Rhemy: Immortal Forsaken Series #4 (Paranormal Romance Novella)

by Verika Sloane

  He kissed the back of her hand. “Just when I was starting to wish we were going.”

  “Really?”

  “Now that I know Reed is a shifter and Clare was a vampire, it makes the story even more tragic. And we wouldn’t just be going for that. I had a long talk with my members on Friday. It’s time we came out of the cellar and stood with Marex as a group, not just as a whisper. For a long time, the only ally I thought I needed was myself. But it doesn’t have to be that way. I should stand with him. It’d make Elijah proud.”

  She cocked her head, so thankful they’d found each other. “Oh, Rhemy. He already is.”

  He looked over at her. “Man, I can’t wait to get you home.”

  Home. She liked that. “What’ll it take to get a key to the Centurias?”

  “You’d scream if I told you.”

  “And we both know how easily you make me do that.”

  He laughed. “I have money, but not that kind of money without selling a piece of property.” He patted her knee. “We might have to support Marex from here.”

  Taelour grinned. “Say it again.”

  “What?”

  “Hee-ah.”

  His dark brows drew together. “Here?”

  She giggled. “Again.”

  “Here… What? Are you makin’ fun of me?” he asked, tickling her with one hand as she continued to laugh.

  When they arrived at the club, she fully expected Rhemy to take her straight upstairs, but instead, he brought her to a center table in front of the stage to sit down.

  She looked up at him in question, but he just kissed her and told her to wait.

  Looking around, she didn’t see customers, and by the looks of the chairs stacked on tables, the club wasn’t open yet.

  Then the lights on the stage snapped on, with Rhemy walking out, his alto sax in one hand.

  She gasped, clapping as the rest of the players came out with him to represent piano, double bass, clarinet, trombone, and drums.

  Rhemy sat on the edge of a stool. “Now. Do you know a lot about jazz, darlin’?” She shook her head and he grinned. “Good! So when I screw up, you won’t even notice. Just remember to keep telling yourself how good-lookin’ I am, and where I lack in musical talent, I make up for in with other, much more personal gifts.”

  His band members chuckled, shaking their heads, and testing their instruments.

  Taelour winked at him. “I’ll remember that.”

  The piano player rolled up his sleeves. “You tryin’ to win this girl, Rhemy?”

  Her fated glanced over his shoulder. “Afraid that’s already been done. Naturally,” he added as they laughed at his arrogance. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop tryin’ to make her to fall in love with me more, and I hear the ladies have a thing for musicians.”

  “That they do,” agreed the double-bass player.

  “So fellas, bear me with me now, I’m trying to impress the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.”

  Hoots and whistles and congratulations exclaimed from the group, as she assumed at least a couple of his band members were human.

  “You gonna elope or have a proper wedding?” Jim asked. “Band’ll play for free.”

  Rhemy chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll let you know. What do you think, sweetheart? You buy a dress and I’ll find a preacher?”

  Taelour grinned, so in love. “I’m in.”

  Though they were eternally bonded as fatebloods—a sacred, unbreakable “marriage” through the eyes of their gods—it wasn’t unheard of for vampires to throw a wedding in the human custom. It was still a fun and romantic celebration, especially in the south.

  He smiled into her eyes, coming down for a kiss, but before their lips could meet, someone called his name.

  “Rhemy!” said one of the bartenders. “You have a package. Requires your signature and your signature only.”

  Puzzled, he jumped down from the stage and left his instrument behind. Taelour followed.

  The courier was a vampire. The delivery he held was red and ornate, resembling a glossy musical box. “Mr. Carrington?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Sir. Your bloodprint please.” He held a white card with an intricate square drawn in it.

  Rhemy sliced his thumb with his tooth and pressed its print in blood on the paper.

  What kind of package required that personal of a signature?

  Satisfied, the courier left.

  “What is it?” she asked as he walked back in the bar.

  “Honestly, I don’t know. Must be valuable to need my blood sign.” With a perplexed look, het set it down on one of the round tables, staring at it.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” she asked, dying to know what was inside.

  Baffled, he continued to assess the box. “It can’t be…”

  “Can’t be what? Rhemy, please. I hate suspense.”

  He unlocked it and opened the lid. There was a mini envelope on top. He handed it to her. “Read it to me?”

  Taelour pulled out the card and read:

  “‘Dear Rhemy. What I thought was impossible came to me that night. What you thought was impossible has come to you today. Now we’re even. Best, Lila.’” Her brows drew together as she looked at him. “Honey, who’s…?”

  “I’ll be damned.” Rhemy stared down into the box, then turned it around for her to see.

  Taelour’s eyes widened at what lay within, floating above its velvet interior.

  A key to the Centurias.

  The Centurias Newsletter

  *A CENTURY IN THE MAKING*

  Greetings & salutations from Frostwythe Tower!

  The castle is buzzing with so many shocking rumors, I barely capture any sleep these days, readers. Day and night I’m writing it all down, trying to decipher what’s relevant, what’s old news, what’s new news, what’s too outrageous to be false.

  Most of you know my archives are extensive. As the official secretary for all things Centurias, it is my duty to be the record keeper, and so far, there are many aspects of this Centurias that are simply unprecedented. Most of the events remain the same, but we’re all aware attendance will be different than that of the previous Centurias’. It is not only for the privileged and elite anymore…

  An unavowed auction where vampires can bid on a vampiress to secure himself into those companion-required events? Believe it. When and where is the mystery. As of this night, no one will confess they are a participant. It might baffle you to know the UCC isn’t as interested in this as I’d assumed. They apparently have too much going on with the rebellion to care…

  Speaking of “rebellion,” Marex Daulton isn’t the only one with a strict agenda! Though the Vesser killer manages to elude authorities, he isn’t the only one looking to disrupt our current way of the dark life. Rumor has it other groups are forming. Of vampires and vampiresses, with shifters and shiyas. Gives you shivers—or intrigues thee—does it not?! Curiously, no one is cancelling their Centurias reservation…despite everything, so if you’re worried, don’t be! The following events are confirmed:

  In Plain Sight

  Want to know the latest trends in blending in with the humans? Make a rez now. This always sells out.

  Hosted by Professor V

  Night Rider

  Horses racing and betting, vampire style.

  Need I say more?

  Hosted by the Morgans

  Artless

  Thinking of selling your Degas or Picasso?

  Must own one? Come, and be prepared to pay.

  Hosted by the Which Craft Company

  This is certainly going to be the most amazing nine nights, with tons of surprises, and definitely a scandal or two with so many new faces than ever before. I can just imagine those of you doing your damnedest to bolster your bank accounts and pray to the gods more than ever before. I know I am…

  P.S. Happy Halloween to the real creatures of the night. Be careful whom you bite int
o…

  Immortal Forsaken Series #5

  Coming October 2018

  Subscribe to my VIP Newsletter

  With the exception of a few, no one knows Aleck Trevyn hides a darkness, a need that can only be fed by bringing pain to those deserving of it. He alone has evidence that can exonerate Marex Daulton. Too bad restoring the Trevyn name won’t be as obtainable. His special set of skills awards him a measurable amount of wealth, and an immeasurable amount of loneliness.

  Unfortunately, those skills are irrelevant for his most important mission yet.

  In order to salvage his family's estate and save his brother's life, he has no choice but to attend the Centurias. With the event nearing, he's desperate to bring a companion, and he'll pay whatever it takes to find the perfect one.

  Without exception, no one knows the real name behind the Unavowed Auction, and Istelle intends to keep it that way. She needs money. She needs anonymity. She needs to pay back an ex-ally and start a new life. What she doesn't need is to fall for a dangerously handsome stranger who gives her the greatest pleasure she's ever known, only to walk away and leave her craving for more.

  Even though he told himself he wasn't worthy of her, Aleck can’t deny their fates are somehow intertwined. When Istelle’s life is threatened, he vows to protect her, knowing that bringing her into his haunted sphere will only complicate his life further. He fears nothing and no one, except losing the one vampiress he yearns to hold onto.

  Will she understand what he truly is when tells her the truth or have the gods only given him a taste of something he’ll never possess?

  After all, he is an immortal forsaken…

  Turn the page for a sample of Chapter One!

  Aleck

  Vol 5

  Aleck Trevyn loathed to hear a man beg.

  Especially an evil man.

  Where was the dignity, the pride, the fortitude to go out with some modicum of self-respect?

  He brought up his wrist to look at his coveted limited edition Audemars Piguet watch, with a perpetual calendar and split-second chronograph.

  Two days, seven hours, and nineteen minutes.

  That was how long it took to break Jerome Peters, aka White Suit, who was strapped to a folding chair, sweating and begging behind him. The man’s stench was unbearable.

  “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” Jerome groaned.

  Aleck flicked open the final metal case with his latex-gloved hands. While unfeeling and composed on the outside, on the inside, he was nothing short of elated that he’d been able to extract information so many would be shocked to hear: direct evidence that Marex Daulton was innocent.

  A month ago, Fitz McEvoy had contacted him, after being tortured and nearly killed by Peters. Aleck readily accepted the contract once he learned every vile fact about his target. After a little reconnaissance, he kidnapped Jerome from his house and took him to a vacant farm outside of the capital.

  One wouldn’t know by looking at him that he’d been tortured. Aleck had taken specific measures so it wouldn’t be obvious to the naked eye what happened to his victim, nor would the filth have the capacity to utter a word of what was done to him, or the secrets he’d revealed.

  As Aleck drew out a needled syringe and uncapped it, he heard Jerome struggle behind him to break free of the zip-ties. “Listen, if you kill me, you’ll make enemies you didn’t know existed! Don’t be stupid!” he shouted hoarsely, proving how much screaming he’d been exerting on his throat.

  Aleck flicked the base of the syringe and turned around. “You’d be missed, Mr. Peters. Of that I have no doubt. You have connections in the underworld that impress even me, and your death investigated. That is why I’m not going to kill you.”

  Rivulets of sweat ran from Jerome’s bald head down to his ruddy cheeks, saliva spirting out of the corners of his catfish-like lips. His bloodshot, bug eyes shot to the needle. “Then what’s that? Are you going to knock me out and throw me into the woods naked so that I’ll be hunted down by shifters and mauled to death in order to cover your tracks?”

  The scenario was so absurd and detailed, Aleck nearly laughed out loud. “That is actually a brilliant idea. But I’m not in the business of framing innocent immortals. Even if the thought of you getting mauled by them is inspiring.”

  “Name your price! I’ll give you anything! I swear I…please, let me go.”

  “I will.”

  Aleck had zero sympathy. By all accounts, even without the elaborate frame-up he’d contrived for Marex, Jerome Peters deserved this ending. With very little research, Aleck had learned Jerome had been accused of sexually assaulting multiple young girls and women, financially supported hate groups, and maintained a slumlord reputation, ripping off his tenants to his benefit. To Aleck, he was nothing more than a walking pile of shit.

  “You’ll burn, vampire!” Jerome yelled as Aleck stepped closer. “They won’t let you get away with this!”

  “Well, whether or not I ‘get away’ with this, you’ll have paid the price, and so it’ll be worth it. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be in bed, comfortable and clueless, drooling on your own pillow.” Literally. If his servants got to him on time, he’d live. If they didn’t…shrug.

  “What are you going to do? What is that?” he cried.

  “A maniacal little cocktail of methamphetamine, cocaine, and one or two other stimulants to induce a stroke. You’ll either be a slobbering vegetable or a muttering invalid. Either way, you won’t be touching innocent girls, torturing my friends, or abusing your power for a pointless war. Your time is done.” He went around Jerome’s back.

  Jerome went wild. “Stop! Please!”

  Oh gods, more begging. The villain within smiled. “Hush now.”

  “You fucking—”

  Aleck covered Jerome’s mouth one hand, quieting his noises and holding his head still. With satisfaction, he slowly sank the needle in the man’s fat neck. Seconds later, Jerome’s struggles ceased, as did the screaming. Aleck closed his eyes and inhaled, eyes glowing with his exhale.

  One less pedophile in the world, his villain drawled.

  He dragged the unconscious man from the storm shelter to Jerome’s Cadillac and placed him in the backseat. He threw his belongings in the truck, and when he slammed the door down, huffed at the vanity plate that read: LOLATU.

  He went back and tidied up the piss, saliva, and whatever juices Jerome had leaked on the floor. The place was cleaner than how he’d found it. He doubted anyone would be coming to this abandoned farm anytime soon, let alone suspect what had occurred in the spider-infested shelter.

  It’d take him approximately fifty-seven minutes to get to Jerome’s house in D.C. to drop him off, then about fifteen hours and twenty or so minutes to get to his parent’s house in Louisiana, with stops in between for fuel and a hotel room to avoid the cursed sun.

  With a one-minute earlier arrival time than he’d estimated, he used Jerome’s remote to open the gate and pulled into the driveway with the car’s lights turned off. The house was obnoxiously large for someone who wasn’t married with a family, and in Aleck’s opinion, needed to be burned to its foundation. But that wasn’t something Fitz had requested. After all, the staff within these walls needed jobs, and perhaps now they would be infinitely easier jobs with their lecherous employer permanently disabled.

  Aleck stopped the car beside the front steps and opened the back passenger door.

  He gripped the lapels of Jerome’s suit jacket and moved him to the driver side, situating him so it would appear as though he’d driven himself home. Putting the car’s gear in neutral, he shut the door and lightly pushed the vehicle forward.

  The cameras would see nothing of Aleck; he’d maneuvered them just right the night he kidnapped Peters. Only Jerome’s Cadillac grill would be captured, him slumped over the steering wheel, victim of a stroke. It’d appear he’d partied too hard, and had paid a dire price.

  Aleck turned and strode across the lawn, a corner of
his mouth lifting. Stripping off the latex gloves, he heard the sound of a planter crumbling. Moments after that, the front door lights came on.

  He disappeared through the trees, not bothering to look back.

  This time tomorrow, he’d be home.

  The next evening, he eased his SUV toward the familiar wrought-iron gates with an ornate T emblem in the middle, covered in creeping plants.

  He reached out the window and entered in the six-digit code. The gates whined, then laboriously parted, their resident vines tearing apart, proving not one visitor had come to the house in months.

  Frowning, he eased into the long driveway. His parents and staff must’ve been using the back entry to come and go, if at all. Lately, they had everything delivered. The gates had given the impression of a neglected property, but within them, the landscape and exterior showcased diligent upkeep.

  After parking, he unlocked and opened the front door, barely making it in two steps before he was greeted by the houseman.

  “How was the drive, Aleck?” Dennis approached with an old fashioned cocktail.

  It always amazed him how his parent’s long-time employee knew exactly what he wanted upon arrival.

  He accepted the glass with gratitude, much needed. “Long. Thank you, Dennis.”

  Next to the umbrella stand was a basket stuffed with envelopes. All unopened, and for good reason, each likely spewed the same censure and hate as the dozens and dozens before them.

  Would the harassment never end? Aleck sighed. “Where are they?”

  “On the veranda.”

  Gerard and Lilith Trevyn were partaking in their nightly ritual, his mother was lounging on the chaise, draped in her beloved Valentino silk wrap. Her favorite diamond ring glittered in the torchlight as she rubbed her arms as though chilled. His father stood with a cigar in one hand, a glass of port in the other, looking up at the moon, dressed in his usual waistcoat and trousers.