WARRIOR RISING
LINDA WINSTEAD JONES
CONTENTS
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
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
About the Author
Also by Linda Winstead Jones
Copyright © 2016 by Linda Winstead Jones
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover by Elizabeth Wallace
Created with Vellum
For the readers who insisted that this story be told.
PROLOGUE
She had waited for years, years of planning, of intense preparation. At last the time was here. Victory was just beyond her reach, hovering so close, so near to the fulfillment of her plans, that sometimes she wanted to scream in frustration because no matter how close it was, she still didn’t quite have it in her grasp.
How could any vampire be against her? She didn’t understand that. Vampires were superior to humans in every way; it was logical that they be in control, that humans serve their betters. It was also logical that she, the most powerful of her kind — save Luca Ambrus, damn him — be the one in control.
Marie insisted on being called Regina. Regina, Latin for Queen; it had a nice ring to it. Her ego was huge, but ego wasn’t the sole reason for the sobriquet. Small details produced huge results. Forcing people to call her queen, to acknowledge her as such, was the first step in becoming so. As they became more familiar with the idea, they also became more malleable to her rule. She had been born to rule, and everything she did led to ensuring her absolute rule was recognized.
She had confirmation from one of her soldiers that the sanctuary spell had been broken, but she was angry and she was hungry, and she wanted to see — to experience — the result of her hard work for herself. The battle in the Potomac mansion that had been her headquarters for many years had drained and infuriated her, but she was still powerful.
Until tonight, she had never seriously considered that her plans wouldn’t be executed without flaw, but now with some bitterness she saw that her self-confidence had been a critical error. Her worst mistake was that she’d put too much faith in the loyalty and competence of others. She had allowed herself to trust, because she’d thought she knew her people. She’d assumed that most vampires would follow her, that they would want to subjugate the humans.
She’d been wrong. So many had failed her, had been afraid. Vampires, afraid! She was appalled on so many levels, and for so many reasons.
The sanctuary spell — the old curse that kept vampires from entering a home uninvited — had been broken, but she hadn’t been able to stop the influx of Immortal Warriors. Worse, she had lost her headquarters and her right hand man.
Lost, hell. That bastard had run to the other side. But Sorin would pay, sooner rather than later. She would make him her special target; the one she would most enjoy killing.
She’d learned a painful but important lesson. From now on, she would rely on no one. She would not allow anyone to share her rule. Her power was beyond compare. As a rare blood born, a child conceived and born to two vampire parents, she possessed gifts most others only dreamed of. She would hide those gifts away no more.
She tore her thoughts from the ugly taste of failure and betrayal, because in the main quest she hadn’t failed at all: she had forced the witch to break the sanctuary spell. For her personal test of the witch’s success, she chose a two-story house along a tree-lined street well away from the Potomac mansion where the initial battle had taken place. The Virginia neighborhood not far from Washington D.C. was modestly prosperous, the houses far enough apart that it was unlikely screams would be heard. And if they were heard, she wouldn’t care. Nothing could stop her now.
Marie strode up the sidewalk, past well-manicured bushes and a low growing red flower that looked black in the moonlight, and stood for a moment looking at the dark green door that in the past had been all a human needed to keep her out. She lifted her hand to knock, then paused. Instead of knocking, she kicked the green door in. A savage thrill surged through her as she stepped, uninvited, inside the house. For a moment she was dizzy from the sheer ecstasy of success, of power. Three loyal vampires came in behind her. They moved so quickly, drawn up the stairs by the scent of human flesh, that the residents of the house had no chance to call for help, by phone or otherwise.
Marie moved up the stairs more slowly, savoring every moment. Her pace was regal, the long train of her fine but bloodied gown trailing the stairs behind her. Much of that blood belonged to Chloe Fallon, Luca’s pet, the pet she had taken from him with a sharp knife and great pleasure.
There wouldn’t be any more hiding away who and what she truly was. She would make no further effort to blend in to these jarring, modern times. When she was acknowledged queen by vampires and humans both she would wear fine gowns and jewels. Her home would be luxuriously furnished. She would surround herself with loyal servants and soldiers and subjects, and if they were not loyal enough they would suffer and die.
Forget about the Council; she wouldn’t be returning to Council headquarters, the Georgetown home where her plans for this war had begun and grown. The remaining Council members would be wise to decamp. The Council headquarters would be the first location given away. She had no doubt that the humans would win some of the battles, simply because there were so many of them, so these first days would be perilous.
But even though tonight hadn’t gone as planned, nothing of importance had changed. Her plan was simple enough: Take D.C., and from there, take this country. The world would follow.
Not that vampires all over the world weren’t enjoying her gift tonight. There was no more haven for humans, no place for them to hide.
She entered the master bedroom. In the big bed situated against the far wall were two bedraggled humans, both elderly and frightened. Each was held in place by one of Marie’s soldiers, while the third soldier busied himself pacing, waiting for one of them to attempt to fight so he’d have an excuse to strike. The humans had no way of knowing exactly what kind of invader they faced. How could they? As far as these ignorant humans knew, vampires were legend, not real. They would soon learn differently.
The woman’s gray hair stuck out to one side in a rather comical way. Her husband wore wrinkled striped pajamas and had no hair at all.
Marie smiled, but didn’t show her fangs. “What are your names?” she asked politely.
The woman opened her mouth, but no words formed. She croaked, then choked on her unspoken response. Fear had stolen her tongue. The man cleared his throat and said, “Honeycutt. John and Cynthia Honeycutt.”
Marie walked closer. She realized her movements were unnaturally smooth and silent and might alarm the couple in the bed, but she didn't care. She would never have to care about such things again.
“I’ll open the safe for you,” John offered, his voice shaking with age and with fear. “There’s no re
ason for anyone here to be hurt. We don’t have much, but you’re welcome to it. Just… take what you want and go.”
She smiled. Now that she knew there was a safe, she didn’t need him to open it. Access would be easy enough, and additional wealth was always welcome.
Marie glanced at one of her soldiers; at the moment she couldn’t remember his name, and didn’t care. “Drain them,” she said calmly, and then she watched as her soldiers did as she commanded. They made surprisingly little mess as they drank their fill. The Honeycutts died without much fuss, too old and weak to put up a good fight.
Once the previous owners of her new house were disposed of, Marie turned to her soldiers and commanded, “Bring me a man. Someone young, and pretty. And clothes.” She wiped two fingers at a spot of blood on her left sleeve. The blood didn’t bother her; the scent of Chloe Fallon’s death still gave her a silent little thrill. But her gown was sticky, and she had to present a regal appearance.
Her soldiers left to do as she had ordered. While they were gone, Marie took a few minutes to explore the house. It wasn’t a castle, but it would do for now. She located a comfortable red velvet wing chair in the formal living room, and sat, spreading her bloody gown around her. In the silence of the house her thoughts rapidly returned to the night’s events and the anger she’d been holding at bay surged forward.
It was bad enough that she hadn’t been able to convince Luca to join her, but for Sorin to betray her, for her right hand man to turn on her… it was unthinkable. How could he? Of all the vampires she’d chosen to fight with her, he was the one she’d trusted most. Sorin had always seen first to his own self-interest, and it was clearly in the best interest of every vampire to be able to feed at will, to have free access to the human sanctuaries. But he’d turned on her, had chosen to ally himself with Luca. She would make him pay, and pay dearly, so all who saw would understand what became of those who betrayed her.
When the soldier returned with a suitably pretty young man she rose to her feet and smiled at her obedient child, and at the terrified boy who couldn’t be much more than twenty. He wore blue jeans and ridiculously brightly colored tennis shoes. His t-shirt, too large and badly wrinkled, bore the logo for a band she had never heard of. But his face was handsome, in a clueless sort of way, and his blond hair was well styled. He hadn’t come from his bed, he’d been out at this late hour. Drugs or alcohol or both might account for part of the dullness in his eyes. The rest, the rest was fear.
She showed him her fangs, and before she could touch the pretty boy, he fainted.
He would awaken soon enough, and she would soothe him. She would make more of her own soldiers, to add to those who already followed her. A soldier of her own making would never turn on her, would never betray her.
The boy regained consciousness, swimming back to reality. He looked around, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. As soon as his eyes reached her she smiled, without displaying her fangs this time, and the young man relaxed. She caught his gaze with hers and delved deeply into his brain, seizing control. “Come here, pretty.”
He did.
CHAPTER ONE
Chaos ruled. He should be thrilled.
Sorin paced the cellar hallway where the night before an epic battle had taken place. An itch danced up his spine, the same itch he always got when everything was about to go to shit around him. What the hell was he doing here? It wasn't his war, though for a time he'd believed it was. He should go — now. He should get out of here and let the other idiots fight the battles still to come. His mouth twisted wryly as he realized he’d just called himself an idiot, but if the shoe fit… yeah, he needed to leave. He wasn’t necessary for this war.
Proof of that was in the number of Immortal Warriors who were now roaming the mansion along with Luca, his newly turned woman, and a handful — a very small handful — of vampires who didn’t want what Marie wanted: complete rule over the human world.
There had been a time when he'd been right there with her. He was older, stronger, better than any human. Why should he hide? There was no logic in the inferior race — humans — being the ones in charge and making the rules. He didn't deal well with rules, never had. Centuries of hiding who and what he was had shredded his patience. He brooded over the recent decisions he'd made, wondering what the hell had come over him.
Nevada, the little red-haired witch, had to have cast a spell on him. Long before she’d touched his face and instructed him to remember, she'd ruined him. Otherwise why would he have spared Phillip Stargel, the child conduit? So what if he was a child with Down syndrome? He was still a conduit, and Sorin should have taken care of business. But he hadn’t. If there was no spell, why else would he have abandoned the cause and fought alongside that damn Luca Ambrus?
Moreover, why hadn’t he killed Nevada when he’d been ordered to do so?
A witch’s spell explained it all. But — damn it! He couldn't use that excuse. He wanted to, but he couldn't. He'd grown fond of Nevada long before she'd developed her witch skills to the point where she could cast even a simple spell. Her delicate scent reminded him of his mortal daughter, dead hundreds of years ago, but his memory of her smell came roaring back when he was around Nevada.
Maybe Nevada had hidden her skill for a long time, stalling them when she could have removed the sanctuary spell weeks, months ago, before the Warriors could come through in sufficient numbers to put up a good fight. He should confront her. But not now. Nevada had a difficult job ahead of her and she needed to focus her considerable talents on reinstating the sanctuary spell.
Those were words he had never thought would pass through his brain. He’d cursed that spell for hundreds of years, and he should rejoice that it had fallen. Without it, he could go into any human home at any time and feed whenever he was hungry. He wouldn't have to scheme and hide and wipe away evidence of his existence. At the moment, though, he felt no joy. Perhaps, after all these years, he was going soft.
No fucking way.
“You should stop that senseless pacing and save some of your energy for fighting your queen.”
He turned and gave the Warrior — Indikaiya — a narrow-eyed look. Now, there was a woman. Tall, strong, a face like an ancient queen, with a thick blond braid that was long enough to bounce against her very curvy ass. What was the saying? They don’t make them like that anymore. No, indeed they didn’t.
He had the feeling she was keeping watch on him, because he couldn’t imagine she enjoyed his company. She was sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, slowly running a cloth up and down the gleaming blade of her sword. Indikaiya’s voice was both soft and hard, the voice of a woman who would do what she had to do, regardless, who would take on any adversary if she deemed the fight worth it. She didn't trust him and he returned the sentiment. She’d as soon kill him as look at him, and only the twisted circumstances had landed them on the same side. At least for now. It remained to be seen if the uneasy alliance of vampires and Warriors would hold.
He flashed what would have been a charming smile if he hadn’t extended his fangs. “She isn’t my queen.”
“Any longer,” Indikaiya added, verbally jabbing at him. “A day ago, she was.”
“A day ago she thought she was. Now she knows differently.” Maybe he’d have stayed with the rebellion, but the odds were he’d have walked away. Marie’s ego was hard to take for any length of time, and when she’d needlessly killed Jonas, that had pretty much done it for him. He didn’t suffer fools gladly, and that had been a foolish act. Not only that, he didn’t like to lose.
The war wouldn’t be an easy one, but now that the Warriors had joined with Luca and the humans, his instinct was that they would tip the balance of fate against Marie. Marie was an incredibly powerful vampire, a blood born like Luca, but though she had studied warfare and strategy, she hadn’t been steeped in battle for centuries the way the Warriors had been. Or Luca, for that matter. The vampires following her rightly feared her, and some of the
m were powerful in their own right, but again, were they as experienced as the Warriors? He didn’t think so.
Perhaps he should be noble enough to be true to his chosen side, to truly believe in what he was fighting for, but nobility was a fine sentiment for people who had the luxury of safety and stability. Since he’d been turned vampire, he’d had to fight for his existence, and nobility took a back seat to survival. To survive, he’d had to become powerful in his own right, to look at the world with clear, pitiless vision and make his decisions based on what was best for him.
And yet here he was.
“You had your share of responsibility in bringing about this war,” Indikaiya said, her tone cool and even.
He studied her, not rising to her bait. She had — all of them had — been drenched in blood from the battles that had been fought in this house. At least he’d had his own clothes here to change into, and he’d loaned Indikaiya one of his shirts on a devilish impulse, because he knew she wouldn’t take even a handkerchief from him, had she any other choice. She was also wearing a pair of poor Jonas’s trousers. Neither shirt nor pants fit her well, but she didn’t seem to mind.
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