Shadow Dweller - Redemption Part 1

Redemption.

Shadow Dwellers.

by J.C. Wilder.

Prologue.

He both frightened and fascinated her.

Gabrielle DesNoir paused, her pen hovering above her journal, to watch the vampire through lowered lashes. Mikhail sat on his makes.h.i.+ft throne, his face hidden in the shadows; his long legs sprawled before him. Once a daunting figure of a man, he now resembled, at best, an untidy pile of dirty clothing.

Dried blood splattered his tattered cream linen trousers. His white silk s.h.i.+rt had turned a mottled gray from stains left unattended. His feet were shod in battered leather wingtips, the laces undone. Draped across his lap lay an overfed black cat. The creature purred loudly as the vampire's narrow, bony hands stroked its gleaming fur.

He was but a shadow of his former self.

Until Conor MacNaughten had interfered at the ancient druid circle during the last winter solstice, Mikhail had been one of the most powerful vampires in the preternatural world. Handsome, intelligent and completely ruthless, he'd been a leader to be admired by some and feared by others. As his consort, Gabrielle had held a coveted position in the hierarchy of the d.a.m.ned. Their parties were legendary, their friends plentiful. Life had been good.

Now they were on the run like common criminals.

After Mikhail's ill-fated grab for the leaders.h.i.+p of the Council of Elders, the ruling body of the preternaturals, prices were placed on their heads and their army scattered, leaving only the weakest behind. Inwardly, she sighed. The days of parties, jewels and people at her beck and call were gone. For now, at least. A smile threatened to form and she squelched the urge. Now wasn't the time for levity.

Edward was dead and Ca.s.siopeia had vanished, leaving the two of them to pick up the pieces. Shestifled a snort of disgust. If she ever wanted to regain her former position in society, she'd have to see to the matter herself.

"Gabrielle," he hissed.

His voice, raspy and hollow, trickled over her nerves like icy fingers. She masked her unease at the sound of his ruined voice and fixed a serene expression on her face. "Yes, my love?"

"It's time to contact Mortianna."

She jerked and her forgotten pen dug into the paper and tore a small hole in the creamy parchment.

Mortianna was the most powerful witch on earth, rumored to be terrifying to behold. As the de facto High Priestess of the witches, she was possibly the only person left who could help them redeem themselves and rea.s.semble their dispersed army. Her powers were legendary and, with the death of her only daughter, Bliss, she'd most likely join with them to destroy Alexandre Saint-Juste and the last remaining council member, Fayne.

Gabrielle's lip curled.

A vampire and a were-cat were the only ones left on the Council, the only creatures standing between her and her former life. A tremor of antic.i.p.ation ran through her. Success was close; she could almost taste the sweetness.

"I understand." She dropped the pen and rose to her feet, smoothing her palms over her black leggings.

"I'll leave at once."

She moved to the door, happy to leave the underground bunker where they'd existed for the past few months. Her breath quickened at the thought of fresh air and even fresher blood. Mikhail's voice stopped her as her hand closed around the k.n.o.b.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" His tone was wry.

She forced a silky laugh. "How silly of me." She turned and sauntered to him, her movements deliberately sensual. It didn't matter what she did or wore. Since the accident, he'd avoided coming to her bed, which suited her just fine. The thought of Mikhail in her bed once more made her skin crawl.

The scent of old blood and stale air reached her nose as she neared him. Her knee brushed his as she leaned forward, her lips teasing the icy skin of his cheek before retreating. She gasped as his fingers dug into her wrist and he leaned into the weak light.

His once-beautiful face was hideously scarred. Pale flesh glistened with newly healed pink skin, s.h.i.+ny from powerful burns. Almost half his face was obliterated as if he'd been dunked in a vat of acid. His ice-blue eyes were vacant with the stare of the sightless.

"Don't fail me, Gabrielle," he hissed.

Menace laced his words and a trill of fear raced down her spine. Even blind and in the proverbial gutter, Mikhail could crush most vampires with his powerful mind alone. Not even she was safe from his wrath should he decide to turn on her. She'd seen what Mikhail could do to someone who failed him and it wasn't a pretty fate. She forced a soft chuckle. "Darling, I'll not fail you." She pressed her lips once more to his undamaged cheek as he released his grip on her wrist. "I'll bring us victory," she whispered.

He settled back against the chair, a grim smile twisting his misshapen lips as she turned away. Her heels made sharp clicking sounds on the cement floor as she hurried toward the door, her mind whirling with delicious possibilities.

Victory would be hers and hers alone.

Chapter 1.

She looked good, for a corpse.

From the doorway, Quinn stared hard through the coffin's gla.s.s lid. His half- sister, Bliss, lay on a bed of cream silk surrounded by dozens of fresh pink rosebuds, which lined her eternal bed. Her golden hair framed her face in delicate ringlets while her skin retained the blush of life. Her lips were still pink and full; her thick lashes shadowed her cheeks. She looked as if she were sleeping.

Witchcraft had accomplished this feat.

He'd been at home in the mountains of Was.h.i.+ngton when the news of her death had arrived two months before. According to the missive, the minions had carried her body to their mother's home in England.

Bruised and broken, her head had been neatly severed from her shoulders, her life ended by a vampire.

Looking at her now, Quinn knew only witchcraft could've put her back together again.

Humpty Dumpty should've been so lucky.

He s.h.i.+fted his attention to the rigid figure standing by the coffin.

Mortianna.

Their mother wore black from head to toe, as was her custom. Her pale brown hair, lightly threaded with silver, was pulled into a tight roll on the back of her head. Her full-length cape hung from her shoulders to the floor, shrouding her figure in its velvet folds. Dust and a few blades of damp gra.s.s clung to the hem. Her gaze was fixed on her daughter's face.

What sort of dark thoughts raced around her diabolical brain?

He moved into the room, his leather-soled shoes making little sound on the solarium's polished marble floor. The stone was inlaid with a ma.s.sive bra.s.s pentagram upon which the casket sat on a catafalque draped in yards of pale pink silk. Fat white candles in towering wrought iron floor holders and overflowing urns of roses and lilies encircled the macabre display. Their cloying scent hung thick in the chilly air.

Surrounding the scene in a widely s.p.a.ced circle were some of Mortianna's minions. Quinn stifled a grimace of distaste as his coat brushed the robe of one of the little beasts. Mortianna's personal army of demons only stood as high as his waist, but they were lethal. It was rumored they could rip a man apart inseconds.

No one knew exactly what they were or where they came from. There were persistent rumors that they were, in fact, demons called from the depths of the earth to serve their mistress. He doubted that particular tale but he did know they were completely loyal to their keeper and obeyed her every command even if it meant their demise. They were midget kamikazes willing to die at a crook of her finger.

They stood silent and still, their beady eyes glowing from the dark recesses of their hoods as he breached their circle. Ignoring the needle p.r.i.c.k of malevolence that danced across his skin, he concentrated on his mother.

The scent of Mortianna's perfume, dark and heavy, a.s.saulted his nose as he reached her side. She was a beautiful woman, though it appeared she'd aged several years since yesterday. Her skin looked papery and dry while fine lines bracketed her mouth and more radiated from the corners of her pale blue eyes.

He had her eyes.

Something s.h.i.+fted inside him. A longing he'd denied most of his life reared its head as he stared at her.

Never had he dreamed this moment would come. Growing up, he'd known this powerful witch had given birth to him, but they'd never met until yesterday.

According to his father, Keirgen, Mortianna had declared within days of his arrival that she had no use for a male child. After several more attempts at pregnancy, each one ending in failure, she'd expelled Keirgen from her life with baby Quinn tucked in his arms.

Now, years later, they were reunited. Mother and son. Only this time, he was preparing to leave on his terms and he had no plans to ever return.

"You should rest," he kept his voice low.

She stirred, turning her head as if she'd been awakened from a deep sleep. Her gaze was flat. "How can I rest when my child lies in her coffin?"

"Standing here won't change what's happened. You cannot alter history and you do Bliss no good.

Already your magic fades." He raised a hand to indicate the increasing threads of silver in her hair.

She turned away, her gaze fastening on her daughter's face as if it were a lodestone. "I care naught for magic. I want only revenge."

He knew well the price of revenge and the cost was too dear, even for the death of his sister. He shook his head. "Edward killed Bliss and he's but a pile of ashes now. What more do you want?"

"I want the life of the man who brought her to this." She spun toward him, her hand raised in a fist. "I want the life of Damien St. James in exchange for that of my daughter. He's the one who took her from me years ago when he made her an immortal."

Sinjin.

Quinn stilled. The vampire was well known in the preternatural world and something of an enigma.

Rarely, if ever, appearing in public, he lived in a ma.s.sive castle in the northernmost reaches of Scotland.Among the preternaturals, he was rumored to be insane. It wasn't unusual for a vampire to go mad as their longevity inherently led to their demise one way or another.

"You cannot go after an elder vampire."

She whirled away from him, stalking around to the other side of the coffin. "Bah! I can and I have." Her gaze met his and he saw the anger boiling within her. "Thatcreature destroyed my perfect child and she defended him. She defended his appalling actions and made me promise to spare him. For years I kept my promise to her and I spared his life. Now she lies dead before me and nothing will stop me from having my revenge."

Awareness formed a hollow pit in his stomach. "That's why you invited me here, isn't it? You want me to help you bring Sinjin down."

A soft smile curved her mouth. "I did, indeed. My son, the writer and noted authority on ancient weaponry, would have the perfect excuse to contact him. Everyone knows St. James has one of the most extensive and complete collections in Britain. The best part is no one would ever link the two of us together."

Betrayal burned hot and thick in his throat as anger arose. He struggled to quell the words that battled to burst forth. Never would he let her see the direct hit she'd just scored. "I won't help you."

Her expression turned pitying as she shook her head. "You disappoint me. I think I knew, within moments of our meeting, you'd be unable to aid me."

"Not unable,unwilling . There's a difference."

She waved her hand as if to dismiss his words. "Not to me. I'll have my revenge with or without your help."

"Your anger will destroy you."

She laughed; a bitter, ugly sound. "You're mistaken, myson . My anger will be the death of Damien St.

James. I've already sent the minions to bring him to me. It's only a matter of time now."

"No good will come of this."

"Tell that to your sister." She turned away, effectively dismissing him. Her gaze locked once more on the face of her slain daughter.

Finally, he was gone.

Maeve stepped into the library, taking care to close the door behind her. Her leather-soled boots made only the faintest scuffling on the thick carpet as she advanced toward the desk.

She'd been living in Sinjin's home for almost a year, though the length of her stay wasn't her decision and she longed to return home to the United States. She'd originally come to the Highlands to concentrate on her training and she'd stayed because Val and her host had decided it was too dangerous to let her go.

They seemed to think Mikhail would come after her in retaliation of the debacle last winter solstice. While Sinjin might call her a "guest", she snorted under her breath, a prisoner was more apropos. Even though it was luxurious, this place was still a cage. His castle in the wilds of Northern Scotland was as isolated as could be.

But it had served its purpose.

He was a thoughtful host when he was around. A recluse almost to the point of obsession, he rarely left the library and, when he did, it was only to visit the catacombs beneath the castle. It was rarer still when he left the confines of the house. Lucky for her she'd been in the upper gallery when he'd announced to the butler he'd be absent for several hours.

This might be her only chance to find the answers she sought.

A low fire was the only light in the room as she wove her way around the furniture toward the desk.

Unless Sinjin was present, the library had been declared off limits from the moment she'd stepped foot in the house. He'd allowed her to spend many hours secure within its hallowed walls, enjoying the library's many treasures. The only books she was forbidden to read were the ones located behind his desk. Only once had she breached his personal domain, but that one time was enough to enable her to recognize what she was looking for.

She turned on the small lamp when she reached the desk. Papers were scattered over the polished top, but she paid them no mind. Off to one side sat a ma.s.sive leather book. Well-used, the leather was discolored from centuries of eager hands wis.h.i.+ng to divine the secrets contained inside. In the dim light, the gold script on the cover gleamed.

LEEGEN.

Her heartbeat accelerated as she beheld the first step in her quest. She held her breath as she brushed her fingers over the oiled leather. She didn't have to turn around to know the floor-to-ceiling shelves behind her were stuffed to overflowing with leather tomes, each matching the one in front of her. Within this volume was the key to theChronicles of the Shadow Dwellers and the answers she desperately needed.

Sinjin was the chronicler of the preternaturals, the one chosen to watch and record every aspect of history and the lives of the unnatural. In this room were the fruits of a lifetime of research. Centuries of words and knowledge tucked into a mountain of oversized ledgers. Hidden in one of these ma.s.sive volumes was the enlightenment she sought.

How to kill an elder vampire.

She exhaled as she traced her finger over the gold letters, curiosity burning bright within her. What she'd give for the time to read all the tomes. A mirthless smile curved her lips. She was probably the only revenant on the planet cursing her lack of time. While being an immortal had its uses, unfortunately, she couldn't reap the rewards in her current situation. Maybe afterwards, if Sinjin didn't hate her, he'd allow her to read some of the books.

If you survive.

Maeve scowled and pushed the errant thought away. Survival wasn't important in her situation, success was. She forced her attention back to the index. Pulling it closer, she opened the book and scanned thealphabetical entries. There appeared to be writing in several different hands, some spidery and old-fas.h.i.+oned, while another was loopy and more modern. One hand she recognized as Maggie's, Sinjin's a.s.sistant. The others were unknown to her. She flipped to the next page and continued scanning the entries. Too bad he hadn't progressed to a computer, it would certainly make things a lot easier for her. Her heart gave a stutter as an entry snared her attention.

Killing a Vampire, Volume 132.