DARKEST HOUR
CATHERINE BULLARD
Copyright © 2013, Catherine Bullard
All Rights Reserved
Sandstone Publishing
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Sandstone Publishing © 2013 All rights reserved
Copyright © 2013 Catherine Bullard
Sandstone Publishing
All rights reserved.
CHAPTER 1
Elsbeth stood at the edge of the dark forest, silently watching the young man sitting by the lakeshore, his knees drawn tightly to his chest. Moonlight floated down to grace his handsome, bronzed face, and she followed its trail with her eyes, slowly tracing his prominent cheekbones, his full lips, and his strong, dusted jaw.
She knew his face almost as well as she did her own—but then, she’d been watching him for weeks. Her discovery of him had been quite an accident; the evil prey she’d been chasing had taken refuge in these very woods. On the way back from the chase, sated with a bellyful of blood, she’d spotted him, sitting just as he was now—pensive, with just the right mixture of wonder and puzzlement on his face that she was intrigued as to what was going on inside of his mind.
Biting her lip, she considered crossing the small patch of grass separating them. She hadn’t done so the first time because her face and clothing had been stained with blood—and she hadn’t found a place to wash off. Right now she had the opposite problem—she hadn’t fed, and he smelled good enough that as a new vampire she was worried about not being able to resist him. And she didn’t bite innocent humans. Ever.
“What are you doing?”
Elsbeth whirled around, her dark hair swirling behind her as she bit back a gasp. Malachi, a powerful member of her Seethe, stood scant inches away, his face wreathed in shadows. His eyes, normally a cold stone blue that reflected the nature of his heart, burned bright red with the bloodlust brought on by the overwhelming need to feed. No matter how he tried to tempt her with his inhumanly beautiful looks or his honeyed words, she had only to look into his eyes to see him for what he truly was—a soulless, unmerciful monster, the kind that gave vampires a bad name.
“What business is it of yours?” she asked, firming her chin and keeping her voice steady. If she betrayed any fear he would quickly exploit the opening—such was how the strong preyed on the weak. And Elsbeth knew that as an older vampire, Malachi was many times stronger than she.
“I have noticed your increasingly frequent absences whenever we go out to hunt,” Malachi responded. “You have formed an unnatural attachment to this human. Why?”
Elsbeth’s mouth dropped open. “You have been spying on me?” she hissed, fingernails digging into her palms in an effort to stop herself from striking out at a fellow member of her Seethe. “What gives you the right?”
“You have spurned my advances at every opportunity,” he snapped, baring his teeth so that his sharp, white fangs gleamed through the shadows.
“I wanted to find out what was preventing you from devoting your attention to me.”
“You arrogant bastard!” If she hadn’t been so keen on avoiding the attention of the fisherman, she would have launched herself at him, consequences be damned. “My interest in this human has nothing to do with my lack of interest in you. Even if he and every other man on this Earth were gone, I still would spurn your advances.”
Malachi’s eyes widened. “The human has obviously done something to your mind,” he whispered, and Elsbeth could actually hear genuine horror in his voice. “You’ve been poisoned by this wharf rat.” He took a step forward, past Elsbeth.
Trepidation shot through her veins as she stepped into his path. “What are you doing, Malachi?” she asked, spreading her arms out in an instinctive effort to shield the human from him—a human whose name she didn’t even know.
“Getting rid of the filth that has blinded you.”
“But he’s done nothing wrong! It’s against the laws of our Seethe to harm any human who has done no wrong!”
Malachi curled his lip. “Humans are nothing more than cattle, destined only for the slaughterhouse. It matters not whether they are good or evil. Now step aside.” He tried to push her away but she stood her ground, slapping his arm away.
“You’re a monster!” she hissed.
“I said, step aside!” he snarled, striking out and backhanding her. The force of the blow was enough to send Elsbeth smashing to the ground, stars winking in front of her eyes as her entire world spun. She was barely aware of Malachi shooting past her, making use of his superhuman speed to catch his victim off guard, but the shriek of the male human was enough to jolt her out of her stupor.
“No!” She dashed across the damp grass, her eyes impossibly wide as they latched on to Malachi, who cradled the human in his arms, fangs deeply embedded in his neck. The man’s eyes were glazed, his lips parted—already sliding into the stupor induced by the vampire venom Malachi had injected into his veins through his fangs. That was how vampires were able to overpower their prey so easily; they snuck up behind them using their superhuman speed and reflexes, and sank their teeth into the human’s flesh before the victim had time to react.
“How dare you!” Elsbeth shrieked, pulling a dagger from her boot and slicing the side of Malachi’s neck—beheading was one of the few ways one could kill a vampire, and while Elsbeth wasn’t planning on taking his life, she wanted him to believe that she would if she had to. Malachi released the human’s neck with a roar of pain, springing away, but he was unsteady on his feet. Elsbeth rushed forward to attack him again, bloody knife singing through the air right before it ripped through Malachi’s shirt, slicing just above the collarbone.
“Enough!” Malachi roared, holding up his hands in defeat. His eyes blazed with hatred, sending chills down Elsbeth’s spine. “You would kill one of your own kind in defense of a single human life?”
Elsbeth tossed her head. “His life is worth ten of yours, Malachi. You are soulless.”
“And you are not, Elsbeth?” Malachi whispered, clutching the bleeding gash at the side of his neck. The words cut her to the quick, and she took a step back. “We are vampires. It is in our nature to be soulless.”
“I may not have chosen to be a vampire, but I can choose whether or not to be a monster.” Elsbeth said firmly, clenching her hands to keep them from trembling.
Malachi stepped back, drawing the shadows of the night around his body.
“This isn’t over…” he hissed, and then vanished.
Elsbeth whirled around to check on the human, who lay face up on the lakeshore, deathly pale and still. She sank to her knees in the damp sand, her fingers fluttering over his face and down his neck, checking for a pulse.
“Oh God, oh God, please don’t let him be dead.” She didn’t know how she’d be able to live with the knowledge that if she had simply kept her distance he would be alive. Oh, how could she have been such a fool as to overlook Malachi as a threat?
Her fingernails slid through the blood coating his neck, but she finally managed to find a pulse, and sighed in relief. He would live. He would make it through this. His death would not be on her conscience—for who else’s conscience would it rest upon? Malachi certainly didn’t have one, as he’d proven by his actions tonight. He’d struck her and tried to kill a man; then turned around and act
ed as if it were all for her benefit.
Sighing, she gathered up her new charge in her arms, and wrapped the shadows around her so she could fade away, back to her lair. He would survive, but that didn’t mean she shouldn’t bandage him and find him new clothes.
She only hoped that when he woke up he wouldn’t hate her for what he was about to become.
CHAPTER 2
Thomas moved in and out of consciousness. He didn’t know who he was, where he was, or why he was—he felt like he was lost in the never-ending swarm of hallucinations that swam through the darkness of his dreams, brought on by the burning fever that plagued him.
The only moments of respite he found were either when the darkness claimed him, offering him oblivion, or the other ones—where a beautiful woman hovered over him as she pressed a cool cloth to his forehead and wiped the sweat from him.
The hallucinations would always claim him before long, so that he could never remember exactly what she looked like except for those full, cherry-red lips from which words of comfort spilled, carried to his ears on a voice of satin. The image of her and the sound of her voice were the only two things that allowed him to cling to his sanity.
He did not know how much time had passed, but eventually the fever broke, and he sank into a peaceful sleep.
When he woke, it was to the sound of that same satin voice—humming an unfamiliar, but soothing melody. His eyelids drifted open, and he turned his face away from the ceiling and toward the voice that had anchored him during his nightmares.
The woman continued to hum, gliding an ivory-handled brush through unbound layers of long, silky, black hair that shimmered in the candlelight. Her eyelids were at half-mast, long lashes fanning her pale cheeks, and those cherry-red lips were unmistakable. She wore a long, crimson dress that covered every inch of her body, yet molded to it in a way that left very little to the imagination. Her figure was exquisite, with high, round breasts, long, slim torso and flared hips—a perfect hourglass.
His body reacted to his mind’s train of thought, and he shook his head. He didn’t even know this woman. In fact, what was he doing here? Why wasn’t he at home, in his own bed? Memories of being attacked by the lake flashed through his mind—the terror he felt at fangs flashing before him, and then the pain of having them sink into his own flesh.
He bolted up, breathing hard, and the woman turned his way, clouds of black hair swirling around her face as her eyes widened. With the lashes no longer obscuring them, he saw they were pitch black—the iris nearly indistinguishable from the pupil. Even through their inky blackness he was able to make out the concern in them, but that didn’t stop the chill from sliding down his spine.
“Are you all right?” she asked, instantly by his side, soft hands smoothing the hair from his forehead.
“Who are you? I don’t recognize you, and I know nearly all the women in my village. And I certainly have never been in this room before.” Thomas looked around at the opulent furnishings, shaking his head. He’d never been around so much wealth in his life. He was a simple fisherman trying to help his family survive.
She hesitated. “My name is Elsbeth. I rescued you after you were… attacked, and brought you to my home to rest.”
Those fangs flashed in his mind’s eye again, and a full-body shudder wracked him. He touched the spot on his neck where he’d been bitten, but felt no pain, no scabs—not even any scarring.
“Your superhuman healing has taken effect.” Elsbeth smiled, but it was belied by the uncertainty swimming in her eyes. “Any scarring from the bite has been erased.”
Thomas scowled. “What is this nonsense?” he asked, ignoring the cold, heavy sensation that had slipped into his stomach. “Vampires do not exist, and I certainly do not have superhuman healing.”
Elsbeth sighed, sitting down on the bed and taking his hand in hers. “I know this is hard to accept, but you do have these things. Malachi, one of my fellow vampires, bit you. I have taken a vow to never harm an innocent human, and so intervened before he could kill you, but you will be weak for several days, perhaps even a week.”
Thomas snatched his hand away, horrified. “You are a vampire?”
She parted those red lips wide and ran her tongue along impossibly large incisors. “I am, but you are in no danger from me.”
“No.” He shook his head. “No, this is not possible. I’m getting out of here.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and lurched to his feet. The world swam around him, and his knees threatened to buckle.
Elsbeth caught him around the waist before his strength failed and pushed him back onto the bed. “I told you that you would be weak,” she admonished gently, tucking the blanket over his body. “Please, rest for a bit. I will bring you food.”
Her voice had changed, becoming slow and thick, like molasses, and her eyes were glowing red. Thomas knew she was using some kind of trickery to compel him back to sleep, but he was powerless to fight it. His mind was turning to mush, his thoughts slipping away before he could grab hold of them.
“Sweet dreams,” she whispered in his ear as he slid into sleep once more.
* * *
Elsbeth wanted to cry. The man’s eyes had been filled with such blame, fear, and loathing that she’d barely been able to face him. This was all her fault. She should have stayed away from him. Vampires and humans lived in separate worlds, and she had no right to intrude on his life in any way, even to watch him from afar. And now, because of her childish infatuation, he was forever changed, thrown into a fate he had not asked for.
Blinking back the tears, she firmed her chin and continued down the hallway toward the kitchen so she could prepare something for him. Vampires did not have to eat, but Elsbeth continued to keep her pantry stocked with food in memory of her human life; when she had enjoyed cooking—the aromas and sounds had always lifted her spirits and soothed her heart. They still did.
She pulled out the pots and ingredients she needed and then carried a bucket outside to fetch water from the nearby well. The moon hung bright against the starry sky, nearly full, and she smiled to herself. It was a shame the windows were all completely sealed—it would be nice to admire the night sky from her kitchen as she cooked. But since becoming a vampire she could not tolerate sunlight, and so she had taken precautions to ensure she would never be exposed to the deathly rays while within the confines of her home.
With the bucket filled to the brim with fresh water, she carried it back inside, placing it on the wood stove to boil. It took over an hour of chopping; slicing and seasoning before she was ladling beef stew into a large wooden bowl. Leaning down she inhaled deeply, greedily taking in the intoxicating scents before carrying it back to her room where her charge was waiting.
When she entered she found him still sleeping, his dark blond lashes resting against his bronzed, razor cheekbones. His features were chiseled, but his lips, which were slightly parted, lent him the look of an innocent. A smile tugged at Elsbeth’s own lips as she set the bowl of soup down on the bedside table, and then settled down beside him on the soft mattress.
Her heart swelled with longing as she simply sat and watched him sleep. Her womanly instincts were blazing and she desperately wanted to lie by his side in comfort, to smooth the dark blond strands falling into his eyes as she’d done before, and to run her hands over those wonderfully shaped muscles. Only the bed sheets and a single pair of breeches separated his skin from hers. Her cheeks heated at the thought, along with the borrowed blood coursing through her veins. It was inappropriate for her to think of him in this way while he was defenseless and unaware. Especially considering what she’d done to him.
Sighing, she reached out and touched his face gently, nearly moaning at the feel of his hot skin against her cool fingers. “Your food is ready,” she murmured, willing for him to wake.
His eyelids fluttered before opening, his green eyes muddled at first, and then piercingly brilliant and bright. His nostrils flared as he scented the food, much like
an animal might, then turned toward the ceramic bowl.
“You made this?” he asked, grabbing the bowl and picking up the silver spoon that she had placed in it. He brought a spoonful to his mouth, and then closed his eyes. “This is good.”
“Thank you.” She smiled cautiously, unsure if she should read too much into the compliment. They say the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, but she doubted a single bowl of soup was going to earn his forgiveness. Even so, she couldn’t quite stop the flush of pleasure from heating her cheeks.
He was silent for a long while as he devoured the contents of the bowl, then set it aside and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I wouldn’t have thought vampires cooked.”
“I find it soothes me.” Elsbeth ran a hand through her hair, nervous under his scrutinizing gaze.
“Do you eat it?” She could hear the reluctant curiosity in his voice.
“No, but I cook it, and leave it on the doorsteps of the less fortunate.”
His eyes widened. “So you’re the one!”
Elsbeth’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
He shook his head. “Everyone in my village has heard the tale. It’s been said that if you are truly in need and pray to the Gods every night, he will provide you with sustenance. I would never have guessed by looking at you that you’d be the one responsible.”
Elsbeth bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Well, I certainly didn’t mean to become a local legend. I just enjoy cooking, and I wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”
He continued shaking his head, but this time a small smile played at his lips. “You must really cook an awful lot. You’ve left veritable banquets outside people’s doors!”
Elsbeth smiled, and changed the subject—her cheeks were heating with embarrassment. She had never intended to have anyone think of her as some sort of paragon. “What is your name?”
Darkest Hour (New Adult Paranormal Romance) Page 1
