Garden of Serenity

by Nina Pierce

  “… and neither time nor distance will diminish my love. My heart. Your heart. Beating as one until the end of time …”

  It was Jahara’s favorite part of the ballad. Mikalyn’s rendition added a poignancy that swelled Jahara’s heart. She thought of all that had come to pass and all that was yet to be.

  In the last month, Bresilee’s mansion had been leveled and her cloned embryos destroyed. No one believed they would grow into viable fetuses anyway. The well-check had been expanded to encompass the room where Bresilee had tortured men and now physicals for both men and women were conducted there. The red door was the last item swallowed by the incinerator before the furnace was destroyed and the chute filled with sand. The accumulated ashes of Bresilee’s countless victims were blessed and scattered throughout the flowerbeds of Serenity.

  Merenith had moved here to work with Nazaret at the farm.

  After Brenimyn’s call on that tragic night, it was Merenith who had alerted Jahara’s Dame. The imperial guard arrived at the Garden only hours after Bresilee’s death. Imposing martial law, they’d sorted through the mess until the new government could be established.

  Breeders, both male and female, were given the freedom to remain or return to their homelands. Many committed couples had chosen to stay. This would be the first government sanctioned village allowing men and women to reside in the same dwelling. There was still so much to do to sort out work assignments, but for now everyone lived communally, each service provided for the good of all.

  Dr. Linsig, along with several high government officials and many of the staff, unable to accept the new laws, had chosen to leave the Garden for territories unknown.

  Accepting the position as chief healer, Jahara had resigned her post at the hospital in the capital city of Lexington. Over the past few months she’d worked with many breeders to heal both the emotional and physical scars left by Bresilee’s reign of terror. The clinic now provided medical attention for everyone and several male healers were being trained as apprentices.

  Having proven her healing skills, Mikalyn was promoted to head resident in charge of the healing facility and would be Jahara’s second-in-command. After the healer had nearly lost her life to save Jahara, it meant so much to have Mikalyn working at her side.

  The future held so much promise for all of them.

  She looked up, finally catching sight of him across the field. Riding tall and proud next to Lukiam, Brenimyn approached the ceremony on horseback. He was dressed in the finest clothing of white satin, the deep neckline of the tunic revealing the bronzed muscles of his chest and the small scar over his heart. No amount of repair by either her or Mikalyn on the night of the shooting could completely remove the offensive mark. It reminded Jahara every day of the sacrifice he’d been willing to make for her.

  It felt like months had passed since Jahara had seen him. Even with her Dame, her birth-sisters and Merenith living with her, Jahara thought she would perish from the emptiness his absence left in their new residence near the hospital. With five bedrooms, he’d promised to fill them all with children and love.

  In the tradition of the ancients, he’d moved out of their home only a week ago. Sequestered somewhere in the village of Serenity with the other men, he’d refused any communication from her. Though he knew she already carried his child, Brenimyn wanted their first night as husband and wife to have a virginal quality.

  The man had no idea how much she desired him if he thought she needed the isolation to make her feel that way. Every joining with Brenimyn was like opening a rare gift of true love.

  Dismounting, they handed the reins to Nazaret. Lukiam and Merenith walked ahead of them to the altar at the base of the rocks. They had agreed to stand before the crowd and bear witness to the eternal love Jahara and Brenimyn shared. This ceremony would legally commit them only to each other until the Creator of this earth brought them into the next realm.

  Everywhere, faces reflected the love exploding in her heart.

  Threading their fingers together, Brenimyn and Jahara walked past the friends and family gathered in eager anticipation of the monumental reform about to take place.

  “I’ve missed you, woman,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Weren’t you afraid in the absence, I might choose another breeder?”

  “Never.” His dimples danced around the smile lighting his face and sparking in the depths of his eyes. “I’m the best. You said so yourself.”

  She laughed. “My Bren, always so cocksure of yourself.”

  They reached the altar, turning to face one another as the final strains of the love ballad cascaded down over the crowd.

  “… our hearts, our souls, our destinies, forever twined together. Forever one man, one woman, one love …”

  And didn’t that just say it all.

  The End

  Please Enjoy this Excerpt from

  Shadows of Fire

  Chapter One

  It wasn’t much of a noise, just an inconsequential thump in the night that was enough to rouse Professor Paul Morgan from his dreamless slumber. Still cradled in the gentle arms of sleep, his blood thick with sleeping medication, he wasn’t sure if he’d simply imagined the sound. But when another muffled bang was followed by a whoosh of air—he had no doubt the commotion coming from the first floor had nothing to do with his mischievous tabby, Zeus.

  Drowsiness fogged his mind and blunted his coordination as he fumbled for his eyeglasses on the nightstand. Paul swung his feet to the floor and slipped them into well-worn leather slippers. He shuffled in the dark, still unable—even after thirty years of living alone—to disturb a wife long since departed. Life without his soul mate had been lonely at best, agonizing at worst. Nothing, not even his life’s research, filled the void she’d left in his heart. He grabbed his robe from the hope chest at the foot of the bed and rushed from the bedroom.

  The eerie orange glow emanating from his den at the bottom of the stairs wrapped iron bands of dread around his chest, stealing his breath. Everything near and dear to him was in that room; his wife’s portrait, the marble Sphinx from their honeymoon in Egypt, the antique bookcase she’d given him when he’d been awarded the chemistry department chair at the university—the bronzed baby shoes.

  His feet barely touched the treads as he rushed down the stairs, caution and prudence gone with the desperate need to salvage his memories. He came up short at the threshold.

  Swallowing hard, Paul worked to dislodge his heart wedged in his throat. Sharp claws of fear lifted the hairs on the back of his neck. A fire crackled safely in the fireplace across the room. Its orange and gold flames cloaked the person behind his desk in an otherworldly radiance, casting a sinister shadow that twisted and swelled along the paneled walls.

  A quick glance at the file cabinet in the corner reassured him his files were safe, but did nothing to assuage his apprehension. The research papers he’d left neatly stacked there were strewn haphazardly across its surface.

  He spoke to the back of the intruder’s head. “Wha … wha … what are you doing?”

  There was no response save for the clicking of computer keys.

  “I don’t know why you’re here, but I’m calling the police—” Paul said.

  A maniacal laugh rent the stillness, sending shards of Arctic terror and adrenaline surging through his veins.

  “No, Professor Morgan. We both know you cannot do that.” With a flourish, a hand came down hard on the keyboard. The monitor flicked rapidly through several screens before going black.

  “What have you done?” Paul rushed to the desk. A chilling wave of nausea rolled over the tightness in his chest, bringing water to his eyes. All the data and notes he’d accumulated over four decades were on that computer. Everything.

  “I didn’t want it to happen this way.” The words carried sadness, but the face that turned to stare at him was pure evil. A face he barely recognized. “You really shouldn’t have been quite so diligent in your vampire resea
rch, you know, Professor. You’re no match for their superiority. I sent obvious warnings for months, hoping you’d abandon this foolhardy course. But you ignored the signs.” A clicking tongue scolded him as if he were an obstinate child. Fingers steepled in front of lips thin with hatred. “A shame really. I have no doubt your brilliant mind will be missed by your colleagues. But you and your work have become too much of a liability to the vampire population to be allowed to live.”

  “You can’t get away with murder.”

  “Oh, I think we both know I have, and I will again.”

  Paul suspected the person rising out of the chair was referring to the rash of unsolved fires in South Kenton over the past summer. He refused to shudder as cold fingers of disgust walked up his spine. People had died in each of those blazes and the local fire department had no clue the monster standing before him was likely responsible for all of them. Until this moment he would have considered this person a friend. But obviously he’d morphed into a heinous murderer—a murderer with no conscience and a moral compass that pointed straight to hell.

  It had become brutally obvious the moment he’d entered the room, Paul would not survive this night. He threw back his shoulders and lifted his chin, accepting his fate with dignity. “I’ve already sent a copy of all of that to my lawyer.” He waved at the papers on the desk. “He knows. He knows and understands everything. None of this will stop when I’m dead.” Paul was pleased he could push the lie steadily past the panic clogging his throat. He’d been planning for months to save his research somewhere more permanent, but time and distractions had kept him from the task.

  “Please, don’t insult my intelligence.” The murderer gathered the papers on the desk and tapped them on its polished cherry surface. Elegant fingers aligned the edges before unceremoniously dropping them into the fire.

  “Nooo …” Paul lunged at the fireplace, but the hungry flames devoured everything he’d lived for over the last three decades. He wasn’t able to salvage even a small scrap of paper. “You don’t know what you’ve done. People are depending on that research.”

  “No one that matters. There isn’t a true vampire walking this earth who believes in what you’re doing.” The smile was reptilian, as if Satan himself had taken possession of this wayward soul. “And we both understand what is to come is inevitable. Preordained, if you will—”

  “You won’t get away with this.” Paul was repeating himself, but terror had stripped him of any coherent thought.

  “But I already have.” Several small objects flew from long fingers. Blue flames erupted on Paul’s desk. A ball of fire jumped to the leather chair next to the hearth. Another flew to the Aubusson rug he and his wife had bought on their honeymoon fifty years ago.

  “Stop!”

  “What you began, I will finish tonight.”

  Paul grabbed the decorative throw on the back of the couch, intent on pounding the growing flames into submission.

  Another burst of evil laughter split the air as the crystal vase on the mantel exploded in the growing heat of the fire. “That’s right, old man. Try to stop it.”

  Paul brought the blanket down hard on the fire spreading like a sickness across the rug. But the rapacious blaze would not be denied. It rapidly consumed the jacquard drapes and licked at the ceiling. The black smoke choking the air filled his nose and burned his lungs. He needed to get out. Abandoning the blanket, he turned to run.

  He saw the murderous demon raise the small ottoman only seconds before it crashed down on Paul’s world.

  * * * *

  “Oh, screw you, Burkett.” Reese Colton threw his cards down as the man across the table collected the two paper IOU’s along with a pile of money. Testosterone and laughter filled the fire station kitchen. “You all suck!” Reese drained the drink at his elbow.

  His best friend leaned back in the wooden chair and flicked the scrap of paper with his finger. “Oh, you’ll pay up on this one, buddy.” Josh Burkett flashed his familiar shit-eating grin. Only braces and modern dentistry had altered its appearance in the two centuries Reese had known him. “Not only do I have it in writing,” the chair banged down hard on the linoleum floor as Josh leaned over the marred table, shooting Reese a smug look of satisfaction, “I’ve got witnesses.” His outstretched arm indicated the four other firefighters sitting around the table.

  Reese had never welshed on a bet, especially if it was more along the lines of a dare or involved a woman—this one was both. Wagering an official date with the owner of the firefighter’s local watering hole against Josh’s month of station cleaning duties seemed like a sure thing. Now that he’d lost the bet, Reese was having his doubts. He’d been flirting his way around the woman for months—had even managed a friendly kiss or two—but he’d sidestepped anything deeper. A complicated relationship just wouldn’t work around all the shit going on his life at the moment.

  And a relationship with Alexandra Flanagan would be nothing but trouble.

  But with Josh pathetically lusting after some co-ed, his friend had goaded Reese into the bet. “You haven’t had anything better than a straight all night, Burkett.” Reese gathered the cards off the table and put them back in the box. “With a full boat, it was a pretty safe bet I’d be pocketing that paper and you’d have your head stuck in the station toilets for the next month.” His hand shot out, attempting to snatch the IOU from Josh.

  “Oh, hell no! You’re not backing out of this one.” Josh’s superior reflexes were as quick as Reese’s, keeping it from his grasp. He tucked the paper safely in the shirt pocket of his uniform. “This is our golden ticket to a front row seat of pure entertainment.”

  Timmons leaned in conspiratorially. “I’d be happy to cover that bet for you, Colton. I’m just afraid one night with me and that sexy Irish barmaid would find you just couldn’t measure up.”

  “A woman would choose a life of celibacy over a night with you, Timmons.” McLeod laughed as he cleared away the empty nacho plates, wing dishes and the drinking glasses, depositing them all in the industrial sink.

  Friendship, boredom, and the late hour made the whole situation humorous—at least to the other men in the room.

  “I’m thinking this date needs to happen in the next—”

  The shrill ring of the alarm speared through the firehouse, cutting Josh off mid-sentence. Conditioning and quick reflexes pressed the men into action. Chairs scraped across the floor and boots pounded through the adjoining day room.

  “Attention South Kenton fire.” The dispatcher’s disembodied voice filled the newly charged atmosphere. “Repeat. Attention South Kenton fire. Structure fire, East Brooker Road. Witnesses report potential occupants …”

  Six men slid down the brass pole, donning their bravery with their bunker gear.

  * * * *

  Glenn Karr set the fancy glass on the bar in front of the blonde, wondering when life had gotten so complicated.

  Thirty years ago he’d bought O’Malley’s Tavern and catered to the everyday Joe of South Kenton. Hard working men who drank their liquor straight up or from a tap, ate their food deep fried and full of calories and watched their sports on grainy televisions. It wasn’t until recently the younger crowd had been clamoring for mixed drinks with silly names and a menu that now included gluten-free pizza dough and salads. And despite the fact they all carried their lives in those foolish iPhones, his new clientele had insisted he hook up Wi-Fi and HDTV.

  Life over the centuries had certainly become more complicated.

  “That man of yours picking you up?” he asked the woman.

  “Josh? No, unfortunately he’s working at the fire station tonight. Why do you ask?”

  He nodded at the third pomegranate martini Hope Grayson had ordered. An hour hadn’t passed since she’d slipped in the door and dropped herself on his stool. A regular on the arm of one of the local firefighters, Hope wasn’t normally alone at the tavern. With recent events, Glenn wasn’t pleased she’d shown up without an escort. Fro
m the look of her disheveled hair and the sweat pants hanging low on her hips, he suspected she wasn’t too happy about the situation either.

  “Yeah, well I’m not driving home if that’s what you’re worried about.” She dragged her long nail around the rim of the glass. “I was bored and walked over from my apartment.” She craned her neck to look around the bar. “I was kind of hoping to talk to your partner in crime and maybe bum a ride home with—”

  “Evening, Glenn.” Ronan Nason sauntered into the tavern. His Armani suit jacket, pressed khakis and Italian boots were several steps above the local clientele. “Is it too late for a man to get a drink in this fine establishment?”

  After nearly a year of living on the west coast, the man’s heavy brogue hadn’t softened any more than his pretentious attitude. “We close in an hour. Just like every Thursday night.”

  “Well then I’ll have a glass of your finest Merlot.” Ronan leaned against the bar, leaving only a stool between him and the blonde, who was working to ignore him. She seemed to be one of the few females in town not enamored by his charm. “Evening, Hope.” Ronan touched the brim of a hat he wasn’t wearing. “I’m surprised to see you here. Nothing newsworthy going on tonight?”

  She flashed him a sarcastic smile and batted her lashes. “Like another grant to the university chemistry department for pig research?”

  Glenn set the glass of wine in front of Ronan, biting back a smile. The huge sum of money that had been gifted to the university had actually been funneled into the chemistry department from Ronan’s employer. It was more important to residents of South Kenton than humans realized. The fluff news piece Hope had done a few days ago had been carefully scripted by Professor Paul Morgan, head of the chemistry department, to look like another useless analysis of swine disease.