by Lara Adrian
Lara Adrian
The Midnight Breed Series
Kiss of Midnight
Kiss of Crimson
Midnight Awakening
Midnight Rising
Veil of Midnight
Ashes of Midnight
Shades of Midnight
Taken by Midnight
Dell Books
Contents
Cover
Title Page
KISS OF MIDNIGHT
KISS OF CRIMSON
MIDNIGHT AWAKENING
MIDNIGHT RISING
VEIL OF MIDNIGHT
ASHES OF MIDNIGHT
SHADES OF MIDNIGHT
TAKEN BY MIDNIGHT
KISS OF MIDNIGHT
A Dell Book / May 2007
Published by Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2007 by Lara Adrian
* * *
Dell is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
* * *
www.bantamdell.com
eISBN: 978-0-440-33667-9
v3.0
Contents
Main Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
About the Author
Excerpt from Kiss of Crimson
For John, whose faith in me has never faltered, and whose love, I hope, will never fade.
With much gratitude to my agent, Karen Solem, for helping chart the course, and for brilliant navigation under all manner of conditions.
My wonderful editor, Shauna Summers, rightly deserves her own page of acknowledgments for all of her support and encouragement, not to mention the superb editorial vision that always finds the heart of every story and helps bring it into focus.
Thanks also to Debbie Graves for enthusiastic critiques, and to Jessica Bird, whose talent is surpassed only by her amazing generosity of spirit.
Lastly, a special nod of appreciation to my audial muses during much of the creation of this book: Lacuna Coil, Evanescence, and Collide, whose stirring lyrics and amazing music never failed to inspire.
Prologue
TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS AGO
Her baby wouldn’t stop crying. She’d started fussing at the last station, when the Greyhound bus out of Bangor stopped in Portland to pick up more passengers. Now, at a little after 1 A.M., they were almost to the Boston terminal, and the two-plus hours of trying to soothe her infant daughter were, as her friends back in school would say, getting on her last nerve.
The man beside her in the next seat probably wasn’t thrilled, either.
“I’m real sorry about this,” she said, turning to speak to him for the first time since he’d gotten on. “She’s usually not this cranky. It’s our first trip together. I guess she’s just ready to get where we’re going.”
The man blinked at her slowly, smiled without showing his teeth. “Where you headed?”
“New York City.”
“Ah. The Big Apple,” he murmured. His voice was dry, airless. “You got family there or something?”
She shook her head. The only family she had was in a backwoods town near Rangeley, and they’d made it clear that she was on her own now. “I’m going there for a job. I mean, I hope to find a job. I want to be a dancer. On Broadway maybe, or one of them Rockettes.”
“Well, you sure are pretty enough.” The man was staring at her now. It was dark in the bus, but she thought there was something kind of weird about his eyes. Again the tight smile. “With a body like yours, you ought to be a big star.”
Blushing, she glanced down at her complaining baby. Her boyfriend back in Maine used to say stuff like that, too. He used to say a lot of things to get her into the backseat of his car. And he wasn’t her boyfriend anymore, either. Not since her junior year of high school when she started swelling up with his kid.
If she hadn’t quit to have the baby, she would have graduated this summer.
“Have you had anything to eat yet today?” the man asked, as the bus slowed down and turned into the Boston station.
“Not really.” She gently bounced her baby girl in her arms, for all the good it did. She was red in the face, her tiny fists pumping, still crying like there was no tomorrow.
“What a coincidence,” the stranger said. “I haven’t eaten, either. I could do with a bite, if you’re game to join me?”
“Nah. I’m okay. I’ve got some saltines in my bag. And anyway, I think this is the last bus to New York tonight, so I won’t have time to do much more than change the baby and get right back on. Thanks, though.”
He didn’t say anything else, just watched her gather her few things once the bus was parked in its bay, then moved out of his seat to let her pass on her way to the station’s facilities.
When she came out of the restroom, the man was waiting for her.
A niggle of unease shot through her to see him standing there. He hadn’t seemed so big when he was sitting next to her. And now that she was looking at him again, she could see that there was definitely something freaky about his eyes. Was he some kind of stoner?
“What’s going on?”
He chuckled under his breath. “I told you. I need to feed.”
That was an odd way of putting it.
She couldn’t help noticing that there were only a few other people around in the station at this late hour. A light rain had begun, wetting the pavement, sending stragglers in for cover. Her bus was idling in its bay, already reloading. But in order to get to it, she first had to get past him.
She shrugged, too tired and anxious to deal with this crap. “So, if you’re hungry, go tell it to McDonald’s. I’m late for my bus—”
“Listen, bitch—” He moved so fast, she didn’t know what hit her. One second he was standing three feet away from her, the next he had his hand around her throat, cutting off her air. He pushed her back into the shadows near the terminal building. Back where nobody was going to notice if she got mugged. Or worse. His mouth was so close to her face, she could smell his foul breath. She saw his sharp teeth as he curled his lips back and hissed a terrible threat. “Say another word, move anothe
r muscle, and you’ll be watching me eat your brat’s juicy little heart.”
Her baby was wailing in her arms now, but she didn’t say a word.
She didn’t so much as think about moving.
All that mattered was her baby. Keeping her safe. And so she didn’t dare do a thing, not even when those sharp teeth lunged toward her and bit down hard into her neck.
She stood utterly frozen with terror, clutching her baby close while her attacker drew hard at the bleeding gash he’d made in her throat. His fingers elongated where he gripped her head and shoulder, the tips cutting into her like a demon’s claws. He grunted and pulled deeper at her with his mouth and sharp teeth. Although her eyes were wide open in horror, her vision was going dark, her thoughts beginning to tumble, splintering into pieces. Everything around her was growing murky.
He was killing her. The monster was killing her. And then he would kill her baby, too.
“No.” She gulped in air, but tasted only blood. “Goddamn you—No!”
With a desperate burst of will, she snapped her head into his, cracking the side of her skull into her attacker’s face. When he snarled and reared back in surprise, she tore out of his grasp. She stumbled, nearly falling to her knees before she righted herself. One arm wrapped around her howling child, the other coming up to feel the slick, burning wound at her neck, she edged backward, away from the creature that lifted his head and sneered at her with glowing yellow eyes and bloodstained lips.
“Oh, God,” she moaned, sick at the sight.
She took another step back. Pivoted, prepared to bolt, even if it was pointless.
And that’s when she saw the other one.
Fierce amber eyes looked right through her, but the hiss that sounded from between his huge, gleaming fangs promised death. She thought he would lace into her and finish what the first one had started, but he didn’t. Guttural words were spat between the two of them, then the newcomer strode past her, a long silver blade in his hand.
Take the child, and go.
The command seemed to come out of nowhere, cutting through the fog of her mind. It came again, sharper now, spurring her into action. She ran.
Blind with panic, her mind numb with fear and confusion, she ran away from the terminal and down a nearby street. Deeper and deeper, she fled into the unfamiliar city, into the night. Hysteria clawed at her, making every noise—even the sound of her own running feet—seem monstrous and deadly.
And her baby wouldn’t stop crying.
They were going to be found out if she didn’t get the baby to quiet down. She had to put her to bed, nice and warm in her crib. Then her little girl would be happy. Then she’d be safe. Yes, that’s what she had to do. Put the baby to bed, where the monsters couldn’t find her.
She was tired herself, but she couldn’t rest. Too dangerous. She had to get home before her mom realized she had missed curfew again. She was numb, disoriented, but she had to run. And so she did. She ran until she dropped, exhausted and unable to take another step.
When she woke sometime later, it was to feel her mind coming unhinged, cracking apart like an eggshell. Sanity was peeling away from her, reality warping into something black and slippery, something that was dancing farther and farther out of her reach.
She heard muffled crying somewhere in the distance. Such a tiny sound. She put her hands up to cover her ears, but she could still hear that helpless little mewl.
“Hush,” she murmured to no one in particular, rocking back and forth. “Be quiet now, the baby’s sleeping. Be quiet be quiet be quiet….”
But the crying kept on. It didn’t stop, and didn’t stop. It tore at her heart as she sat in the filthy street and stared, unseeing, into the coming dawn.
CHAPTER
One
PRESENT DAY
Remarkable. Just look at the use of light and shadow….”
“You see how this image hints at the sorrow of the place, yet manages to convey a promise of hope?”
“…one of the youngest photographers to be included in the museum’s new modern art collection.”
Gabrielle Maxwell stood back from the group of exhibit attendees, nursing a flute of warm champagne as yet another crowd of faceless, nameless, Very Important People enthused over the two dozen black-and-white photographs displayed on the gallery walls. She glanced at the images from across the room, somewhat bemused. They were good photographs—a bit edgy, their subject matter being abandoned mills and desolate dockyards outside Boston—but she didn’t quite get what everyone else was seeing in them.
Then again, she never did. Gabrielle merely took the photographs; she left their interpretation, and ultimately, their appreciation, up to others. An introvert by nature, it made her uncomfortable to be on the receiving end of this much praise and attention … but it did pay the bills. Quite nicely, at that. Tonight, it was also paying the bills for her friend Jamie, the owner of the funky little art gallery on Newbury Street, which, at ten minutes to closing, was still packed with prospective buyers.
Numb with the whole process of meeting and greeting, of smiling politely as everyone from moneyed Back Bay wives to multipierced, tattooed Goths tried to impress one another—and her—with analyses of her work, Gabrielle couldn’t wait for the exhibit to end. She had been hiding in the shadows for the past hour, contemplating a stealth escape to the comfort of a warm shower and a soft pillow, both waiting at her apartment on the city’s east side.
But she had promised a few of her friends—Jamie, Kendra, and Megan—that she would join them for dinner and drinks after the showing. As the last couple of stragglers made their purchases and left, Gabrielle found herself gathered up and swept into a cab before she had a chance to so much as think of begging off.
“What an awesome night!” Jamie’s androgynous blond hair swung around his face as he leaned across the other two women to clutch Gabrielle’s hand. “I’ve never had so much weekend traffic in the gallery—and tonight’s sales receipts were amazing! Thank you so much for letting me host you.”
Gabrielle smiled at her friend’s excitement. “Of course. No need to thank me.”
“You weren’t too miserable, were you?”
“How could she be, with half of Boston falling at her feet?” gushed Kendra, before Gabrielle could answer for herself. “Was that the governor I saw you talking with over the canapés?”
Gabrielle nodded. “He’s offered to commission some original works for his cottage on the Vineyard.”
“Sweet!”
“Yeah,” Gabrielle replied without much enthusiasm. She had a stack of business cards in her pocketbook—at least a year of steady work, if she wanted it—so why was she tempted to open the taxi window and scatter them all to the wind?
She let her gaze drift to the night outside the car, watching in queer detachment as lights and lives flickered past. The streets teemed with people: couples strolling hand in hand, groups of friends laughing and talking, all of them having a great time. They dined at café tables outside trendy bistros and paused to browse store window displays. Everywhere she looked, the city pulsed with color and life. Gabrielle absorbed it all with her artist’s eye and, yet, felt nothing. This bustle of life—her life as well—seemed to be speeding by without her. More and more lately, she felt as if she were caught on a wheel that wouldn’t stop spinning her around, trapping her in an endless cycle of passing time and little purpose.
“Is anything wrong, Gab?” Megan asked from beside her on the taxi’s bench seat. “You seem quiet.”
Gabrielle shrugged. “I’m sorry. I’m just … I don’t know. Tired, I guess.”
“Somebody get this woman a drink—stat!” Kendra, the dark-haired nurse, joked.
“Nah,” Jamie countered, sly and catlike. “What our Gab really needs is a man. You’re too serious, sweetie. It’s not healthy to let your work consume you like you do. Have some fun! When’s the last time you got laid, anyway?”
Too long ago but Gabrielle wasn’t rea
lly keeping track. She’d never suffered from a shortage of dates when she wanted them, and sex—on those rare occasions she had it—wasn’t something she obsessed over like some of her friends. As out of practice as she was right now in that department, she didn’t think an orgasm was going to cure whatever was causing her current state of restlessness.
“Jamie is right, you know,” Kendra was saying. “You need to loosen up, get a little wild.”
“No time like the present,” Jamie added.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Gabrielle said, shaking her head. “I’m really not up for a late night, you guys. Gallery showings always take a lot out of me and I—”
