by Michele Hauf
His innocence.
Himself appeared in horns and hooves. Not a wise decision to walk about in this realm as his true self, but then, he probably had the entire park warded. Though Nicolo couldn’t feel any wards. And he generally sensed his father’s magic as a biting prickle down his spine.
“I’ve had enough of that vampiress,” Himself said as he stopped before the twosome. “Summer Rosanne Santiago, you have meddled enough—”
“Your vow not to harm her must be honored,” Nicolo reminded. “I have served you well. That guarantees her freedom and safety.”
“Nicolo, what?” she said from behind him.
“Oh, don’t you know?” Himself said to her. “He’s sacrificed all for you. All these aeons he’s been working under my thumb, has been to keep you safe. I thought to break him of that silly love.”
“Aeons?” Summer stepped around to stand beside Nicolo. Her eyes searched his. He felt her breath hush across his arm. The scent of her was too perfect. “How long have you been with him?”
“Too long,” Nicolo said with the heaviness of that time served. No time to explain how time worked differently in Beneath. “It’s not important. What is, is that I felt the shackles release when I played this.”
“You still wear the souls of the damned,” Himself growled. “You will always be mine. I am your father!” Himself insisted.
“My father was Antonio Paganini, the man who raised me in the nineteenth century. He taught me how to play violin, he taught me good work ethics, he gave me drive and morals.”
“He turned you into a performing monkey,” Himself spat officiously.
“You say so? Coming from the Master Over All Monkeys? Be that as it may, Antonio was my father. Your evil blood may run through my body, but you will never be more than a slave master to me.”
Himself raged, spreading his arms wide, and from his hands burst out flame. Nicolo stepped before Summer once again, taking the brunt of the flame, yet she could feel the heat surely.
“If you harm her. If you take her life,” Nicolo insisted firmly, “you will mark me as your enemy. And I know you don’t want that because you actually do want a son. Someone to be your progeny, to look up to you. I’ve put on my best performance for you. Now release me.”
“Never!”
“Then from this moment on you cease to exist in my eyes.”
Himself puffed up his chest, but his exhale looked more like defeat than he might have wanted it to. “I cannot take away the power you have now. It is your birthright.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to use it for evil.”
Himself clenched and unclenched a taloned hand. “You’ve no idea how you crush me.”
“As you have commanded and crushed me. I have done everything you have asked of me, without question. Vile, evil things. Things I should wish Summer never learn about. Things I can never erase from my blood. But I have done so out of obligation to our familial connection and because... I do respect your means to an end. Someone must sit the throne of Dark Lord. Without you no one would recognize the good.”
“Y-you respect me?”
Nicolo nodded. He wasn’t just speaking to the man’s favor either. He did respect him for that reason. He was evenhanded in his punishments and tortures. And he did keep the balance as best he could.
“You will suffer upon this realm,” Himself said. “You are heavy with damned souls.”
“I’ll take that risk.”
Himself eyed Summer. She winked at him. “I think this is your cue to leave.”
“Enjoy your madness, Soul Piercer. I can wait for my son to return when you have become ash. That is, if he survives the onslaught of souls. If he remains in this realm they’ll want free. That won’t be pretty.”
The devil swept his hand before him and extended it toward the pond. A pathway of flame formed, bridging the water and licking at the sky. Himself strode to the center and disappeared in a burst of brilliant fireworks.
“Dramatics,” Summer muttered. Beside her, Nicolo collapsed. “Shit.” Blood drooled from his eyes. And his body convulsed.
“The souls are trying to get free,” he said. “I can do nothing to stop it. They will burst through my pores...”
“No, that’ll kill you. We have to get them out of you. How to—”
She’d simply accepted it when he’d told her he had souls in him, and for reasons she had never been able to put a finger on. He was without a soul. She harmed souls. She had felt him touch her soul when he’d bitten her. If only there was a way to touch those souls within him...
“Oh my goddess, yes!”
She was the Soul Piercer. If she could pierce the souls within Nicolo then perhaps that would grant them freedom.
Without thinking twice, Summer willed down her fangs and plunged them into Nicolo’s neck. Blood spurted into her mouth. So hot and it tasted vile, black. The souls he had damned shivered. She could take them out of him. Pierce them all and set them free, and save him from dying. And with hope, the souls could move on to wherever it was they had been destined.
He gripped her shirt, shoving at her in a struggle to loosen her from his neck, but Summer held tight. His blood slipped over her fingers and clothes. “Let me do this,” she managed. “It’s our only hope.”
He let his head fall back. And she heard the souls, each and every one of them in succession, scream as they were opened and set free. Aeons? He had been serving Himself for so long? Mercy, but he had been through hell. The prince of Hell. Of Beneath.
But no longer. She would give him the brightness required to exist upon this realm.
“It’s working,” he whispered. And then his head lolled to the side and his eyes closed.
Fearful he could die if she took too much blood from him, Summer took respite in knowing he was a changed being, someone as powerful as Himself. And what made him even stronger was his desire for good. So she took more blood until she could not bear to drink another drop. Dropping her head onto his chest, she spread a hand over his heart and felt the life beating within him. Strong, powerful. And then she knew no more.
* * *
The best case would see Summer’s soul tainted by those she had tapped within him. Sure, they had escaped, but in the process had left remnants, dark smears upon her soul. Now it was Nicolo’s turn to make things right.
With a visceral knowing, he lifted his lover’s body under the shoulders. Her head fell back, exposing her neck, which was smeared with his black blood. He sank in his fangs to drink deeply of her soul. He could take Summer’s soul into him until they bonded and shared one common soul. It would be the first soul he would wear with pride since the day she had resurrected him from the grave.
Chapter 27
A week following the daring daylight robbery from the Genoa museum, Summer taped up a cardboard box and handed it over to a delivery service. Inside, she carefully packed in the Guarnerius violin. Technically, it did belong to Nicolo, but he was a different man now. He would find a new violin, one that sang to his new soul, an instrument he could use to speak to the world. Besides, with the press and media reporting on the stolen violin, the return of it should cause a media frenzy and ultimately increase the museum’s profits.
Nicolo had decided to continue the concert tour that had been “arranged” by forces Summer still didn’t want to question. But he wasn’t working for his father, nor did he wield the black violin. That instrument was probably sitting on a shelf in Himself’s lair somewhere. Summer got a kick out of imagining the Dark Lord pouting in a cozy little room before the fireplace. Behind him on shelves sat the failed instruments of temptation he had used throughout the ages. Ha!
Her new reality? She was dating, and living with, the Dark Prince. Yes, the King of Beneath’s son. And while he had all the power and magic that Himsel
f possessed, Nicolo was a free man and could do as he wished with the birthright that he had accepted as a means to keep her safe. He would wield that power for the good. Or Summer hoped he would. His intentions were pure and beneficent. Only time would tell if a man could honestly remain good with his history of having served in Beneath for aeons.
And she, well, she had taken a few donors since the night when she’d taken all the blood she could from Nicolo and released the damned souls from his body. She’d watched after the donors had gotten up and staggered home. And she’d checked back on them the next day, and the next.
So far? They seemed to be faring well and normal. Was she no longer the Soul Piercer? Nicolo guessed she was not. When he had bitten her they had bonded in blood and soul so he knew things about her now that even she did not know.
But she didn’t need to take human donors often. In her lover’s arms, she found sustenance, pleasure and happiness. And together, she the Soul Piercer, and he the Dark Prince, they would make it work. They had to. With a baby on the way, they both wanted to ensure their child grew up knowing right from wrong, good from evil, and to never be threatened with the promise of a power that could change lives.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from AWAKENED BY THE WOLF by Kristal Hollis.
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Awakened by the Wolf
by Kristal Hollis
Chapter 1
Naked and wet, Brice Walker crouched on the back porch of his grandmother’s log cabin. The splintered grooves of the weathered boards bit sharply into his sore hands and feet, intensifying the throb in his right leg.
He focused his better-than-human night vision and tuned his ears to any movement along the forest’s dark tree line. Every muscle clenched in fight-or-flight readiness, though he was too tired for either. The three-day trek in wolf form and subsequent swim up the Chatuge River had overstretched his endurance.
If things were different, he would’ve driven from Atlanta to his grandmother’s home. His present situation being what it was, he no longer enjoyed that freedom.
He’d fucked up. Colossally.
One careless mistake and he’d lost his family, his friends, his home.
Regret flared inside him like a backdraft. He tried to swallow the burning ache, but its fiery fingers fastened around his throat and squeezed until his mouth prickled from the embers.
His banishment was well deserved and if he got caught slinking into the territory, the sentinels would waste no time hauling his bare ass in front of the Alpha.
All things considered, Brice would’ve preferred catching rabies to facing his father. Distance didn’t always make the heart grow fonder. Sometimes it fostered bitterness.
A faint August breeze stroked his skin like a lover grown cold and distant. Out of habit, he sniffed the night air. The familiar scents of pine and honeysuckle eluded him. Once his nose had been his pride. Now he depended on his eyes, ears and gut instinct to compensate for his lost sense of smell.
The evening symphony of crickets calling their mates salted the wound of his loss. Scent triggered a Wahya’s mating urge. Despite the heightened acuity of his other senses, only his nose could lead him to his true mate.
With a heavy humph, he shook. The water droplets that had pebbled on his heated body thwacked against the deck. A silver-coated house key fastened around his biceps with corded silver—the only substance that wouldn’t disintegrate during a shift—slapped against his arm. Each time it struck, electric shocks pinched his skin.
He untied the key and rubbed it between his fingers to dispel the residual shift energy, wondering if he wasn’t about to make the second biggest mistake of his life.
When his uncle, Adam Foster, had whisked Brice to Atlanta after his first epic fail, he didn’t have time to say goodbye to his beloved grandmother. Of course, he hadn’t known that his uncle’s offer of respite disguised a permanent relocation.
Brice unlocked the back door. His heart paused at the click. For the past five years, the Walker’s Run pack had considered him wolfan non grata.
Trusting that Margaret Walker wouldn’t disown her only surviving grandson, Brice clamped down on his nerves and limped into the kitchen. The dim light above the stove softly illuminated the pie on the counter.
First his heart swelled. During his college days, Granny always had a fresh-baked pie for him on his weekend visits.
Next Brice’s gut clenched, his stomach bellowed and his mouth watered, putting him in serious danger of drooling. Despite the ample game he’d encountered on his journey, he hadn’t eaten in days. The thought of killing again triggered nauseating sweats—if he was lucky. God-awful flashbacks if he wasn’t.
Silently he snagged a small saucer from the cabinet, a spoon from the drawer, a knife from the wood block. Then he cut a large wedge out of the pie. The first bite of sweet-tart deliciousness slid down his throat, slow and easy.
Mmm, cherry! His entire body sighed.
One piece wasn’t enough. He had to have two. A chug of milk washed down the third. Abandoning all etiquette, he scarfed down the rest and licked the pie pan clean. At long last, a warm, cozy satisfaction ebbed from his belly.
God, it’s good to be home.
The snazzy penthouse apartment above his uncle’s law offices served as a place to eat and sleep. Brice felt no more connection to the space than he would a hotel room. His hea
rt and soul resided here, in this simple cabin. Always would.
He hobbled through the dark house. Each right step shot pain through his calf.
“Granny?” He rapped a soft knock against the bedroom door. A few seconds later, Brice slipped into her unlit room.
Nothing seemed amiss or out of place, so he assumed she’d spent the night with his parents. She often stayed in the family’s private quarters adjacent to the Walker’s Run Resort whenever they hosted a social event. Granny never missed a good party.
Vacillating between disappointment and relief, he wanted his grandmother’s welcoming embrace and assurance that all would be well between them again, but he was too weary to face the alternative. He headed down the narrow hallway to his old room, each gimping footstep heavier than the last. At the door, his senses tingled even before he set eyes on the small lump in his bed.
The mixed feelings Brice had about his homecoming knotted into concern. Granny knew wolfan law forbade adult males and females of blood relation to share bedding, so why had she fallen asleep in his room?
“Granny?” He eased onto the edge of the mattress and touched her leg.
An unfamiliar feminine gasp prickled the skin along his spine.
“Who the hell are you?” Brice didn’t mean to sound so rough and angry, but pain and exhaustion made him edgy and terse.
“Stay away from me!” The woman kicked out of bed and grappled with the bedside lamp.
“Fuck!” The sudden brightness stung like a fistful of sand slung in his face. Shielding his light-sensitive eyes behind his arm, Brice tuned into his other senses. The air thickened. He could almost taste the sharp tang of her fear. Her breaths came hard and fast.
“Get out before I call the cops,” she demanded.
“With what? Telepathy?” To his knowledge, Granny had one telephone. A landline in the kitchen.
“I have a cell phone.” The uncertainty in the woman’s voice said she didn’t.
