Chosen by Sin

Chosen By Sin
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.

2011 Virna De Paul

Copyright © 2011 by Virna De Paul

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States

Cover design: Elaina Lee

Author photograph: Andrea Bucheli

Printed in the United States of America

Much gratitude to the people who helped this story take
shape, including: Holly Root, Tina Folsom, Nina Bruhns, Amy King, Cathy
Perkins, Cyndi Faria, Vanessa Kier, Karin Tabke, Grace Chow, Susan Hatler and
Julie Barnard.

Special thanks to an amazing editor, Rochelle French,
and series fans/bloggers/beta readers Tanya, Belinda, Danielle, and Nessa.

To Leis Pederson for giving this series life, and to
all the readers who have been waiting for Dex’s book—you make my job so
much fun.

Thank you for your support. As always, much love to my
boys, CJEZ.

***

LONE PINE, CALIFORNIA

JUST OUTSIDE DEATH VALLEY

Through the open window of his home, Bodin of Hammersham watched the
child of his blood even as his own blood ran cold. Outside, the air was dry and
humid, but the early evening wind carried a slight promise of rain. Yards away,
Bodin’s wife, Nicole, stood protectively close to The Boy, deliberately keeping
the gathering crowd from getting too close. Nicole’s shadowed eyes were filled
with regret and indecision. Bodin felt the first, but he couldn’t afford to
feel the latter.

Oblivious to the intense emotions of those around him, The Boy attacked
the trunk of a towering tree with the small wooden sword Nicole had given him.
His dirt-stained face, cheeks still clinging to baby fat, twisted into a scowl.
Though his lips were peeled back to show off imaginary fangs—the real
ones wouldn’t emerge for years—their absence couldn’t disguise the fact
that The Boy,
this boy
, was going to be
a formidable warrior. To anyone who took the time to look, his power was as
plain as his half-breed status. As obvious as his tawny hair, hazel eyes, and
bowed legs, each knee scabbed and bruised from his ceaseless play.

Carelessly, The Boy tossed his sword aside and ran up a small, rocky
hill. He’d been at the compound for less than twenty-four hours, yet he
navigated the rough, multi-leveled terrain easily, inviting the pack’s young
ones to play with him without hesitation or shame. If those children and their
parents eyed him with disdain or suspicion, he didn’t seem to notice or care.
But he should.

Because they were right to be disdainful. As a half-breed, The Boy
represented everything Bodin and his pack stood against—dilution of pure
werewolf blood. The weakening of a powerful bloodline.

Unfortunately, the pack was right to be suspicious. More worrisome was
the fact they were becoming envious. Covetous. Wondering if this half-breed was
the
kind
of half-breed detailed in the
Legend of Wolves. The rare kind that by their inherent power could grant one
immortality.

Even Bodin had felt it. That moment of hesitation. The temptation to
ask the question: What if? What if he had the power to defeat death? What if he
could live forever, rule forever, ensuring his clan’s peaceful, productive
survival?

But with that thought came another. Rather than just survive, the pack
could prosper. Live an eternity with those they loved. Never grow old. Never grow
weak.

Defeat. Conquer. Dominate death just as they did their inferiors in
life.

And that was the devil’s plan right there.

The seed of temptation that grew into something more. Something
personal. Something desperate. Something that would eat at a person’s soul
until everything else became disposable.

Then it would spread.

Because temptation was a greedy bitch. It didn’t stay the course, but
rather stretched out its vile grip like a spider’s web, catching all in its
path, until the disposer inevitably became the disposed.

A gift like immortality could produce no other result.

Yes, Bodin knew well about temptation. Just as he knew what had to be.

It was a blessing, really—The Boy’s ignorance. Far worse to
suffer for even one second the agonizing knowledge of your destiny. That in
order to help what you loved survive, you had to destroy it.

Turning away from the window, Bodin schooled his expression into one of
resolve. With the return of his daughter, Camille, and her son, The Boy, Bodin
had to protect what was his, what had always been his, and what would continue
to be his even after he died. Rule and power. Balance. Family. Pride.
Endurance.

Survival.

Not one of them was discretionary.

Bodin unlocked the hidden drawer in his desk and withdrew a piece of
paper worn thin by centuries of handling. It was the only known record of the
Legend of Wolves. Handed down by Bodin’s forefathers. Tattered and incomplete.
But there was enough writing visible for Bodin to know he was doing the right
thing.

Protect the wolf whose ancestry none can see.

Protect the one who can gift immortality.

Cast him out before you let him be found.

He’ll drive hell’s demons back underground.

His…will give eternal life to a… ther

But only if he’s gifted his…

Obserwować Demonie Krawcy
.

Two of the lines had faded in parts and were indecipherable.
Nonetheless, Bodin read the last line of print out loud. “
Obserwować
Demonie Krawcy.
”

Watch The Demon Tailors.

It was his pack’s destiny.

Someday—if he was right—it would eventually be
his
.

He strode back to the window and looked once more at The Boy.

“We must find the vampires who took Camille in. Make certain they won’t
talk. But first …” To his trusted advisor, Franco, Bodin ordered, “Bring The
Boy to me.”

***

MONTHS LATER

AUVERGNE REGION

FRANCE

Damn dragons had a morbid sense of the dramatic, Bodin thought, even as
he led the young vampire forward, her petite shadow dwarfed by his own. His
charge huddled closer to him as they walked, the flickering torches on the
weathered stone walls of the inner castle doing little to reassure her—or
him, for that matter.

The Girl looked like a fairy, with her pale skin and silver hair
emphasizing the frailty of her small build. She held Bodin’s hand, her grip
tightening with each step they took. Her eyes were huge, skipping around her,
trying to make sense of the dark, strange place he’d brought her to. When
shadows at the front of the huge hall shifted and morphed into individual
figures illuminated by the nearby fire blazing in the hearth, pain shot through
his chest. Ruthless, the pain reminded him of all he’d lost during almost four
centuries of life.

Today, once again, he would be compelled to abandon something he could
have loved. In the short time he’d known her, The Girl had come to mean so much
to him. He knew it was because in some ways, despite the fact they looked as
different as night and day, she reminded him of The Boy.

He’d done what he’d had to in order to save The Boy. And although he
hadn’t been able to save The Girl’s parents, he’d saved her; if not from the
sun, then from the crazed weres who’d thought they were doing what Bodin
wanted. She would always be his responsibility, but with her had come an
inescapable realization—if Bodin continued to hold the werewolf race
above all others, his pack would not survive. The time for Otherborn unity had
arrived. That was what The Girl had taught him. That was why they were here.

Metal clanked from the armor of the Draci guards as they marched beside
them. Among them, a cloaked figure, features indecipherable, kept pace
gracefully, its strides so smooth it almost appeared to be floating. Bodin
narrowed his eyes, automatically sniffing in an attempt to detect the
creature’s race, but the smell of the Draci was too overwhelming.

The Girl shivered and he tugged her cloak closer around her. Mentally,
he cursed the Draci for adhering to the old ways and using this cold, damp
castle for the tribe’s important ceremonies. He knew, even from the brief time
they’d spent together, that although The Girl was nocturnal, she preferred to
leave her lights on and was still prone to nightmares. After Bodin left, she’d
likely cry herself to sleep. But leave her he would.

A handful of dragon-shifters stood to the sides of the room, watching
him with clear distrust. The alliance between their tribe and his European
packs had only recently been forged. If he was going to win these dragons
over—if he was finally going to facilitate a modicum of peace between his
and theirs—he had to go through with giving them The Girl.

The Draci were a powerful, ancient race that populated Europe in small
numbers, but those numbers were dwindling fast due to the difficulty their
females had giving birth. Their queen was almost twenty, with two-thirds of her
life gone, and yearned for a child of her own before she died.

Bodin sensed The Girl’s gaze on him and looked down. The smile she shot
him reminded him not of The Boy this time, but of Camille. His darling girl.
She used to smile constantly, but he couldn’t remember the last time she had.
He’d taken her smile away when he’d cast out his own blood. His grandson.

He stopped their forward movement, then crouched in front of The Girl
and stared into her eyes. Without saying anything, he nodded. Her smile
trembled, but she raised her chin and slipped her hand from his.

She was like Camille in that way, too. Brave.

She knew what needed to be done.

Without hesitation, she stepped closer to the Draci.

Their leader, Lacrosse, ignored her and focused his attention on Bodin.
Like werewolves, dragon-shifters looked completely human until they shifted.
Then they were the ultimate example of inhuman. Fire-breathing versions of the
demons Bodin and his pack were sworn to keep in Hell. His duty was one of the
reasons for keeping peace with the dragons now. Keep your friends close, but
your enemies closer, particularly if you might need them to defeat a greater,
stronger enemy one day.