Last week we announced that Edenmary Black’s Sanctum Storm: Shadow Havens Book 5 is our Romance of the Week and the sponsor of thousands of great bargains in the Romance category: over 200 free titles, over 600 quality 99-centers, and thousands more that you can read for free through the Kindle Lending Library if you have Amazon Prime!

Now we’re back to offer our weekly free Romance excerpt, and if you aren’t among those who have downloaded Sanctum Storm: Shadow Havens Book 5, you’re in for a real treat:

Sanctum Storm: Shadow Havens Book 5

by Edenmary Black

4.0 stars – 2 Reviews

Kindle Price: $4.74

Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled

Circe’s arrival in Saint Rushton has Maksim grinding his fangs, but he’s making the best of a volatile situation. When his boss finds a new ally in Gwyn, it’s pure kismet, as the she-wolf is happy to hand over everything she knows about the Sanctum and the Demesne. At the top of Circe’s blow-it-to-hell list is the Maidenheart Bakery, because she knows who is serving the pastries and her hunger for revenge is insatiable.

All that stands in the way of Circe’s plot, is a force of the havens’ warriors and a certain resurrected vampire, half a world away, with three daemon healers and Circe’s chauffeur. They’re not exactly what Sebastien is used to, but he has a plan of his own. With Saan’s help, it may even work.

As Tam’s love deepens for Amaya, the couple searches for a way to make things right with Kellan, as the angel struggles with his concern for the woman who was once under his wing. When Kell gives in to his need to see her, the blunder is epic, but it provides Miri and Andrieu with critical information about what’s going on in Saint Rushton. It’s the break Fortune has been hoping for and the sooner he’s done his job, the sooner he’ll have Rachel in his bed.

Some will die in Circe’s storm of wrath, but another storm will fulfill the arcane prophecy of a banished angel.

Sanctum Storm: Shadow Havens Book 5 contains descriptive material and scenes of explicit sexual encounters between consenting male and female adult characters. It is intended for adult readers only.

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  And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free romance excerpt:

Lucine paused at the bedroom’s door, shifting her weight from foot to foot, a bag of her own blood cradled in her elegant hands. As a daemon healer of the Parisian Demesne for more than two hundred years, her knowledge of healing, birthing, injuries and the physical traits of each of the species of the supernatural world was encyclopedic, but the male in the bedroom was something she’d never seen… the Father of the Demesnes… a resurrected vampire.

Sebastien Galaurus had been more dead than alive for such a long time that she and her daemon sisters in healing had fully believed he would pass to death. When he did, Circe, the leader of the Parisian Demesne, would kill all three of the healers, as punishment for his death. There was no escaping Circe’s will and there was no escape from the rooms where the healers had been sequestered on the night the male had been brought to their care. The doors were locked from outside and although the rooms were breathtakingly beautiful and could have accommodated many more supernaturals than three daemons and the Father of the Demesnes, Lucine had come to despise her surroundings and Sebastien Galaurus.

Eleven days ago, he had inexplicably regained conscious, leaving death behind, to push his way back to the world of the living. He was as lucid as he’d ever been, although he said little and struggled to force his body to move as it once had. The healers had been astonished… relieved… curious as hell about his physical state. He’d refused to allow their examinations or answer their questions, saying only that he was well enough to function without the care they’d offered. All he took now was their blood… in plastic bags.

Lucine inhaled and opened the door, as she clasped the bag, heavy with her warm blood, against her abdomen. The bedroom was dim, but Sebastien’s form was outlined in moonlight, beneath thick covers. “My lord?” she asked quietly, as she moved slowly toward the bed. Her feet stopped her while she was still a few feet away, because Sebastien frightened her. Although not fully recovered from whatever hell he’d been through, the monarch was still formidable. He moved like an old man, but his beautiful, hard face was still that of a predator, making her think he could strike without warning.

Sebastien was the most powerful living supernatural, a vampiric monarch, yet he felt like his body weighed hundreds of pounds. Pain, a sensation he’d never had great familiarity with before, had become the companion he greeted each night when he woke. Supposing he should be grateful for the fact that he lived at all, he ran a hand over the blankets surrounding his legs in the luxurious bed. The movement was awkward and his fingers felt thick and stiff, despite the fact that days had passed since his spirit had been returned to his flesh.

Once he’d envisioned the luxurious rooms as a place where he would have imprisoned his daughter, Iridea, and her child. Instead, they’d become his own jail through a series of ironic circumstances and Circe’s decisions. The ironies still grated, but he’d learned that the past would not be changed, no matter what was felt about it. And, the future… well, that was the question, was it not?

“My lord, Sebastien?” Lucine inquired again, the barest trace of anxiety in her voice.

“Your name?” Sebastien asked. He’d heard the names of the daemon healers… his current source of blood… but his mind felt fogged and he struggled to recall them clearly. He knew the female was uncomfortable. Once, such a thing might have turned him on. Now, he had little desire to enjoy her fears.

“Lucine.”

“You may bring your blood, Lucine.”

The healer approached the bedside table, placing the bag on a polished copper tray, engraved with images of vines and flowers. She glanced at Sebastien nervously before stepping backward and folding her hands at her waist, waiting for any commands.

“Your voice is a rasp,” she observed quietly. “Shall I examine your throat?”

Sebastien raised his head from the pillows to look at the healer. Her tunic was the pale blue worn by daemon healers in havens all over the world. Long, honey waves fell to her shoulders and her eyes had gone silver, as all daemon eyes did when they experienced strong emotions of any kind. It was a physical trait that made daemons terrible liars. She was soft- and- pretty attractive in a way that hadn’t appealed to him in a long time. “That will not be necessary,” he answered, dropping his head backward to the pillow.

“Are you in pain… at all?” It was a question one of the healers asked him each night since he’d regained consciousness.

“I am not,” Sebastien lied. “Leave the room. I will bathe now.” He knew the healers had grown uncomfortable with his nudity, although they’d seen him nude often enough when he’d been unconscious. To his own eye, his body appeared the same as it always had, despite the confounded pain that seemed to course through his flesh for no apparent reason. Even the star-shaped discoloration over his chest, where an arrow had once lodged, had faded out to nothing.

Lucine bobbed her head and disappeared.

Sebastien waited until the door clicked in the frame before swinging his legs over the side of the bed to drop his feet to the floor. He’d learned many things while his spirit had been unseated from his flesh, although his body and spirit had been tethered by unknown bindings. Most of the wisdom had come from his first Mate, Sabine, who’d comforted him, even as she’d sought to educate him about the workings of the realm of the dead… a place that had become her home hundreds of years in the past. As an almost tragic result, he’d realized that he still loved the fiery-haired daemon as deeply as he ever had. He’d also vowed that he’d be with her again, just before his spirit had been dumped back into his flesh, separating him from Sabine. He was back in the world of the living and Sabine was in the realm of the dead.

Sebastien considered the experience as invaluable as it was difficult, having also come face to face with his own guiding angel, a domineering, arrogant being, who had shown him a hell unlike anything he’d ever imagined… and a generous helping of scorn. Had he lived as a monster in the past? Oh, yes, he had, but he felt no regrets in pondering his life… only forlorn nostalgia for a time when he believed that all things were possible… that he and he alone was in charge of his own fate and could never be forced to do anything. Now, of course, he knew how the realm of the dead and the angelic influenced the world of the living.

Forcing himself up, Sebastien glanced at the floor- to- ceiling windows, knowing the sun had fallen. His shower would take a little time. Then, Saan’s spirit would appear at the foot of the bed to glare at him in a stony silence. He would ignore his son’s spectre, as he drank Lucine’s blood. He’d never quite learned to take blood from plastic and enjoy it, but he did so to spare the healers from feeding him at their wrists.

Initially, Circe had demanded this of them when she installed Sebastien’s body in these rooms, telling each that they would die if his life ended, but he had no desire to make such mandates now. Their care had contributed to his continued existence and the gratitude he felt was as new to him as the pain that burned his joints. Although he’d barely spoken to the healers, he recognized the emotion for what it was.

Upon his orders, they assisted him when necessary, brought blood regularly and kept the rooms tidy. Through Lucine, Sebastien had learned that Circe was not in residence at the haven, although she contacted the daemon healers every few days to inquire after his condition. He also learned that no one knew exactly where she was or when she might return. Circe revealed nothing of her whereabouts or plans, during these brief calls, which always originated from a new disposable number. Sebastien required the healer who took each call to write the numbers down. Using a laptop to try to trace the numbers had proven to be futile. Sebastien admired Circe’s ingenuity of course. He’d have done the same in her position if he’d wanted to keep his location a secret, but he knew he’d have to find her… probably very soon. Revealing the fact that he’d woken might bring her back to Paris, but he had a feeling it would not. He recalled the night she’d spoken to his inert form on the bed, never realizing his spirit form was seated only feet away, with Sabine, listening to each word.

 “I must leave Paris for a time, Sebastien…”

“This is regrettable, but I have left firm instructions with the daemon healers and your care will continue. I will speak with them during my absence…

 “I love you…”

Sabine had told him that Circe had killed a police officer and a woman, and was being forced to leave the haven as a consequence. She’d disposed of the bodies, but Paris was on fire with speculation about the whereabouts of both the woman and the officer. Sabine had also surmised that Circe would go to Corinthias and the vampiric cloister near St. Etienne to seek refuge away from the city.

Sebastien had sworn the healers to absolute secrecy concerning his newly conscious condition, forcing each to give her word that she would not alert Circe or anyone else. He also required the daemons to take Circe’s calls in his presence. He knew he was placing them in a terrible position with her, yet he vowed to himself that he would protect them from her wrath… when she found out about their deception. Which she would, when his plans came to life… after he could walk without pain. He would, of course, need the help of these healers with things they’d never encountered. In the past, he’d commanded or bought loyalty and obedience. Seeking ways to cultivate such things would be something new. Maybe he’d even enjoy it.

Pushing away from the bed, Sebastien took a few slow steps, measuring the distance to the shower, as his hip joints sang in disapproval. The discomfort was such a contrast to his vampiric nature that he sometimes found himself sniffing to see if his ability to catch scents was as vampiric as it had always been. He did so now and found the scents of many supernaturals in the Parisian Demesne, antiseptics, a few food-related aromas… and blood. His other senses were up to par as well.

The sound of a small book hitting the carpeted floor alerted him to Saan’s arrival and he turned to the chair by the window, where Saan’s spirit rested. Stretched out to almost his full height in the chair, a long, blond braid across his chest, with the hard planes of a perfectly masculine face, Saan resembled Sebastien so much, that they might have been mistaken for each other under the right lighting. He wasn’t able to speak to Sebastien, yet they’d been bound to each other by their agreements with angels and circumstances in the hereafter.

Sebastien grinned almost involuntarily at the bitter coldness in his son’s eyes. “Yes, I am delighted to see you too, Saan.”

Circe eyed the vampires in front of her. “You’re a sorry pair and this hotel is a dump,” she announced, kicking a small bag at her feet. Her jeans were simple and cheap, her sweater itched and her boots were far less than the buttery leather she preferred, but her dark eyes blazed as they always had. Her solitary journey from France, via the airline used by all supernaturals, had been uneventful, giving her time to reflect on what she planned. Now, all she felt was an eagerness to set the plan in motion. “Why did you choose this place, Maksim?” she asked, surveying the unremarkable room.

Maksim Riqard watched Circe looking around, distaste clear on her perfect face. The female had only been with them a few minutes and he knew his head would soon be pounding. “It’s clean enough and anonymous,” he said quietly. “It’s in the middle of Saint Rushton.”

Circe nodded, scrutinizing the beautiful vampires in front of her. Maksim and Alurin had the flawless faces and bodies that made their vampiric nature clear, yet they were dressed as cheaply as she was. They were also stressed, which changed their naturally smoky scent to something heavier. “This is temporary,” she said, waving a hand at the walls. “We will need a different base of operation.”

“Operation?” Alurin asked, flinging his chalk-white hair over his shoulder.

Circe put her hands on her hips. Her laptop, furs, jewels and beautiful dresses had been left behind in France and she felt oddly bereft without them. Her temper was short, but the situation demanded attention, not emotion. “You think I came to this ugly little city to see the sights?”

“Actually, I am not certain that I understand your presence here at all, Circe,” Alurin admitted. “What do you want here?”

Circe smiled benignly. “Poor Alurin. You’re so confused, aren’t you? Well, dawn is not very far and I have yet to hunt. That will be my first order of business. When I return, we are going to sit down and have a long discussion about the future… yours, mine, Amaya’s, Ilea Qilbane’s…the Sanctum’s. I also have a number of things to acquire… disposable cells… a new laptop… vehicles… suitable clothing. You two will help with that.” She turned on her booted heel and strode to the door. “Be here when I return.” The silence, after she slammed the door, was a roar.

Alurin turned to Maksim. “Are you staying?”

“She has my balls,” Maksim admitted soberly. “I’m staying with her for the time being. It depends on what she’s after in Saint Rushton. That’s the question.”

“Did you see her, Maksim? No furs… no jewels… no warriors walking up her heels. Very surprising.”

Maksim looked at his friend. “I agree. It’s unlike her to travel without an entourage or the trappings of her station. She said there had been a development, but I know no more.”

Alurin was out of the chair, hunched at the tiny desk in a flash. He flipped his laptop open and turned it on. “Policier,” he whispered after a few minutes. “A cop disappeared several nights ago. A woman, too. It’s all over Paris, in the news and papers, Maksim. If Circe did not kill them, what is she doing here?”

Maksim shook his head, without looking at the laptop or his friend.

“Maksim, wake up!” Alurin demanded. “Maybe she had to get out of Europe. She had an arrangement with that police officer… killing one of theirs is forbidden to all of us. If Circe…”

Maksim shot from the chair to pace the small room. “None of that matters, Alurin! What matters is that she’s here! The point is what happens now, not what happened in Paris. Are you staying?”

Alurin closed the laptop and rubbed at his mouth. “Until I know what she has in mind. After that, I cannot say, my friend.”

Maksim dropped into the chair again. “Then, we’ll find out together. Staying could be lucrative. Leaving could be fatal. Let us learn more and then, we will decide.”

Pria tiptoed across the industrial kitchen of the Maidenheart Bakery, a carafe of water in one hand and a mug in the other. She’d only hit the light over one counter so the space was half in shadow. Her petite frame was swamped in a pair of her Mate, Joe’s, pajamas. He’d never worn them to the bed they shared, but they came in handy when she wanted to throw something on fast.

Most supernaturals had an uncanny ability to sense time and its passage without ever looking at a clock and Pria was no exception. The bakery she owned was closed, yet her nature – half vampire, half angel – told her that she had a few hours to go before dawn. The desire for coffee had pushed her from her tiny apartment on the bakery’s third floor and Joe’s side, to the deserted kitchen on the first floor. Once, she’d lived in the apartment, although the Sanctum had always been home. Now, she and Joe stayed there when roads were too clogged with snow to make going back to the Sanctum for the night a bad idea.

Approaching the coffee machine, she dumped water, hit the ‘on’ button and sat down to wait for the brew. The Maidenheart had once been a home to her mother, Regine, her father, Julian Galaurus, her stepparents, Miri and Andrieu, and many supernaturals over time. It had been the first supernatural haven in America during Colonial times and now it was a charming bakery that she’d built, defended and loved, along with her werewolf partner, Monroe. Amaya, Tam and Kellan were a part of the bakery now too, and in that sense, the place was still a haven, or an extension of one, in Pria’s mind.

A soft chime announced the end of the brew cycle and Pria stood to fill her mug. Inhaling the aroma, she walked to the industrial refrigerator and pulled out a carton of cream. On a shelf beside the refrigerator, she found sugar and juggled it all to the table.

The silence was complete until she heard soft thumps on the stairs. Mixing sugar and cream, she smiled to herself, as Joe entered the kitchen. He filled the doorway… broad shoulders under a thick, black robe… tousled hair… endless dark eyes that had captivated her almost from the moment she’d seen him… crazy as that particular moment had been.

He frowned, walking to her. “You okay? Did you hear something?” His instincts were razor sharp, but he’d been a cop for so long, while he’d been human. Then, he’d become a Sanctum warrior and Pria’s Mate. There were excellent reasons to ask if she’d heard anything weird, even though she could crush a heart to kill and he’d seen her do it.

Pria shook her head, as she put the mug down. “No, I’d have been yelling for you, but I just wanted coffee. Guess I didn’t sleep that well. Want some?”

“Sure,” he said, heading to a miniscule table in the kitchen’s shadowy corner. “Want some light?”

Pria waited until she’d filled a mug and put everything on a tray to carry it all to the table. “No,” she said, setting the tray in front of him. “Let’s enjoy the shadows.”

“What’s on your mind,” he asked stirring.

“You.”

His frown had relaxed a few minutes ago, but it came back, giving Joe’s face a hard edge. “Have I done something to piss you off, baby?”

Pria laughed, a gentle bubbly sound that he loved. “No, never, Joe. It’s just that you’re quiet… too quiet lately. What’s on your mind?”

Joe sipped, making a conscious effort to relax. Pria read him as easily as she read the pages of newspapers and he didn’t want her to think he was unhappy with her. He settled the cup back on the table. “I’m concerned about things in Saint Rushton and a few other things.”

“Figured. Wish you were in headed into Saint Rushton to find the vampires that attacked the Demesne clubs and damned near killed Meniari?”

“That’s not it, but that situation concerns me. One good thing about that is, if I’m here, you’ll stay out of Saint Rush,” he said, recalling her headlong march into a combat situation that had happened so recently. She’d saved lives that night, but the possibilities were still frightening.

Pria sipped coffee, staying silent, because the truth was that she’d do it all over again… if she thought there was a critical need for her abilities to heal or fight.

“The whole thing with Tamuel’s … Christ, I’m not sure what to even call it… his non-death. The archangels and Lucifer. That’s what’s been on my mind,” he said softly.

Pria took his hands and he looked into her emerald green eyes… eyes he knew as well as his own.

“I never really believed in any of the dogma, you know?” he admitted. “Before we met and you healed me with your blood, all the doctrines didn’t mean much, aside from celebrating holidays. Then, I was actually talking to archangels that I didn’t think existed. That blew me away, Pria, but the big thing…”

“Lucifer,” she finished for him. “When he said you could have been his, until you met me… that’s what’s bothering you.”

Joe nodded, uncomfortable with the idea that she’d think of him as weak for admitting that the banished archangel had unhinged his ideas of what he thought he knew. “Monroe’s a werewolf. Your stepparents are fallen death angels. Odera and Meniari are vampires and I’m Mated to the most gorgeous half vampire, half angel on the planet, but the idea of that fucker prowling the world, looking for disciples… I guess that’s unnerving. Why do you think he said that I could have been his?”

Pria rubbed his hands. “He lied, Joe. You could never have been his, because you have a good heart and soul. The point is that he wants humans and supernaturals like you. Those who carry goodness with them inside. That’s the attraction. If he corrupts someone who is already evil, it’s no big gain. To turn someone as good as you is a real trophy. You shouldn’t take what he said seriously though. He likes upending anyone he meets, to make himself feel powerful. Andrieu told me once that he’s full of shit. If he came near you, I’d just have to pound him to dust.”

Joe laughed lightly at her ferocious nature, even though he knew she wouldn’t hesitate to inflict her own brand of hell on anyone who threatened someone she loved. “You know I love you and how I feel about anything that might upset you.”

“Remember the night you came here with my bag and my cell?” she asked, recalling the way he’d filled the doorway to her office. “After I’d been shot and I woke up in that hospital? Man, you were nuts because I kept telling you I had to get out of there,” she said giggling at the memory. “Then, you came here with my stuff and… sheesh, Joe. I’d never seen a more beautiful male in all my two hundred and twenty years. You were so nervous!”

“I wasn’t nervous, baby. I was amazed and I wanted you.”

Pria opened her arms and held her palms up. “So, what am I doing way over here by myself?”

Joe stood to pull her to his chest, their coffee forgotten. “How long before dawn?”

“Two and a half hours, give or take,” she said, rubbing her face against his chest.

Joe scooped her into his arms and she wrapped her legs around his hips along with miles of his pajama bottoms. “That’s plenty of time,” he said, heading for the doorway and the stairs.

Amaya threw the blankets and her quilt away from her body. The pre-dawn hours hung before her, as heavy as the bed linens she’d tossed from her overheated limbs. Her usual routine, working at the Maidenheart, returning home to the Sanctum after midnight with Tamuel and sometimes Kell, feeding and then relaxing with her angels, as she’d come to think of them, was intact on the surface. She still went to the Maidenheart and enjoyed her time there. She was with Tam, who made her blissfully happy. Her home at the Sanctum and her new friends were as precious as they’d been before. What she lacked was peace with Kellan, who’d barely spoken to her or Tamuel, even though he had come back to the Sanctum, after disappearing to who-knew-where for several days.

Tam’s death had been arranged so that he could return to the angelic realms, but Amaya had literally had stormed his deathbed, shoving archangels away from him, demanding that he tell her that he did not love her. If she’d had those heart-grinding words, she might have been able to move forward with her life, because Tam would have become like others she’d given her love to… who had not returned it. Her heart would have broken, even as her pain and fury could have sustained her. She’d have been changed forever, but that hadn’t happened. Tam had not been able to give her those awful words and fate’s path had rearranged itself again for all of them.

Tam had chosen to remain in the realm of the living with her instead of returning to the angelic realms, as he’d once wished to. Kell had been bound to that decision, because the archangels had forbidden his return to the angelic realm until Tam chose to go. Now, she was absolutely sure that Kellan hated her, every bit as much as Tam loved her. His wings would not be returned and he would walk among the living as Tam’s guiding angel, despite what his own desires would have been. Tam had told her once that Kell was incapable of pure hatred, but his hazel eyes told her something else, when she was near him at the bakery or in the home he shared with Tam.

Tossing herself to her stomach, she stretched her legs and thought of how she might somehow help Kell to feel even a tiny bit better. At some point, they would have to speak, but the discussion she wanted most wasn’t with Kell. What she wanted most was to speak with the archangels who governed where Kell went and what he did. If she could somehow speak on his behalf, perhaps they would listen to her. Maybe they could be persuaded to give Kell his wings back and allow his return to the angelic realm, even if he remained tethered to Tam as a guide. Deciding that she would speak to Tam about how such a thing could be done, she turned over again. If there was a way to do it, Tam would know, since he was back in the graces of the angelic and not considered an outcast any longer, he could help her and she could help Kell.

The other issue riding Amaya’s heart was Tam himself. Now, that they had declared love for each other, she wondered about the physical side of what lay between them. She wanted Tam in the timeless, primal ways that have brought males and females together forever. Imagining what making love with Tam would be like, was never far from her mind, yet something told her to move slowly. Once she would have planned a magnificent seduction. Her life, as Circe’s lover, had once been filled with more sexual devotees than she could count. Such a thing was well within her feminine power. Tam, her gorgeous angel, with sunlit bronze hair and lavender eyes, inspired the most deliciously, erotic fantasies. She knew they would join one day, but she’d decided to remain patient, sensing something almost innocent in his gaze… something that demanded that she curb her impulses for now. Yes, she thought, their gentle touches and kisses would remain chaste until Tam chose to make them more. She would struggle with her patience, but a headlong rush to the nearest bed was less than what she wanted with him. What she really wanted… needed… was the soul-enveloping trust and unconditional love that was all she’d never had with any other partner, male or female. It was something that would culminate and deepen through the joining of their bodies. It would take time, but time was something they both had.

Glancing at the neon yellow numerals of the clock on her bedside table, she forced her eyes closed, rolled onto her stomach and pushed her thoughts away from the heated ache that grew between her legs every time she thought of Tam. Their time would come, she told herself. The wait would make the pleasure that much hotter. In the meantime, she would speak with him about seeking the archangels and what she might say to convince them to see Kell’s situation with compassion.

Ilea Qilbane turned her head against Xavier’s broad chest, as he pulled her close to kiss her hair. She was wrapped in a heavy velvet cloak, but the night was frigid, with winds that seemed to cut through her garments, right to her skin.

Clouds, heavy with snow, hid the stars, but the lights of Saint Rushton glittered on the horizon creating a glow over the city. Six Demesne warriors were there, under her orders to find the vampires who had attacked Lien Meniari, the Sanctum warrior, and the clubs that belonged to her haven. Although Meniari had survived, his strange injuries had bled as a human’s would have and caused terrible scarring. While Miriel and Andrieu Grey, the fallen angels of the Sanctum, would take the scars, she knew he would hunger for revenge, as her own warriors did. She believed the unknown vampires had come from Paris and worked under the direction of Circe, the leader of the Parisian Demesne. A potion of Circe’s creation, in their hands, had caused the scars on Meniari’s face, but Ilea’s mind filled with questions of what the future would bring.

The balcony where she stood, sheltered high against the rooftop of the Demesne’s fortress, was a place she shared with no one but Xavier… her second… her lover… her strength and refuge. It was a place of peace for them, but she worried for her warriors, now living in Saint Rushton, even as she admonished herself for it. Trembling, she turned her face to Xavier’s. He smiled wanly, as he touched her chin.

“Your thoughts?” he asked.

“Circe… vampires who are unknown to us… our warriors. I am uncomfortable with them living in the city, although I trust Fortune completely.”

“We have many warriors still here. Do you fear an attack on the Demesne?” he asked frowning. Her fear vexed him, as he’d gladly stake anything that caused her anxiety.

“It is possible, but I am uneasy for their welfare. I feel like we at the center of a cyclone… a fragile, calm place, surrounded by…”

“By what?” he asked, as her words trailed.

She shrugged, as he rubbed her shoulders through the heavy cloak.

Xavier knew it would always be difficult for Ilea to send her warriors to harm’s way, yet she led the Demesne and leaders had been putting their best and most loyal in the path of a blade or a gun or a stake forever. “I cannot dismiss your fears, Ilea, but Fortune and the others are completely competent… far more than that really. And, they are highly motivated. It is my hope they will have news soon and can return to the haven.”

Ilea’s heart swelled with love for him and she forced a smile for his benefit. “You spoke with Fortune?”

“I did. He may change tactics to reach our goal, but you must not worry about this,” Xavier said. “Circe’s vampires are there and Fortune will find them. When he does, we will learn more and deal with whatever we must. The four clubs in Saint Rushton will be sold, ending our involvement there. Sebastien is gone from this world. Iridea will become a mother and make you a grandmother. A strong alliance with the Sanctum and the Greys has been forged and will continue to grow. The future will be bright as those lights you see over Saint Rushton and in time, all of these difficulties will pass from memory. You will see… peace will be ours. You have made the best decisions in extraordinary circumstances,” he went on, remembering how she’d once lain in his arms, hot with a killing fever as her former Mate, Sebastien Galaurus, died a few feet away on a dirt landing strip.

She raised her face again, as snow began to fall, tiny, hard crystals stinging her cheeks. “I love you,” she said, her whisper drifting in the wind. “Let us retire to my rooms. Dawn nears.”

Xavier took her hand and pulled her to the door leading to the narrow stairwell and her opulent rooms in the fortress below. “Yes, my love, the hour is late.”

Fortune stomped snow from his boots on the thin rug by the apartment’s door and shrugged out of his jacket. A thick, hooded sweatshirt followed it to a hook on the wall, leaving him in a dark flannel shirt and black jeans. He shook his head, sending a shower of snow from his long, chestnut hair to the carpet.

The Saint Rushton apartment was warm, plain and clean, with three bedrooms, a kitchen, a small living room and a single bath to accommodate six Demesne warriors. Fortune, Christophe and Noah, were werewolves, while Diamond, Jakob and Aidan were vampiric. Both Ilea Qilbane and Xavier Koltte considered them the most lethal and the most loyal, a point they took with a small amount of self-aware pride. Their temporary quarters were tight and living in Saint Rushton was inconvenient, yet the warriors’ commitment remained almost overwhelming.

To think that anyone would dare to attack haven properties in the city or use a potion on their blades that would damned near kill a vampire through uncontrollable bleeding was an affront to be avenged. To do less could inspire other assaults, possibly more vicious. The larger issue was the probability of Circe’s involvement, which was almost a given, in Fortune’s mind. Whether or not the French vampiress, the leader of the Parisian Demesne, was actually in Saint Rushton, the unknown vampires were almost certainly her agents.

Fortune walked to the spare kitchen and filled a coffee cup. The pot was never empty and he welcomed the brew’s warmth as much as a respite from winter’s grip. Nightly, he walked the streets, seeking the scent of the vampires he’d fought with Diamond and Meniari in the alley outside one of the clubs. His other warriors, Christophe, Aidan, Jakob and Noah, were still walking snowy streets the city never cleaned.

Frustration burned in his chest. More than once, he’d caught the scents of those he sought only to lose it again in the cold winds sweeping the city. Occasionally, he caught the scent of a female were, which was curious, but Diamond had told him he’d seen one the night Meniari was attacked. He didn’t know her involvement but her presence in the city would seem to indicate that she was not with the Sanctum or the Demesne. Both havens had banned their supernaturals from Saint Rushton, until the unknown vampires or Circe could be found.

Diamond appeared in the kitchen’s doorway, eyed Fortune and dropped into a chair much too small for his large frame. Dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, he looked like a construction worker, although his vampiric eyes glittered far more than a human’s would have. “The others are still hunting. Catch anything?” he asked, pushing his long, dark hair away from his planed face.

“Yes, I’m keeping it a secret from you,” Fortune snapped. “I have a dozen French vampires chained in the hall. Kill them, for me, would you? Just make sure you find out who sent them and where the bitch is.”

“Sensitive early in the morning, aren’t you?” Diamond was grinning, as he liked needling the were, a good friend, a brother. “I’m going home to feed. Any messages you’d like me to deliver?”

Fortune dropped into a chair across from Diamond, knowing the vampire was asking if he should speak to Rachel Andree on his behalf. She was Fortune’s love and although he spoke with her often, he missed her terribly. He looked at the coffee mug, avoiding Diamond’s grin, as he remembered her light scent, the way she felt against his chest, the curve of her hip.

“Dear God, were, you really are in love.” Diamond said softly.

Fortune sighed. “I cannot seem to put her from my mind unless I am on the streets. She takes my cares, you know? She’s lovely…soft… warm.”

“Well, I’d hope so, Fortune. She is female,” Diamond said grinning. “It’s best when they’re soft and warm. Curves are desirable too.”

“Fuck you, Diamond,” Fortune countered, although he enjoyed the vampire’s banter.

“I will tell her you said that!” Diamond said, as he stood, pointing at Fortune. “I have to leave or I will not beat the sun, but I plan to tell Rachel that you are verbally abusing all those around you.” He clapped Fortune’s shoulder. “I am pleased for you. Life is unpredictable. Make it sweet.”

Fortune nodded, vowing to find his vampiric quarry very soon, so he could go home to Rachel and the Demesne. If he could find the bastards, he could pound the information he needed out of them, before he staked them in the sun. Growling, he grabbed his cup and headed for the bedroom, hating that Rachel wouldn’t be there, waiting for him.

Iridea Galaurus Grey rolled under the warmth of the soft blankets and quilts. Her pregnant belly was an enlarging mound that seemed to grow daily, yet she loved it… adored the unborn rising against her ribs and under her breasts. Her Mate, Keircnan, turned, scooping her against his side and extended a wide palm over their child. He grinned, although his eyes were closed, as he found the ridge of the unborn’s elbow or knee against his hand. He knew Iridea felt these movements all the time and wondered what it was like for her. Being male, he’d never know that part of her journey to motherhood completely, but he loved the proof of life growing inside of her. It was a life they’d created together and he cherished Iridea and their unborn more than anything he’d ever known.

“You’re awake.” Iridea noted, rising on her elbow. Her dark red hair was tousled, her eyes hooded from sleep. Keirc loved looking at her most in the dark seclusion of their bedroom, hours before the sun fell. He loved the soft curves of her body against his and the darkness that seemed to shield them from the world. “Yeah,” he answered very softly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. We’re fine.”

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, stroking her back.

“Just thinking.”

“Mmmm, that sounds ominous.”

“It’s not, but I wanted to ask you something.”

“Go,” he said, still stroking her.

“Did your parents ever talk to you about the archangels?”

Keirc knew that recent events had been on her mind and would probably be there for a long time. Those same events were dancing through his mind too… archangels who’d come to usher Tamuel back to the angelic… an event that Amaya had stopped when she’d rushed into the bedroom, where his mother, Miri, had been about to crush Tam’s heart to send him home. Lucifer had shown up and dropped a few cryptic jolts on all of them, including Iridea.

“You’re the only one who has picked up on the most important thing to know in what’s to come. You surprise me, Iridea, and that’s no easy thing. You’re sort of flighty really. I never expected you to be strong. Since I was wrong about that, I’ll give you a little something. You’ll be seeing your brother again… in your son’s eyes.”

“I knew we’d get around to this eventually, but Miri and Andrieu never really talked much about how things were before they fell.” Keirc folded his other arm under his head on the pillow. “They were death angels and loved the humans they took to the hereafter, but being able to love each other was what made them fall. They haven’t looked back. I have all the physical traits of a fallen because I’m their son, but I don’t know much more than that. That’s not really the point though, is it ‘Dea? It’s about what Lucifer said to you?”

She nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it, even though I’m trying not to. He said I was the only one to understand something in what’s about to come. It sounded so important. What do you think he meant?”

“Who could know, baby?” he asked gently, wishing he’d crushed the bastard’s heart… wondering if such a thing was even possible. “Remember, the archangel Michael said he’s the father of lies. I don’t think we can put a lot of cred into anything he said.”

Iridea dropped her face to Keirc’s chest. “Yeah, I remember, but what do you think I might know… that I don’t even know? What did he mean about seeing my dead brother, Saan, in my son’s eyes?”

Keirc pulled her closer, wishing again that he could have annihilated Lucifer. “Doesn’t mean a thing if you don’t know, right? The thing about Saan… maybe he was talking about reincarnation. A lot of supernaturals believe in it. Humans do too, but when you consider Lucifer as the source, it’s really all bullshit, ‘Dea.”

“Bullshit,” she whispered, nodding against Keirc’s warm chest.

“You should sleep,” he said. “It’s a lot of work to build an unborn.”

Iridea nipped at his chest. “The baby is fine, Keirc.”

“Hey, lie still and let’s see if he moves again,” he said, turning her a little so she was on her side. He moved lower in the bed to place his face against her… and was rewarded with a rolling swell against his cheek near Iridea’s hip.

Iridea sighed, running her hands through Keirc’s hair.

Time was passing, with each sunrise and sunfall. In a few hours, their ‘day’ would begin. Keirc would be in the Sanctum’s security center or managing the haven’s investments. Iridea had her own plans, none of which she’d shared. Her hours would be filled with research… research that might help her come to a decision.

In those perfect hushed hours, nothing else mattered. Time moved in each breath or gentle touch. It was all they needed.

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