Forbidden (The Preternaturals)

  Forbidden (The Preternaturals, Book 5)

  Zoe Winters

  Digital Edition

  Copyright 2014 © Zoe Winters

  All rights reserved.

  Digital Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or shared. If you did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Respecting the hard work of this author makes new books possible.

  Publisher's Note:

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Important Publisher’s Note:

  The start of Hadrian and Angeline’s story is in a novella called Dark Mercy. Because it is so integral to the events of Forbidden, Dark Mercy has been included here, first. You can use the TOC to choose which order to read them or to skip ahead to Forbidden if you’ve already read Dark Mercy.

  The events of Dark Mercy occur in Las Vegas during the fifties. The events of Forbidden occur in the present time, not long after the events of Life Cycle (Preternaturals, Book 4).

  Forbidden can be read out of order from the rest of the series, but as always, the various interconnections between the background characters make more sense read in order.

  Dark Mercy Description:

  …Forgive me Father, for I’m about to sin.

  Angeline has been on the run from her vampire sire for centuries. She’s tired and lonely. High from mescaline-infused blood, she receives a sign—a glowing church in the distance. And she knows. Her future mate is in that building.

  The only trouble? Hadrian is a devout priest. It will take strong persuasion for him to see the world her way.

  Forbidden Description:

  …To see him again is forbidden.

  Angeline knows Father Hadrian will never forgive her for their ugly history. When the king of the vampires seeks vengeance for Hadrian’s recent betrayal, she’ll risk everything to protect the vampire she still loves.

  But when she agrees to give Hadrian her blood, all of Heaven will break loose.

  For my BFF, Mel.

  Love ya, bitches!

  Dark Mercy

  1955, Las Vegas, Nevada

  Angeline swayed on her feet, twirling in circles as the lights of the city spun around her, her head thrown back in a giddy laugh. When she stopped, the lights kept spinning, turning into long, wispy snakes, hissing and flying around her head. She made her own hissing sound back at the apparition and giggled as her fangs snicked back inside her gums.

  She licked a trail of blood as she looked up at the Showboat Hotel and Casino. Another new one, ushering in more foolish souls for her dining pleasure. This one billed itself as Las Vegas’ first resort hotel. She hoped it had been everything her victim had hoped it would be.

  The woman now lying at her feet had been on mescaline and the trip had made it all the way to the vampiress.

  As Angeline wandered down the strip, neon lights flashed, seeming to jump off the sign and into her face. Andy Williams. Bing Crosby. Sinatra. The lights buzzed in her head—too much light and noise. She used her vampiric speed to blur as far from the overwhelming stimulation as she could.

  When she was far enough away, her gaze was caught by a church, glittering like a hallucination in the distance. It rose out of the ground like an omen, glowing and shaking and warping and moving, asking her to join the dance.

  The drug expanded her awareness, and she felt there was nothing she couldn’t know. Her future mate was in that building. He was there, waiting for her to turn him and open his world to all the possibilities she held in her hands. She held the world in her hands. Or maybe that was the mescaline talking.

  Angeline righted herself, straightening her long, black lace evening gown. Her manner of dressing occasionally drew stares in other cities, but she didn’t care. Here in Las Vegas, people assumed she was a performer and didn’t look twice. It allowed her to blend, while keeping in use a wardrobe from the turn of the century.

  She took a sober man off the street, drinking deeply of his blood to rid herself of the effects of her last victim then made her way to the formerly glowing church that now stood austere in simple gray stone.

  It had been centuries since she’d been inside a church. Would she burst into flames when she crossed the threshold? She imagined catching fire to the shock and fright of all the assembled faithful. Of course that was silly; she’d risen inside a church in the arms of her sire. She hadn’t combusted back then. As long as she didn’t touch crosses or holy water, she’d be fine.

  If I have any humanity left, I’ll be fine. She was well aware it was only her human side that kept her safe, a side she’d spent the better part of the last few centuries suppressing.

  As she reached the steps, the church clock began chiming out the midnight hour in ominous greeting. She jumped when the door swung open.

  “Miss, are you here for the midnight service?” A deep, graceful baritone.

  Angeline’s heart almost stopped. He was so beautiful. So tall—at least six foot five, and broad. He filled the double doorway with his presence. He was the one. She could feel it. Still she stood frozen, unable to speak and partially afraid to go in.

  He extended a hand to take hers. “I’m Father Hadrian. We’re just about to start. You’re welcome here.” His hands wrapped around hers were so warm.

  The invitation took away the last of her fear of the place. Although vampires didn’t need invitations to get into human homes, a church felt more dangerous, as if the demon half of her could condemn her. Surely his invitation as well as her partial humanity would protect her. She glanced up at him through a fringe of lashes, overtaken with shyness as she stepped inside.

  What was wrong with her? She didn’t get shy around men. She sat in an empty pew, her gaze moving back to him, tracking his every movement. He was the most interesting thing she’d ever seen. Hadrian. She rolled his name over in her mind. She was a great fan of etymology. Her name, of course, no longer fit—she was far from an angel. Hadrian meant dark one.

  His looks matched. In addition to being tall and broad, he was swarthy, with dark hair and eyes black as coal. Everything in his image screamed danger, but the kindness he projected was warmth and light. The contrast fascinated her. She wanted to tease out the dark edges, to have a companion, but she also wanted someone she could trust.

  In its own way, the church was a welcome retreat—familiar. It was dark—almost sinister—illuminated only by candles. The ornate Our Lady of Guadalupe statue glowed in the candlelight, as did the crucifix over the altar. In the dark it looked like a scene from a horror film rather than a symbol of hope and forgiveness.

  Angeline reached absently inside her bag, clutching the beads of the old rosary inside. She let out a sharp hiss as her hand accidentally brushed the cross, leaving a condemning burn in its wake. She composed herself, checking to see if anyone had noticed a change in her demeanor. Had her eyes glowed? Had her fangs popped out? If either of those things had happened, no one noticed before her human mask fell back into place.

  She watched as the red mark faded and the cross-shaped scar disappeared, the healing process completed in a matter of seconds, since she’d just consumed so much fresh human blood.

  God didn’t want her anymore. Well fuck him. She’d held onto this anger for a long time now. And yet, she’d kept the rosary, carrying it like a tarnished ticket into Heaven.

  Each time it burned, it reminded her that her ticket was no longer valid. It was of little consequ
ence how faithful she’d been in her human life. It was that faithfulness that had ultimately killed her. If she hadn’t been at church that night…

  Angeline brushed the stray tear off her cheek, pulling the wall up high around herself. It was easier to be the monster than the woman. The woman was still too vulnerable. Her attention shifted back to the priest and the liturgy that was so familiar and yet so alien now.

  She didn’t participate; she merely sat and observed the standing, sitting, kneeling—rote repetition that carried her off into another experience more quiet, but no less profound than the drugs that had moved within her earlier in the evening.

  Occasionally the priest’s gaze drifted to hers. It took everything in her not to enthrall him, not to put suggestions into his head. She wanted to observe him in his natural state, like a researcher in the savannah watching a wild animal. She wanted to know who he was, not who she would mold him to be. That would come later.

  His hands were mesmerizing, strong, and sure. Compared with her strength he was feeble right now, but he would become an awesome force of nature—like a tornado that couldn’t be contained. Her shyness evaporated inside the cocoon of the church. Now she was a predator watching her prey.

  Angeline licked her lips almost unconsciously.

  The congregants formed a line to receive the bread and wine. She felt Father Hadrian’s eyes burn through her and looked away. He must have noticed she didn’t take part in the service. She felt exposed and wanted to leave. She wouldn’t turn him tonight, but she remained in her seat. She wanted to feel his warm hands over hers again and didn’t want to wait a week for the experience.

  ***

  Hadrian tried to keep his focus on the Mass, yet he couldn’t stop looking at the woman he thought of as the dark angel. He’d seen human nature in all its intriguing, delightful, and disappointing forms, but this woman was a study in contrasts he couldn’t unravel.

  His gaze lingered on her lips, which were painted a lush red that invited him to taste her. Her skin was a smooth, milky white that contrasted sharply against her long dark hair. Her glittering blue eyes offered additional contrast to her shiny brown locks.

  Given the style of her clothing and the smallness of her waist, Hadrian wouldn’t be surprised if she wore a corset underneath the dress, a corset painstakingly laced and tied by the hands of another. A lover perhaps? He imagined her flushed after a hurried coupling, leaning against a bedpost, sucking in a breath so the corset could be cinched just a little tighter.

  She seemed barely real, and he feared she might disappear into the night from whence she came, never to be heard from again. As he moved to the next parishioner kneeling at the bench, he glanced again at the dark angel.

  Don’t leave.

  Her eyes rose sharply to his as if she’d heard his thought. Her face was a mixture of hope, pain, and longing. He knew that look. With his face and physique, he’d been the object of many female sexual desires. This woman was fire.

  He tried to ignore her and focus on the rite, the guilt curling inside him that he wasn’t fully present for what was supposed to be Holy Communion. Hadrian passed through the rest of the service by habit, the part of his brain familiar with the exercise taking control while he waited for it to be over.

  The midnight service was lonely. There was no choir or other participants, just him, offering a scaled-back version of the Mass for those who felt more comfortable in the dark. These were the people who needed him the most, and yet he didn’t know who was worth saving, who would change and find redemption and who wouldn’t.

  He’d grown weary having faith in people, praying for them and hoping they’d change, only to see them fall further, many dying in despair, leaving the world worse than when they’d entered it. It was wrong to think such things, but he couldn’t help it. He’d seen too much—both human and otherworldly. He could no longer look at the world as the fresh-faced young man entering the priesthood. That had only been five years ago when he’d had a brief mystical experience, his own Damascus Road. But it felt like forever, like he’d aged centuries in that time. He was far too jaded for thirty-five.

  Like every priest initiated into the mysteries of the Catholic Church, he knew the truth about demons. He knew they were out there, flesh-and-blood beings who could compel and work their sinister magic. At times, he watched the assembled congregants at the midnight service, wondering if there might be one hiding among the flock. But no, they couldn’t get inside a church—not standard demons, anyway. Whatever else may lurk out there amid the shadows, Hadrian wasn’t sure of the rules for them. He didn’t know where they could go or how they could hide, and felt ill-prepared to deal with realities he hadn’t been taught to handle.

  Beyond exorcisms and the knowledge of reincarnation, dimensions, and the awareness he was in Hell—literally—there wasn’t much else they were encouraged to explore or know much about. They’d been charged with keeping the flock in the dark on these matters and guiding them to do the best they could in life. Hadrian often wondered what other secrets were hidden in the higher levels of the Church. What did bishops and archbishops know? What did the Holy See know?

  Hadrian blinked. The assembled waited with rapt attention for him to close with the benediction and blessings of peace upon them. He hurried through the rest of the service then escaped to the back of the church to greet each individual. He was unsurprised to see the dark angel at the back of the group. Of course, temptation would only visit when all other distractions had left the building. Life would be too easy otherwise.

  He turned his attention back to the front of the line. A redheaded woman in her early twenties stood before him, a batch of freckles dancing along her cheeks, skipping her nose altogether. The innocence in her appearance was a deep deception.

  He took her gloved hand. “Mary, it’s good to see you. I’m glad you could make it tonight.”

  She wore a hat with a veil—to hide—but the guilt was plain in her eyes. She’d been working in an illegal brothel. He hadn’t been there, of course, but he didn’t doubt a few of the other late-night parishioners had seen far more of Mary than he ever would.

  “You know how it is,” was all she would offer him in return.

  He nodded and tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. She’d spoken to him in confession on many occasions, but still she repeated the same mistakes. It wasn’t charitable, but he wondered if she was worth saving at all. Would she forever remain trapped in this loop of confession and regression? Would she ever transcend it? Did she even want to?

  She extracted her hand from his and made her way out the door. She’d be back in a few months maybe. He sighed and worked his way through the line, feeling increasing guilt over his pattern of thought this evening.

  He greeted them all: winos, prostitutes, drug smugglers, crime family members, until the line dwindled to nothing.

  The heavy church door echoed as it shut, leaving Father Hadrian alone with the dark angel. He took her hand, overwhelmed by how cool it was.

  “I’m glad you could join us tonight.”

  “Thank you for having me,” she said, a brief bit of color coming into her cheeks. How could one woman seem so dark and so vulnerable all at once? He simultaneously wanted to hold her in an embrace and fling her out of the church with an admonition never to return. Finally, realizing he still held her hand, he let it drop.

  “I didn’t catch your name earlier?” His voice rose at the end, hoping she’d acknowledge the question therein.

  She smiled, the shyness leaving her all at once. “I didn’t throw it.”

  Before his eyes, she transformed from an uncertain, vulnerable creature into a femme fatale who could certainly be his undoing, given time. He pushed that thought away.

  She laughed. “I’m Angeline.”

  So his instincts had been correct on that one. Dark angel, indeed.

  “There is a pamphlet on the table beside the front door with our hours. If you ever need to come to confessio
n or…” He faltered. What was he trying to say? “If you’d like to know about catechism classes or have any questions about the Church, I’d be happy to…” I’d be happy to continue to stand here, grasping for vocabulary like a bumbling idiot.

  Her finger pressed against his lips to stop his babbling. He swallowed. Danger. Danger. Danger. The inappropriate action ended as quickly as it had begun. She was no longer touching him, but he still felt the ghost of her finger, pressed against his mouth.

  For the briefest moment, he’d wanted to suck it between his lips to taste her skin. An image of the dark angel sprawled across the altar with him on top of her bloomed in his mind. He took a physical step back to shake the thoughts free.

  “I really must go,” she said after a beat. “You’re too much temptation.”

  He should have called her on her forwardness, but he couldn’t bring himself to take the light out of her eyes. Her confidence was mesmerizing; watching it crumble in shame at her behavior wasn’t something he could bring himself to do—not after how timid she’d seemed upon entering the church. It was as if her brief visit had breathed new life into her even though she’d remained an observer.

  “I hope you can handle a new regular,” she said, “because I’ll be here every week indefinitely.”

  God help me. Perhaps another of Our Lady of Mercy’s priests could take over the midnight Mass—someone of stronger constitution. Hadrian found his eyes raking over her cleavage, which was pushed up by an old-fashioned evening gown of sorts. An antique pendant nestled between her breasts, drawing his eye. He imagined the heavy weight pressing against her chest and wished that weight was his hand—or his mouth.

  When he collected himself and looked up, her eyes were sharp. Her perception seemed clear and precise, as if she could read each thought as it tumbled from his mind even before he could line them up into sentences, ideas, and longings.

  Her fingers ran along the edge of the pendant, the backs of them dragging across her skin. Hadrian struggled for breath.