Contents
Books by Kelly
Title Page
Copyright
In Memory of
Dedicated to
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
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR'S NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
BOOK LIST
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALSO BY KELLY KEATON
Darkness Becomes Her
A Beautiful Evil
The Wicked Within
Embers in a Dark Frost
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, historical events, or real places are used fictitiously. Other places, events, characters and names are products of the author’s imagination, and any similarities to actual events, places, or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
HEART OF STONE
Copyright © Kelly Keaton 2015
Cover Design & Interior Titling by Regina Wamba
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, uploaded, shared, or transmitted in any form or means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.
Published in the United States in 2015 by Kelly Keaton
ISBN-978-0-9885225-7-2
In Memory of
Laura Marie Campbell
I tried to write a part for you, but found it an impossible task. My fictional characters never came close to the real deal, or seemed worthy enough to bear your name. And while I only knew you briefly as a child, and not as the vibrant young woman you became, I know you left a joyous mark on every soul you touched and have earned a wondrous place among the brightest stars.
~
“Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of
heaven,
Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots
of the angels.”
-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
To you. The Gods & Monsters readers.
Thanks for sticking with the series.
This book is only a reality because of your
enthusiasm and support.
Merci Beaucoup!
ONE
STANDING ACROSS THE MAT from the guy I liked and told to attack him with “everything I had” was a little disconcerting. No matter how much Sebastian and I had been practicing, I hadn't been able to go at him full force.
“Ari.” He swiped a hand through his dark hair. “Concentrate.”
That deep preternatural voice flowed over me like warm silk sliding over bare skin. For a split second I wanted to follow his command, wanted to please him and do whatever he said. My gaze became stuck on him, on the calm, confident expression, everything about him telling me that he was a leader, and I should follow.
And then I saw it--a silvery flash of humor in his gray eyes. That small telltale sign brought my senses back in a flash.
The fact that he was willing to use a little paranormal persuasion to get the ball rolling just begged for payback.
My gaze raked over him in his loose fitting black pants, bare feet, and white T-shirt--one of those super soft, super thin models that clung to his arms and chest. Lucky shirt.
He cleared his throat, making me focus on his face. His lips--always a shade redder than most--had parked themselves into a lop-sided grin, a faint dimple slicing through one cheek. His black eyebrows raised slightly in a knowing way. He scrubbed a hand down his jaw and laughed. “If you keep looking at me like that, we won't get through this.”
I smiled. “Sort of my plan.”
His quick glance at the clock told me he was tempted. My heart expanded a little, happy in the knowledge that I could tempt him, distract him, and make him smile that bad boy smile of his.
He was right, though. We didn’t need diversion, we needed to train. And now that I had him good and distracted, I could begin.
Suddenly, his image blurred and a slight breeze ruffled the strands of hair that had escaped my bun. Crap. He was materializing behind me.
Strong arms wrapped around me before I could react. Warm breath tickled my ear. “Too slow.” Lips brushed against my neck, sending an airy shiver through my stomach, just as he disappeared.
“I hate when you do that.”
He materialized in front of me again. “You love it.” The kiss, yes. The disappearing before I could react, not so much. His expression sobered. “You'll face beings who can trace like me. You need to be prepared. To be one step ahead. Dealing with tracers and persuaders are your biggest weaknesses.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“The Blood Wars are coming, Ari. We have to assume the creatures and vampires we'll face are older, stronger, and more powerful than any others we've faced before. They'll be able to trace quicker than me and persuade better than me.”
I snorted. “No one can persuade better than you.”
He opened his mouth to deny it, but then said nothing because my statement was most likely true. Sebastian was a force unto himself. A child of a Bloodborn vampire mother, the strongest kind of vampire there was--nobility to their kind. And a warlock father, a rarity in the world of witches where power was usually inherited maternally. When power did pass to a male, that male was extremely gifted. The fact that offspring between these two species hardly ever survived made Sebastian extra special. No one really knew what powers these children would manifest as they grew, so eons ago they were referred to as Mistborn.
Before we’d gone up against the goddess Athena, Sebastian had been adamant that he'd never be like the Bloodborn side of his family; he’d never take blood and complete the transformation into becoming a full-fledged vampire. Josephine, Sebastian's grandmother, Head of the Arnaud family, had pushed and pushed for Sebastian to accept his Bloodborn family, to become like them, but he'd adamantly refused.
And then Athena had come along and used Sebastian to get to me. She'd locked us together, tempted him, starved him, made him mad, and brought him to the brink of death until I did the only thing I could to end his suffering. I'd offered him my blood. And he became something he never wanted to be.
Later, when Athena and her crew invaded the French Quarter, Sebastian had been offered freedom from his vampire nature. But he’d turned it down. He chose power, chose it to protect those he loved. And that was something I could totally understand.
Lips met mine, the unexpected contact making me gasp. His mouth lingered, a soft brush, a shared breath. My insides went crazy and electric, and my pulse leapt. I felt his lips slowly spread into a smile.
“You're beautiful when you're distracted,” he said against my mouth before vanishing again.
“No
, I'm stupid when I'm distracted,” I managed on a shaky breath, embarrassed by my lack of focus. Even without the emotions Sebastian stirred in me, I couldn't seem to get my act together, and I’d been this way all day.
He appeared across the mat. “Archer is coming today. We're all a little distracted.”
Archer was coming.
Yeah, that pretty much summed it up. I went to the wall and grabbed a bottled water from my bag.
I was nervous. Worried. Hopeful. And couldn’t seem to put aside the memories.
Archer was connected to me in a way no one else was. I'd begun to care about him when he was just a stone statue in a basket--a statue I'd protected and eventually brought back to life.
With his soft black hair and green eyes shot with gray, Archer looked a lot like his mother, Athena. She’d been on my mind a lot today, leading me to revisit my past altercations with her and the events that led to her death.
Seeing Athena, my nemesis and the nemesis of so many others, show such love in the end... I was still having a hard time merging the Athena I'd known--the kill-happy psycho she'd become after she lost Archer sometime in the tenth century--with the mother I saw six months ago in St. Louis Cathedral when our battle was over and she'd gazed upon her child's face for the first time in a thousand years.
Despite all that she'd taken from me, I couldn't help but feel some measure of sympathy for her, for what she’d lost. Her dream, everything she'd been working toward, all of her lies and wars and scheming, had been to bring about the resurrection of her child who'd been frozen in stone by one of my gorgon ancestors. And when it finally happened, when she finally saw Archer alive and beautiful, it was taken away from her.
I took it away from her.
And that made Archer my responsibility. I brought him back to life. I froze his mother in stone and then the witch, Pandora, shattered her to pieces.
And now Archer was coming here, to his second home to be raised by Sebastian, me, the kids, my dad, Michel...
The kid was definitely not without a strong support system.
And, for that reason, I knew he’d be okay.
He deserved a chance, deserved to be loved, not because of the power he’d have in the future, but because he was just a kid, a misfit, like the rest of our unruly clan.
“All right, water break’s over.” Sebastian tossed his bottle back to the wall and stepped onto the mat, motioning for me to get moving. As I joined him, he held out his palms. We'd already warmed up with hand to hand combat, but it was obvious I needed more to get my head back into training.
As I hit, Sebastian meeting me expertly with every jab, he said, “The trick to being one step ahead of a trace is knowing how to recognize its energy. It takes a lot of energy to trace. It's a signature that can't be hidden. You learn to identify it, and you'll feel me before I appear. There are changes, movements, pressures in the air.” As he spoke, we circled around the mat, ducking, blocking, hitting...
My body warmed with the exertion, my heartbeat hammering faster and faster until my thoughts finally focused.
“Now, persuasion is all about control,” he continued. “For them and for you. You control who you let in. You defend with your mind. Manage your thoughts, your distractions, your emotions. Gabriel was successful with you because you let your emotions get to you.”
At the mention of Gabriel Baptiste, I tensed. I’d hated that the young Bloodborn heir had overcome me twice, using persuasion. I blocked Sebastian's punch, ducked under his arm, and hit him in the side of the ribcage. He let out a painful grunt. I'd killed Gabriel, turned him to stone and out of revenge his father Simon had gone after my friends, putting Jenna in the hospital and causing Dub to make his first kill by setting fire to Simon's buddy, Soren Mandeville. Soren was dead. Simon was MIA and no doubt planning my demise six months after the fact.
“If Gabriel can get the best of you, think what Simon and the others could do.”
Irritation swept through me; sometimes it sucked hearing the truth. I hit, going through the quick motions as Sebastian egged me on. In the back of my mind I knew he was doing it for a good reason, to help me dial in, to test my control. Sweat beaded on my skin. Blood rushed through my veins. Each punch, each evasion made me think, made my thoughts and reactions clear and quick.
Sebastian ducked my punch, dropped down to the mat, wrapped his legs around my knees and flung me to the floor. I hit hard, my irritation edging into anger. Immediately, I twisted my body and pushed up so that as he tried to rise, I was faster and on top of him, one hand on his chest and the other poised above his forehead, ready to sink my power into his skin.
It raced through my system, a white hot surge, tingling my skin and numbing my fingertips until they began to harden. I could turn him to stone in a heartbeat.
Sebastian's eyes met mine in a force of wills as our breaths came hard and fast. His irises flashed quicksilver. He could easily kill me before I drew my next breath.
And then the door to the training room opened.
I didn't need to look to know that the Big Guy, our instructor Bran Ramsey, strode in with his training bag slung over his shoulder. A silent message passed from me to Sebastian, and then in unison we lifted our heads and blasted the demi-god with “everything we had”.
Bran went airborne and slammed against the far wall, a loud, angry curse bellowing from his mouth as he hit. I slumped a little, bracing my elbows on either side of Sebastian's head. Bran's rock hard body made a nice indentation in the wall.
“Goddamn it!” he roared, extricating himself from the wall. “Surprise attack training was scheduled for Thursday!”
I shared a grin with Sebastian before rolling off him. “Kind of defeats the purpose,” I said as I got to my feet, “scheduling it and all.”
Pieces of wood paneling fell to the floor as Bran righted himself. “Fix this.” He glared at me, smacking a hand to the center of his chest. From the neck of his loose tank top, white crept over his tanned skin. Hard white stone. My power.
To mess with him, I let out a sigh, hesitating.
“Now, Selkirk.”
“Fine.” As I approached, Bran towered over me, all six-foot-four of tattooed, angry Celtic demi-god, ready to pounce. I laid my palm on his chest. “I need to practice this anyway,” I mumbled, closing my eyes and concentrating on recalling my power back into my hand. “No one lets me turn them to stone...”
His eyes rolled and he let out a loud snort. “I wonder why.”
As the last of my power retreated back into my fingers, Bran and I locked eyes, knowing the second it was done, all bets were off.
My pulse leapt. Four. Three. Two. On--
I flew back, slamming into Sebastian. We went sprawling. Pain radiated through my chest where Bran had made contact, the wind knocked right out of me. I shook my head in an effort to stop the stars from clouding my vision and struggled to my feet.
Bran cracked his knuckles and then dipped his head to the left and right, cracking his vertebrae and letting out a satisfied sigh. “Ass Whooping 101. My favorite.”
And then it was on.
Even with our powers, Sebastian and I tag-teaming the Big Guy was an exercise in exhaustion. As the grandson of a Celtic war god, Bran fed on war, on fighting. It gave him energy, made him stronger. As we grew weaker. I could only imagine how much worse it'd be if he was the son of a war god or, heaven forbid, an actual god.
The training room, along with several classrooms, the library, study hall, and cafeteria in the Presbytère Building had sustained fire and structural damage, along with several historical buildings in and around Jackson Square, during our battle with Athena. After months of reconstruction Presby was about to reopen.
And thank whoever had thought to re-ward the training room because if they hadn't our forty-five minutes of Ass Whooping 101 would have completely destroyed it.
TWO
I'D LIKE TO SAY we strutted our badass selves across Jackson Square after our training session, b
ut the truth was we made our way slowly and sorely through the hot, humid maze of New 2’s artisans, musicians, street performers and locals. Despite the aches and pains, I couldn’t help but be bolstered by the activity and the restorations that were nearing completion.
I loved New 2. It was my home, a sanctuary for all things otherworldly and supernatural. Once a hurricane ravaged wasteland the United States no longer wanted, the city of New Orleans and its surrounding area had been bought years ago by a wealthy conglomerate that had joined their funds and slowly but surely brought the city back to its former glory. The locals had coined the city’s rebirth New 2 and the name stuck.
And the wealthy conglomerate that had bought the land was in fact made up of the most powerful vampire, witch, shifter, and demi-gods in the city. Thus, the large population of supernaturals, and the very tight oversight and regulation of the tourist trade, which brought in much of New 2’s funds.
There was one way in and one way out--at least for tourists. Everyone stopped at the border before going home, a border that made them forget any strange things they might have seen while in our fair city.
We past the carriages always parked along Decatur, crossed the street, and found a table inside Café Du Monde where we could sit under the ceiling fans and nurse our wounds with beignets.
My stomach was growling, a good sign I wasn't hurt too bad.
My knee hurt, my muscles screamed, and I was pretty sure I'd bruised a rib or two. Bran had loved every minute of it. And so did I, actually. It was an awesome fight.
The physical consequences that came after? Not so awesome.
Sebastian leaned back in his chair and stretched one sore leg out and rubbed his chest, wincing. “Bran’s fists are like steel.” He rolled his shoulder as our waitress arrived with a plate of warm beignets and two frozen cafés au lait. Our usual.
I thanked her, then took a long drink of the cold liquid before sitting back in my chair. “It was worth it, though. Did you see his face when we hit him?” I smiled as I picked a beignet off the plate. “Priceless.”