Darkness Embraced

Two hundred years ago, Epiphany was reborn a vampire. Sired by Renata, the Queen of the Rosso Lussuria, Epiphany willingly played the role of the queen’s beloved pet—until she was cast from Renata’s bed and lost her protection from the Elder vampires.

Epiphany has done her best not to become a target, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible, like a long-forgotten memory huddling beneath the mantle of Vasco’s power, her one true friend among the Rosso Lussuria. Now Renata has called Epiphany forth to face the challenges ahead that could elevate her clan status to the ranks of an Elder. But Epiphany has few friends and many enemies, and the chances of surviving the challenges are slim.

Surrounded by harsh vampire politics and secret ambitions, Epiphany learns that an old enemy is plotting treason against the woman she once loved, and to save all she holds dear, she must embrace and form an alliance with the dark.

Witch Wolf
Raven Mask
Darkness Embraced

Darkness Embraced

© 2011 By Winter Pennington. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-516-1

This Electronic Book is published by

Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 249

Valley Falls, New York 12185

First Edition: May 2011

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

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Credits

Editors: Victoria Oldham and Cindy Cresap

Production Design: Susan Ramundo

Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])

I debated not writing acknowledgements for this book. How many people really want to read an author gushing on and on about people they don’t even know? I thought to myself, “Who should I acknowledge?” And then it occurred to me. I was looking at it the wrong way. Instead of, “Who should I acknowledge?” it’s more like, “Okay, who might want to hunt me down if I don’t acknowledge them?”

So here are the people that aided me during the process of writing this book:

My parents, Rebecca, Calvin, Desiree, Dee, Tiffany Pennington, Radclyffe, and my editor, Victoria…a very big thank you goes out to you.

You can take me off your naughty list now. Though I’m sure after reading this book, you might be tempted to put me back on it.

To those beautiful souls, you know who you are.

England, 1810

Life and death placed a wager and my body was their playing ground.

Sleep would not come.

Having been bedridden for too many days to keep track of, I grew restless. It was not a restlessness of the body, for my body was sore and weary from fighting the long battle.

I was wasting away, pale and bird-thin, with Death’s kiss lingering like half moons beneath my lashes.

She would take me slowly, this merciless lover.

I needed to feel the cool night air against my skin. The room was stuffy, suffused with warmth from the glow of a bedside lantern. Having a room of my own had at first been a pleasant respite. Now, the walls silently mocked me like the bars of a prison. They confined me. The solitude was a painful reminder of my failing health.

The others would not come near me unless they had to.

I forced myself out of the bed, fighting the cutting betrayal of my body. I slipped my feet into a pair of slippers and retrieved the thick woolen cloak from the armoire, sluggishly settling it about my shoulders. Ironic, that I would take such a precaution given my condition.

Most certainly, if I was caught leaving the cage of my bedroom, let alone the manor house, I would experience the verbal chastisement of my aunt, who made a fairly convincing warden.

I no longer cared.

The condemnation of death has a way of teaching one about such things.

The opinion of my aunt and her household were of little importance to me. If it was the last time I would see the light of the full moon high above, so be it. I wanted it.

I grabbed the lantern from the bedside table and set about making my way through the house. It wasn’t so difficult to do. I’d been a housemaid in my aunt’s care long enough that I knew the place.

The bolt on the door slid with a quiet click.

The night air pierced my lungs like a blade, sharp and cramping. I headed in the direction of the woods, a place I often went to be alone with my thoughts. Each step of the way, my body protested from weeks of inactivity and abuse. My ribcage felt eternally bruised, beaten by the persistent fits of coughing that had plagued me for weeks.

Each day, the coughing grew worse. Each day, the invisible vice around my chest tightened.

Inevitably, the illness would consume me as it had my father. With every second that passed, the weight of Death’s hand grew heavier.

I clutched the cloak to my body, following the spill of lamplight with slow and careful steps.

I was nearly to the woods when the sound of hoofbeats carried like quiet thunder through the night. A handful of riders burst from the woods on horses as fast as hellions.

I stood there dumbly, too scared and weak to run. The lantern trembled in my grasp. One rider rode forward on his mount, and the lamp’s glow illuminated his pale face and sharp features. He set heels to his horse and the lantern slipped from my fingers. Reality came crashing down a little too late.

Strong hands gripped my waist, tearing the ground from under me.

*

The sound of heavy iron clanking startled me awake. With it came cries of alarm and desperate sobs. Somewhere in the room a woman murmured a frantic prayer.

I dare say none of the noise quite compared to the roll of nausea that turned my stomach. I moved, only to find that my hands had been inconveniently bound behind my back. I managed to sit up, leaning back against a corner of the cell when a spill of light flooded the room, blinding and painful.

I forced myself to breathe past the pain. I’d spent weeks feeling as if my lungs were being cut out of me. A little headache was not so much compared to that. When the light was no longer blinding, I recognized the tall man with the sharp, hawk-like features. His long brown hair shimmered like polished wood in the low light. He pointed at two girls huddled in a corner of the cell and two men, one with red hair, the other black, swept past him.

The girls tried to hold on to each other when the men pulled them apart. They screamed, sending the subsiding pain in my skull back to piercing. If my hands had not been bound, I would have covered my ears. As it was, I huddled in the corner, wincing, and praying for them to make the girls quiet. Perhaps it was crude and selfish, but in that moment, all I wanted was for the pain to stop.

The girls were taken from the cell. Their screams ended, though the quiet sobbing and frantic prayers did not. A man crawled out from an opposite corner of the cell, beseeching the man with the hawk’s nose with his upturned face.

“Please, sir,” he begged in a raw voice, “I have a family.”

Hawk-nose ignored him, turning his attention toward the door. I followed his somber expression.

A woman appeared in the doorway in a gown of exquisite white silk, striding into the room like a bright beacon, casting a glorious light into the dark hell of my prison. Her hair tumbled to her hips in waves like those of a black sea.

“This is all?” she asked in a voice that was languorous and sweet.

“Sì,” hawk-nose said. “We seek your permission to hunt again on the morrow.”

She spared a cold glance out over the cell, completely overlooking me where I huddled on the floor.

“You have it,” she said.

The man that had begged hawk-nose hobbled forward on his knees. His blond hair was dirty and stubble showed at his chin.

“Please, great lady, I have a family to provide for,” his words sped up, “mouths to feed. Please, great lady, whatever you do, spare me.”

She turned her attention to him, giving me the marvelous view of her frosty profile.

“As do I,” she replied in a voice as cold and unmoving as winter.

He continued to beg. She turned, ignoring him as much as hawk-nose had. Her fine silks trailed across the stone floor.

I inhaled and a fit of coughing seized me. Something thick threatened to block my airway. I bent at the waist, unable to stop the wracking cough. The pain blossomed behind my ribs, spreading out across my torso like angry claws.

I held my breath, trying to control the cough when at last it won.

I didn’t need to see my face to know that bloody sputum had trickled out across my lower lip. I could taste the metallic tinge of blood in my mouth.

Short of breath and dizzy, I willed myself not to fight the pain. The more I fought it, the more it hurt.

I felt the brush of cloth against my mouth and jerked away, shoving myself against the wall.

The eyes that met mine were not one solid blue. They were the blue of a midnight sky flecked with shards like a bright summer day.

“Severiano.” Her voice carried through the cell, making me shudder, making my pulse leap frantically beneath my skin. She touched my cheek, and I fought not to flinch. When I didn’t, when I had no more room in which to huddle, she brought the dark cloth up and wiped the rest of the blood from my lips.

I frowned, not understanding that small act of compassion.

“This girl is sick,” she said. “Have the Cacciatori become such lazy hunters as to prey upon the weak and unwell?”

Hawk-nose gave a small bow at her side. “We did not know that she was sick, Padrona, only that she did not run. We did not think anything strange of it.”

She folded her slim fingers around the black handkerchief. Her other hand rose to cup my chin with cool fingers. I shivered.

“Is it true?” she whispered, eyeing me intently. “You did not run from the Cacciatori?”

I made no reply.

She leaned back on her heels. “What is your name?”

“Epiphany,” I whispered.

“Epiphany,” she said as if tasting it. She tilted her head. “Severiano.”

“Sì, Padrona?”

Her fingers tickled down my cheek.

“Bring her to me…unharmed.” With that, she stood in all her white glory and left.

I swallowed, feeling as if I would choke on my pulse.

*

Hawk-nose went to the door, speaking in a language I did not understand. When he returned and clutched my arm to drag me to my feet, I didn’t fight him. The dark-haired man that had helped take the two girls stood by the door. Hawk-nose shoved me in his direction, and I stumbled, tripping over my own feet and falling.

Someone caught me.

“She said unharmed, Severiano,” the man said.

I really was unwell, for he had moved fast enough that the wave of nausea threatened to return. I swayed on my feet, held upright only by the man’s arm around my waist.

I was going to be sick.

“I know that, Dominique.”

“Then learn how to follow orders,” said Dominique, keeping me from toppling over. “Are you all right?” he asked me.

“Does it matter if I’m not?” I retorted, rather boldly given the situation.

The world swayed and he cradled me in against his bulky chest.

I met his blue-gray gaze. “I’m already dying,” I said. “If you think you can scare me more than the death I face, you’re wrong.”

“You’re not dead yet, piccolo,” he said, carrying me out of the room. “If you want to keep it that way, keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told. There are things far worse than death in the Sotto.”