Romance

153

Five hundred years ago, a terrorist group launched a fearsome anti-matter weapon and tore open the fabric of reality, revealing a world of nightmares on the other side. After decades of war, death and destruction, a union of wizards and witches came forth with the magick to build a barrier to keep the monsters in their rightful home.

They called it THE VEIL.

Detective Devon Harrigan is a hard-nosed skeptic, no fan of magick or its users -- an ironic stance for a vampire who was human when the Veil first fell. But he is a cop first, so when a serial killer stalks his home city of New Denver, Colorado, he'll do what he has to do to stop the carnage. Including play babysitter to the killer's sole living witness, a pampered high priestess of the most powerful witches' organization in the world, the creators of the Veil itself.

High Priestess Lady Helene Du Solaire has lived a sheltered life, and she has never met anyone as anachronistic -- or as fascinating -- as her new bodyguard. There is no denying the immediate attraction between them, or that giving into it could lead to devastating consequences. Not to mention it's a distraction from the matter at hand they can scarcely afford -- that Helene is the killer's target because she is the key to a ritual that, in only a few days time, will destroy the Veil and unleash Hell on Earth once again.

Helene and Devon must race against time and resist their growing feelings, put aside prejudices and painful pasts, and discover the identity of the being that threatens both Helene's life and the fate of the world.

Cobblestone Press
The Veil

EXCERPT PART I "Invitation to the Dance" - Harrigan and Helene Meet

The Chief grimaced, shook his head and paled a little. "This wasn't just another kill. This was an attempt on a very specific, very important person. And an attack on this particular person makes things look a whole hell of a lot more bleak than they did when we thought this was just some black wizard psycho on a rampage."

If things got any more damn curious, Harrigan was going to quit the squad and go write a damn book. Fact was definitely stranger than fiction, and far more likely to induce a bleeding ulcer, a condition he'd found out the hard way vampires were still susceptible to. Not to mention the fact that he suspected your average horror writer made a bucketload more money than he did.

"Who, sir?"

The Chief's dark eyes nailed his face, and there was a long, tense beat before he replied in a low, dramatic timbre, "The Maitri."

Surely the announcement was meant to elicit some drama from Harrigan -- a gasp, or maybe falling to his knees and ripping out his hair or gnashing his fangs and sobbing or something. Unfortunately, the title meant absolutely nothing to him, and so all it got was a blank stare. May Tree? The hell?

"Sir?"

"The Maitri. Don't you read, Harrigan?" the chief asked with a tone that suggested Harrigan ate babies for breakfast. Which he didn't. He was strictly a cow and pig kind of bloodsucker.

"Not if I can help it, Sir."

The Chief's slightly worried countenance morphed into one of angry frustration. That was more Harrigan's speed, and he instantly felt more comfortable. "The Maitri is basically the messiah of her sect. You do know what the Order of Light is?"

"Sure. They were at the front lines in the War. They pretty much built the barrier themselves.” Duh. He had lived through those blood-soaked days, and however many centuries went by, he wasn't likely to forget.

The Chief nodded. "Under the leadership of Mage Aedius Quentin, who remains their leader. His protégé is a young lady who they contend is the focal point of their power. Without her, they believe the Veil will fall, and the world will plunge into the same chaos that almost killed humanity off five hundred years ago."

Harrigan made a face. He couldn't help it. All this witchy hocus pocus sounded like something his grandmother would tell him when he was a kid to keep him from sneaking cookies or kicking the dog. "Don't ye bother that animal, boy, or the Maitri will get ye!” Magick…Bleh! He put The Order of Light right up there with the Christmas Elves Union and the Lollipop League as fantasy organizations. Just another excuse to dress up like characters from the Lord of the Rings and dance around naked, chanting and lighting off sparklers while they got drunk on grog or whateverthehell.

"And..." he urged the Chief to continue, no longer caring about being polite or indulgent. It was too tiring, and never got him anywhere anyway.

"And... she was with the victim tonight. We believe she was the intended target, but she was able to fight them off. She's... incredibly powerful."

The Chief's deep voice dropped to a soft whisper at the end, and Harrigan's brows shot straight into his hairline. Of all the words in the OED, the last one he'd ever choose to describe the Chief was "soft".

"Sir?"

The chief took a deep breath and pulled himself back together. "She's an invaluable asset, both to her people and to humanity in general. We can't afford to lose her."

"Chief, you don't seriously expect me to believe that one woman is the reason the Veil stays up?” If he did, Harrigan was going to ask him what he thought about Santa and the Easter Bunny next. But not about Leprechaun's, because if they were real, he just didn't want to know.

"Son, 500 years ago, people didn't believe in vampires, either," he pointed out. "Anything is possible. Whatever the case, we're putting her under your guard."

Before Harrigan could bite off a profanity-laden objection to that, Chief Royston spun and charged into the growing crowd of investigators, heading toward a shimmering privacy curtain in one corner of the room. He followed, grumbling to himself all the way about this damn job, and how he was too highly trained to be a babysitter to some spoiled, milk toast priestess who spent her days watching birdies alighting on her fingers and singing hymns to unicorns or whatever the hell women in her position did.

Then the Chief announced them, and they stepped behind the curtain.

For a moment, the warm, bright light suffusing the air inside the makeshift tent blinded Harrigan, ticking him off. How smart could this broad possibly be if she waited for the arrival of a vampire with what felt like the sun wrapped around her like a blanket? He threw his arm up over his eyes to shade them and hoped he didn't burst into flames.

"I'm sorry, officer," she said, "I didn't realize you had arrived."

Her musical voice froze him in place. Caressed him like a warm summer breeze; like a gentle brush of fingertips on his skin, and Harrigan was forced to back up into the energy curtain to keep from falling over like a moron as his muscles turned to mush and his bones gave under the sweet spell of her speech.

"Lady Helene, this is the detective I was telling you about," the Chief said, and his voice had taken on that same sappy softness again, but this time, Harrigan had some understanding as to why. "Detective First Grade Devon Harrigan, New Denver Extranormal Investigations Unit. He's the lead on this case."

"Detective. It's my pleasure to make your acquaintance," she said, and he could hear the amused smile in it. Which was when he realized his eyes were still closed, and that he wanted to see her like he had wanted nothing before in his very long life.

So he opened them.

The vision of ethereal beauty that met his gaze made his chin practically drop to the floor. She was, by far, the most stunning creature he had ever seen. Though she had dampened her purposeful magick, she still glowed like a small sun. Tall and slender, fair like himself. But where he was Irish vampire pallid, she was like some fairytale creature carved of alabaster, her skin sprinkled liberally with faint freckles. Her hair was a waterfall of ivory silk cascading over fine shoulders and ending at her tiny waist. Her eyes were enormous, luminous in an elegantly featured face with a tiny, slightly upturned nose and full, kissable lips. Those eyes were a deep blue that made him want to write poetry about how someone had stolen chunks of the sky and stuck them in her head.

In other words, looking at her turned him into an even bigger total ass than he had already been in her presence, and it pissed him off even more. He didn't like women any more than any other brand of human. In fact, he thought they were more dangerous as a species than your average evil, bloodthirsty Otherworlder, and he avoided them at all costs if they weren't robotic or starring in a vid he'd downloaded off the net.

He gave her small hand a brief shake, not liking the way her power leaked out and crawled over his skin like tiny electric bugs, and quickly jerked back. "Likewise, I'm sure. So what do I call you? Your Ladyship? Your Holiness? Saviorette? I know your kind is big on formalities."

The Chief shot him a look that said he was going to get busted down to parking patrol, or possibly licking sidewalks clean, if he didn't watch the attitude and show some respect. Like Harrigan hadn't heard that one a million times before. He didn’t care a bit more this time than the others.

But Lady Helene seemed not only unfazed by his impertinence, she smiled broadly. "Helene is fine. Since it appears that we'll be spending some time in close quarters at your Motherhouse, it only seems fair that we be on a first name basis."

Harrigan jerked his head around to glare at the Chief. "Motherhouse? Who's going to the Motherhouse?"

Harrigan was a member of one of the most powerful Native vampire clans in the world, and had once been one of the favorites of the Beldam who converted him during a night of passion and wild, raunchy sex like nothing he'd ever experienced before or since. Sure it was great for a while, and he’d been flattered. But that, like all his emotions, had just been a surface involvement. Afterward, he couldn't get far enough away from her, her house, or the bloody politics and intrigue that inevitably came with even the simplest move a clan vampire made. The idea of bringing this bewitching creature of light into the darkness of the Milani Motherhouse gave him his first inkling of the true meaning of the word "sin".

Not to mention the fact that if he never had to exchange barely-veiled insults with the bitch that made him again before the end of eternity when they were interred together in Hell, it would be too soon.

"You are," the Chief replied, his tone no longer soft, and brooking absolutely no argument. Royston would stake Harrigan out for sunrise if the detective pissed him off enough. After all, it wouldn't kill him like some legends said, but it would give him a 3rd degree sunburn that would make eternal life a curse until it healed. "Right now, in fact. It's the only place we're sure she'll be safe from another magickal attack." 

Excerpt
"Detective. It's my pleasure to make your acquaintance," she said, and he could hear the amused smile in her tone, which was when he realized his eyes were still closed, and that he wanted to see her like he had wanted nothing before in his very long life.
So he opened them.
The vision of ethereal beauty that met his gaze made his chin drop to the floor. She was, by far, the most stunning creature he had ever seen. Though she had dampened her purposeful magick, she still glowed like a small sun. Tall and slender, and fair like himself. But where he was Irish vampire pallid, she was like some fairytale creature carved of alabaster, her skin sprinkled liberally with faint freckles. Her hair was a waterfall of pink champagne silk cascading over her fine shoulders and ending at her tiny waist. Her eyes were enormous, luminous in an elegantly featured face with a tiny, slightly upturned nose and full, kissable lips. Those eyes were a deep blue that made him want to write poetry about how someone had stolen chunks of the sky and stuck them in her head.
In other words, looking at her turned him into an even bigger total ass than he had already been in her presence, and it pissed him off even more. He didn't like women any more than any other brand of human. In fact, he thought they were more dangerous as a species than your average evil, bloodthirsty Otherworlder, and he avoided them at all costs if they weren't robotic or starring in a vid he'd downloaded off the 'net.
He gave her small hand a brief shake, not liking the way her power leaked out and crawled over his skin like tiny electric bugs, and quickly jerked back. "Likewise, I'm sure. So what do I call you? Your Ladyship? Your Holiness? Saviorette? I know your kind is big on formalities."
The chief shot him a look that said he was going to get busted down to parking patrol, or possibly licking sidewalks clean, if he didn't watch the attitude and show some respect. Like Harrigan hadn't heard that one a million times before. He didn’t care a bit more this time than any other.
But Lady Helene seemed not only unfazed by his impertinence, she smiled broadly. "Helene is fine. Since it appears that we'll be spending some time in close quarters at your Motherhouse, it only seems fair that we be on a first name basis."
Harrigan was a member of one of the most powerful Native vampire clans in the world, and had once been one of the favorites of the Beldam who converted him during a night of passion and wild, raunchy sex like nothing he'd ever experienced before or since. For a long time, that had been enough -- the passion, the flattering attention, the endless sensory overload and debauchery. But that wasn't who he was, beneath the grief that had robbed him of his will to live. After remembering that, he couldn't get far enough away from her, her house, or the bloody politics and intrigue that inevitably came with even the simplest move of a clan vampire. The idea of bringing this bewitching creature of light into the darkness of the Motherhouse gave him his first inkling of the true meaning of the word "sin".
Not to mention the fact that if he never had to exchange barely-veiled insults with the bitch that made him again before the end of eternity when they were interred together in Hell, it would be too soon.
Harrigan jerked his head around to glare at the chief. "Motherhouse? Who's going to the Motherhouse?"
"You are," the Chief replied, his tone no longer soft and brooking absolutely no argument.