Read Immortal Confessions Online

Authors: Tara Fox Hall

Tags: #vampires, #vampire, #werewolf, #brothers, #series, #love triangle, #fall from grace, #19th century, #aristocrat, #werepanther, #promise me, #tara fox hall, #lowly vampire, #multiple love

Immortal Confessions

BOOK: Immortal Confessions
13.47Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub




Immortal Confessions
A 'Promise Me' Origins Tale
Promise Me #5
by Tara Fox





Published by

Melange Books, LLC

White Bear Lake, MN 55110


Immortal Confessions, Copyright 2013 by Tara Fox


ISBN: 978-1-61235-691-4


Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this
book are products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of
this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
or by any information storage and retrieval system, without
permission in writing from the publisher.


Published in the United States of America.


Cover Art by Caroline Andrus







At the turn of the 19th century, former
aristocrat turned lowly vampire Devlin Dalcon gets by on his
supernatural charms until he meets bride-to-be Annabelle. Smitten
by Anna's forthrightness, intellect, and bravery, Devlin risks his
life to spirit her away to Fontainebleau, France. There Devlin
begins his ascent to power in a desperate bid for wealth and social
standing for himself and Anna.

Forging alliances with other supernatural
leaders, he usurps the vampire Lord of Fontainebleau, amassing many
enemies during his brief reign. Within a few years, he and Anna are
again forced to flee for their lives to America. Living in hiding,
Devlin is determined to amend his ways. But when tragedy strikes,
Devlin's dark side, never fully extinguished, emerges rampant,
securing him the bloody throne of America even as his malevolence
and loneliness consumes him.



To Devlin, for helping inspire the Promise Me


And to my family and friends and fans, for all your
help, appreciation, and support


Table of Contents

"Immortal Confessions"



Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two


About the Author



Chapter One

My name is Devlin Dalcon, pronounced with the
soft French “c,” thank you. If you’re a vampire, that name probably
sends delicious tendrils of terror through your blood. Alas, if
you’re human, you may not have heard of me. Unless, of course, I
murdered or turned one of your relatives, which is a very good

I’m going to pretend you’ve heard of me in
any case, because I want to. Given that, you would’ve heard a lot
of conflicting information; almost certainly of my cruelty and my
ruthlessness in ruling The States—as I call them—for the past
hundred and eighty years, and my handsomeness: my spun-gold hair,
and my eyes, which have been likened to melting gold by more than
one of my lovers. Maybe you’ve even heard of my voice, that it’s
sweeter than an angel’s, and more seductive than sin, or perhaps my
unequaled proficiency as a lover, which is almost as legendary now
as my talent for torture. If you are a woman, you might well have
experienced the former for yourself.

What you most likely have not heard was how I
ascended my throne and first made my way to these shores from my
native soil. The how was simple enough. It is the reasons why I
must confess in these pages. Bear with me, if I slip and use older
words, though I will do my best to adhere to a more modern style of
speech for the sake of clarity. Much has changed in my long years;
some welcomed, others mourned, not the least of them language. It’s
important you grasp and comprehend fully all that happened, for
after all, what good is a confession that is not understood?

My brother Danial was there for some of the
worst times. I’m sure he will dispute the circumstances of his
betrayal. He always has his own version of things. This is the real
account, all of it, which until now has been kept locked deep
inside my black heart. Even he will agree that it all began when I
fell in love.

Love is a strange beast in how it possesses
us. I surely did not ever expect it to possess me, especially two
hundred years after I became vampire.

* * * *

The year was 1814 or so, if I’m remembering
right. The Napoleonic Wars were still going strong, and much of
France either was occupied or would be shortly. The French
Revolution had started and things were falling apart. Bonaparte
seemed hell-bent on redesigning the known world. From what I had
seen so far of his efforts, he was sure of success.

I was not wealthy then, though I’d been
vampire for many years. Some of that was my fault, and some of that
was bad luck that followed me wherever I traveled. I had attempted
a few things to make money over the years. Nothing I tried—be it
gambling, speculation, land ventures, or even hard labor—helped me
to regain the kind of lifestyle I’d had when I was mortal.

Some of it was luck, as I said. Some of it
was my repugnance at taking orders from those I still considered to
be my inferiors. Most of it was that I didn’t want to succeed bad
enough to strive for it. But it wasn’t laziness. It was depression.
I was enveloped in the cold fog of knowing I was the only one of my
kind still in existence.

My brother Danial had also become a vampire.
He was dead, killed by his wife. The story I’d been told was that
he’d returned a monster, she’d touched him with a cross, and he had
instantly burst into flame. I’d known that to be bullshit as soon
as I heard it, as crosses hadn’t done anything to me when I’d
touched them. It was far more likely that he’d been driven into the
light of day and burned to death from sunlight exposure. That was a
real danger. It also fit with the rumors, if you cut off the edges
of the tale.

Most of my mortal family was also departed,
though not by violence. My father, my mother, my other younger
sisters and legitimate brothers were dead some two centuries past.
Any descendants of theirs had most certainly been wiped out in the
upper class cleansing that took place after the peasants rose to
power in the 1790’s.

I don’t count my older brother’s children who
survived and fled the country years back, when the first wars broke
out. My father had also sired other bastards, with all the lovers
he had. I’d seen some descendants of my line with the key features
of my father’s face and my own over the years. Yet I didn’t know
them, and they didn’t know me. I’d see them happy with their
children and wives, and be insanely jealous, even though I didn’t
know them. I’d hunger to rip their throats out with my fangs,
settling instead for glowering as I stalked away. Killing a
descendant of my family seemed like infanticide to me somehow, and
I couldn’t do it.

Some things were a bit easier then. No one
noticed that I didn’t age, or drink, save water when I had to. I
traveled a good deal, supporting myself by singing ballads for
lords and ladies. When they were hard to find, I made do with
whomever would give me shelter, and money for clothing. Blood I
could find on my own. I’m not ashamed to say that I lived a good
deal on animal blood back then, any kind of animal. The places I
traveled were often rural and strangers were not welcomed as a
rule, even entertainers. There was no draining the village barmaid
as she walked home after closing back then; that’s all Hollywood
bullshit. If a villager was attacked, God forbid there was any
stranger around, as they would be hanged before an hour was out, or
stoned to death by a vengeful mob. If the “death” meted out didn’t
take, the villagers would notice, and usually burn the accused as a
witch. Bearing that in mind, I’ll grant that some things were also
harder back then.

I did have trouble adjusting to my new
vampire life, and I don’t mean just the liquid diet. As I said, I
had trouble taking orders. I’d been trained from birth to rule men,
to study strategy and tactics, and to learn the finer arts, like
reading and writing. Having boorish unlearned men order me to sing
simple bawdy songs over and over, wasting my voice on ill-thought
offal, grated on me. I did what I could not to dwell on that.

As should be apparent to anyone who knows
anything about me, I very much desired the company of the opposite
sex. Luckily, I was handsome, and rugged-looking, the ideal of a
man. It follows I was not often lonely for female company, even on
the nights I spent sleeping in the lofts of barns, and in fields
beneath the shells of burned-out homes. My training in seduction
from my father served me just as well as it always had, and it was
almost always easy to seduce a young lady, a milkmaid, or whatever
female was nearby.

I didn’t think much of it, to tell the truth.
I knew that once the night or the week was over, that was it,
because I‘d need to move on. I was always honest with the women who
came to me about that. Again, times were different then, when
people were very conscious of class. The ladies I bedded were there
to enjoy my caresses, nothing more. I had no fortune and no title,
so I wasn’t even in the running for anything more than a dalliance.
As for the milkmaids, they were much the same. They were not going
to be linked with a man who had no means of supporting them save
his song, even if I was handsome.

That didn’t bother me. All that mattered was
that I felt momentary pleasure in the sex act, no matter which one
it was, or what manner of female it was with. It was my one source
of pleasure left, save blood, and I enjoyed it with abandon as
often as possible. For the most part, I was not penalized for my
amorous adventures. No issue ever came of them with me being
sterile, and no woman was diseased, as I was unable to pass
anything to anyone. Nor could I receive anything from my partners.
This was good, as some of those women I bedded who proclaimed they
were pure were anything but. But I’m getting sidetracked.

The year was 1814, as I said. I appeared then
just as I do now; about thirty-five, robustly fit, with
golden-colored eyes, gleaming blond hair, and a stubbled face. It
was some night in early spring. I was sitting near a campfire with
a band of gypsies, telling the ballad of Robin Hood. A dark woman
of theirs was giving me appreciative eyes. I was thinking of ending
early to take full advantage of that, when one of the men said that
he’d like to talk to me alone.

I gave him a look to let him know if he meant
me harm or was seeking a bedmate, either would get him a knife in
his heart. Due to my lifestyle of traveling mostly on foot—and
laboring hard, when there were no singing jobs available—my body
was lean and hard with muscle, much as it was when I faced other
enemies centuries later. In short, I was easily stronger than a
mortal man.

He took me aside, into some trees.

“Yes?” I asked.

“I have a proposition for you.”

I hoped this man wasn’t that girl’s kin. I
had no money to pay for favors, and no inclination for having to,
even if I’d had the money. “Yes?”

“There is a Lord’s castle a day’s journey
away south, near Montereau, in Seine-et-Marne. They are planning a
large days-long banquet to celebrate a wedding in a few days. They
will surely hire you, if you should go there.”

Good plan. It wouldn’t be a free one. “What
do you want?”

“Access to the castle, as soon as it gets
dark. We have knowledge of a large treasure assembled there, as the
lord’s daughter is being married off. It’s said she is not pretty,
as her sisters are—”

I couldn’t care less. “Why should I help you?
What is in this for me?”

BOOK: Immortal Confessions
13.47Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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