Blood Trinity
Authors: Sherrilyn Kenyon,Dianna Love
Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Contemporary, #General
Linking powers required her unquestioned trust.
Right now, she couldn’t offer trust so easily to these two. Not after a Belador’s telepathic call for help had lured her into the hands of Medb warlocks.
“I hope you can take on four warlocks alone, because that’s what’s coming for you … right now.”
The warning in Quinn’s voice spiked chill bumps along her arms.
“Link with us, Evalle. Now!” Tzader’s tone brooked no argument or questions.
She had seconds to make up her mind. Tzader and Quinn couldn’t link unless she lowered her mental shields. “How do I know you aren’t lying just to trick me into linking?”
“You don’t.” Quinn shrugged. “Just like I don’t know what I’m in for when I link with an Alterant, but I’m willing to trust you for a chance to escape.”
The wall to her left started fading again, wider this time, as though to accommodate more people.
Grace be to Macha, it was time to decide if she’d live or die.
As the cave wall disintegrated under Medb majik, Evalle realized she had to answer only one question. Could she let even one Belador die after vowing to protect her tribe?
The answer was an unfortunate one for her….
This title is also available as an eBook
Also by Sherrilyn Kenyon and Dianna Love
Silent Truth
Whispered Lies
Phantom in the Night
The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that it was reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed.” Neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this “stripped book.”
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
either are products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead,
is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2010 by Sherrilyn Kenyon and Dianna Love
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Designed by Peng Olaguera / ISPN
Cover art by Tony Mauro
Manufactured in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
ISBN 978-1-4391-5582-0
ISBN 978-1-4391-9525-3 (ebook)
We’d like to dedicate this book to
our mothers, who both left too soon and
will forever live in our hearts.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
FROM SHERRILYN
Thank you to my friends, family, and fans. I love you all and couldn’t do this without you. You guys rock!
FROM DIANNA
A big thank-you to Sherrilyn for wanting to team up on a new series. I’m thrilled. Who wouldn’t be ecstatic over the opportunity to collaborate with a paranormal romance publishing legend? I can never thank my amazing husband, Karl, enough for his constant support, and ensuring my world is stable and filled with love so that I can create. Author Mary Buckham helped as an early reader and in wild brainstorming moments, sometimes with a glass of wine involved. Cassondra Murray is the best assistant anyone could ask for, but having the benefit of her sharp eyes and understanding of story—for she is a talented writer as well—is priceless. Plus, her husband, Steve Doyle, is always ready to offer his former Special Forces expertise when needed. I also want to thank Barbara Vey for spending that impromptu day in Atlanta with me researching locations, and for what her informative and positive Beyond Her Book blog brings to the publishing industry. Thank you,
as well, to Kim Newman, who once again shared her knowledge of the Spanish language and on short notice. I love hearing from fans and book clubs at [email protected].
FROM BOTH OF US
We’d like to thank the entire Pocket team, with a special thanks to our terrific editor, Lauren McKenna, and outstanding publisher, Louise Burke. Everyone, from the marketing department to the art department to the copy editing department, worked hard to give us a wonderful presentation for our first Belador story. We’d also like to thank our amazing agent, Robert Gottlieb, who directed this project from the beginning and continues to show why he is an icon in our industry. Thanks also to the RBLs for always bringing joy like fairy dust when we see them.
Last, but never least, we want to thank you, the fans, for reading and coming out to share time with us when we tour. You are the reason we write.
TWO YEARS AGO
UTAH … BENEATH THE SALT FLATS
Uphold my vows and die.
Or break my vows and die?
Evalle Kincaid had faced death more than once in the past five years, but never with these odds. If she had a one percent chance, it would be a miracle.
A citric odor burned her lungs, confirming that Medb majik shrouded the rock walls, high ceiling and dirt floor of her underground prison. It was the stench of her worst enemies.
She still couldn’t believe that one of her own, a Belador, had betrayed her.
Not just her.
Anger over the betrayal and being tricked into falling for this chewed at her insides. But she pushed it down, knowing it wouldn’t do anything except weaken her more. And right now, she needed her full sense and bearings.
Peeking carefully from beneath lowered eyelashes so that no one would know she was awake, she took
in the other two captives—male Beladors—also held upright by invisible constraints.
A human would be blind in this black hole, but her vision thrived on total darkness. Natural night vision that allowed her to see in a range of monochromatic blue-grays. One rare perk of being an Alterant, a half-breed Belador, unlike those two pure bloods with their backs against the glistening red-orange stone wall.
Did those men know each other?
Did she really care? They were either allies or enemies. And until she knew more about them, they were definitely enemies.
Similar in height and size, they were different as night and day in skin color and the way they dressed. The one with nothing on but jeans had been conscious when she’d regained her wits twenty minutes ago. Completely still, he hadn’t made a sound since then—like a snake lying low until it saw an opportunity to strike. Arms outstretched and legs spread apart, his gaze now cut sideways at a rustle of movement.
The fair-haired guy on his left struggled to reach lucidity.
Being imprisoned with two Beladors would normally fill her with hope for escape because of their ability to link with each other and combine their powers. When that happened, Beladors fighting together were a force only the upper echelon of preternatural creatures could touch. They were damn near invincible.
But linking required unquestioned trust. And right now, she couldn’t offer trust so easily. Not after a Belador’s telepathic call for help had lured her into this hole—into the hands of Medb warlocks. Her tribe had fought this bunch for two thousand years.
Burn me once, shame on you. Burn me twice …
Die with pain
.
Even so, could she refuse to help these two warriors—members of
her
tribe—if there was a chance to save them? Beladors were a secret race of Celtic people connected by powerful genetics and living in all parts of the world. She’d only met a few.
Never these two.
But every member of the tribe had sworn an oath to uphold a code of honor, to protect the innocent and any other Belador who needed help.
If a warrior broke that vow, every family member faced the same penalty as the warrior, even the penalty of death.
Evalle had no one who would be affected by her decisions. The only person she’d had was an aunt who’d died that Evalle didn’t mourn. Not after what that woman had done to her.
But even without having someone to worry about she’d upheld her vows since the day she’d turned eighteen. Not because she had to, but because she wanted to. And—until now—she’d always supported her tribe without question.
If only she knew which side of the lake those two across from her swam on. Hers or the Medb’s?
She had one chance to answer that question correctly.
Live or die …
What else was new?
“Anyone know who called for this delightful little meeting?” the fair-haired male grumbled in a smooth voice born of enhanced genetics and a hint of British influence. The sound matched the urbane angles of his European face, which could be Slovak or Russian. He straightened his shoulders as if that would smooth the creases in his overpriced suit, obviously tailored to fit that athletically cut body that James Bond would envy. She’d put him in his early thirties and at close to six foot three.
Bad, black and wicked next to him might be an inch shorter, but he balanced out the difference with a pound or two of extra kick-your-ass muscle.
“Introductions appear necessary … unless you two know each other.” The blond guy looked in her direction, then at the other male, but she doubted he could see a thing in this blackness.