by Nell Stark
Synopsis
What happens when you lose the one thing you’d give your life to save?
When Valentine Darrow loses her soul, she embraces her role as one of the vampire elite. As Blood Prime of the clan of the Missionary, Valentine spends her days transforming an old family bank into the financial capital of the Consortium and her nights painting the town red. Blood red.
Alexa Newland believes their everafter to be over. But then a new discovery about an ancient myth kindles her hope that Valentine can be saved. Alexa must trek through the mountains of Argentina to recover a rare flower with mystical powers.
Will Alexa succeed in her quest before Valentine irrevocably crosses over to the darkness?
nightrise
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By Nell Stark and Trinity Tam
everafter
nevermore
nightrise
By Nell Stark
Running With the Wind
Homecoming
nightrise
© 2011 By Nell Stark and Trinity Tam. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-535-2
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: August 2011
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Cindy Cresap
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
Acknowledgments
We are first and foremost grateful to Cindy Cresap, who has helped us to weave together the many threads of Val and Alexa’s story.
We are likewise indebted to Radclyffe for sowing the seed of this idea years ago, for her invaluable feedback on this narrative, and for giving us the opportunity to publish with Bold Strokes Books. We’d like to thank all of the wonderful, hardworking, and selfless people at BSB—Connie, Lori, Lee, Sandy, Paula, Sheri, and others—for helping to put out and market quality product year after year. The members of Team BSB, including our many fellow authors, continue to inspire us and we count you all in our extended family.
Finally, our thanks goes out to each reader who picks up one of our books. This series is, above all, for you, and we hope you enjoy it.
Dedication
For the friends who helped us find our way back to each other, once upon a time.
alexa
Chapter One
I woke to the sound of sirens. Shrill and persistent, they reverberated in my ears and echoed my panicked thoughts. Gone.
Valentine was gone.
The urge to shift came on strong, and I curled into a ball around my twisted blankets. As the sounds of alarm gradually lengthened and faded, my heartbeat began to slow. I unclenched my fists and rolled onto my back to stare at the spider web of cracks in our ceiling. My ceiling. Gone.
And yet she wasn’t. I hadn’t seen Val in almost two months, but only because of a concerted effort on my part to avoid her. The gossip mill of the wereshifter/vampire Consortium was churning with news of her. Despite my self-imposed isolation, bits and pieces reached me, the flotsam and jetsam that survived each bend and drop of the river. Valentine Darrow had opened a highly exclusive club right underneath the mayor’s nose, near Gracie Mansion. Valentine Darrow had signed a lease on a penthouse apartment in Soho that had its own pool. Valentine Darrow was having an affair with Helen Lambros. Valentine Darrow was the woman to see if you were a vampire wanting to secure your financial future in these times of political upheaval.
I hadn’t had the strength to investigate any rumor except the last, and I’d been shocked to find it true. Only a week after our separation, apparently, Valentine had dropped out of medical school to take over the management of the smallest and least glamorous of her family’s banks. It had been known as Darrow Savings and Loan, a small-time operation that catered mostly to those of the older generation who lived on the porous border of Hell’s Kitchen and Midtown. Now, it was called the Bank of Mithras—a reference to the governing body of vampires, of which Val, as the sole survivor of the clan of the Missionary, was a member. Within days of her taking over, the bank had received several substantial deposits. And just like that, the trend had been set. With the Order’s endorsement, Val would be making money hand over fist. Maybe the rumor about the pool was true, too.
I turned onto my side for a few moments before finally swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the nearest window to warm my feet as they rested on the floor. I scrubbed my hands over my face and tried to gather myself. I’d slept away the middle part of the day for the third time this week. It was a concession to my feline half, who loved to doze in the warmth of the midday sun. I felt lazy for sleeping while most people had to work, and while the majority of my cohorts studied for the next day of class, but it also felt good to indulge my inner panther. Especially since she was all I had left.
My mouth felt dry, but I bypassed the bathroom in favor of the kitchen sink. I didn’t want to interact with a mirror right now, when I could feel the pillow crease on my cheek and the snarls in my hair. I had curled up on my bed immediately after coming home from class, without eating anything for lunch. Or breakfast. Half-heartedly, I put a piece of bread in the toaster and washed the few dishes I’d used last night. A wine glass. A bowl, still partially filled with rice. One pot.
You’re not eating enough, babe. I heard the words, the familiar intonations, as clearly as though Valentine were actually behind me, and I wrapped my arms around my middle as the spike of pain in my heart tried to flay me open. Early on in our relationship, Valentine had proclaimed herself my own personal chef. She had experimented tirelessly with my mother’s recipes until she had perfected my favorite childhood dishes. And she had always refused to let me skip meals, even when I’d barricaded myself in the library to study for finals.
“Even your ghost is a worrywart, Valentine,” I whispered, forcing myself not to turn around. My mind was just playing tricks on me again, as it had so often during these past weeks. Karma had suggested I relocate, and she’d even offered me the second bedroom in her apartment. But I couldn’t make myself leave. I couldn’t give up this place, not when Val’s essence seemed to permeate the very walls. And so I let the memories and sensations of Valentine as she had been—my loyal and loving champion—cascade over and through me despite the pain. She was my soul mate. Or at least, she had been. I wasn’t even sure that I believed in the concept of soul mates until Valentine’s departure ripped open such a chasm inside me, I didn’t ever think I’d be whole again. Maybe her soul truly was haunting me now—now that she was a full vampire.
When she had gotten sick in the late autumn, I hadn’t been surprised; each semester always brought with it a new cadre of germs. But instead of shaking off the bug, she’d grown rapidly worse. Val was always a terrible patient, and she’d refused any medical attention. I shouldn’t have trusted her judgment. Only when she lapsed into incoherent rambling, her skin fiery to the touch, did I contact the Consortium medical staff. While I waited for their house call, I’d forced a thermometer between her lips and discovered that her fev
er was pushing 104 degrees.
An echo of remembered terror sliced through me, and I leaned against the kitchen counter, toast forgotten. Harold Clavier himself, the chief Consortium physician, had shown up on our doorstep with a stretcher. As his assistants had worked to secure Val, I’d bombarded him with questions, only to be interrupted.
“You truly do not understand what is happening?” he’d asked in a tone both incredulous and disdainful. “Valentine is on the cusp of her transition. She will be a full vampire within the week.”
I should have known, or at least suspected. Val had been increasingly withdrawn in the months leading up to her illness, but I’d attributed her behavior to the stress of her second year of medical school piled on top of the anxiety she was suffering as blood prime—the last surviving member of the clan of the Missionary. Balthasar Brenner, a powerful werewolf alpha bent on overthrowing the Consortium itself, had a price on her head. She had every right to be preoccupied.
What I hadn’t known then was that Valentine had stopped drinking exclusively from me. The first time hadn’t been her fault; while I was in Africa over the summer, she had been given a blood transfusion against her will. As far as I knew, that transfusion marked the beginning of her downward spiral. Until that point, the vampire parasite that lived in her bloodstream had recognized my blood as a substitute for Val’s red cells. But as soon as she’d been exposed to the blood of others, mine stopped having special properties. Once she had emerged from the brief coma that marked her transition to full vampire status, I’d learned that Val had been drinking from other people for months—usually around the time of the full moon, when I made trips into the countryside to allow my panther the freedom to run under the open sky.
Valentine had betrayed me. That’s what it felt like. But then again, I was the one who had left New York for the summer, and my absence had been one of the contributing factors that led to her need for a transfusion. Hadn’t I betrayed her, in a way?
I shook my head and reached for the piece of toast. It was cool by now. After spreading some jam onto the bread, I took a bite. My stomach churned, but I forced myself to chew and swallow. And then again. I couldn’t afford to become weak. Retaining control over my panther demanded concentration and inner fortitude, both of which were in short supply at the moment.
Sometimes, the hardest cross to bear was the knowledge that Valentine still wanted me. She had woken thirsty from her coma, and I’d been there to sustain her. But her mouth had not been gentle on my skin, and her need had not been laced with tender passion. I’d had to struggle not to shift, and the experience of feeding her had left me nauseated instead of satisfied. And then I’d learned about the others from our mutual friend Karma.
A fellow shifter, Karma had been instrumental in helping me to become a Were so I could sustain Valentine forever. When we spoke shortly after Val’s transition, Karma admitted to having heard gossip about an increase in Val’s appetite, but at the time, she had dismissed the hearsay as rumormongering. I wasn’t angry with Karma—in this case, pinning down blame was a useless exercise—but I couldn’t help wanting to shake Val until her sharp teeth rattled for hiding the evidence of her deterioration.
Valentine hadn’t been apologetic in the slightest. “You’ve known the strength of my thirst from the beginning,” she had said, lips twisting into an incredulous frown when I confronted her. “And it’s grown exponentially. You can’t honestly expect me to be monogamous now. That’s completely unreasonable.”
Despite my sorrow, I had been firm. “Those are my conditions. Me and no one else, or this is over.”
She had paused, her eyes growing hazy. For a moment, she’d almost reminded me of her former self—soft and open, vulnerable in her desire. “You do taste so damn good. Exquisite, like a bouquet on my tongue. So much better than any—”
And then she’d cut herself off. Her gaze had measured me, both the length of my body and the strength of the steel behind my words. My skin had crawled under her callous appraisal.
“Fine.” The word had pierced that silent moment, shattering my hope. She had turned and walked away then. Out of the door and out of my life. I hadn’t seen her since. But her declaration had been tinged with petulance, and I knew she wasn’t pleased. I knew she still wanted me. Craved me, even.
The knowledge was a comfort colder than my toast. When I realized that I was just staring at the half-eaten piece of bread, I threw it into the trash. Why, why did I have to keep reliving those final moments? Why were my emotions just as raw today as they had been then? Why couldn’t I find shelter in reason and reach even the smallest modicum of acceptance?
The phone rang and I answered it quickly, glad of the distraction. It was Karma calling to check up on me. “We’re going out tonight,” she said without preamble.
I sighed. “Why do we have this conversation every week?” I wandered out into the living room and sank onto the couch, trying not to think about how many times Val had made love to me there, when she couldn’t wait the few seconds it would take to reach our bed. “I’ve told you before: I can’t go out. Not yet. I can’t see her.”
“Tonight is different. It’s shifters-only at Luna, so you can be sure you won’t run into her.”
I had just opened my mouth to take a different tack when the doorbell rang. “You’re not going to turn me away now, are you?” Karma sounded rather smug.
For a moment, I thought of doing just that. But as quickly as it had come, the flash of anger at her intrusiveness receded. Despite months of my reticence and solitary confinement, Karma hadn’t given up on me. She called every day, coaxing and pleading and cajoling me into conversation. Now she had decided it was time for the next step.
“All right. You win.” An unfamiliar smile tugged at my lips as I rose to buzz her in. Brushing some crumbs from my shirtfront, I prepared myself for the gentle chiding I would undoubtedly receive.
“Thank you for humoring me,” she said as she stepped inside. The scent of jasmine attended her light embrace, and as I inhaled deeply, I felt my stomach settle.
“Thank you for being persistent.” I hung up her coat and gestured for her to join me on the futon. Dressed in brown slacks and a shimmering gold top that matched the flecks of color in her dark eyes, she looked out of place in my shabby apartment. “Something to drink?”
She remained standing. “I’m fine. Let’s find you something to wear.”
While she went through my closet, I perched on the bed, wishing I could just lie back and let myself fall asleep again. But Karma remained singularly focused on her mission. When she extracted a pair of crimson leather pants and tossed them to me, tears suddenly threatened.
“I was wearing these when I first met Val,” I said quietly.
She was at my side in a second. “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Let me put them back.”
“No, it’s okay.” I slid my fingertips over the supple leather and tried to muster a brave face. “Not only are these totally hot, they’re also really quite comfortable.”
“See how they feel,” Karma said, flashing me an encouraging smile.
Suddenly determined, I kicked off my sweats. I was beautiful. I was intelligent. I was strong—stronger even than the grief that had taken root in my heart. And I was going out tonight.
*
My bravado sputtered out as soon as the taxi pulled away from the curb. Ever intuitive, Karma reached for my hand. For several long, silent minutes, I drew strength from her closeness, but as soon as I could trust my voice again, I pulled away.
“So tell me what you’re working on right now.” I needed a distraction, and Karma’s anecdotes were always good; as a curator for the Egyptian Art exhibit at the Met, she routinely handled items that had survived for millennia, and I enjoyed hearing her stories about both the artifacts in her charge and the history behind them.
“Last week, we got a shipment of artifacts recently excavated from the Nile delta. Some truly remarkable finds.”
Her enthusiasm made me smile. “Oh? Will a few join the permanent collection?”
“Absolutely.” She reached for her purse as the cab neared Luna, the most upscale and exclusive of the clubs that catered to New York’s wereshifter and vampire populations. “We’re still in the process of cataloguing, but once we’re finished, I might be able to get you an invitation to a private viewing. If you like.”
“I’d love to. You wouldn’t get into some kind of trouble, though, would you?”
“Only if you stole something.” Karma directed the driver to pull over.
“Let me—” But she had handed over the fare before I could protest.
I had no doubt that Karma was perfectly well off financially, but it didn’t seem likely that she was as wealthy as I was now. Shortly after Valentine had gotten sick, Constantine had set up a trust fund in my name and refused to hear a word of protest. His sympathy for me, combined with the close call we’d had with Brenner in August, had motivated Constantine to make some provisions in the event of his own death. “You are the closest thing I have to a daughter,” he had told me. And he’d also claimed that after a hundred years of investments and interests, the sum he was gifting me was a small fraction of his total wealth.
Sometimes I still felt guilty for accepting his generosity, and I was being very cautious about my own investments. But the security was liberating. Not having to be anxious about how I would repay my student loans or support myself if I couldn’t find work as a lawyer freed me to focus on other things. Like my place in the hierarchy of wereshifters, and in the now-endangered Consortium. Like Brenner’s plans and movements.
