there was also a crisp honesty to the air here. No one pretended to be anything other than what they were.
No one cared about my bloody history. Thinking about that past—even obtusely—always caused my shoulders to inch higher, paranoid that my enemies were watching me from the darkened woods. I took a calming breath, familiar with the sensation now.
It had been too long. I was safe. No one was coming for me. They probably didn’t even know where I had gone.
The world’s first vampire, Sorin Ambrogio, had simply disappeared.
Along with the world’s first werewolf, Lucian, and the world’s first warlock, Nero. The three unlikeliest of friends.
No one knew we had fled to the Americas to find a new life.
The air here in the Americas was brisk yet refreshing, perfect weather for hunting. Upon seeing our virginal new home for the first time—vast stretches of relatively unexplored forests and trails and mountains—Lucian had instantly displayed the exuberance of a youthful puppy, while Nero had complained about the lack of rowdy taverns. The resident animals had wandered these lands for thousands of years, sha
ring them only with the occasional hunting party.
They had never known the chilling howl of a werewolf like Lucian.
The incredible powers of a curious warlock like Nero.
Or the hunting scream of the world’s first vampire—me.
My two friends were off hunting now, preferring the wild to the company of humans. Even Nero. It wasn’t that they didn’t appreciate our hosts but that they longed for the wild adventure possibly lurking over the next new hill.
We had each come here to escape our dark, bloody pasts. I had once been a simple, humble adventurer named Sorin Ambrogio—a man who found a treasure that wasn’t mine to find.
I had visited the fabled Oracle of Delphi in Greece to learn my destiny. Her cryptic words had forever changed my simple, curious life:
The Curse.
The Moon.
The Blood will run.
Troubled by my grim prophecy, I had remained near the temple. As the fates would have it, I met a woman named Selene, who just happened to be the Oracle’s sister. Over time, I grew to love Selene.
Thus began my descent into blood. I had found a treasure that would cost me my soul.
The merciless gods punished me for this crime, cursing me to become a vampire—to feast on the blood of men for eternity. I never saw Selene again.
In bitter retaliation for my unfair punishment, I had chosen to become the world’s most notorious murderer, and to amass an army of men and women just like me.
I turned a man named Dracula to help me in my quest—to spit in the gods’ eyes and laugh.
And then I made more…and more…and more. My appetite had been insatiable.
Over the centuries, my vampires—and my human victims—had given me a new name, one that I relished. They had called me the Devil, and I had let them.
In fact, I had loved them for it.
But as the centuries of conquest drew on, I found myself growing increasingly bored with my vocation, and concerned about what I had birthed in my army of vampires. I built a castle to help restrain them but it wasn’t enough. My vampires spread across Europe like a plague.
Soon, my apprehension became known, and chasms of division split between me and Dracula, between me and my vampires. They all wanted their Devil back, but I was beginning to think that I wanted the man, Sorin, back.
Following in the footsteps of my second-in-command, Dracula, my vampires evolved into a violent, ruthless, soulless group of killers who wanted nothing more than to spread across Europe in a red tide of blood, toppling the rulers of any country who stood in their way. For many, many years, I had enabled and encouraged such behavior, harboring great disdain for mankind and their precious freedoms from internal demons.
But once I began to object, my vampires had turned on me—encouraged by Dracula, who had gradually turned them against me.
Rather than attempting to kill every single one of my creations—and likely die against such overwhelming numbers—I had fled, no longer wanting anything to do with their quest for power. I handed Dracula my figurative crown, gave him my castle, and left it all behind.
To become an adventurer again. To find the man, Sorin Ambrogio—the man I had once been.
Lucian and Nero shared similar stories, and chose to accompany me on my grand new adventure to the Americas—a land of uncounted opportunities and new beginnings.
Where we had run into the American Indians—a people unlike any we’d known in Europe. They took us in, unafraid of our strange powers, believing us to be great protectors. Avenging spirits trapped in the bodies of men.
“Regretting your decision not to go hunting with your friends?” a man asked from over my shoulder, snapping me out of my memories. His voice and the usual herbal smell of his pipe had a relaxing effect on my shoulders, and I let out a sigh. I’d sensed him lurking nearby for some time, now.
“There will always be another hunt, Shaman,” I replied, turning to face the tribe’s Medicine Man, Deganawida. He narrowed his eyes at the term I’d flippantly used, even though he knew I only used it to antagonize him.
A Medicine Man was not the same as a Shaman.
And neither of those were the same as a warlock, although I couldn’t rightly explain the specific differences—all three used magic, bending the elements to their wills. Nero had been constantly on edge every time Deganawida began peppering him with questions on his powers.
Which amused Lucian and me to no end. This new life had encouraged me and my friends to open up, to act more like men than monsters. Rather than frequently sneaking off to hunt and explore, I’d chosen to focus my transformation from monster to man by jesting with tribe members. My prior life had not permitted me such a temperament.
Deganawida was a strong, imposing man with light brown skin and rich black hair that was braided down his back all the way to his waist. He looked to be in his late thirties, but his aura was that of a priest or a boxer—without the raw violence, judgment, and piety I was more accustomed to from those noble professions. The Medicine Man commanded respect, wielded wisdom like the sharpest of swords, and had a broad, angular face always on the verge of laughter.
Deganawida nodded, glancing past me at the woods. “The others fear to hunt with Lucian.”
I furrowed my brows. “Lucian would never harm—”
The Medicine Man held up his pipe, leaving a trail of blue smoke in its wake as he cut me off. “He harms their pride, Sorin,” he said, chuckling. “Every hunt increases their shame when they fall short of his collections.”
I let out a sigh and nodded my agreement. “He does do that, I’m afraid,” I admitted, not bothering to hide my grin. “I find myself missing him and Nero. I wish that they would find stronger ties to your tribe, but they are explorers, conquerors, and wanderers at heart.”
“They will find their peace eventually, if that is what they seek.” He paused thoughtfully, thumbing a stone on a leather cord tied around his neck as he glanced at me sidelong. “This is your tribe, too, Sorin. I would think that marrying my daughter, at least, made that clear.”
I grunted, smiling as I noticed his daughter—my new wife—carrying a basket of vegetables to the fire. She smiled at my attention before continuing on. Although she was my wife, she was a stranger to me in many ways, our cultures so vastly different. Painful memories of Selene slipped into my thoughts, but I shoved them back down.
Love had cursed me before, so I was understandably hesitant.
“Bubbling Brook is a fine woman,” I told Deganawida, “although there is much for me to still learn about her.”
The old man nodded. “Her English will improve and you two will flourish.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, hating how quickly he had begun to improve his own English. “Your swift grasp of my language is rather unsettling, you know. I should never have agreed to educate you.”
Deganawida chuckled. “My previous tutor was much more…academic. I find your barbaric practice of the language more…useful.”
I scoffed, smirking at him. “I do not speak like a politician or a man of God, you mean.”
“You speak like a humble man, yes,” he agreed, puffing contentedly on his pipe, “which I find more honest and genuine. There is a time for both, of course. Especially with our newest…neighbors building settlements all along the coast,” he said tiredly. “I believe communication will be vital in the years to come. Words or weapons…words or weapons.”
I nodded regretfully. “I’m glad to hear you are finally beginning to see what I warned you about years ago,” I said gently.
I realized I was licking my lips absently, thirsty for the blood I had stored back in our teepee. I pushed down my hunger. I’d been working on controlling it, and I had wanted to see if Lucian and Nero would return before I chose to eat. It would give us something to do while we caught up. But it had been two days since I’d drank any blood, and I was beginning to feel noticeably weaker. I couldn’t wait much longer. Still, I willed the hunger away, waitin
g for my friends’ return.
I noticed Deganawida was holding a journal in the crook of an elbow, scribbling on the pages as he held his pipe clenched in his teeth. “What are you writing, old man?”
“Our story,” he said happily. “The true story,” he added meaningfully, glancing at my son, my wife, and then me. “How three monsters remembered that they were man, and that their hearts were stronger than their hate. Even if I had to browbeat one of them into believing it,” he added wryly.
I grunted, eyeing the journal warily. “That is a dangerous story to put to paper, Deganawida. If the wrong people ever learned the truth about me, it could bring trouble upon your—” I cleared my throat at his arched brow. “Our people. Words are indeed weapons, and they will be held against your own throat as often as not…”
The Medicine Man waved a hand. “Our people are devoted to our stories, and one such as yours…it’s compelling. A valuable lesson that the spirit is stronger than the shell,” he said, first tapping his heart and then tapping his teeth to indicate my fangs—which only extended when I chose to use them. “Perhaps one day you will be written into our myths and legends as a great protector.”
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