Blood In The Stars

BLOOD IN THE STARS

JENNIFER SHEA

SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

New York

BLOOD IN THE STARS

Copyright©2013

JENNIFER SHEA

Cover Design by Ramona Lockwood

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

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the priority written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher.  The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Published in the United States of America by

Soul Mate Publishing

P.O. Box 24

Macedon, New York, 14502

ISBN-13: 978-1-61935-
271-1

www.SoulMatePublishing.com

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

To my family –

who helped me write down my stories

before I even knew how to write

Acknowledgements

I wanted to recognize all the unsung heroes in this long road to publication:

The numerous anonymous names on AW, the classmates in workshops and classes, and all the other unnamed writers who give their time and energy to share information with other writers.

Thank you to three special women who have touched my writing life in very different ways:

Teresa, who is always willing to read my stories and has been from the beginning.

Leslie, who introduced me to the world of erotica, e-publishing, cheered me on to finish my story, and taught me that I should work on one project at a time.

Finally Erin, who shares in the trials and tribulations of this topsy-turvy writing world, and is always giving of her time for critiques and brainstorming.  I couldn’t have published this book without all of your advice and insight.

Chapter 1

After ten disastrous blind dates, Daria Mathews had finally found a guy worthy of her time. John seemed to be everything she wanted—an attorney, the same as she, one who liked dogs, liked children, was close to his family . . . and it didn’t hurt that he had gorgeous black hair and beautiful green eyes.

Dinner had ended with John offering to walk her to her car, and now she watched his sinewy limbs stride down the city streets of the Lincoln Park neighborhood of Chicago with feline grace. His overt sex appeal had likely broken many hearts in his time. Hopefully she wouldn’t be the next on the list.

They paused at an intersection and he gazed down at her with soft eyes. “Where’s your car?” he asked as they crossed the empty streets.

“Just down this block,” she replied. Glancing at her watch, she vaguely wondered why the streets were so desolate on a Saturday night.

“Hmm. I guess there’s not too much time, then.”

She smiled up at him, expecting an offer to grab drinks. “Time for what?”

John stopped and turned to her with a grin. His hands clasped hers and trailed up her arms to her shoulders. “Time to finish things.”

Suddenly, he shoved her, and she flew through the air, crashing against a brick wall. Her neck jerked back as her lungs fought for air through the choking coughs battling to escape her throat. She blinked, confused. Precious seconds vanished while she waited for her vision to clear.

What on earth—?

She found herself at least twenty feet from the city sidewalks, plastered against grime and filth from trash and dust, car exhaust and human waste.

And from the right, came John.

He advanced down the middle of an alleyway. How had he pushed her so far back? Why had he . . . No time to think about that now. Obviously, the man was dangerous. Maybe unbalanced. She had to get away.

“I wouldn’t run if I were you,” he purred, lifting his hands as if to display them. “Or I might have to shred you.”

Her body felt cold and though her brain screamed at her to run, her stubborn feet remained glued to the ground from fear and shock. Dim lamplight filtered in from the streets, highlighting large, grotesque hands with long, pointed black nails. Black hollows had replaced his eyes and a wiry black tail danced behind him.

Oh, my God.

John wasn’t human.

“I think I’ll enjoy you first.” He spoke casually, as if choosing wine for dinner.

She shuddered, feeling his lascivious eyes rake over her. Chills scaled up her spine and her stomach knotted with panic, threatening to disgorge her dinner.

How could this be happening? Surely this wasn’t real. It was just a hallucination. But when John’s tail whipped behind him, reality gave her a knockout punch. She gulped. It was all very real.

Her heart pounded in beat with every step he took. She could tell he enjoyed stalking her, terrifying her. Daria sucked in a shallow breath.
I have to get out of here alive.

The width of the alleyway barely allowed enough space for one car to pass through. With John stalking down the center, she knew running past him equaled suicide. But running the other way could lead to a parallel street. Or a dead end. It could have a back door. Which would be locked.

Fresh panic ripped through her and frustration wrenched her chest like a twisted towel. She didn’t want to die here tonight, in the hands of . . . of . . . she didn’t know what he was, except a monster.

“You’re exactly my type,” he sneered, licking his lips. “Career woman with everything but won’t feel fulfilled until she finds a man. My favorite. They’re always wild in bed.”

John’s barrage left her bathed in a film of violation. She would rather die than let him touch her. With that thought in mind, she bolted. Her high heels hampered her but she made the best of it, running on her toes and praying she wouldn’t trip.

Daria sped down the alleyway, eyes scanning the surroundings for a weapon or a door—something, anything to help her. Trash littered the ground, graffiti tainted the walls, and the stench of decay filled the air. But no exit. And nothing large enough to swing at him.

His footsteps quickened behind her and she took a precious second glancing back to see if running merely delayed the inevitable. Her stomach clutched and waves of cold sweat washed over her as she watched looming, black featherless wings spread from John’s back. A thin membrane of skin connected the bony frame like a bat.

Monster
!

His knife-like fingers reached for her. A scream formed in the depths of her lungs, ready to belch out, when she slammed into another brick wall.

Strong arms wrapped around her, before pushing her to the side. She stumbled back, gaping first at the tall silhouette to her left and then at the monster on her right
. Cornered. I won’t survive this
.

The stranger strode toward her, every step an echo reverberating through the alleyway. The black fabric of his trench coat fell inches above the asphalt. He had appeared from nowhere, rising from the dark, a confident shadowy storm that promised danger with an imposing presence and each dull thump of his booted feet.

Daria shrank as he neared, wishing for a miracle to lead her to freedom. She tried to swallow, tried to eliminate the hard lump of terror in her throat, but failed. What little heat she’d retained leached from her body. Whether the coldness seeping into her skin came from the cooling night or the stranger, she didn’t know.

A sense of self-preservation washed over her and she wanted to flee. But with a dangerous man on each flank, she had nowhere to go. She was trapped.

“You’ll be sorry you ever touched her,” the stranger threatened. With one flick of his hand, he slammed John against the wall. Brick crumbled from the impact. Her eyes widened in shock. How did he do that?

Panting and cursing, John struggled to stand. “How dare you interfere! Who the hell are you?”

The stranger merely chuckled.

“Do you even know who
I
am?” John demanded.

“Just another low-life demon.”

Daria gasped as her mind reeled, trying to digest his words. Did she hear the word ‘demon?’
No. Impossible
.

Demons didn’t exist. Maybe this was all simply a bad dream. A hallucination. She wanted to shut her eyes and ears. But like a driver passing by the scene of an accident, she watched in sick fascination, unable to tear her eyes from the horror around her.

The stranger added, “Or perhaps I should say, a soon-to-be castrated succubus. But if you leave now, I may let you keep your life.” His deep voice filled the alleyway, the threats ricocheting off the walls.

“Go find your own prey,” John hissed.

“She’s mine.” The stranger’s simple, vehement words laced around her like chains, imprisoning her, ramming through any resistance or argument, leaving her exposed. This man exacted control and she stood at his mercy.

His cold fingertips touched her wrist, sending shivers up her arm. He curled them around her soft flesh, the sudden heat of his palm searing her skin, as though branding her, claiming her as his. Sirens went off in her mind. Now that he had her in his clutches, she’d never get away. But she had to run to safety. She began to pull her arm back, her lips parted to beg for him to let go.

The stranger yanked her to him and she stumbled forward, her face brushing across metal. She braced herself against his chest and suddenly realized what he wore. What she initially thought was a trench, was actually a full-length black coat fitted around his torso and clasped in the front with buckles, reminding her of
The Matrix
.

She gazed up at him, stunned to see someone around her own age, at most in his early thirties. His black hair ended at his chin with thick strands hanging over his eyes and falling against his cheekbones to hide his face. He smelled like freshly mowed lawns, clear nights of starlit skies, fields of flowers; everything that brought warmth and smiles and not the ominous presence he emanated now. A sudden mix of comfort and apprehension warred inside her for dominance.

“Which House do you belong to?” John demanded.

The stranger’s arm tightened protectively around her waist, pulling her closer, forcing her body to mold to his. Her heartbeats quickened from fear, relief, and simple female awareness. Fear that he planned to kill her himself. Relief that this man had really come to save her. And awareness that despite her dress and his trench, the hard lines and heat of his body pressed against hers. Despite the situation, desire stirred deep in her belly.

In a flash of light, the stranger drew out a sword with his free hand and pointed it at John’s throat. Her astonished eyes trailed down the length of the steel blade, easily longer than her arm and twice as wide. Moonlight winked off the metal face and as the man turned the sword, a white light trimmed the sharp edges. Something about the sword, maybe even inside the blade, made it glow.

“Do you still need me to answer that question?” the man asked.

At that, John paled and staggered back.

“Leave before I change my mind,” the stranger growled.

John didn’t say anything else. He threw one last yearning glance at her before uttering a sigh and stepping back. He jumped to the top of the building, disappearing into the velvet night.

Shudders rocked through Daria like aftershocks and the adrenalin that kept her standing vanished, leaving her a rag doll in his arms.
God
. John had a tail and this man just pulled a sword out of thin air. Who was this man?
What
was he?

Warm lips pressed against the top of her head and the man whispered, “It’s going to be fine. Now sleep.”

She was about to tell him she had no intention of sleeping, that this night’s excitement would keep her up for hours. Yet lead weighed down her lids and exhaustion flooded her limbs before darkness claimed her.

Jason passed the cloth up and down, back and forth along the metal shaft until the sword’s blade gleamed. His movements were mechanical, his mind already replaying the events of the night, savoring the moments when Daria slept in his arms.

After he had forced sleep upon her, Jason had stepped through a shadow in the alleyway, which allowed those of his realm to travel to other locations. Back in Daria’s condo in downtown Chicago, he had carefully taken off her shoes and tucked her into bed.

There, he brushed away the chestnut hair from her eyes and watched her chest rise and fall with every breath. Her dark lashes fanned cheeks stained with a natural blush and her full lips parted slightly in sleep. He lingered for a few minutes, admiring the gentle slope of her nose and the soft curve of her jaw. But he didn’t dare stay long, for his command to sleep had a limited effect. With great reluctance, he had stood and once more stepped into a shadow to arrive at his home seconds later.

Now he sat on his sofa and brought the blade closer to his face, examining the silver-sheen surface of the dull edge that rose in its center with valleys to the sides that tapered to razor-sharp ends.

He swung the sword and it answered with a lyrical trill. He turned it in his hand, whirling the weapon before tossing it to his other hand. It sang in reply with music that had fought battles and claimed lives.

His father had given each of his three children a sword, weapons from his war-torn days long ago. Jason still remembered the first time he saw this particular sword.

While playing in his parents’ room, his father took it out for cleaning, much as Jason had just done. The steel blade had glowed bluish-white as his father turned it. With every swish of the sword, a song played.

It was beautiful. It was hideous.

Jason hadn’t asked to hold the sword. Hadn’t even asked to touch it. He had merely stood in awe of the weapon, for beyond the light and the awesome force, he saw something much darker.

Why is there blood on the sword, Father?

Blood, darkened from the ages like rust, encrusted the blade, covering the steel. Fresh, dark red metallic liquid dripped down only to disappear once it spotted the floor. He saw it then. The lives of thousands sacrificed upon it.

Since then, every time he cleaned the sword, he thought of how, like Lady Macbeth, he could never get rid of the taint, regardless of how many times he tried. The blood remained, if only in his mind. No one else could see it. They saw only a sparkling length of metal. But he knew its brutal past. Its truth.

He caressed the blade with the cleaning cloth one more time before he lifted the lid of the wooden box and placed it inside. He shut it, the metal clasp clanging against the lock. His fingers traced the small engraving on the face of the box. From childhood he had memorized every curvature, every hard line of his family’s emblem. It branded his soul as much as the tattoo of the same form on his left shoulder marked his skin.

Bringing out the sword probably wasn’t the best decision he made this century. It labeled which House he hailed from and John had recognized it immediately. But it was too late for regrets.

Just as it was too late to regret stepping away when he saw how Daria enjoyed her dinner with John. He shouldn’t have given her the privacy. After all, he hadn’t protected her for her entire life, merely to see her untimely demise at the hands of a succubus. He hadn’t hidden every single supernatural encounter from her, only to have her learn of their existence through demons. And he hadn’t admired her for so long, to have her walk away, and fall in love with someone else.

She was his.

Jason sucked in a ragged breath to calm his thundering heart.
Get a grip.

He had watched her go on these stupid blind dates for over a month now. Date after date and none of those bastards were worth her time. Since they had all ended badly one way or another, he had thought this one would as well. Until he saw the anticipation in her eyes, the smile that lingered on her lips after every joke, and the alluring attention she gave John. She had liked this one. Jason had backed off, giving her the privacy she deserved.

Then that bastard dared . . . Jason couldn’t even imagine what the succubus had planned for her. He tensed as he retraced the events of the night in his mind.