Exaltation (2 page)

A man lusted for it, and the second Rydell gave it to him, he would expel a rush of emotion. Each time he drove it he would, and the rush would find Rydell and Dagen, and it would last until the man’s next desire surfaced, and it would—soon. Souls are never satisfied long, especially after they have tasted such a sweet rush.

Just as the beast Rydell was manhandling reached ninety around a sharp curve in the highway, a wave of energy vibrated against the night sky, clearly aimed at him. The car lost control in an instant. Both he and Dagen opened their doors and stepped out. They could have manifested somewhere outside of the car, which had taken on a life of its own, but they had grown used to hiding their power in their day-to-day appearance.

Of course, stepping out of a car at that speed was not natural by any means. But at the very least, if someone had happened to see this epic crash, their mind would have told them the passengers dove out of the car just in time.

The Firebird met its doom a half second later as it wrapped itself around a guardrail before pushing the metal into the row of trees behind it. Before either could comment the car erupted into flames. Both Rydell and Dagen raised their long arms to block their eyes, only for the purpose of adjusting to the light blooming in the middle of the night.

“Damn. Talk about throwing a divine meal down the drain,” Dagen stated. He was unaware of the energy that had caused Rydell to lose control just before they reached the bend in the highway.

The energy would have been felt at the highest-ranking souls in the line first then would slowly be felt throughout all the ranks. By the time it reached the Escorts that had not been openly claimed, it would feel as careless as an ominous breeze welcoming a tepid summer storm.

Rydell pulled his brow together, wondering why he felt it so violently. He knew the prophecy, he knew where he stood in his line, second only to his godly king, but he felt the jolt of energy as if he was standing next to it. He felt it as if The Reaper himself had whispered his name against his neck.

Somewhere in this dimension he was in, the soul who would bring the end of his existence had just taken a breath.

Right about then Dagen felt the blow; it rocked him back on his heels. Rydell only halfway contemplated if that was due to the force or the shock factor. Every civilization lives with the threat of the ‘end of times’ lingering over their heads, a notion Rydell and his kind had often used to seduce their prey—‘you only live once, tomorrow is never promised.’ But no civilization, no breed of souls, ever believes it will occur in their lifetime, not even immortal souls such as Rydell.

To feel this right now swarmed him with every dark emotion a soul could possibly feel. He knew he was breathing the same air as his assassin. Not a doubt in his mind.

“This can’t be true. Now? Why now?” Dagen asked with rage coating his deep voice. His ice blue eyes raced over Rydell as his entire six foot three, solidly muscled body tensed. At that moment he didn’t look like a young warrior, but a force to be reckoned with.

Rydell’s eyes shifted over the night. “I suppose our sovereign has finally crossed the line with the Creator.”

“But we haven’t. We walked away,” Dagen argued, refusing to believe this.

Rydell was a First. He was the one who stood at Revelin’s side, by birthright. This revelation was telling Dagen that his best friend, his brother, was called to death, called to fall for sins he
didn’t
commit, not voluntarily at least. They’d walked away. That should count for something somewhere, somehow—that’s how Dagen saw it.

Rydell offered no answer. Regret was seizing his soul. He did walk away. He did lead millions away from their sovereign, but he did so selfishly. He did so thinking it would lead to him being slain, freed from the hell he was pulled into. He didn’t expect Revelin to let him roam, or not bat an eye when so many followed.

Rydell knew he could have reached out to the Creator, could have asked him to lead him, to help him understand what the true divine purpose of his kind was, but in all truth, Rydell was angry with his Creator. Angry he’d allowed Revelin to take him in the first place. Angry that this existence was given to him, when in his mindset he did nothing to deserve life at a devil’s side, a life which stated he not only had to defend said devil, but
obey
.

Anger led Rydell to go it alone, figure out how to rule many souls without guidance. He and his followers still invoked emotions they were only meant to relieve. They still inflicted pain, pain that often, in some way, lead to a slow death. A self-inflicted death, but nevertheless he and his people were the catalyst for the downfall. Rydell knew if he did not act now his existence would be over.
Just when I was starting to enjoy the idea of life—death be damned—I will hunt and destroy you before you take me or my people.

He gave the Firebird one last hard glance. For Rydell and others the emotion the car would have given to the soul it was built for would have been food, what they needed to survive. But in all truth it would be a curse to the soul—the car would have destroyed the soul.

It could’ve been as obvious as a wreck, or as twisted as a catalyst that would have lead the man to lose everything of real value in his life. Then death would come. That was the real curse in and of itself. One which Rydell and Dagen were set to break before this new revelation stole their attention.

Now the curse was going to have to wait. Now Rydell had to save his own life, kill or be killed. One singular birth changed the entire course of the Helco faction, indefinitely.

“My death has just taken a breath. It’s time to ensure those breaths are short, and fleeting. ”

“Where?” Dagen asked, ready to fight any enemy that threatened Rydell.

“This dimension.”

Dagen’s gaze turned pensive. They were standing in one of the largest dimensions, which were openly traveled.

Rydell breathed in, smelling the distant river he thought was called Mississippi.

“Down river.”

And with that they both vanished, openly chasing their executioner.

Chapter Two

Jamison wasn’t sure he trusted the nursemaid that Raine had chosen or where she had even came from. He nodded to Saige to watch her as she cleaned up from the birth. Jamison knew, just as any witch did, that there was power in blood. A lot of power.

Raine barely looked weathered by the entire event. She never bothered to look up at him as he approached.

He assumed by now he would have felt a wave of energy come over him—a release of power. But one never came. Instead, he noticed Raine’s ivory skin was beginning to turn ashen.

“Raine,” he grated, not daring to look at the child. He knew the sight of the babe would distract him from his enemy. Clearly his spells were not working—he was in full defense mode.

“She’s beautiful, Jamison. She is clearly created by all that you are. There is bliss in her soul.”

“Raine. Why?” He had asked her the same question a million times. She’d never answered him, not once. He had no idea who this woman was who gave him a child and it
infuriated
him.

Instead of answering, Raine held her stare on the infant. She never imagined this would be hard. Her plan was simple. She had a dream. She was shown an honorable man. She’d found him, seduced him, made him a father, and she was to leave now. But she didn’t want to. Raine was a warrior at heart, stubborn, and to most, cold and vindictive—all true virtues.

Her mind drifted back to the darkest time in her existence. A time where the wrath seeded into her, twisted into jealousy. She was the second soul her sovereign, Glory, had claimed. Second. Always
second
.

Raine betrayed Glory, her entire line, and because she did…they lost everything, a story Raine dare not reflect on in her fleeting moments.

The only soul Raine confessed her transgressions to was the Creator, and through a dream he laid upon her the punishment he wished, one which Raine thought was vastly lenient at the time.

Like most near the head of the line, outward emotion is only vaguely felt. She could easily seduce a man, bear a child, and feel no loss. She didn’t even fear her own death. She craved it. She wanted a new beginning. A way out of the fate she had been assigned.

Raine thought the Creator had given her mercy. Yet, right now, holding this child she realized her punishment was deserved. Though she felt no love or compassion for this child or her father, she yearned to see the redemption her soul would bring. She wanted to see approval in her queen’s eyes. She wanted forgiveness from her line. Raine knew that would never come. 

She whispered near silent words over the babe. She asked the Creator to honor the child, to ensure her people accepted her. That the child would live with nobility.

“The Creator chose you for a reason,” she whispered to the both of them.

“You’re not taking her from me.”

“No,” she whispered. “You’re her father. Her guardian.” Raine let her hand move across the babe’s head. “She will never desire me, seek me, or grieve for me. For you are the only parent she will ever yearn for. Her soul knows what my purpose was.”

Jamison refused to let himself feel the relief, not when Raine was still there, when the babe was in her arms.

Raine felt herself fading. Her corporeal form, the twenty-five years of life, was expiring. Soon her essence would be whisked away, and with any hope at all she would emerge in a life unversed in tragedy, one which would allow her to feel the emotions she could see in this babe’s eyes.

“Let me see you hold her,” Raine whispered, weakly reaching for his arm.

Her gaze traveled slowly over Jamison. He was a magnificent man. His outward beauty was only a small reflection of how powerful and breathtaking his soul was.
Father to a Queen…a Goddess.

Jamison’s vibrant blue-gray eyes settled on his daughter for the first time. Her skin was flushed; her tiny fists were moving in protest. She was uncomfortable, and clearly felt the coldness of her mother’s embrace. He reached for her without thought.

He had never once held a child, not even his niece. He feared his strength, that he would harm them without knowing. His fear was absent now. A fierce protector emerged in his soul.

The moment the child was cradled in his arms her crying ceased. Her tiny gaze squinted up toward him. He adjusted the blanket around her fragile body and managed to smile, if only to hold back misty tears, which were threatening his stoic image.

His entire life, every moment before this one had lost its meaning. He could only see this child; he could only think to protect her. His long fingers reached to trace her chin, noticing how the babe raised it in a stubborn defiance against the sleep beckoning her.

He glanced to where Raine was, but Raine was gone. He only managed to see the very last of her essence vanish into thin air after it turned to ash. Her death.

His gaze moved back to the babe in his arms as he swayed her gently, silently telling her she could sleep, that daddy would watch over her as she did.

Saige emerged in the doorway.

At first Jamison barely glanced at his sister, but when he saw her appearance, he stared with shock.

Her golden hair had turned to silver. Small laugh lines were now around her lips, more around her eyes, and faint lines adorned her forehead. Moments ago without any makeup to make her look older she barely looked old enough to be a mother. Now she looked like a young grandmother. He noted that even age could not halter her beauty.

“You. You gave her time.”

Saige nodded weakly. “I was unaware whom I gave the time to, only that time was needed.”

“Could you not have told me?”

“I didn’t want to be wrong.” She smiled weakly. “The smoke revealed a name,” Saige offered with a glance to the altar of candles and melted wax that was waving across the book of shadows on the dresser. “Hartlyn Raven BellaRose.” Saige glanced down. “Exaltation. This girl will fight wretched joy.”

“Not if I can help it,” Jamison grated out, telling himself yet another lie.

On the day his powers were anointed he was told by the oracle of the Dominarum coven, the one he commanded now, he would love a womb-less woman and the woman would give him the world, change his very outlook on existence as a whole. Raine had done such a thing. As far as he was concerned, the prophecy had been fulfilled and it had nothing to do with his daughter. He would not allow it to.

Chapter Three

Six blocks away from Royal Street, Emery Sabien was seated on the back stoop of her home on St Louis Street. Thelma Ray was at her side. She was her lifelong neighbor and childhood nanny. As of recently she was the nanny who watched over her infant daughters. Emery vaguely used magic. Even though it was in her blood, she saw it more as a desperate prayer when she did succumb to the power of the universe.

Tonight she was weighing a crossroads. Her entire life she only wanted one of two paths. One was to bask herself in knowledge and travel, for her to weave together the myths of every religion and teach her world that we are all feeling the same thing, only calling it by a different name. The other was family. Not knowing which would be granted to her, she pursued both without rest.

Two weeks ago she was given a grant, one which would give her all she needed to travel and learn the secrets she sought, for no less than the next ten years of her life. It was a dream come true. And it fell on the heels of another miracle.

Emery could not have children. In no way or form could she carry a child to full term. She had explored every alternative there was, finally settling on a surrogate mother. That alone was not an easy accomplishment. Her own upbringing pushed her to search for the perfect host, the perfect energy to carry her child. The woman she found had very few demands. One was simply that Emery was happily in love.

Emery told the woman that, even though she was not married, she cared deeply for Duncan. She offered a vague lie that she had not married him for the fact that her parents were not there to witness it. The lie was twofold. Her parents were deceased. They would never be in physical form when she committed to a man, but she had no doubt she would feel their blessing in the air.

The blessing never emerged around Duncan, not even in the slightest way. Which is why she chose not to use his seed for the process. She went with fate. Before the surrogate option became her only possibility to have a child of her own flesh, before she discovered her body would not allow her to carry a child, she had been working with her family doctor to find the perfect donor. She was never at ease with what was put before her. Not until a day before the surrogate was to go through with the procedure. Her family doctor had sent a messenger with an outline of a wayward donor he had overlooked until then.

Emery could still remember how she felt when she read the file. It was euphoric. The air around her hummed. She often believed in signs and thought for sure this one came at her most desperate hour, the way all true miracles seem to do.

She made a last minute decision, one which told her she did not want to be attached to Duncan for the rest of her life. The surrogate was given a part of her and part of a mystery man. Even though she slept at ease the night the decision was made, she feared karma would catch up to her one day and something would take the child she had dreamed of away from her. So she prayed endlessly through every day that no complications would arise.

Months later she discovered she was beyond blessed. The surrogate was carrying twins. Her one shot at a small family had given her more than she could have ever hoped for.

Emery had strived in her life without rest, hoping one of her dreams would be birthed, all the while knowing life would not allow them both to stand comfortably side-by-side. Her twins were now three months old. She knew she was stubborn enough and clever enough to find a way to bring her new family with her on her adventures, and even imagined Thelma Ray visiting and playing with them across every continent.

She told herself her girls would have a broad education—they would see the world others only dreamed of.

Glancing at Thelma Ray reminded her of what she would be taking from them, the childhood she had, the simplicity that only comes once in a lifetime. 

Right now she wanted to consult Thelma Ray’s cards. She wanted to know if she was holding back from this grant because, once again this would strap her to Duncan, or if she truly wanted to give simplicity to her girls.

The question was simple: a family with Duncan rich with education and culture? Or a life here, alone with her girls, along with the coven—which was not blood but she considered them to be.

Thelma Ray had a small TV tray before her. She was humming along with the hymn in her mind when she glanced up at Emery. Every day she told Emery that though she exhausted herself to embrace every part of every day, she had yet to live.

Emery carried a classic beauty Thelma had often admired, one which turned several heads—not that Emery would even bother to notice. Thelma Ray adored Emery’s independence but feared she would never let anyone inside. She had been that way since she lost her parents ten years before; she was seventeen then, just a child. Her daughters had awakened a different part of Emery, but Thelma Ray knew there was more to be seen.

Slowly Thelma dealt the cards, halting her humming as she read what was before her.

“What question did you just ask, child?” She tried to keep her voice calm and level but could not hide the tremble.

Emery had lost focus as Thelma Ray had dealt. Not good at all. At the very least she was disrespecting the magic at play. She couldn’t help it. She could hear the sports channel blaring in the den. She knew Duncan was sitting there with a beer in his hand, and she had let the thought linger that her daughters deserved more than his all-knowing condescending thoughts, which he managed to make sound like honey.

Duncan saw her beliefs as myths, found her to be delightfully cute, and was eager to show her all the ways she was wrong. She had no idea why she had not drawn the line yet.

The surrogate had long ago moved on with her life. There was no need to play a role for her anymore. So she didn’t understand why the universe granted her this opportunity, only to put him as an underlying clause.
Your karma
, she thought with a curse.

Duncan wasn’t fond of the children. He acted as if he barely noticed them, only mentioning them when he stated how grateful she should be that she had someone like him to take care of her.

As far as she was concerned, Duncan was far too easy to forget when he spent weeks on end traveling to conferences.

When he came home from his last conference she planned to tell him the girls were not his, hoping the revelation would finally push him away. That was two weeks ago. He mentioned the grant before she could get her well-rehearsed speech out.

“Can you deal again? Sorry.”

Thelma Ray let a moan rise from her throat. Her heart was thundering and her palms were sweating. She could swear spirits, more than usual, were in the air. Emery’s parents were there.

“No ma’am.”

Emery’s eyes grew wide. “What are you looking at?”

“A decision has already been made for you.”

Emery swallowed nervously, feeling her skin prickle with awareness. The sensation she had always thought she would feel one day.

“I don’t love him,” she pleaded silently to the energy she felt around her.

Her parents, when alive, were extremely old fashioned. Family came first and foremost. They believed the foundation must be solid. Which left Emery feeling guilty and blissful about the decisions she made to have a family.

She was able to make sure her girls had a part of her within them, which was important to her because she was an only child and felt shameful that her parent’s bloodline would die with her. She felt guilty she had never found someone who would love her and allow her to keep her independence at the same time. She feared right now that the spirits were telling her to stand by Duncan, that in order to have a family she needed him. Basically, a
you asked for it, now deal with it
kind of scenario.

“If you did, we’d be having issues right ‘bout now.”

“What do you see?” Emery asked again.

Thelma had dropped her gaze from her cards and her eyes were closed. She reached for Emery’s hands. Once she felt them gripped in the thick flesh of her own, a jolt of energy bolted through her, and she wasn’t quite sure if she should be excited for her little Emery or terrified.

“Thelma Ray,” Emery pleaded, “is it the girls? Tell me they’re safe. Tell me nothing will take them away from me.”

Fate will, child
. “They’re guardians.”

“Of?”

Thelma shook her head and threatened to give a smile, but it vanished as she moved her healthy body back as if a jolt of energy had struck her.

Slowly Thelma Ray opened her eyes. “I ‘spect Jamison BellaRose will be seeking you out shortly.”

It took Emery nearly a moment to remember to breathe. She knew
exactly
who Jamison BellaRose was. The feared, loved, and respected leader of the coven her parents were both a part of: The Dominarum. Even though they both lived in the Quarter, she hadn’t seen Jamison up close since he helped her lay her parents down. Back then he spoke kindly to her and watched over her as she grieved. He’d promised her the coven would always be her family. She assumed it was the gentle power she felt from him which made her heart skip a beat. Or it could be that then, as well as right now, the air around her hummed and she felt blissfully calm when she thought of him.

All at once, Emery felt like the plans for her life were
tragically
wrong. They were wrong because there was so much more in store for her. She asked for the minimum and she had an odd feeling that she had been served the maximum. She doubted it was because of one name, one man. More than likely it was because the name reminded her of her roots. Assured her that yes, this was the life she wanted for her children; the rest would work itself out some way. Without a doubt, in no way, shape, or form could she spend a decade with
Duncan
.

Jamison was one of the hidden secrets Emery wanted to understand and explain. He was immortal. An anomaly. Only a few in the coven had the same gift; others aged incredibly slow. Then of course, there were those, like her parents, who were all too mortal. Emery had felt cheated by that in the past, but now she had settled on the idea her parents were needed in another form somewhere else in time.

“What would Jamison BellaRose want with me?”

Thelma shifted out of her seat, clearing the cards and carefully placing crystals over them before she secured them in her cedar case.

“Them girls of yours are growing mighty fast, didn’t even have a chance for ‘em to wear half the clothes you bought for ‘em. Best not be letting ‘em go to waste.”

“What? Stop,” Emery said as she reached for her arm. “What about Jamison? What does this have to do with my question?”

Her heart was racing. She had been in love with the idea of the man for some time, but because he was immortal, dangerous in some way, she had told her heart often to ignore the pull it felt. Emery knew she was everything he wasn’t. She was sure the man had no interest in her. In fact, he’d sent her far away after her parents died, off to school. She’d only came back to the Quarter briefly since then, each time plotting the family she wanted, hoping she would find the perfect energy in the city her parents adored. In all truth, the most time she had spent there was recently, when she came home a month before the girls were due, to prepare their nursery.

Nearly every member of the coven had come by to see the girls, offer their blessings, even Saige, but Jamison hadn’t. As the coven leader it was his role to be there for the naming of the babes. Emery could only assume he didn’t acknowledge her daughters because their conception was less than conventional.

Saige had told her Jamison was under duress and when he emerged from it, she would tell him of the births. That was months ago. Emery knew immortals saw time differently. Still, it hurt her that he had not come. It confused her that Thelma Ray said he would now.

Thelma let her aged gaze meet Emery’s. “You already know the answer. He needs you and you need him.” Thelma Ray glanced in the direction of the river. “Darkness is moving toward you. Whose side do you think you need to be at?”

“What darkness?” You never said something like that to a member of the coven unless you meant it. Legend stated members of this coven could sense evil encroaching from every plane of existence.

Thelma Ray gave her classic sound, which mimicked one loud “ummhmm” accented by the gentle shake of her head. She squinted her eyes closed for a second. “Anyone in the coven have a boy recently?”

Emery looked at her like she was insane. Since her parents’ death she had lost touch with most in their circle. When she did speak to them it was for research, and they knew that, so conversation was always short.

“I’ll figure it out for ya.” Thelma Ray straightened her shoulders as if she were trying to look stronger. “Cut your ties ‘for it’s too late.”

It didn’t take Emery long to figure out why Thelma Ray was standing so tall. Duncan had emerged in the shadow of the doorway. He’d never been a fan of Thelma Ray and the feeling was mutual.

“Evening, Mr. Duncan,” she said, as she passed by him.

He held out her bag. “Best be moving on. It’s getting late,” he said to Thelma Ray.

“I believe I’ll be staying the night,” she said, as she stretched her back and moved past him.

Emery only vaguely glanced up at him. She was still concentrating on the energy she could feel around her. It was a sensation she hadn’t felt since the day she chose
not
to use Duncan’s seed. It was welcoming and frightening at the same time.