His Dark Embrace

by Verika Sloane

  Copyright © 2020 by Verika Sloane

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  All rights reserved.

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  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.

  Dedication

  To soulmates, in this life and the next

  Contents

  Glossary

  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

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  A Fate-Crossed Lovers Novel

  Verika’s Underworld

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Glossary

  Ascend: verb. The act of a vampire’s soul rising from the earthly plane to a higher spiritual place.

  Avow: verb. The ritual performed so that a couple who are not fated can seal their bond. A show of protection and commitment.

  “Before the Light”: a phrase vampires utter in respect to the time when creatures of the night ruled before the sun and humans.

  Depths: noun. A purgatory where vampires are sent to receive punishment for crimes they committed in their earth life.

  Ecca: noun. A beautiful place of light & dark that vampires spiritually rise to after their earthly death.

  Entyre Law: noun. Ancient scrolls. A code a vampire is commanded to live by according to the gods.

  Fated: noun. A male or female vampire that has found their soulmate by blood.

  Fateblood: noun. A vampire born to a fated couple.

  The Gods: The nine gods & goddesses vampires worship who grant them their gifts.

  Nine: noun. The nine original families. The wealthiest, most prestigious, powerful, and influential vampires in history.

  Pürblood: noun. A vampire born to a non-fated parents, but is natural born.

  Pürist: noun. A male or female pürblood vampire that has been avowed to another.

  Sensa: noun. The energy from another being. Vampires feed on and exchange this with humans and other vampires for survival and vitality.

  Shadow: noun. A person born as a human who is turned into a vampire.

  Shief: noun. (pronounced sheef) A male wolf shifter.

  Shiya: noun. (pronounced shy-ah) A female wolf shifter.

  Taeker: noun. A vampire who commissions a human for regular bloodfeeding.

  Vesser: noun. The oldest living vampires who have been granted the highest esteem.

  Whilling: noun. A human who accepts a contract with a vampire to provide them their blood.

  Chapter One

  Shain Trevyn caught the sword with one hand and a grin. “You want to play? Let’s play.”

  The other party guests filtered into the ballroom, circling around Esteban and Shain with curious murmurs.

  His challenger scraped the weapon’s tip on the marble floor as if drawing a line in the sand. “When was the last time you held a blade in your hand, Trevyn? 1855? In New Orleans? When that shadow caught you with his curvaceous cousin?”

  Shain chuckled, yanking the bowtie loose and flinging it to the floor, then undoing the first button of his crisp white shirt. “Ah, yes. Mona. She, with those curves, and me, using no brakes.” Laughter sprinkled through the group that was dressed in couture gowns, tuxedos, and formal vintage attire. “Your obsession with me and my sword continues to amuse.”

  “The only one obsessed with you is you.” Esteban stepped back for a side stance, lifting his sword arm to point the blade at Shain’s face. “I know for a fact you’re chasing Tanaka for his alliance, which screams your ego is so bloated with hot gas, you need to be brought down a notch, plus ten.”

  The grin on Shain’s face never broke. “No one has or ever will bring me down.”

  Esteban had been a frenemy for as long as Shain could remember. They simply didn’t like each other. Probably because, if one mused over it long enough, they were a lot alike. Nevertheless, with so many associates and acquaintances in common, they had come to a lenient, unspoken mutual respect, with a razor-sharp rapport that’d lately become a sort of sideshow at parties. Shain had known that once word about his upcoming meeting with Tanaka whisked its way through his coven and beyond, Esteban would be the first to try and knock him off his confident climb.

  Were the roles reversed, Shain would attempt the same. Just for the sport of it.

  “The usual rules?” Esteban said as more guests gathered in the ballroom. “First to draw blood wins?”

  Shain circled his wrist, the sword making a distinct whoosh, the chandelier lights gleaming off the fine metal. “Now that we have an earnest audience, why not make it more interesting?”

  Some guests clapped; others murmured, “These two never stop,” or “This will be good.”

  Shain met Esteban’s dark brown eyes with his wicked gaze. Already, he’d seized power over the challenge by upping the ante.

  “To the death, then?” Esteban shouted, holding out his arms, his gaze giving back, Now who has the power?

  “To the death?” Shain mocked with incredulity. “Good gods. Italians. Always so desperately dramatic.”

  The guests’ laughter at Esteban’s expense made the man’s smile falter.

  “No, no, my friend.” Shain stopped with a wide stance, set his left arm behind him and whipped his sword arm straight, the blade just hovering above the floor. “I rather value my life. Which will be exponentially elevated very soon. So no, I won’t gamble with my existence to entertain your ego. Three cuts to draw blood instead of one. That should do. Yes?”

  Esteban chuckled with sinister aplomb, raised his sword and lunged, a cheap attempt to take Shain off guard. Responding with a laugh, Shain parried skillfully, and the metals clashed and clanged as they each gave more with every rising shout of their spectators.

  “Take him, Esteban!” one of his frenemy’s lovers exclaimed.

  “No contest,” assured one of Shain’s allies to another.

  Was Esteban for real? So serious, so determined. Shain retreated then moved forward, reading his opponent easily, as he always could. Eager to get on with his night, he distracted Esteban with a spin move and nicked the man’s bicep with a flourish.

  Gasps all around.

  Esteban hissed and grabbed his wound, eyes reflecting more evil than Shain had beheld in a long time. The energy shot off his opponent like static.

  Shain stepped back to give Esteban a moment to reset.

  The scratch only fueled the fateblood to come at him twice as hard, which Shain found twice as hilarious. “I’m witnessing ugly emotions firing out of your eyes, Esteban. Does anyone else think it’s comical when he’s angry?”

&nb
sp; His quip nearly cost him a slash to the eye. Esteban’s sword narrowly missed his cheek.

  “Not the face, man!” Shain teased.

  “Ha! I’d love to see your pretty visage marked for once.”

  “You think I’m pretty? I’m confused, do you want to fuck or fight?”

  The audience erupted in laughter. In turn, Esteban gave a roar of much less levity, and lunged with an arcing swoop, aiming to slash Shain’s chest.

  A move that Shain narrowly dodged.

  “Damn you, Trevyn!”

  While Esteban’s sword swung high from momentum, Shain used the window of opportunity to send his blade across a rib. That cut, he had to admit, he’d delivered with less playfulness. He was so tired of proving himself. He’d earned his way in his covenant’s ranks, yet was constantly challenged by those who were jealous or suspicious of his success. They just couldn’t let him relax, which was an equally good yet exhausting balance to maintain.

  Esteban cursed in Italian, pressing a hand to his bleeding wound.

  One of the covenant members, Lita, winked at Shain as he gave his opponent another moment to rest.

  Shain shook his head with a private smile. A few years ago, Lita had slapped his face after he’d beaten her bid at a priceless art auction. But a few months ago, she’d been vigorously sucking his cock in a limo on the way to the same annual event.

  Funny how things could change, given enough time.

  Esteban came at him with a yell, and they clashed back and forth, the guests giving them space every time they stepped closer to the perimeter of the ballroom.

  Shain scanned the crowd. His eyes locked with one of his allies, Hugh, whose face communicated clearly that he should allow Esteban a cut, if only to spare the man’s pride. After all, this was supposed to be meaningless fun. A joke. Even though it’d been Esteban’s idea to fight and Shain hated to concede, even for a second.

  Shain broke from Hugh’s gaze and gave a ghost of a nod, agreeing not to frappé Esteban’s ego to teeny tiny pieces.

  They charged at one another, showing off the kind of traditional swordsmanship that many of his kind had let go of or neglected by now: No one settled disputes or defended their loved ones with swords anymore. Shain couldn’t imagine a better rival to keep his skills fresh.

  Esteban was a serious match. Their swords made a loud clang, meeting in a large X, their faces just inches apart. Close enough for Shain to note the real animosity in his opponent’s eyes.

  “Tanaka will never accept you,” Esteban declared in a low voice. “He will see what I see.”

  Shain, slightly out of breath, gritted his teeth. “And what’s that?”

  “A star that burns the brightest burns the fastest.”

  Mercy, Hugh? Fuck that. Using the strength he’d reserved—because this was supposed to be for show and he’d been holding back—Shain shoved Esteban away and sliced his sword across the top of the man’s knee.

  Esteban fell with a yell of pure pain.

  Shain flinched with mock exaggeration. Ouch. Esteban would need blood and an ice bath to get over that one.

  With a huff of triumph, Shain looked down at his frenemy as one of Avery’s staff came to retrieve the sword he held out. “You were the one who wanted to play.” He cut through the thoroughly entertained group, picking up his bowtie on the way.

  The second he’d walked into Avery Massey’s expansive Antebellum home, that remarkable feeling of déjà vu, that he’d done this before and would do so again, had hit him. A nauseating, repetitive circle of covenant galas, alliance assemblies, business ventures, one-night-stands...

  He tucked his hands in his pockets and walked around the party, searching for the tiniest modicum of novelty. Something interesting. Something different. Something he hadn’t seen and done and heard a thousand times before.

  He was close to no one, yet friends with everyone. The relationships he’d developed over the years were all of the quid pro quo variety. There were plenty of people in his inner circle he trusted to keep mutual interests in mind, but none with whom he could share any deep confidence.

  Even his coldest enemies gave him a nod when he walked into a room. Respect, even peppered with envy and despise, meant more to him than friendship.

  Before he’d reached his first century, Shain had closed an unprecedented amount of allies obtained by a pürblood. With his parents’ insistence and support, he went to his first Centurias and secured more allies than his father had. Ever. And even more at the last Centurias. In a few years, the third one would commence and, gods willing, he’d already have the ultimate alliance and could just enjoy the festivities and watch everyone else play Centurias games.

  He was unavowed and loving it. Wealthy and loving it. Popular and loving it.

  But lately, it seemed, a new hunger—something he assumed had nothing to do with money, alliances, status, or respect, since none of those things seemed to sate it—had formed.

  Shain grimaced, grabbing a flute of Moët. He’d been laden with a sense of discontent, unfulfillment, bothered with an appetite he couldn’t slake, for a while now. A hunger he’d never heard anyone else speak of.

  A hunger for what, though?

  Amara, for example. His desire for her had virtually ceased, even though the Middle Eastern beauty could stun a man in his tracks with her catlike green eyes, full lips, and wealth of black hair.

  Glamorous, graceful, but guarded.

  Their torrid affair had carried off-and-on for a decade. She was not only striking, but shrewd and intrepid, like he was. There was a time he couldn’t imagine ever wanting someone more. Years ago, he thought Amara would be the perfect pürist by his side. But she’d turned him down.

  Lately, however, she’d been dropping hints that her answer might be different now, but he had no intention of repeating his offer to avow her.

  And so they were lovers when convenient. But the last time, weeks before she left for Madrid for the summer, passion hadn’t rushed like wildfire through his veins. He just didn’t see her as he used to, no matter how hard he tried.

  Amara had sensed something was off too, spraying him with uncharacteristically insecure questions until he took her to bed and feigned—yes, feigned—desire. Him. Faking it in bed.

  “Trevyn!” Markus waved him over to the roulette table. “What should I bet on? I’ve been losing all night,” he said, gesturing where he should place his chips.

  Shain looked at the table. “Red. And split them. Sixteen, nineteen. Twenty-one, twenty-four.”

  Markus placed his chips, the dealer spun the wheel, and Markus won two of the three. Friends around the table cheered while a few men discreetly snarled.

  Markus laughed. “Good man! See! I told you Trevyn can’t lose. Best thing I ever did was become one of his allies, long before he was even a name. Did I ever tell you guys how…?”

  Oh, gods. Would Markus ever stop telling that story? As he turned away, a striking brunette approached Shain.

  “I’ve been watching you, Trevyn.”

  He couldn’t recall her name, but leaned in to kiss her hello—and goodbye—when she whispered, “Need someone tonight? I do.”

  Not even close to tempted, he pressed his lips to her cheek. “Another time, perhaps.”

  Inevitably, he’d be back to his old self. Despondency had a way of sneaking up on a vampire when life turned monotonous. That was all it was. For him to have the blues was ridiculous when he lived a life that others would murder to have. Once Tanaka came to meet him, he’d have another challenge on his hands.

  Meanwhile, best not to activate the gossips. Time to get some air.

  On his way out to the terrace, he grabbed a small bottle of Avery’s cherished whiskey.

  A slim woman in a low cut, green sequin dress gave him a nod while enjoying her smoke. “Hey, Trev.”

  He raised the bottle in silent greeting, making his way down the steps to the endless grounds that was Avery Massey’s backyard. Her family’s estate s
tood on acres of beautiful, lush Georgia land, just outside of Atlanta.

  For a while, he wandered around the manicured garden, taking swigs of the strong libation, enjoying the buzz. Finding one of her secluded fountains, he rested a heel on the edge and watched the water dance with the lights, contemplating what he could do to snap himself out of this mood.

  Going home to Louisiana came to mind. Maybe he’d visit his parents. Though, they probably wouldn’t sympathize much, other than to tell him what he already knew: He had nothing to be sullen about.

  Or a trip to New York could cheer him up. He had more friends than he could count there. Not to mention, he could visit several of the most notorious underworld clubs in the States, offering everything a vampire covets.

  Or maybe he’d buy something unnecessary and excessive. Then again, he thought with a smirk, taking his last swig, anything and everything he bought at this point was unnecessary and excessive.

  “Gods, give me what I need,” he murmured, finishing the bottle. And he needed the Tanaka alliance. They would know that. Good and buzzed, he set the empty bottle down on the bench. He would never ask for anything more.

  A strong, warm, late June breeze swept through, and a creaking sound caught his ear. Behind the vines and brush was a door, swinging slightly in the wind. Dark wood, rounded at the top, and clearly neglected.