Ascension Series Boxset: Books 1 - 3

by Laura Hall

  And my dad was missing. Maybe hurt, or worse.

  I was helpless to stop the first strangled sob, or the second. All at once the floodgates opened, and I was crying in front of the Western Prime. Not a contained, feminine sniffling, either. No—I was slave to a full-blown, horrendously loud sob-fest.

  When arms came around me, lifted me, and settled me against a solid chest, I was too far gone to care who they belonged to. It had been so long since I’d been held. So damned long.

  “Hush, mo spréach. All will be well. I will keep you safe.”

  Against my better judgement, I believed him.

  Six

  Reality crashed my pity-party fast. Before the Prime’s shirt could absorb more than a few of my tears, I jumped from his arms and raced into the bathroom. Locking the door behind me, I cranked on the water in a massive, glass-enclosed shower, tore off my smelly clothes, and inserted myself into the scalding flow.

  I let the water rinse the final tears from my face, breathing in short bursts until the wall around my emotions was rebuilt—a familiar exercise that didn’t take long.

  Growing up with a single male parent, a police detective to boot, hadn’t afforded me much leeway for feminine hysterics. From a young age, I’d recognized the deep sadness my stalwart father concealed and modified my behavior accordingly.

  The older I grew, the more my role evolved. As soon as I arrived home from school, I started cooking a healthy dinner for the two of us. I did the laundry, cleaned the house, and made sure his favorite magazines were stocked beside his recliner. I was too busy for teenaged tantrums, moping, or lovesickness. By self-appointment, I was his rock.

  When the time arrived for me to fill out college applications, my dad had expressly forbidden me from applying to schools in Los Angeles. I’d been shocked by the pronouncement. Hurt and betrayed. He’d decided he didn’t need me anymore—didn’t want me anymore.

  It took a few years for me to understand that, in his stoic way, he’d given me a gift. I’d gone north to Berkeley and had the best four years of my life. The most important lesson I’d learned was that sometimes the greatest act of love was letting someone go.

  God, I really hoped he was okay.

  It had been a long time since I’d showered minus sparks. So long that at first, the lack of electricity was disconcerting. Eventually, though, I resigned myself to somatic pleasure. I’d never experienced a waterfall showerhead before.

  When my skin was red and puckered, I turned my attention to the row of bath products displayed on a cutout shelf. I scrubbed my body until it was raw, shaved my legs, and washed and conditioned my hair until it was a silky sheet down my back. When there was nothing else to do except wait for the water to go cold, I regretfully turned off the flow.

  The largest, fluffiest towels I’d ever seen waited on a heated rack. I wrapped one around my head and the other around my body, then unzipped the overnight bag left by the door.

  “Jesus, Mal,” I muttered as I pulled out the third sports bra.

  Clearly, my uncle hadn’t been able to bring himself to open my actual underwear drawer, as there were no panties or regular bras. There were two tank tops, two pairs of leggings I ran in, and three long-sleeved shirts. Tennis shoes but no socks. A pair of flip-flops. No jacket or sweatshirt for the cooler climate. At least he’d packed deodorant, though that was the limit of personal hygiene products.

  Thanks a bunch, Mal.

  I settled on black leggings and a long-sleeved black shirt. The color suited my frame of mind. Dark and determined.

  Sometime between shaving my legs and conditioning my hair, I’d come to a conclusion. I wanted my lightning back. As far as I saw it, the only way that was going to happen was if I let the Prime teach me discipline. Whatever that entailed. I wasn’t convinced he could or that it was even possible, but after weighing my options, it was the only chance I had of getting what I wanted.

  For starters, my life back.

  By the time I finished dressing, I had barely enough energy to towel-dry my hair. Two days in a magical coma probably had something to do with it; either that, or I was experiencing the side effects Adam had mentioned.

  Slipping my feet into flip-flops, I unlocked the bathroom door and peeked out, immediately heaving a sigh of relief at the sight of an empty room. No alluring, mind-reading vamps or white-eyed mages in the vicinity.

  Every step toward the closed bedroom door ratcheted up my anxiety. From a quick survey out the windows at a heavily forested, twilit terrain, I was relatively certain I was at the Prime’s compound outside Seattle. If so, and if the gossip rags were correct, I was surrounded by not only vamps and mages, but the third spoke of the Prime’s triumvirate, the Alpha, and his pack of werewolves.

  I considered crawling back into bed and waiting for someone to make sure I was still alive, but gnawing hunger pains won out.

  With a deep breath for courage, I swung open the bedroom door and abruptly loosed an undignified yelp. An unfamiliar, scowling man stood directly opposite me, his fist raised to knock. He was built like a lumberjack, with unkempt dark hair, a trimmed beard, and piercing, pale blue eyes. Power leaked from him in a continuous stream, thick and pulsing like a heartbeat.

  Icy eyes surveyed me from head to toe, stalling a few moments on my messy, wet hair before settling on my face. The scowl never faltered as he growled, “I’m Declan.”

  Declan Thomas, the Western Alpha.

  I sighed. “I really can’t catch a break, can I?”

  To my everlasting shock, the scowl melted from Declan’s features. A wide grin looked much more at home on his face. It also radically altered my first impression of him, as well as his overall attractiveness.

  I stuck out my hand, figuring I might as well take advantage of being able to touch people. “I’m Fiona Sullivan. Nice to meet you.”

  He looked at my hand, then glanced up with a wicked glint in his eye. “I bet you’re hell at parties.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “What?”

  He pointed at my hand, which was still hanging in the air but beginning to wilt. “You know, zapping unsuspecting people.”

  Great, another jackass.

  I sighed and let my hand fall, but Declan caught it before it reached my side, giving it a firm shake before releasing me. A marked ruddiness stained his cheekbones.

  “I’m sorry, that was in poor taste. Good to meet you, Fiona.” He cleared his throat. “I was told you might be hungry.”

  “God, yes,” I said emphatically.

  Declan chuckled. “I can fix that. Follow me.”

  We walked down an elegant hallway with dark wood floors and white walls to the elevator at its end. Declan depressed a button on the wall, then pulled a keycard from his pocket.

  “I’d better give this to you now so I don’t forget,” he said and handed it to me.

  I stared dubiously at the silver card, not plastic as I’d assumed, but a lightweight metal etched with a complex design.

  “What’s this for?”

  “The elevator. Access to this floor is restricted.”

  I glanced back down the hallway. Across from the bedroom I’d woken up in was another, matching door, and at the far end were double doors. All were closed. A touch of claustrophobia tickled the back of my throat.

  I looked at Declan. “A key to my own prison, huh?”

  He squinted at me in confusion. “You’re a guest, not a prisoner.” At my skeptical look, he continued intently, “You’re staying in the private residence of the Prime. His rooms are at the end of the hall and the one opposite yours is his library.”

  I blinked, shook my head, and blinked again, but the words were still ridiculous. Declan smirked. “Most women would kill to be in your position, but from the look on your face, I’d say you’d rather run screaming.”

  I blurted, “What if the elevator breaks?”

  He frowned. “Why would it break?”

  I opened my mouth, then closed it, realizing my former issue
s with disrupting electrical circuits were, at least temporarily, irrelevant.

  “Are there stairs, at least?”

  Declan’s pale eyes twinkled with humor. “Hatching an escape plan?”

  In spite of my anxiety, I grinned. “I thought you said I wasn’t a prisoner.”

  The elevator pinged and the doors parted on a willowy blond. At the sight of us, she paused mid-step, her full red lips parting in surprise. Hazel eyes narrowed on Declan before shifting to my face. I winced at the cold zing of eye contact and looked quickly down.

  I wasn’t sure if she was a daywalker vamp like the Prime or had been turned by Ascension, but either way, she was packing a lot of power. And I was defenseless.

  “Who is this?” she snapped. “Where’s Connor?”

  Declan stood stiffly beside me, clearly not a fan of the vamp. Based on the disdain I’d glimpsed in my brief eye contact with her, I felt safe predicting I wasn’t going to be a fan, either.

  “Samantha, this is Fiona.”

  I glanced at Declan sharply—his voice was a bit too smug for comfort. My suspicions were confirmed when he added brightly, “She’s staying in the Consort’s suite.”

  The resulting silence was almost worse than hysterics. Still avoiding eye contact with the vamp, I shifted until Declan’s broad shoulder was between us. If she came at me, I wanted him in the way.

  Behind us, a door clicked open.

  “Samantha,” said that smooth, amused voice I was beginning to loathe. “Ms. Sullivan is immune to you, so you may cease trying to influence her.”

  I stiffened in surprise, glancing over my shoulder to see a bare-chested Prime standing in the library’s doorway. Unsurprisingly, his upper body was a study in chiseled perfection.

  My mouth went a little dry.

  “Declan, please don’t bait Samantha. And Fiona…” His gaze flickered to my hair. “After you’ve eaten, please join me in the library.”

  When he looked at Samantha and nodded once, I started breathing again. She strode past us, graceful on her four-inch stilettos, but not before sliding me a glare of undiluted malice. I instinctively recoiled, which brought me flush to Declan’s side. His shifter aura was a good deal more potent than my father’s, but was familiar enough to dull the edges of my fear.

  “You okay?” he murmured.

  I shuddered. “Yeah. She’s a real peach.”

  He snorted, and we watched like voyeurs of a train wreck as Samantha greeted the Prime with a full-body press and an excess of tongue.

  “Yuck,” I breathed, shaking my head. “Can we go?”

  “Hell yes,” said Declan, and we stepped quickly into the elevator.

  The doors began to slide shut, and because I couldn’t help myself, I took one more look down the hallway. Samantha’s mouth was on the Prime’s throat, her blond head tucked into his neck. His eyes, now dark as the forest outside, were locked on mine.

  When the elevator doors thumped closed, I released a shaky breath and glanced at Declan. “Let me guess, Samantha’s the jealous type?”

  He smirked. “You could say that. I’m sure after Connor explains your presence, she’ll leave you alone.”

  I sighed, doubting his assessment. “Is there a private kitchen? I don’t think I can handle any more surprises tonight.”

  He nodded, eyes softening with compassion. “Adam told me why you’re here, and about the spelled bracelets. I can’t begin to imagine what you must be feeling right now. If someone took away my ability to shift…” He shook his head, whistling beneath his breath.

  I clenched my hands, his words compounding my ache of loss. “It’s not pleasant, I’ll say that.”

  “I’m sure it’s only temporary.”

  He didn’t sound convinced, and neither did I as I said, “Yeah, temporary.”

  Seven

  Declan Thomas made a mean grilled cheese sandwich, packed with basil, tomatoes, and four types of cheese. After I scarfed down two of them, he insisted I drink two tall glasses of water to rehydrate. In reward, he presented me with an icy bottle of imported beer.

  We sat at a table in a small kitchen somewhere in the rear of the Prime’s compound. The main kitchen, he explained, would be chaos at this hour, filling dinner orders for hundreds of shifters and mages, and bottled breakfasts for newly risen vamps. As promised, he’d circumvented the main hallways by sticking to stairwells and shadowed corridors. Whether intentional or not, I had no hope of finding my way back to the elevator without him.

  I eventually found the courage to ask him why he’d been scowling when I opened the door. He told me he’d been thinking about his laundry. After having a good laugh, we did the usual small talk routine. Favorite sports teams. Starbucks or Seattle’s Best. Star Trek or Star Wars, et cetera. The conversation veered off, evolved, and I soon concluded that at least one member of the Western Triumvirate was relatively normal.

  After accepting my second beer, I asked, “So tell me, is it a big, happy, cross-species family here at the compound?”

  Declan took a swig from his own bottle before replying. “Hardly, but interaction is mostly limited to meal times and weekly assemblies. It helps that Connor built three separate wings with private entrances and exits. The two above ground are for the shifters and mages, the one below for the vamps.”

  I whistled. “I can understand you having your pack close, but why so many vamps and mages?”

  He gave me a look that said he wholeheartedly agreed, but capitulated with, “The mages are here to learn from the Omega. There’s usually twenty or so living onsite at any given time. As for the vamps, it’s not a well-known fact, but Connor maintained a nest after being appointed Prime. He has thirty vamps who call him master.”

  I shuddered in exaggerated horror. “Including Samantha, I presume?”

  Declan shook his head, grinning. “He met her at a benefit function in Seattle last year. She definitely wants to be invited into the fold, though. In case you didn’t notice, she has her eye on that Consort’s suite.”

  I thought of Samantha as I’d last seen her, her face against the Prime’s neck. Grimacing, I asked, “Does he feed all his vamps?”

  He nodded, humored by my reaction. “Some more than others. It’s considered a great gift to drink from one as old as he.” I lifted my brows questioningly and he grinned. “Oh, no. You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

  I brought my beer to my lips, only to realize the bottle was empty. The heady brew had warmed my muscles and given me a pleasant glow.

  I set the bottle down and sighed. “I suppose it’s time to answer the Prime’s summons.”

  “You don’t have to call him that,” said Declan with mirth. “He prefers Connor.”

  I shook my head but didn’t elaborate. I wasn’t sure I could. Connor Thorne was the Prime, nothing more or less. Instead, I stood and clasped my hands before my chest.

  “Take me to your leader?”

  He laughed, standing to collect our bottles and toss them into a nearby recycle bin. He met me at the entrance to the kitchen. “You, Fiona Sullivan, are an interesting woman. I’m not sure there’s many people who, in your position, would be joking around.”

  I winked, aware that the booze had made me flirty but unable to put a cap on it. “I have a high tolerance for crazy.”

  Declan grinned, reaching up to touch the hair beside my temple. It was a light touch, but I felt it to my toes.

  “Have you ever tried to dye this?”

  “Oh, yes, with every dye known to man. It won’t take color. At least it’s small enough I can hide it under the rest of my hair.”

  He gave me an odd look. “You can’t hide this.” His large, warm hand stroked across the side of my head. “It’s the width of my palm.”

  A peculiar sensation tingled across the back of my neck. “What? No, it’s not.”

  I reached up and our hands connected. Declan stilled, his pale eyes taking on a yellow tinge. Abruptly, he pulled away and took a step back, turning toward
the door.

  “Come on,” he said gruffly. “Let’s get you back.”

  I followed him meekly, barely paying attention to my surroundings except to look for a mirror. I saw no reason for Declan to lie, but still struggled to make sense of it. If what he said was true, then sometime during the last forty-eight hours, the inch-thick streak of white in my hair had quadrupled.

  By the time we reached the familiar hallway of the Prime’s residence, I hadn’t seen a mirror, but had a pretty good idea of when the change had happened.

  When I stepped from the elevator, Declan didn’t follow. “I’ll leave you here,” he said, giving me a jaunty salute. “Good luck.”

  Gratitude flooded me, along with a surprisingly potent affection given we’d just met. The feeling, I knew, was more than just a result of the beer in my belly. Our impromptu meal and conversation had been marked with an ease of companionship I hadn’t felt since before Ascension. He’d touched me, too, but unlike the Prime, he was warm, engaging, and relatable.

  Before I could rein in the impulse, I asked, “Dinner tomorrow?”

  Surprise flared in his eyes, quickly replaced by pleasure. “Absolutely. Have a good night, Fiona.”

  I was still staring at the closed elevator doors when, from somewhere behind me, a low voice said, “Before you launch into dangerous territory, I should warn you that Declan is romantically involved with a shifter in his pack.”

  My beer buzz vanished in a flash. I turned, meeting the gaze of the Prime. He leaned against the library doorjamb, dressed casually in black lounge pants and a white T-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders. Muscled arms were crossed over his chest; he looked like he’d been watching me awhile.

  I stuffed down my embarrassment. “I asked you to stop reading my mind.”

  “I didn’t. There was lift in your core body temperature and the release of pheromones. I smelled the direction of your thoughts.”

  I blinked. “That’s disturbing. And invasive.”

  “I agree,” he said mildly. “I would prefer not to smell you at all. Your odor is exceedingly distracting.”