Cimmerian Shade: A Limited Edition Paranormal Romance & Urban Fantasy Collection

by Kiki Howell

  "Hold on, almost there." Staring down at the dark hole, she threw him down into the darkness and climbed down after him, closing the door above her. Her eyes immediately adjusted to the darkness.

  The den was extremely minimalist and only consisted of a wooden crypt lined with dusty satin and pillows and an electric lamp. She attempted to turn the lamp on, but it was dead.

  She turned to find Tristan, an unmoving heap, next to her feet. This guy was definitely old school, but Zoë also suspected he didn't sleep down in the den. His bedroom seemed more lived in than the den. In any case, he was safe from light and could sleep until nightfall.

  Rolling him over onto his back, Zoë pushed away the coat, then the dark hair and dirt from his face, to find the vampire was quite attractive.

  He had a strong jaw and defined cheekbones. Quaint, but full lips rounded out his features against his pale skin. She didn't really notice before, as a gun staring you in the face tended to change priorities.

  Leaning over him, she began to breathe him in. That essence of his was unique, dark and arousing. Her fingertips gently hovered over him, and she leaned down inches from Tristan's face to taste the blood that lingered on the corner of his mouth.

  Just a taste, she thought. I've earned it.

  Enthrallment called to her as she desperately pressed her face to his, letting her lips trail across his mouth, hoping to taste a bit of his blood. She darted her tongue at the corner of his mouth. As she licked her lips, a shock wave of excitement tingled her body and shot down to the center of her.

  She gasped as her body roared to life. He tasted sweet. More sugar than salt, but more pain than pleasure was how she would describe it. Old vampires always had the strongest, sweetest blood. And this one had a warrior's heart—she could feel it.

  Zoë couldn't push herself away, but she had to. The temptation was far too strong. She could drain him dry right there, and it would all be over. Her sleeping prince would shrivel like a rose in heat, and the bind would be broken, freeing her to seek out the truth.

  Do it. It would be so easy. A long kiss goodnight. When her fangs grew and grazed his throat, Tristan groaned, briefly but barely opening his eyes to her.

  Like a spell broken, Zoë's eyes widened as she realized her body was priming itself for another victim. Tristan. She had to get away from him, or she'd kill him.

  At that point, some distance was better than no distance. The more she stayed around him, the more often enthrallment would trigger. Tristan was right—whoever bound them together only wanted one thing to occur. The death of the vampire by a Black Blood Demon.

  She scrambled backward as Tristan passed back out. Not taking another chance, Zoë went back up the trapdoor and got out of the den. She slammed the door shut and sat on top of it with a sigh. Her body cramped, knotting at the rejected promise of being fully sated. She retched, but there was nothing to release.

  "I truly cannot remember ever working so hard not to kill a vampire."

  She shook her head at the irony of it. There she was, a Black Blood Demon sitting in her underwear, alone in a vampire's home, protecting him until nightfall. No portal access to go home. No weapons. No clothes.

  She scoffed aloud. "This is bullshit."

  After a few minutes of seeing some folks on the sidewalk staring at her sitting down in full view, Zoë finally decided to get up and give herself some semblance of privacy. She picked up the half split door and dragged it to the doorway to prop it up. It was by no means, safe or secluded, but it didn't draw as much attention as a doorless home with a half-naked demon in it.

  Her eyes traveled upwards to the upstairs bedroom she found herself chained in hours ago. Being bound to Tristan the vampire, she couldn't go far for what she needed, but at least she could start in his house first.

  Zoë looked at the wall clock. It would be several hours until sunset, so she had to use her time wisely, starting with finding some clothes. Then when sleeping beauty woke up, it would be time to go to church.

  CONSTANCE MARCHED OUT of the throne room, her black dress fluttering behind her like sordid wings failing to take flight. The smell of lilies everywhere was nauseating and also the final straw in getting her to leave.

  She pushed through the group of vampires who hovered waiting for an audience. "Move, assholes!"

  She ignored the peanut gallery’s mumbling as she continued past them. The clicking of her heels against the hard linoleum was the only sound echoing out as she made her determined strides through the hall.

  Everyone was preparing for tonight's memorial and Union address as The Three were to present what had happened with the death of Ivana. This would be the memorial for her tonight, and all the royal blue banners had been dropped and tied with red sashes, signifying the death of a fallen vampire in the upper echelon of their society.

  Walking through the hall, Constance could still smell the oil lamps which burned brightly in Ivana's honor.

  Good riddance, Constance thought to herself as she pushed more people out of her way that didn't move for her. Javen's little pet was nothing but a ball and chain on the rest of them. Her idealism was simply toxic to the true nature of the vampire race. It was cute at first, but honestly, vampires submitting to the other Supes for peace? How long did naive little Ivana expect Javen to entertain such ridiculousness?

  But if the masses want a martyr, we will make her a martyr.

  Finally reaching the outer doors of Javen's private chambers, she pushed through to find him alone. He stared out into the moonlight, his eyes fixed out towards the night sky.

  His tall, muscular frame stood solemnly, all in black with the exception of the blood red tie. He used one of Ivana's swan brooches as a tie tack. It didn't take a genius to figure out how he was feeling at that moment, but regret was not a welcomed emotion for what they had to accomplish.

  Constance purposely slammed the door behind her, immediately jarring him from his brooding. He turned to look at her for just a moment, then back into the night's void.

  "What are you doing here, Constance? I wish to be left alone."

  She rolled her eyes and scoffed at his maudlin display. "The black widower can mourn later for the masses. What are we going to do about our little problem?"

  Javen didn't flinch, didn't move. "And which little problem is that?"

  Constance walked swiftly through the chamber, coming towards him. "What problem? Just the only one that could jeopardize our plans! Everything is depending on the belief that Ivana's untimely death was the result of Green Girls and the Were-shifters going renegade and attacking the vampires."

  "I know."

  "Good! Cause there can be no question! And your wayward commander, Tristan, is asking questions he should not be asking. Why didn't we kill him during the attack?"

  Javen finally turned to meet her eyes. His pupils black and hyper dilated, he sneered at her. "I wasn't expecting your squad to be so sloppy. Besides, we needed a witness to confirm what happened. Tristan was supposed to believe the same as everyone else. I clearly underestimated his prowess, just like I overestimated the squad and their ability to carry out a simple job, even when all of the odds were in their favor."

  "Admit it; this was your fault. No one told you to put Tristan on this detail, to begin with!"

  Javen rubbed his head. A common reaction when he spoke for long periods of time with the bitch Queen of the vampires.

  "No one was going to believe that I would put anyone but Tristan on a detail as important as Ivana or us for that matter. If I'd chosen someone lesser, it would've raised suspicions."

  Constance folded her arms, frowning. "No one was sloppy." She pointed her finger at him. "You waited too long to make this decision in the first place! Drago and I told you this should've been done months ago, but instead you coddled and toyed with Ivana until she'd already made significant contact with Remelia, Otto, and whoever other Supe leaders remained in the mix! How can you expect we climb to the top of the food chain when yo
ur pet is trying to be head of the fucking supernatural ACLU?"

  His teeth grounded against his jaw. "Shut up, Constance. What do you want from me? What's done is done." Javen glared at her. "What sacrifice have you made to this cause?"

  "Don't you dare tell me to shut up! And this is not about sacrifices. This is about cleaning one's mess. A mess you made into the grand scheme of things. I know you loved Ivana, but she was a casualty... and a liability."

  Constance reached out and gently caressed his face like a consoling lover. "This was what we wanted. What we all wanted. Our people need to know we are rising. War is coming, Javen, you said it yourself. Be thankful. Your little bird managed to build a legacy of peace, and we can use that to our advantage. But first, we have the stop the other little bird in our midst from singing."

  She ran her finger past his jaw, then down to Ivana's diamond swan brooch. "So what are we planning to do about it?"

  Javen turned away from her, his hands behind his back as the moonlight shadows cast gray against his midnight attire. "Where's Remelia?"

  Constance smiled. "Behaving, but she still won't talk. She had done a powerful cast before we found her, I know it, but she won't talk. And frankly, with the power that bitch has, we keep her gagged and salted as often as possible."

  It may have been seen as overkill for an average witch, but there was no taking chances with a Supreme witch. They knew far too much to where even their tongue could be a weapon against vampires. Drago even demanded they buried her up to her neck in salt, the weight of it suspending her without motion and nullifying her powers as much as possible. Even then, it took quite a bit of convincing to stop Drago from simply cutting out her tongue.

  Javen straightened his sleeves. "Doesn't matter. We also have the grimoire now, so I doubt it was anything epic she did. The Green Girls are up in arms and on high alert to find her."

  Constance shrugged. "They really don't realize how fucked they are now in this fight. Too bad we don't have good leverage on Otto and his Were-shifters like this."

  "No matter." Javen began to pace. Turning and walking towards Constance, he finally stopped and folded his arms. "The Green Girls want someone to stand accountable for their madam's disappearance. So let's give them someone to pick a bone with then." He looked out into the night and gave a smirk.

  "What are you thinking?"

  Javen checked his Rolex and saw the time for Ivana's memorial and address was near. "Let's let our enemies take out our other enemies. After the address, tonight, message the Green Girls we have a renegade vampire on the loose." He turned to face her and smiled. "And he may have been responsible for Remelia's disappearance."

  Constance smiled, her devious attitude oozing out her pores. "The Green Girls will go ape shit and probably kill him on sight, they are so riled up, but I worry putting a vampire in the path of being even remotely responsible proves a risk to us."

  Javen began to walk towards the doors. "What risk? They hate us and probably suspect us anyway. The best way to divert that energy is to a scapegoat. And after the speech to our people tonight, any victory they feel after killing Tristan will be short lived. The vampires are hungry for dominance and respect... so let's give them a reason.”

  .

  Chapter Eight: Shadow Games

  MR. DARKNESS LIKES to play wicked games., and within his brilliant symphony of the macabre, he toys with his prey. Teasing, tempting, savoring the interlude, he gives you to think you're finally free from his grasp. He watches. He waits. And when the crescendo of your bliss for life is at its absolute highest, he calls your number.

  No pomp and circumstance.

  No curtain call.

  Your show is now over.

  So funny really, his ultimate deception is not that he'll eventually claim you; it's that the dangerous games he crafts are addictive, sensual, and far too tempting to ever stop playing.

  So let the games begin.

  THE GRAND HALL WAS filled wall to wall with vampire society from all over. Old World vampires from other monarchies that normally would never bother to cross the waters were in attendance to pay honor and respect to Javen's consort, Ivana of Bainsborough.

  Aisles of royal blue and black fabric lined the hall, along with miles of fresh cut lilies that took the after hours work of a dozen florists to construct. The gaslights shined down on the hordes of vampires entering the hall, many in black clothing, but also in red, which was considered a more traditional color of mourning in the vampire culture.

  Dashiell and the members of the Royal Guard stood at attention, watching in silence and without their commander. The dais held the thrones of The Three, where Constance and Drago sat quietly looking out to the crowd.

  Constance stared out, almost devoid of emotion and smoothed out her crimson, satin gown. Her Elizabethan collar gave her a regal, but chilly aura which played apropos to her current attitude. She cast her eyes to Drago who, dressed in his black suit, resembled a robin with a red vest.

  The air held a dark charge of anger, mysticism, and fear. An atmosphere ripe for The Three to plant the seeds of what they referred to in secret as the reaping.

  Javen walked out from the royal blue curtains to the cheers and applause from the congregation of vampires in attendance. He swaggered to the podium like a confident politician, giving a stern but warm expression as he silenced the crowd.

  "Power should always be tied to action, not rhetoric." He began, staring into the sea of vampires. "That is what my dark flower, Ivana, said often. She believed that we as Vampires, as a people of fierce strength and superiority, owed it to ourselves to attempt building peace with the other Supes.

  “This fighting was slowly weighing on our people. We've lost so many of our own. Ivana had sought for this peace with our full support. She'd convinced us, even me, that this was best for our race."

  Javen took a breath and looked down. The crowd stood attentively as he finally sighed and brought his crestfallen eyes back to the crowd.

  "It is with deep sadness that I tell you all that Ivana was brutally slain by the very Supes with whom she tried to make peace."

  The congregation erupted with hisses, yells, and dissonance.

  Javen raised his hand. "While on route to engage in talks with the Green Girls and Were-shifters, her motorcade was attacked. She was captured and staked in which appeared to be a sacrificial ritual."

  The crowd exploded with hateful slurs.

  "Wicked bitches!" Screamed out a female vampire, with her eyes blazing red.

  "Fucking dark-hearted, backstabbing Green bitches!" a male vampire near Dashiell belted out in anger.

  Drago shook his head. "I wish we had better news, but this is dismal and quite unexpected."

  Constance frowned. "Indeed. We've wanted so much to make peace with the witches as well as the Were-shifters. It doesn't look optimistic over the circumstances."

  Javen leaned against the podium. "We're still investigating, but the cleaning crew reported bodies of both Were-shifters and witches at the scene. They were in tactical clothing and engaged in the attack.

  “Nothing has come from either Remelia's or Otto's defense, and that leaves us with nothing but the facts that their people were involved with the killing of one of our own. Our Ivana. Our dark Lily was stolen from us, when all she wanted was peace. They spat on that budding truce by betraying her, ultimately betraying us!"

  Javen turned to witness Constance and Drago nodding in approval. The vampires shouted in agreement.

  "Now, I know Ivana wanted peace. But it's that same peace that the Green Girls chose to stab our beloved ambassador in the back with. The same peace that the Were-shifters used to attack her!

  “I want everyone to be on their guard until this is sorted out. Stay alert, vigilant. Tomorrow night, we will hold the funeral pyre for Ivana, a ceremony she herself designed to remember our fallen." He looked to the sky. "Tomorrow night, we will remember you."

  Javen looked to the restless and upset cro
wd of vampires. Their hisses and calls grew the tension of the solemn address to a fever pitch. The seed had been planted, and now it was time to let it grow.

  "We are bold and dominant creatures. Tomorrow night, we will also remember who we are."

  As Javen and The Three exited the hall, Javen eyed Dashiell and stopped. "I want Christophe found, and where the hell is your Commander Castillion?"

  Dashiell shook his head. "I don't know. It's not like him to have not been here. But then again, last I heard, you and him had a disagreement, didn't you? He was pretty broken up last time I saw him... and hellbent on finding out what happened to Ivana."

  Javen frowned. "Tristan has some mistaken thoughts about the events leading to Ivana's death. Thoughts that are both harmful to our race and treasonous in nature." A muscle ticked angrily at his jaw as he stared at Dashiell. "And I wouldn't go delving into messy little rumors if I were you, Dashiell. If you want to continue being of some use to the cause, you should inform us as soon as you locate him."

  Dashiell folded his arms, popping his gum. "Is that an order, sir?"

  Javen nodded. "Now that Tristan Castillion is released from duty, I have great concern that his loose cannon attitude will continue to add fuel to this rather raging fire between the Supes. His emotions can make him reckless, and we, The Three, find him dangerous. Until Christophe is found, he is considered a concern as well. I'm leaving nothing to chance."

  He patted a tense Dashiell on the shoulder. "So congratulations, Commander Gray. You've just been promoted." He then leaned in, glaring at him in warning. "Now go hunting."

  TRISTAN PUSHED THROUGH the heavy wooden doors, his armor and fatigue weighing him down. He could see the trail of blood from a unique pattern on the church marble. The rich crimson liquid dripped from her gown as she laid there.

  She laid peaceful while the war raged outside the holy doors. His sword and shield dropped from his hands. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to be here to protect them.