by Tanith Frost
Revelation
Immortal Soulless Book Six
Tanith Frost
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Tanith Frost
Copyright 2019 Tanith Frost
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced in whole or in part by any means existing without prior written permission from the author.
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be distributed via the Internet or by any other means, electronic or print, without the permission of the publisher. For more information, visit www.tanithfrost.com
Cover art by Jessica Allain (enchantedwhispersart.com)
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
* * *
Revelation/ Tanith Frost
First edition, June 2019
For Laura and Kristina:
Thanks for keeping me going.
1
Two sentries. Two goddamn fucking sentries. Sure, the clan is in grave danger. Sure, Miranda wants every vampire in Maelstrom figuring out Tempest’s plan for invasion now that their quieter path to taking our lands has been thwarted. And sure, that attack could come at any time.
So why wouldn’t they waste two of those vampires by posting them outside my house to keep watch in case I returned?
I crouch on the roof of the townhouse next door, waiting. They’ve been outside for ten minutes, one sitting in a car parked out front, the other lurking in the shadows of the tiny backyard. I’m freezing my ass off here in the chill of an early December night, but I don’t dare get closer yet.
Any hope that they might just have stopped in for a quick look around is dashed when the one in the back enters the house, then opens the front door and signals to the other to join him inside.
Sons of bitches.
I don’t know them. I’m just assuming.
I pull the hood of my borrowed sweatshirt tighter around my face and wait a few minutes more, making my way to the back of the house to try to see in. The lights are on downstairs, visible between the heavy curtains of the big picture window in the living room, glittering off the jagged lines of a big spiderweb crack in the glass that wasn’t there last time I visited.
But there’s no sign of activity on the upper levels of the house. I can still get in, get what I need, and get out.
It shouldn’t be this hard, though, and not only because these vampires are surely needed elsewhere. I shouldn’t be on the run at all. Hell, I should be a hero. I’m the one who figured out that Viktor was trying to take control of the clan so he could act as Tempest’s puppet. Maybe I screwed up and got caught with a stake poised over an elder’s heart—and this on top of existing murder charges—but who hasn’t made a mistake or two?
I was sentenced to oblivion like a common criminal, all so Miranda could prove herself strong in the face of rumours of weakness. Used. Cast aside.
Again.
Not that I’m bitter. Doesn’t matter if I am, I guess. Maelstrom isn’t safe yet, and I need to focus on what I’m going to do about it, if anything. I could always just try to run, taking my chances as a rogue vampire. But that would mean abandoning allies who would face extermination under Tempest’s rule.
I can’t do that. But I also can’t stay in the city any longer. That’s why I’m here, risking exposure on an errand I decided was too risky to send anyone else on. At least if I’m caught, my sorry ass is the only one on the line.
I grit my teeth and creep along the roof, then lower myself down onto the little porch roof below what used to be Trixie’s bedroom window. The lock’s a bit wonky and always has been. Trixie had a bad habit of leaving it unlocked so she wouldn’t have to fiddle with it. It’s been locked tight since the night she left us, but as far as I know, it’s never been repaired properly. The lock holds when I pull gently upward on the window but gives way as I press in at the bottom and give a sharp tug.
I pause with the window open, listening for any sign that someone has heard me before I slip inside and slide the window closed. No sense risking anyone noticing it if they patrol outside again.
I’m glad it’s dark in here, that I can’t see how empty the space has become. It feels like a mausoleum though Trixie didn’t leave behind a body to occupy it. I could remember how it used to be—this room filled with her off-key singing, Daniel closed off in his room above, leaving his trainees to our own devices until he came up with a new way to shape us into proper vampires. I won’t, though. There’s no point wishing for what’s lost.
Slowly, cautiously, I move past the closed doors of my bedroom and the bathroom, then turn and step onto the first stair of the flight leading upward. I pause. The third floor was always strictly off limits to me and Trixie, no exceptions. My hesitation is foolish now. Daniel’s not here, and he hasn’t been for more than a month. Viktor, the treacherous snake, sent him and a crew of his best hunters to Ontario to finish off a group of human enemies, depriving Miranda of one of her strongest supporters when she was at her weakest. Still, it feels wrong to intrude on his space, which the obedient student in me still considers almost sacred even after the drastic changes in our relationship since then.
My chest tightens painfully. Ontario is Tempest’s territory. I didn’t know until after Daniel was gone what that meant—how Viktor had sent them to lands controlled by a clan of vampires known for their cruelty and ambition. And it was later still that I overheard Bethany, a vampire from that very clan, talking about the vampires they’d captured. Viktor had wanted them exterminated. She said she’d kept at least one of them around.
That knowledge—that question—could drive me insane if I let it. I’ve decided Daniel has to be the one who’s survived. Anything else would be unthinkable.
If only Maelstrom would risk sending someone to rescue him. It’s one thing to position two vampires here in town to watch for a criminal. Sending a crew to battle a clan larger and more powerful than our own would be more than a waste of resources. It would be a suicide mission.
Don’t think about it. Focus on here and now. Survive.
The door at the top of the stairs isn’t locked and swings open silently when I turn the knob. The room beyond takes up this entire level of the house, though the usable space is diminished somewhat by walls that follow the lines of the roof above. No windows here, so I risk flipping the light switch beside the door. A dim lamp lights up the far corner, casting shadows over the room, and I close the door behind me.
Trixie and I used to joke about what our cold, heartless trainer might be hiding up here—torture devices he was saving in case we got too far out of line, mutilated corpses, maybe an unthinkably embarrassing collection of stuffe
d animals or antique teapots. The truth is less exciting and far more predictable. I trail my fingers over the top of the tall dresser and the doors of the wooden wardrobe as I cross his space. No coffin here. Daniel follows a lot of the old traditions, but he never tried to introduce us to that one, and he slept beneath a fluffy down comforter that rustles under my weight as I sit on it. That’s the only sign of comfort or personal taste in the room. There are no pictures on the walls, no mementoes or decorations that show off his personality or what might make him happy. Just this furniture, the lamp, the plain wooden chest at the end of the bed.
That’s Daniel, though. I’ve caught glimpses of what lies beneath his mask of cold, hard self-control—desire, regret, fear, compassion for vampires weaker than himself, maybe even love—but he’s careful about what he shows to the world.
I rise and paw through the dresser drawers, careful not to put too many things out of place. It’s all neatly folded, of course, and every item in the wardrobe is hung facing the same direction.
“Honestly, Daniel,” I whisper to myself, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re the most boring monster imaginable.”
A pleasant shiver passes through me. I know so much better what emerges when he bares himself.
I search the pockets of his jackets and feel around on the shelf above but can’t find what I’m looking for. They’ve got to be here somewhere, though. He wouldn’t have taken his only prized possession with him on a long, dangerous journey.
There’s no lock on the chest at the end of the bed. Not much in it, either. An extra blanket of itchy grey wool and a few books—Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Frankenstein, Dracula. Classics from human imaginations, far removed from any reality we know as the creatures they should actually fear. An interesting selection, but still not what I’m looking for.
I rest my weight back on my heels, still crouched beside the open chest. Then I reach down again between the folds of that unappealing blanket, searching until my fingers find a lumpy spot. I smile and grab hold of the first object I feel—it’s small for a keyring, but what else would he hide so well?
When I pull my hand free, it’s grasping a necklace. My necklace. My labradorite, given to me by a human who said it would open me to the energies I felt so vaguely at the time. I thought I’d lost it.
I sit down slowly, cradling the teardrop-shaped blue stone in my hands, letting the stainless-steel chain dangle between my fingers.
He kept it—Daniel, who has so little use for sentiment. But not for long, I suppose. It went missing shortly before he was sent away. Maybe he meant to give it back. Or maybe he would have taken it with him if things had ended differently between us. Either way, he left this behind by choice. Left me behind.
A clean break was for the best. We both knew he wouldn’t be safe in enemy territory if he was thinking and worrying about me. But when I turned him away, I didn’t understand what he’d be facing. I thought he’d come back.
Do you love me, Aviva?
A shameful question, one that betrayed his own vulnerability, that sought assurance that he wasn’t alone in feeling something so impractical, so dangerous, so far beneath creatures like us. I wonder whether asking was as hard for him as not answering was for me.
I shove the necklace into my pocket and dig into the blanket again to finally find my prize—a pair of keys on a ring with a rounded shard of onyx as its only decoration.
Chest closed. Light off. Down the stairs. Quiet voices drift up the stairs—they’re in the kitchen now and sound settled. I step into my bedroom on the second floor, leaving the door open behind me so I’ll hear if anyone comes up the stairs, and survey the disaster before me. I’m not surprised that they searched my room either before they put out the warrant for my arrest or after I ran away. Would’ve been nice if they’d picked up after themselves, though.
I open the curtains a crack so I can see better and pull an old backpack from the closet to fill with items I’ll need on a journey. Most of what I want has been strewn about the room by whoever searched it—jeans, t-shirts, sweaters, underthings, a small flashlight, sunglasses just in case I have to brave an overcast day. The knife I occasionally used in training is gone, but my pocketknife is still tucked into the backpack. I slip into my black winter coat, which someone left lying on the floor, pull up the zipper, and reach for my hat.
The bottom stair creaks, and I freeze.
Steps come closer. Uneven. Limping. I shrink back into the shadows of the closet, leaving the folding door halfway open.
The footsteps pass by my door, heading toward the next staircase, then pause and come back.
“Fernando? Come up here a second.” Not a voice I recognize. He doesn’t enter the room but waits for backup. I consider making a break for the window, but he’ll be on me before I open it. Softer footsteps come up the stairs.
“Something look strange to you?” the first vampire asks.
“Someone must’ve tidied up.” This one’s unfamiliar, too. He doesn’t sound concerned.
“Not that. The door was open when I came up. And look at the curtains. They were closed, too.”
I open my perceptions to take them in. Strangers. I can feel their energy, dark and powerful as it would be in any vampire, but it doesn’t tell me much about them. It’s safe to assume that any vampire possesses speed and physical strength to match my own, and I have no way of knowing whether they have additional gifts.
Fighting is a bad idea if I can avoid it, especially when they outnumber me.
They’re moving quietly now, but I can see them. Bigger guys, both of them. One crouches to look under the bed. The other’s at the window, examining the lock. I’m not going to get a better chance.
I’m out of the closet and to the door, backpack slung over my shoulders, before they have a chance to turn.
“Hey, stop!” one of them calls, and I choke back a panicked laugh as I race down the stairs.
Not likely, buddy.
I hit the front door at full speed and pull on the handle, but they’ve locked it behind them. That extra second is all they need to catch up. I’m roughly jerked away from the door as someone grabs my backpack, then thrown to the floor. I scramble down the narrow hallway toward the back of the house, focused so completely on escape that there’s no room in my mind for fear. One of them hauls me to my feet, and my stomach lurches. I stomp down hard on his foot only to meet heavy combat boots. I settle for a backward kick to his shin, but my struggle to keep my upper body free from his grip in this confined space leaves me without the concentrated force I need to do any damage.
“You’ll want to stop that,” the other one snarls as he throws his considerable weight against me. His arm against my chest pins my upper back to the wall at an awkward angle as I lean back over the sturdy little table we used to set our keys and weapons on when we came home. “At least, if you want to make it out of here. See?”
I do see, and I force myself to stop fighting. He’s holding up a syringe of clear liquid, tipped with a thick needle sharp enough to easily pierce my skin and deliver a fast dose.
I don’t have to ask what’s in there, and I silently curse whoever armed him with it. At least if they’d come at me with a stake for my heart or an axe to take my head off I’d have stood a chance. This drug is what we call true death, and it’s what would have ended my imprisonment if Jia and Xavier hadn’t come to rescue me.
If Miranda hadn’t let them rescue me. I’m sure she wanted me out, but she obviously isn’t willing to own up to it when I’m such a dark stain on her reputation. Maybe she still thinks I can help save us, or maybe a shot at freedom was just her way of thanking me for my sacrifice. Either way, I’m on my own now.
Rage thaws the fear that’s turned my blood to ice. After everything I’ve done for this clan, most of its members still see me as the enemy. The outlaw. Different and dangerous.
Fire rises in me—the scar that makes me so different, and one of the reasons my clan fears me. It’
s unnatural that we should possess any power outside of the void. My condition is an insult to our very nature, but it’s a secret I haven’t had the luxury of keeping since Viktor exposed it during Miranda’s trial.
So I guess there’s no reason for me to hide it now. I let it flow freely through me, its bright golden light matched by the dark chill of the void as they strengthen my muscles, sharpen my perceptions, and ready me for battle.
“Hector, look at her—” the other guy begins.
“I know,” Hector grunts, and shoves me harder against the wall. “I see it.”
He sounds as if he wishes he hadn’t. He looks away from my eyes, which have no doubt taken on the fiery golden glow that I try so hard to keep hidden from my kind. It will be faint tonight, still hidden beneath the strength of the void, but it’s enough.
“Am I under arrest, then?” I ask.
Hector and his buddy Fernando exchange a glance.
“We’ve got to,” Fernando says. “We have our orders.”
Maybe I should thank Miranda for that small mercy, but I’m not feeling particularly grateful at the moment.
Hector looks back into my eyes, grinning. Now it’s not only his power I feel, but hatred. I think it’s toward the fire in me, which the void in him will be reacting negatively to, stirring up antipathy and malice. Then he speaks again. “I don’t think so. I owe her a little something. You don’t remember me, do you?”
“Can’t say I do.”
“I have you to thank for this bum leg of mine.” He presses his forearm to my throat. I shift my weight lower, and the edge of the table digs into my ass. “Got rather badly mashed up when you plowed over me in your fucking car last month, didn’t it?”
