Praise for the novels of Gena Showalter
“One of the premier authors of paranormal romance. Gena Showalter delivers an utterly spellbinding story!”
—Kresley Cole, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“I love this world and these alpha males—this is Gena Showalter at her best!”
—J.R. Ward, #1 New York Times bestselling author, on Shadow and Ice
“Gena Showalter never fails to dazzle.”
—Jeaniene Frost, New York Times bestselling author
“Showalter...rocks me every time!”
—Sylvia Day, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“Showalter writes fun, sexy characters you fall in love with!”
—Lori Foster, New York Times bestselling author
“Showalter makes romance sizzle on every page!”
—Jill Shalvis, New York Times bestselling author
“A fascinating premise, a sexy hero and non-stop action, The Darkest Night is Showalter at her finest.”
—Karen Marie Moning, New York Times bestselling author
“Sexy paranormal romance at its hottest! The Gods of War series is my new obsession.”
—Christine Feehan, #1 New York Times bestselling author, on Shadow and Ice
Also available by Gena Showalter
From HQN
The Warlord
The Darkest King
Frost and Flame
Shadow and Ice
The Darkest Warrior
Can’t Let Go
Can’t Hardly Breathe
The Darkest Promise
The Darkest Torment
The Harder You Fall
The Hotter You Burn
The Closer You Come
All for You (anthology featuring “The One You Want”)
The Darkest Touch
Burning Dawn
After Dark (duology featuring “The Darkest Angel”)
The Darkest Craving
Beauty Awakened
After Moonrise (duology with P.C. Cast)
Wicked Nights
The Darkest Seduction
The Darkest Surrender
The Darkest Secret
The Darkest Lie
The Darkest Passion
Into the Dark
The Darkest Whisper
The Darkest Pleasure
The Darkest Kiss
The Darkest Night
The Vampire’s Bride
The Nymph King
Jewel of Atlantis
Heart of the Dragon
Twice as Hot
Playing with Fire
Catch a Mate
Animal Instincts
Prince of Forever
Prince of Stone
From Harlequin Nonfiction
Dating the Undead (with Jill Monroe)
From Inkyard Press
The Glass Queen
The Evil Queen
Everlife
Lifeblood
Firstlife
A Mad Zombie Party
The Queen of Zombie Hearts
Through the Zombie Glass
Alice in Zombieland
Twisted
Unraveled
Intertwined
Heartless
Gena Showalter
To the women who cheered me on when I said, “So I have this idea.” A thousand thank-yous to Jill Monroe, Mandy M. Roth and Naomi Lane. You have helped me in more ways than I can express. I love and adore you all.
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM THE WARLORD BY GENA SHOWALTER
PROLOGUE
TWELVE-YEAR-OLD KAYSAR DE AOIBHEALL wiped blood and other things from the metal claws secured to his hand. His third kill in eight months. He choked down his shock and abhorrence and raced around a line of trees to collect his baby sister.
When the troll had first lunged from the shadows, eager to snack on the five-year-old little girl, Kaysar had pushed her into a thicket and driven the seven-foot monster back with his most powerful ability—a voice of compulsion. But as frightened as he’d been, his ability had...twisted, and a brutal fight had broken out. A match he’d barely won.
Littered with gashes, he looked a terrible fright, but Viori hardly noticed. She stared off into the distance, her expression as blank as ever.
“All is well,” he told her, displaying a brittle smile as he helped her to her feet. She held fast to her doll, Drendall. “Come, love. Let us hurry from here.” Trolls ran in packs. Where you found one, you would find others.
Heart thumping, he squired Viori forward, away from the carnage. Which way, which way? The blood-map he’d drawn on his arm had gotten smeared during battle, and he cursed inwardly. Guess he’d have to improvise.
Kaysar decided to follow a winding path provided by a babbling brook, and quickened his step. Nature sweetened his panting breaths, an overwarm wind twirling fallen leaves from here to there. He maintained a tight clasp on Viori’s hand, lest she and the doll blow away, too.
Despite the morning hour, thick shadows crept and slithered on the other side of the water, carnivorous foliage beckoning unwitting prey. On their side, at least, sunshine bathed the land in golden light. Problem was, pixies buzzed about. Known thieves.
Another threat. Kaysar could afford to lose nothing. Everything he owned, he required for Viori’s survival.
“Why don’t I sing to you, hmm?” he asked, feigning nonchalance.
Minutes ticked by in silence. His sister hadn’t spoken a word since their parents had died.
At first, Kaysar hadn’t fretted about her lack of communication. He’d been flooded with new responsibilities, too busy to deal with his own grief, much less another’s. Now he thought of little else.
“I’ll sing anything you wish,” he said, trying again. “Something about a princess and her prince, perhaps?” Once her favorite subject. “Or, what if I sing to Drendall? Would she like a song all her own, do you think?”
Viori continued to stare straight ahead, offering no response.
A sigh of dejection seeped from him. I’m failing her.
Kaysar knew guilt imprisoned her tongue. He also knew why. Eight months ago, a plague had swept through their village, infecting their mother and father. Since their livelihood had depended on their parents’ ability to work the fields, harvesting pixiepetals, Viori had opted to use her glamara. An innate supernatural ability. The strongest a fae pos
sessed.
Like Kaysar, she wielded a voice steeped in compulsion. When she issued a command, listeners obeyed. Fighting did no good. Except, her glamara had not yet been honed. What she hadn’t comprehended back then? Emotion affected tone. Always. Bad things happened when the wrong sentiments layered her words.
Fearful, upset and desperate, Viori had ordered their parents to feel better. And the pair had indeed felt better—when they’d died.
The siblings had been on their own ever since. Viori had ceased speaking altogether.
Tears of regret stung Kaysar’s eyes. The day after he’d burned his parents’ bodies, according to fae custom, a tax collector had arrived to settle outstanding debts by seizing the farm. Later that day, a neighbor had invited both Kaysar and Viori to stay with him...if they found a way to “repay such incredible generosity.” He’d declined. Another couple had approached him, hoping to adopt Viori, and only Viori. He’d declined their offer, as well, unable to soothe his fears about the girl’s safety and unwilling to disregard his parents’ final wish. Stay together, no matter what.
Kaysar might not have a permanent shelter or funds, but he offered what the others couldn’t. Unconditional love. His sister was his only remaining family, and he would protect her with his life. Could anyone else say the same?
“Forget the song. Why don’t I tell you about the village we’re visiting?” He tended to pick settlements a good distance from the Summer Court. Their kingdom’s bustling capitol. Rumors suggested orphans were often snatched off the streets, never to be seen or heard from again.
As silence stretched, a sense of urgency strengthened inside him. “Tell me how I can help you,” he pleaded.
Again, she said nothing.
How could he diminish his sister’s anguish and guilt? How did he convince her of the truth? He didn’t blame her for what happened. He, too, had made life-and-death mistakes with his glamara.
Should he rethink his decisions? Would the traumatized girl do better with the couple? They came with a permanent home. Stability. Three meals a day, prepared with homegrown food rather than morsels stolen from any available source. If left behind for any reason, Viori wouldn’t need to hide. There’d be no danger of a troll attack. Or worse. Worry about the weather? Never again. Opportunities for friendships would abound. Pretty dresses would replace the rags her brother filched from clotheslines.
And when the new family discovered the extent of her glamara? Few fae brandished one like it. While their mother’s humming had entranced those around her, and their father’s every word had inspired unnatural excitement and anticipation, neither parent had ever compelled others to submit to their will.
What if the family used Viori for their own advance, treating her as an object?
He inhaled sharply, different muscles knotting. No, his sister wouldn’t be better off without him. He did everything in his power to keep her safe, and he understood her struggles in ways others could not. By any means necessary, he fed her a fulfilling meal each day, acquired plenty of fresh water, and secured the warmest shelters. Who could say the same?
Often he stole what they needed. As a last resort, he used his glamara. When that happened, he and Viori packed up and moved on the very next day, just in case someone realized the truth. People feared what they couldn’t control and attacked what they feared.
Another group of pixies flew past, twittering with excitement, leaving a trail of glittery dust in their wake. Where were they headed with such haste? Was something going on?
Kaysar helped Viori over a fallen log and drew to a stop. “One second, love.” He studied what remained of the map. The only landmark up ahead seemed to be a small clearing.
Did people congregate there? They must. Where people flocked, provisions brimmed. Food. Clothing. Weapons.
Either the pixies stole everything, or Kaysar did.
His next inhalation proved as piercing as a blade. If he got caught, Viori would be alone in the forest rather than a village, where she might search out a kind soul for help.
To go forward or switch direction?
Wait. The tips of his pointed ears twitched. Voices. He dropped to a crouch, pulling Viori down, as well.
He focused on the noise, his ears twitching faster. Oh, yes. Voices. Two of them. Three? All male. Fae. Authoritative. Angry.
Emotions were high, adding to the level of danger. He and Viori could source provisions elsewhere. Yes. The better choice. He straightened halfway, pulling his sister to her feet, and eased forward.
Only two steps into their retreat, her stomach rumbled. In the quiet, that rumble struck him as obscenely loud.
Shame scalded him, and he slowed. When it came to Viori’s well-being, he had no fears, no lines and no friends. Only foes with temporary possession of his things.
To feed his hungry sister, the risk was worthy of the reward.
I’ll do it. A twig snapped as he ushered Viori closer to the brook. Clear water rushed along crushed gemstones, lapping white foam over the shore. Where to stash the little girl?
A quick scan revealed two options. Clusters of toxic poisonvine or massive tree trunks with thick buttress roots that played host to legions of fireants.
The poisonvine it is.
Kaysar urged Viori across the distance, trembling as the air sweetened. Poisonvine stunned a fae upon contact. Few ever approached it.
He encouraged her to hunker between the stalks and settled the doll on her lap. As long as Viori kept still, she wouldn’t brush against the foliage. “You know I’ll always protect you, yes? Stay here, and remain unmoving,” he whispered, placing their satchel at her feet. The cloth carried their few but precious belongings.
His sister offered no reaction, too lost in her head to notice what transpired around her.
“I’ll find out what’s going on,” he told her anyway. “While I’m gone, I want you to remember how much I love you. All right? I’ll return shortly.” He might be injured and bloody again, but he would return.
She peered beyond him, silent.
Chest clenching, he cupped her cheeks and kissed her forehead, then kissed Drendall’s forehead and darted off before he changed his mind. His vision blurred for a moment.
Don’t look back. Focus.
Kaysar waded through the cool brook and came out the other side, his feet and calves soaked. As he snuck through spindly trees cloaked in shadows, he trailed water behind him. Gnarled branches scraped his cheeks, stinging, but he refused to slow.
The scent of flowers faded, overpowered by a stench of rot. He held his breath and trod over a red-and-yellow mushroom growing from a jagged stone.
A male bellowed a terrible insult seconds before a woman’s cry of pain echoed.
Kaysar quickened his pace, freed the bow anchored to his shoulder and nocked an arrow. Closing in... He wove through a maze of jagged branches and brittle leaves, where hundreds of pixies gathered, enthralled. Closer...
Near the last tangle of trees, he caught sight of three males and a lone female. He stilled to take stock. Small girl, big brutes. They must be soldiers. Rich—royal? Two were older. The third was young, perhaps sixteen or seventeen.
At this vantage point, Kaysar observed everyone in profile. The girl remained on her knees, while the males stood. A bright red bun drooped at her nape. She looked older than the teen but younger than the others. Her dress, though plain, appeared well-made, a low neckline displaying the diamond-studded collar around her throat.
“Please,” she cried, pressing her hands together, forming a steeple. “Don’t do this.”
The youngest male sneered, and the older two scoffed. Were they brothers? Both had white hair, the sides braided and pinned back. They were tall and muscular, sporting finely knit sweaters, leather pants and combat boots. Short swords topped with icebone hilts extended over each man’s broad shoulders. Icebone. A c
rystal found only in the Winterlands.
Kaysar’s brow furrowed with confusion. Why were Winter Court royal guards so far from home?
He took aim, keeping the biggest man in his sights. Though he knew a handful of arrows couldn’t fell fae warriors as strong as these, he also knew a few well-placed missiles could slow them down, buying him time to escape.
“Did you hope to win my kingdom through my son, girl?” the tallest male demanded, crackling with fury.
His kingdom? King Hador Frostline was said to be tall and bulging with muscle, with a mop of white curls. Reports suggested Prince Lark, his younger brother, resembled him.
Fear chilled Kaysar’s blood. What had he stumbled upon?
The king patted the teenager’s shoulder. He must be Prince Jareth Frostline, the son. “Do you have anything to say to this female?”
“Why would I?” he replied, seeming offended by the prospect. “She’s nothing to me.”
Anger heated Kaysar’s chest. What if this trio ever treated Viori this way?
The girl crumpled, her shoulders rolling in. As she dropped her head into her upraised hands, quiet sobs shook her slender frame.
Prince Lark made a noise of disgust.
“I’ll be good.” She reached out to ward him off or cling, Kaysar wasn’t sure. “I can...I can leave the Winter Court. Yes. I’ll leave and never return. Please. Let me leave.”
The onlookers laughed with each other.
“Take care of her, brother.” The king nudged Prince Lark. “You need the practice.”
“My ability is almost as stalwart as yours,” Prince Lark protested.
“Almost. But you lack control. So go ahead.” He waved to the girl as if she were a thing of little importance. “Practice.”
Kaysar realized he had a choice. Save the girl and his conscience, perhaps condemning himself and Viori in the process, or walk away and condemn the girl and his conscience.
Could he save her? One boy against three fae royals? And if he failed? What of Viori?
The need for debate ended there. He lowered his bow. For Viori’s continued well-being, he must do nothing.
His stomach turned as Prince Lark cupped the girl’s face and her eyes widened with terror. Choking sounds left her as black lines appeared in her skin. She struggled against him, doing her best to sever their connection, but the prince held on and on and on.
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