House of the Rising Sun (37 page)

Writing is the hardest job I’ve ever had. Granted, I’ve never been a neurosurgeon or a tightrope walker, so I know it’s all relative. Still, trying to get through the writing of a book without a support system is like trying to baptize a cat. Someone’s going to end up in tears. So for all those who’ve helped me along the way—thanks! My apologies to those I’ve forgotten, please forgive me.

Here are a few of those people: My amazing, supportive agent, Elaine. My editor, Susan, and the entire publishing team at Orbit. The fabulous Writer’s Camp chicks—Leigh, Laura, Rocki and by proxy, Louisa and Amanda. My House of Pain Street Team—namely Captain Melanie, Co-Captain Laura, super-member Amanda Masters and my betas, Dianna J. especially! And of course, my readers, who are the reason I do this.

Lastly, huge thanks to my family for their continuous support and to my husband, who is not only an amazing guy but one who can make me laugh like no one else. Y’all rock.

HOUSE OF COMARRÉ

Blood Rights

Flesh and Blood

Bad Blood

Out for Blood

Last Blood

Forbidden Blood
(e-only novella)

CRESCENT CITY

House of the Rising Sun

City of Eternal Night

“Kristen Painter’s
Blood Rights
is dark and rich with layer after delicious layer. This spellbinding series will have you begging for more!”

—Gena Showalter,
New York Times
bestselling author

“Prophecy, curses, and devilish machination combine for a spellbinding debut of dark romance and pulse-pounding adventure.”

—
Library Journal
(Starred Review)

“Painter scores with this one. Passion and murder, vampires and courtesans—original and un-put-downable. Do yourself a favor and read this one.”

—Patricia Briggs,
New York Times
bestselling author

“Gripping, gritty, and imaginative. If you love dangerous males, kick-ass females, and unexpected twists, this is the series for you! Kristen Painter’s engaging voice, smart writing, and bold, explosive plot blew me away. Prepare to lose some sleep!”

—Larissa Ione,
New York Times
bestselling author

“A world full of rich potential. Excellent!”

—P. C. Cast,
New York Times
bestselling author

“Kristen Painter brings a sultry new voice to the vampire genre, one that beckons with quiet passion and intrigue.”

—L.A. Banks,
New York Times
bestselling author

“Exciting and interesting!”

—
RT Book Reviews
on
Bad Blood

“The romance is tense and fresh… I highly recommend this if you enjoy fantasy and want an original take on vampires.”

—
USA Today
’s Happy Ever After on
Blood Rights

Kevin Roberts, Intimate Images

K
RISTEN
P
AINTER
likes to balance her obsessions with shoes and cats by making the lives of her characters miserable and surprising her readers with interesting twists. She currently writes award-winning urban fantasy for Orbit Books. The former college English teacher can often be found on Twitter @Kristen_Painter and on Facebook at
www.facebook.com/KristenPainterAuthor
, where she loves to interact with her readers.

When did you first start writing?

When I was a kid! One of my first stories was about my cat. I’m still rather cat obsessed as some of you may already know.

Augustine is a side character in your original House of Comarré series—what drew you to him to write his story?

He’s a really interesting character and not the sort I’d written before. He’s laid-back, loves life, hates responsibility but harbors some really deep wounds that he’s basically chosen not to deal with. There’s so much there to work with I knew I had to explore him further!

What was your inspiration behind Harlow?

Harlow’s a little like me in that she likes her books and her computer and is perfectly at ease with time alone. That part of her I really relate to. But I also wanted someone with some real challenges to overcome. Harlow was born out of that combination.

Why New Orleans?

New Orleans is a really magical place for me. I’ve visited more times than I can count, but never lived there (yet). I
feel so at home in that city and so inspired by it. Getting to set a series there was like a gift.

Who was your favorite character to write?

I’m enjoying all of them for different reasons! Lally’s a lot of fun, though—she says what she thinks and doesn’t take sass off anyone. I love that about her. Plus she’s got layers yet to be discovered.

How did you come up with all the different types of fae? Did you have to do a lot of research for this book?

The different types of fae were all born in my head, so do what you will with that. I do a lot of research for everything I write—this book was no exception.

If you could pick one othernatural to be from your world, which would it be?

Augustine’s got some pretty cool skills. I could see spending a day or two as him.

What’s next for Augustine and Harlow?

Chaos! Mayhem! Banter! Kissing! You know, all the good stuff.

If you enjoyed
HOUSE OF THE RISING SUN,
look out for

Crescent City: Book 2

by Kristen Painter

New Orleans, Louisiana, 2068

Harlow woke gasping, her heart thumping. Sweat glued her tank top to her body. She swallowed, trying to get air. A few deep breaths eased the nightmare’s grip on her, but its claws still dug deep into her subconscious. Slowly, the sharp edges wore away, leaving her with the kind of residual fear that clung like secondhand smoke.

She forced herself to take a few more measured breaths.
It was just a dream.
Already the coolness of the dark room eased the heat of her skin.
This is reality, not that other horror.
She grabbed her Life Management Device off the nightstand and tapped the screen to show the time. A little after three in the morning.

Tossing the LMD onto the nightstand, she kicked the covers off and lay back beneath the whirling ceiling fan. The cool air wafted over her as she tried to concentrate on something besides the terrifying dream that had yanked her from sleep. She failed. The nightmare filled every synapse. She couldn’t recall exactly what the dream had been, but the dread of it remained, impossible to shake. Something—or someone—had tried to drag her into an abyss. Or had chased her toward it.

Either way, she never wanted to feel that bone-deep sense of fear again.

Minutes slipped by, taking most of the panic with them. At last, she closed her eyes, praying the nightmare wouldn’t return.

It didn’t, but neither did sleep. She focused on the whirr of the ceiling fan. The subtle hum drowned out most other sounds. Except for one.

The unmistakable eddy and lap of water.

She got up and padded barefoot across the room, pushed back the sheers, opened the balcony door and stepped out into the cool night air.

Augustine was swimming laps in the pool below.

She sighed. Seeing him anchored her firmly in reality. His lean, muscled form cut the water cleanly, sending smooth ripples to kiss the pool’s edge. In the submerged light, his skin seemed a darker gray, sleek and seal-like against the water’s aqua blue.

She walked closer to the railing. There was something otherworldly in the way he slipped through the water, the effortless way he spun and pushed off the wall as he turned, the boneless way his body undulated. Even if his horns hadn’t grown back, with his gray skin and the six fingers on each hand—and now she could see six toes as well—no one would mistake him for human. He was utterly, completely, regrettably fae.

And she was utterly, completely, regrettably attracted to him. She exhaled the breath she’d unwittingly held. Sure, she was fae, too, but she’d spent her entire adult life trying to live like she wasn’t. And her new life in New Orleans made those bloodlines impossible to ignore. She was the daughter of the city’s most famous fae, movie star Olivia Goodwin. And she now shared a house with the city’s fae Guardian.

Who was practically naked in the pool below her.

Steam rose from the water but the trails evaporated before reaching her second-story balcony. He must be using some of his fae skills to heat the water. That would be a wicked cool power to have. Unlike hers, which were mostly bothersome.

She leaned against the metal railing, causing it to creak.

He lifted his head, twisting seamlessly into a backstroke to smile up at her. “Hey, Harley. Come on in, the water’s fine.”

She pulled away from the railing. “I was just going back to bed.”
And don’t call me that.
But those words never left her tongue.

“Funny. Looks like you’re standing there watching me.” With a smug look, he ducked under, flipped around and pressed off the wall to glide underwater across the length of the pool in one long, easy movement. The water calmed, bringing into definition just how very small his black trunks were.

When he surfaced, he picked his head up and made eye contact again. “You can’t sleep or you’d already be doing that. You might as well swim.” He spread his arms out and floated lazily.

“I don’t have a swimsuit.”

His wicked grin returned. “I can ditch mine if it makes you feel better.”

She bit her bottom lip and tried to keep her gaze from traveling below that smile. “Okay. Wait. No. Keep your suit on. I meant okay I would come swimming.” Her tank top and boy shorts would work fine. It was dark. Sort of. And all that seemed to matter at the moment was that she get in the water.

She slipped back into the house, wrapped herself in a towel from her bathroom and then went down to the first floor as quietly as she could so she wouldn’t wake Lally, the housekeeper. Outside, the grass muffled her steps. She shivered despite the towel. The unseasonably warm weather they’d been having was gone. At the pool’s edge, she stopped, clutching her towel. She shouldn’t be down here. She should be in bed. Asleep.
Alone.

Augustine stood in waist-deep water. Vapor trails rose off his sleek gray skin to mingle with the steam from the surface, making him look like some kind of horned god of the underworld. He coasted his fingers over the surface, but his eyes stayed on her.

She shivered again. Standing beside a pool shouldn’t feel this dangerous. This
wicked
.

He sank down to his neck and pushed back, sending out a small wake. “I can make the water as warm as you like.”

If she didn’t move forward, she was going to turn and run. She willed herself to drop the towel, then forced her feet down the steps. She could do this. She could be this bold. The pool was like a bath. She kept going, sinking down until her hair floated around her. “It’s warm enough.”

Warmer toward Augustine. Like the heat was radiating off him, which she guessed it was. She didn’t know exactly how his power worked, but as skills went, this was a pretty good one.

He kept his distance, drifting about an arm’s length from her. “Couldn’t sleep, huh?”

“No.” When he didn’t say anything, she filled in the space with “I had a nightmare.”

He nodded. “Those suck.” Then he moved a little closer, his brow furrowed. “You okay?”

She stayed put. “I’m fine. I’m not eight. I can deal with it.” She hoped.

He shrugged. “I had nightmares after your mom died that felt as real as anything.”

She dropped her gaze to the water’s surface. “It wasn’t that. I don’t even remember it now, really.” Mostly true. Just the sense of that dark, threatening abyss remained.

“Cylo and Dulcinea should be back with your stuff today.”

He was less than a foot from her, his voice soft. Lally’s room was on the first floor, not that far way. She nodded, keeping her voice down, too. “I appreciate you sending them to Boston to clear out my apartment.”

His face went serious. “Not something you needed to be doing with Branzino unaccounted for.”

She backpedaled to lean against the pool wall and rest her head on the coping. “I don’t want to talk about him.” Her biological father was a monster, not someone she wanted in her brain after that nightmare.

“Me either.” Augustine joined her on the wall, his shoulder barely kissing hers. The heat coming off him felt like a blast furnace. He pointed skyward. “See those five stars forming that wide W shape? That’s Cassiopeia.”

“Who was she? Some Greek goddess, right?”

“Close. A Greek queen.”

“They’re very pretty.” She glanced over at him but his eyes were still on the sky. “How do you know about the stars?”

He turned toward her. “I like beautiful things.”

A dark light flickered in his eyes. The look knotted her insides with rare, unused feelings. She faced him, gripping the coping with one hand while she pushed at him with the other. It was like trying to shove a stone wall out of the way. “Nice line, but I’m not falling for it.” He’d have to try a lot harder than that.

He inched closer. The steam rising off him left little droplets in her bangs. “It wasn’t a line. You’re beautiful.”

She swallowed, unsure how to respond. She didn’t have to. His mouth closed on hers, the kiss unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. His hands slid up her arms, stopping below her shoulders. She leaned into him, into his warmth. Into the press of a mouth both soft and firm. The surge of emotion she expected never came. Had he figured out how to squelch her gift? Or maybe he’d found a way to control what came through him.

She kissed him back, pleased that for once the only emotions skin-on-skin contact made her feel were her own.

His fingers tightened on her arms and his mouth bore down on hers. The pressure became painful. She pulled back to end the kiss and failed. He forced his mouth against hers harder. Panic jolted down her spine. She opened her eyes and struggled to break away. The water chilled.

A shadow passed in front of the pool light, causing it to sputter.

Except it wasn’t a shadow. Like a crack opening in the earth, the blackness widened and spread toward her. She hit Augustine with her fists, but he didn’t budge. They were locked together. She screamed into his mouth. The abyss came closer as a great emptiness opened inside her.

Augustine was sucking the soul out of her, draining the light
and spirit from her body. She could feel it leaving as the blackness reached her. The water lapped over her, climbing up her arms, covering her body, choking the breath from her—

She bolted upright, gasping for air, clutching handfuls of the sheet like they were a lifeline. She was still in bed. It was just another dream. But the pounding of her heart was very real. She panted openmouthed to get enough oxygen into her lungs. Just a dream, she repeated.
Just a dream.

She checked the time on her LMD. Quarter after four in the morning. Her pulse was easing, but the panic was slower to subside. The water, the kiss, the heat of his skin… it had seemed so real. She jumped out of bed, ran to the balcony doors and peered out. The pool was empty and dark, lit only by the moon.

She turned and crumpled against the door, her back flattening the sheers to the glass. She spread her hand over her heart. The darkness was still there. Darker than the room she was in. She could
feel
it. Feel the way the hole inside her widened with every nightmare. She’d lived with a sense of emptiness all her life, a longing she thought had been created by not knowing her father, but she’d met him and that introduction had done nothing to take away that ache. Maybe because Branzino had turned out to be a horrible, manipulative monster of a man, but maybe there was another reason. Maybe she was defective in some way. Like a part of her was missing.

Either way, touching the vampire who’d killed her mother had caused the hole to widen, creating a darkness in her she’d thought temporary. Obviously, she’d been wrong. Touching that undead creature had left permanent damage. Some kind of supernatural scar.

She slumped down and hugged her knees to her chest. Was this what it meant to be fae? To be this vulnerable? She wasn’t tough and street-smart like Augustine; she was a computer
geek who preferred the indoors to direct sunlight and email to actual conversation.

What would her mother do in a situation like this? Olivia had been strong and fearless. The kind of woman Harlow would love to be someday, but getting there was going to take courage. Something she wasn’t sure she had. At least not in the kind of quantities she was going to need.

Maybe she should talk to Augustine. He’d promised to teach her to defend herself. Maybe that would help. And if it didn’t… he’d know what to do. Or someone who would. He was the Guardian of the city. It was his job to protect the citizens of New Orleans and now that she lived here, that included her.

She got to her feet, shaking off the last bit of fear left by the nightmare and ignoring the darkness around her. “Just a dream,” she whispered. She reached for her robe. It was somewhere on the bed’s footboard, but her hand came in contact with something else.

A towel. Just like the one she’d wrapped around herself in her dream.

A tremor ran through her she was powerless to control. The towel wasn’t hanging in the bathroom where she’d left it. And it was damp. “There’s no way,” she whispered. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled. She threw the towel down, but the scent stayed with her. The unmistakable tang of chlorine.

Augustine came down to breakfast to find Lally cooking eggs and Harlow already at the table. She was bundled in Olivia’s old chenille robe, her cranberry-black hair knotted on top of her head. Even rumpled with sleep she intrigued him. He wanted
to plant a kiss on the side of her neck. Instead, he grabbed a mug for coffee. “Morning. Cool out there, today, huh?”

Lally nodded. “Morning, Augie. I like that cool weather. Makes for good sleeping, don’t you think?”

“It does, but Mardi Gras’s going to be on the cold side this year if this spell doesn’t pass.”

Lally grinned. “Guess that means people just have to drink a little more to keep warm.”

He glanced at Harlow. She’d yet to reply. “You okay?”

She nodded, but said nothing. Her gloved hands were wrapped around her coffee cup as if she were afraid it might try to get away. Purplish gray semicircles sat like bruises beneath her eyes.