Blood Crown

  BLOOD CROWN

  A Blood Series Novel

  Book 8

  New York Times BESTELLING AUTHOR

  TAMARA ROSE BLODGETT

  All Rights Reserved.

  Copyright © 2018 Tamara Rose Blodgett

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  www.tamararoseblodgett.com

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  Cover art by Willsin Rowe

  Editing suggestions provided by Red Adept Editing

  CONTENTS

  BLOOD CROWN

  Works by Tamara Rose Blodgett and Marata Eros

  TRB News

  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

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  SYNOPSIS:

  While Lazarus submits to Blood Sacrifice so he and his Redemptive can leave the Lanarre stronghold, the Dark Master makes his way to the Fey sithen.

  Julia and Scott discover they must visit the realm Below to expunge the demon spore—but not for the reasons they assumed.

  Domi, and Jacqueline, who is heavy with child, face unrest upon their return to the Fey. As part-death-bringers, Tharell and Delilah are imprisoned. Will the Blood Babe that Jacqueline bore exonerate them all?

  Jenni has escaped from Bray, but not without the challenge of hiding out with his part-Were daughter, Ella. But neither she nor Devin, Ella’s mother, could ever guess the real reason he’s pursuing them. They’re surprised to find who will offer them shelter in a coincidence too vast to anticipate.

  Tahlia cannot stay a rogue female Were and maintain her safety. Nor can she return to Drek’s den. Dangerous options lay before her—which will she choose?

  Can Adi and Slash make it safely to the Northwestern? Does Lazarus have the fortitude to withstand the Blood Sacrifice that will set him and Tessa free once and for all? Will Drek find Tahlia before it’s too late...

  Warning - Spoilers!

  Character Index:

  Blood Singers/talent:

  Julia - Queen of the Singers; Telekinetic/Telepath

  *Jason - Singer/”Feral”/Red Were

  Scott - Royal Singer Blood; Deflector/Combatant

  *Brendan - Tracker/Pyro

  Michael - Illusionist

  Jen - Telekinetic

  Cyrus - Healer

  Paul - Negator/Amplifier

  Angela - Feeler

  Marcus - Region One

  Jacqueline - Royal Singer Blood; Region Two Leader

  Victor - Region Two/Combatant; Boiler/Flame of Blood

  Lucius - Combatant

  Cynthia “Cyn” Adams - Rogue/Healer

  Heidi - Reader

  Trevor - Deflector

  Northwestern Were Pack:

  *Lawrence- Packmaster

  *Emmanuel “Manny” - Beta to Lawrence

  *Anthony “Tony” Daniel Laurent - Second to Lawrence

  Adrianna “Adi” - Alpha female

  Stewart

  Hob

  Darian “Dare”

  Sebastian

  Quillon “Quill”

  Nova

  Jenni

  Southeastern Were Pack:

  David - Packmaster

  Alan Greene - Alpha male

  Lacey Greene - female Were, Alan’s sister

  Buck “Slash” - Alpha male

  Karl Truman - former Homer detective

  Ford - Alpha male/ FBI agent

  Reagan - Moon Warrior, Lacey’s daughter

  Southeastern Vampire Kiss:

  *Merlin - Coven leader

  *William - New coven leader

  Brynn - New leader of the Southeastern

  Northwestern Vampire Kiss:

  Gabriel - Coven leader

  Claire - William’s cousin

  *William - Runner/Shifter/Singer blood

  Unseelie Sidhe Fey:

  *Queen Darcel - Sidhe

  Tharell - mixed Sidhe warrior

  Cormack - Sidhe warrior

  Domiatri “Domi” - Sidhe warrior

  Rex - Sidhe

  Kiel (key-ale) - dragon shifting Sidhe

  Celesta - Sidhe warrior

  Lachlan - Sidhe warrior

  Nirvana - Sidhe

  Starr - Sidhe

  Delilah - Vampire, third to Julia, Scott’s half-sister

  Rogue Reds:

  Ezekiel “Zeke”

  Rogue Alpha female Were:

  Tessa

  FEDS:

  Tom Harriet

  Tai (tie) Simon

  Western Were Pack:

  *Tramack

  [the] Lanarre:

  Drek

  Bowen

  Tahlia

  Neil

  New Characters:

  Devin

  Bray

  Ella

  *Deceased

  DEDICATION:

  Clara Harding

  To new beginnings

  Music that Inspired Me During the Writing of Crown:

  “All of Me”

  by John Legend

  Works by Tamara Rose Blodgett and Marata Eros:

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Dark Master

  His insufferable human feet are murdering him. Dark Master lifts a foot, turning it over with his palm, and stares at the blistered flesh running from the arch of his foot to a boil forming where the shoes meet his Achille’s tendon. Ridiculous footwear,
coupled with soft soles. He emits a soft growl, and steam momentarily obscures his vision.

  His new angelic flesh has made the Dark Master weak, like with those who dwell Between.

  A parallel he’d never thought to experience.

  However, Praile is yet to be located, and Lazarus, with whom he cannot easily commune, propels Dark Master along the path he now takes.

  As the humans would say, nothing must keep him from the end goal.

  He drops his tattered foot and stands on his feet, sucking back a wince at what the movement costs him.

  The Dark Master ruminates on the facts he knows thus far. He has survived the metamorphosis with the infusion of angelic blood while Below so that he could transition from Below to Between. He has spent the better part of a day moving toward the Fey mound, only to find this ugly, inept physical form weak and easily tired.

  Thank the dark there are no mirrors in close proximity. Dark Master does not think he could bear another glimpse of his altered countenance. Not so soon after the last glance at his wretched appearance.

  His skin tingles, and senses that are as automatic as breathing prick to attention.

  There. Dark Master swings his head to what has alerted him. At least his instincts are not so altered that he cannot sense the Rare One, though she is encased in the steel and glass of this realm. Those elements do naught to challenge his perceptions and discernment.

  Dark Master has located the fabled Rare One in a stroke of fortuitous luck.

  Pressing tightly against an old-growth tree, he bares his teeth as the sleek black vehicle parks at a soft shoulder a short distance from the Fey mound.

  Using his weakened vision, Dark Master observes the threat immediately. There is no manipulating the angelic while in Between.

  And his eyes count three through the smoked glass.

  To use another human vernacular, he doesn’t have the juice.

  The one who drives the metal monstrosity begins to exit the vehicle.

  Dark Master’s mouth steams, and he parts his lips, letting the heated, noxious fumes escape.

  The man, an even uglier specimen than Dark Master’s newly fashioned self, presents himself. Long of limb and light of hair, the Singer driver behaves as a bodyguard. His pale-gray eyes slowly rove over the surrounding landscape with which Dark Master is a part.

  Look all you wish, Dark Master thinks, for I am cloaked beautifully in the ugliness of the angelic and the rot within held under magical lock and key, as it were.

  That careful gaze travels directly over the large tree obscuring Dark Master, moving on without pause.

  Dark Master smiles. Most excellent.

  The Singer turns, appearing to confer with someone inside the vehicle then closes the driver’s-side door, a satisfied expression on his chiseled features.

  Oh, how Dark Master would like to have just five minutes with one such as he Below. The thought causes saliva to run thick and juicy within his mouth.

  But there is no time for such a fantasy.

  The Rare One exits the vehicle, along with her pathetic soul-meld, the first authentic issue to manifest itself in Between.

  The demon spore is Dark Master’s only advantage—that and the fact that if the spore were not present, he would not be here. That same spore from Below threatens his realm, for within Julia hides a piece of evil that would allow her entry to that which she should never be allowed.

  If that seed of evil were not present, the Rare One’s soul-meld would be sufficient protection to ward off all demonic. However, the pure fabric of her being has been compromised, and she can be expunged. The dual irony is not lost on him.

  Perhaps there is hope yet to spoil her.

  How to do it, Dark Master muses. His eyes drift back to the Singer driver.

  As the trio begin walking toward the Fey mound, Dark Master follows, a plan beginning to spin in his mind.

  Shivering, Dark Master wraps his arms around himself. He understands that the incessant drizzle of the realm is normal for this region and that he will get drenched further.

  Marvelous.

  Loose spirals of steam curl with regularity from his orifices. No surface is exempt. Ears, mouth, nose, and even his ass bud, evacuate the heat of the dark.

  It is laughable that the heat from within cannot warm this body he uses. It’s almost as though this pure body will not contain the demonic element that inhabits it.

  Releasing his sides, Dark master sinks his short and ineffective nails into the damp bark of the tree. His frustration begins to peak. The sooner he infiltrates the Rare One’s inner circle, the better. He will lounge in the fires of hell, eradicating the bone-deep chill from himself forever... in good time.

  For now, he schemes.

  Dark Master’s gaze moves over the three as they discuss some triviality with each other.

  Blah, blah, blah—get on with it!

  His eyes impatiently turn to the gentle upward slope of the Fey mound where he knows a door to be. Even the most rudimentary supernatural could sense the portal, which is nearly invisible. It is the barest of outlines blending into the surrounding hills, which do not have trees until they dive toward the woods.

  A subtle change begins to take place. The outline deepens, a shape beginning to surface.

  Finally!

  The door to the Fey mound appears. Not all at once, but as a mirage might in the high desert. First, it’s an etching of sorts, then the vague shape deepens in color, becoming an emerald edging with a high arch for the top.

  Dark Master’s brows knot. The door begins to look very much like the ones in Hades, and he is instantly offended by the similarity.

  How dare the Fey copy the beauty of his realm? With a derisive snort, Dark Master hunkers down low, huddling against the thick and wide conifer tree, clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.

  As he watches the door resolve into existence, a bird lands on a branch above him, sprinkling chilled raindrops that plop at his nape then slide down his neck and behind his collar, icing his spine as they drip.

  Fucking dark!

  Dark Master cranes his neck back, sighting a snow-white dove above him.

  He glares.

  The birds inky eyes blink back at him. Alive. Thoughtful.

  Raising his palm, he attempts to shoo the repugnant Between creature away.

  It stays. Of course.

  Just as Dark Master starts to rise, intent on torturing the creature, tearful goodbyes are exchanged at the Fey portal, distracting him sufficiently from the bird.

  A sidhe has appeared at the other side. Dark Master does not know him. Fey are difficult to divine, but he thinks this is a full-blood Unseelie, judging by the green skin, azure hair, and silver eyes. Even from this distance, Dark Master can see the hard muscles building the sidhe’s savage frame.

  Warrior class.

  Dark Master’s eyes narrow upon the tall figure. The Fey are of no concern, a neutral species. He will navigate through the minefield of the sithen under guise.

  Dark Master’s ears prick forward as the Rare One says goodbye to the Singer driver and leaves him behind as they enter the Fey portal.

  Julia uses his name.

  Victor.

  That is all one needs for the purposes of subterfuge.

  Barely noting the door vanishing against the sloping hillside, Victor hurries back to the vehicle of metal and glass. Dark Master makes short work of the locking mechanism and slips inside the back seat. The vile scent of angelic and the especially pungent scent of the Rare One assault his nose.

  He positions himself directly behind the driver’s seat then lies in wait.

  Victor

  To his shame, Victor finds himself in a melancholy frame of mind. He watches the door disappear into grass.

  Jamming his hands into the pockets of his hand-tailored slacks, he pivots, belatedly realizing his outerwear is the only thing keeping him from becoming soaked. A lightweight wind-and-rainproof overcoat and special-ord
er high calf boots procured from Alaska are the only two elements keeping him dry. He should not have been fashion’s slave this morning.

  However, one does not often see their queen and king off into the tender mercies of the Fey.

  There is nothing tender about the Unseelie Fey, he thinks, with a twist of lips, letting a raw exhale explode from between them.

  And though it is evident that Jacqueline has been righted by living inside Faerie, he remembers the century she was his sovereign, and the memory is no small thing to shake.

  His soul is mollified by the fact that the Fey want something from the Blood Singers only they can provide.

  Offspring.

  The Fey are a dying race.

  Whether the cause is the misguided and masochist leadership of their departed leader, Queen Darcel, or it be nature’s check-and-balance system, Victor won’t hazard a guess.

  That fact alone keeps him from insisting he enter Faerie with the royal Singer pair.

  But Julia was most insistent he must not.

  She is gentle, and Scott is not. Of course, he cannot help his Combatant nature, as Victor himself cannot.

  If only the demon spore could be erased, then this uncertainty would stop. In the month since the royal pair was handfasted, great strides have been accomplished within One.

  The fifty or so souls from his home Region of Two were able to help fill the roles left empty by the murdered Singers of Region One.

  One is not the well-oiled machine it once was under Marcus, but it surfaces from the ashes as something new—with potential to be even more progressive for their kind.

  Victor dwells on this instead of his queen being within the lair of other supernaturals.

  He can do nothing to change what has occurred. Victor must only fulfill his current role.

  Slowly, Victor navigates the thick old-growth woods and dense fragrant underbrush, thankful he chose the ugly but practical boots. Julia insisted he wear only this style. Xtra-tuff is the brand, apparently integral footwear from her native Alaska.

  Wisps of grass take over the land as he traverses the steep rise from the last ravine, sighting the SUV at the top.

  Their location is so rural, the form of transport was necessary. The road to get to this spot is unpaved, with a scattering of gravel sufficient to be identified as a “road.”

  Reaching the top, Victor hesitates, scanning the immediate vicinity.

  An uncomfortable heat begins in his veins, one that is acutely familiar.