Forbidden (The Preternaturals)

Forbidden (The Preternaturals, Book 5)

Zoe Winters

Digital Edition

Copyright 2014 © Zoe Winters

All rights reserved.

Digital Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This ebook may not be resold or shared. If you did not purchase it, or it
was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy.
Respecting the hard work of this author makes new books possible.

Publisher's Note:

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

Important Publisher’s Note:

The start of Hadrian and Angeline’s story is in a novella
called
Dark Mercy
. Because it is so integral to the events of
Forbidden
,
Dark Mercy
has been included here, first. You can use the TOC to
choose which order to read them or to skip ahead to
Forbidden
if
you’ve already read
Dark Mercy
.

The events of
Dark Mercy
occur in Las Vegas during the
fifties. The events of
Forbidden
occur in the present time, not long
after the events of
Life Cycle
(Preternaturals, Book 4).

Forbidden
can be read out of order from the rest of the
series, but as always, the various interconnections between the background characters
make more sense read in order.

Dark Mercy Description:

…
Forgive me Father, for I’m about to sin.

Angeline has been on the run from her vampire sire for centuries.
She’s tired and lonely. High from mescaline-infused blood, she receives a sign—a
glowing church in the distance. And she knows. Her future mate is in that building.

The only trouble? Hadrian is a devout priest. It will take strong
persuasion for him to see the world her way.

Forbidden Description:

…
To see him again is forbidden.

Angeline knows Father Hadrian will never forgive her for their ugly
history. When the king of the vampires seeks vengeance for Hadrian’s recent betrayal,
she’ll risk everything to protect the vampire she still loves.

But when she agrees to give Hadrian her blood, all of Heaven will break
loose.

For my BFF, Mel.
Love ya, bitches!

Dark Mercy

1955, Las Vegas, Nevada

Angeline swayed on her feet, twirling in circles as the
lights of the city spun around her, her head thrown back in a giddy laugh.
When she stopped, the lights kept spinning, turning into long, wispy snakes,
hissing and flying around her head. She made her own hissing sound
back at the apparition and giggled as her fangs snicked back inside
her gums.

She licked a trail of blood as she looked up at the
Showboat Hotel and Casino. Another new one, ushering in more foolish souls
for her dining pleasure. This one billed itself as
Las Vegas’ first resort
hotel
. She hoped it had been everything her victim had hoped it
would be.

The woman now lying at her feet had been on mescaline and
the trip had made it all the way to the vampiress.

As Angeline wandered down the strip, neon lights flashed,
seeming to jump off the sign and into her face. Andy Williams. Bing Crosby.
Sinatra. The lights buzzed in her head—too much light and noise. She used her
vampiric speed to blur as far from the overwhelming stimulation as she could.

When she was far enough away, her gaze was caught by a church,
glittering like a hallucination in the distance. It rose out of the ground like
an omen, glowing and shaking and warping and moving, asking her to join the dance.

The drug expanded her awareness, and she felt there was nothing
she couldn’t know. Her future mate was in that building. He was there, waiting for
her to turn him and open his world to all the possibilities she held in her hands.
She held the world in her hands. Or maybe that was the mescaline talking.

Angeline righted herself, straightening her long, black lace
evening gown. Her manner of dressing occasionally drew stares in other cities, but
she didn’t care. Here in Las Vegas, people assumed she was a performer and didn’t
look twice. It allowed her to blend, while keeping in use a wardrobe from the turn
of the century.

She took a sober man off the street, drinking deeply of his blood
to rid herself of the effects of her last victim then made her way to the formerly
glowing church that now stood austere in simple gray stone.

It had been centuries since she’d been inside a church. Would she
burst into flames when she crossed the threshold? She imagined catching fire to the
shock and fright of all the assembled faithful. Of course that was silly; she’d risen
inside a church in the arms of her sire. She hadn’t combusted back then. As long as
she didn’t touch crosses or holy water, she’d be fine.

If I have any humanity left, I’ll be fine.
She was well
aware it was only her human side that kept her safe, a side she’d spent the better
part of the last few centuries suppressing.

As she reached the steps, the church clock began chiming out the
midnight hour in ominous greeting. She jumped when the door swung open.

“Miss, are you here for the midnight service?” A deep, graceful
baritone.

Angeline’s heart almost stopped. He was so beautiful. So tall—at
least six foot five, and broad. He filled the double doorway with his presence.
He was the one. She could feel it. Still she stood frozen, unable to speak and
partially afraid to go in.

He extended a hand to take hers. “I’m Father Hadrian. We’re just
about to start. You’re welcome here.” His hands wrapped around hers were so warm.

The invitation took away the last of her fear of the place.
Although vampires didn’t need invitations to get into human homes, a church felt
more dangerous, as if the demon half of her could condemn her. Surely his invitation
as well as her partial humanity would protect her. She glanced up at him through a
fringe of lashes, overtaken with shyness as she stepped inside.

What was wrong with her? She didn’t get shy around men. She sat in
an empty pew, her gaze moving back to him, tracking his every movement. He was the
most interesting thing she’d ever seen.
Hadrian.
She rolled his name over in
her mind. She was a great fan of etymology. Her name, of course, no longer fit—she
was far from an angel. Hadrian meant
dark one
.

His looks matched. In addition to being tall and broad, he was
swarthy, with dark hair and eyes black as coal. Everything in his image screamed
danger, but the kindness he projected was warmth and light. The contrast fascinated
her. She wanted to tease out the dark edges, to have a companion, but she also wanted
someone she could trust.

In its own way, the church was a welcome retreat—familiar. It was
dark—almost sinister—illuminated only by candles. The ornate Our Lady of Guadalupe
statue glowed in the candlelight, as did the crucifix over the altar. In the dark it
looked like a scene from a horror film rather than a symbol of hope and forgiveness.

Angeline reached absently inside her bag, clutching the beads of the old
rosary inside. She let out a sharp hiss as her hand accidentally brushed the cross,
leaving a condemning burn in its wake. She composed herself, checking to see if anyone had
noticed a change in her demeanor. Had her eyes glowed? Had her fangs popped out? If either
of those things had happened, no one noticed before her human mask fell back into place.

She watched as the red mark faded and the cross-shaped scar disappeared,
the healing process completed in a matter of seconds, since she’d just consumed so much
fresh human blood.

God didn’t want her anymore. Well fuck him. She’d held onto this
anger for a long time now. And yet, she’d kept the rosary, carrying it like a tarnished
ticket into Heaven.

Each time it burned, it reminded her that her ticket was no longer valid.
It was of little consequence how faithful she’d been in her human life. It was that
faithfulness that had ultimately killed her. If she hadn’t been at church that night…

Angeline brushed the stray tear off her cheek, pulling the wall up high
around herself. It was easier to be the monster than the woman. The woman was still too
vulnerable. Her attention shifted back to the priest and the liturgy that was so familiar
and yet so alien now.

She didn’t participate; she merely sat and observed the standing,
sitting, kneeling—rote repetition that carried her off into another experience more quiet,
but no less profound than the drugs that had moved within her earlier in the evening.

Occasionally the priest’s gaze drifted to hers. It took everything in
her not to enthrall him, not to put suggestions into his head. She wanted to observe him
in his natural state, like a researcher in the savannah watching a wild animal. She wanted
to know who he was, not who she would mold him to be. That would come later.

His hands were mesmerizing, strong, and sure. Compared with her strength
he was feeble right now, but he would become an awesome force of nature—like a tornado that
couldn’t be contained. Her shyness evaporated inside the cocoon of the church. Now she was
a predator watching her prey.

Angeline licked her lips almost unconsciously.

The congregants formed a line to receive the bread and wine. She felt
Father Hadrian’s eyes burn through her and looked away. He must have noticed she didn’t
take part in the service. She felt exposed and wanted to leave. She wouldn’t turn him tonight,
but she remained in her seat. She wanted to feel his warm hands over hers again and didn’t
want to wait a week for the experience.

***

Hadrian tried to keep his focus on the Mass, yet he couldn’t stop looking
at the woman he thought of as
the dark angel
. He’d seen human nature in all its
intriguing, delightful, and disappointing forms, but this woman was a study in contrasts he
couldn’t unravel.

His gaze lingered on her lips, which were painted a lush red that invited
him to taste her. Her skin was a smooth, milky white that contrasted sharply against her
long dark hair. Her glittering blue eyes offered additional contrast to her shiny brown locks.

Given the style of her clothing and the smallness of her waist, Hadrian
wouldn’t be surprised if she wore a corset underneath the dress, a corset painstakingly
laced and tied by the hands of another. A lover perhaps? He imagined her flushed after a
hurried coupling, leaning against a bedpost, sucking in a breath so the corset could be
cinched just a little tighter.

She seemed barely real, and he feared she might disappear into the night
from whence she came, never to be heard from again. As he moved to the next parishioner
kneeling at the bench, he glanced again at the dark angel.

Don’t leave.

Her eyes rose sharply to his as if she’d heard his thought. Her face
was a mixture of hope, pain, and longing. He knew that look. With his face and physique,
he’d been the object of many female sexual desires. This woman was fire.

He tried to ignore her and focus on the rite, the guilt curling inside
him that he wasn’t fully present for what was supposed to be Holy Communion. Hadrian passed
through the rest of the service by habit, the part of his brain familiar with the exercise
taking control while he waited for it to be over.

The midnight service was lonely. There was no choir or other participants,
just him, offering a scaled-back version of the Mass for those who felt more comfortable in
the dark. These were the people who needed him the most, and yet he didn’t know who was
worth saving, who would change and find redemption and who wouldn’t.

He’d grown weary having faith in people, praying for them and hoping
they’d change, only to see them fall further, many dying in despair, leaving the world worse
than when they’d entered it. It was wrong to think such things, but he couldn’t help it. He’d
seen too much—both human and otherworldly. He could no longer look at the world as the fresh-faced
young man entering the priesthood. That had only been five years ago when he’d had a brief mystical
experience, his own Damascus Road. But it felt like forever, like he’d aged centuries in that
time. He was far too jaded for thirty-five.

Like every priest initiated into the mysteries of the Catholic Church, he
knew the truth about demons. He knew they were out there, flesh-and-blood beings who could
compel and work their sinister magic. At times, he watched the assembled congregants at
the midnight service, wondering if there might be one hiding among the flock. But
no, they couldn’t get inside a church—not standard demons, anyway. Whatever else may lurk
out there amid the shadows, Hadrian wasn’t sure of the rules for them. He didn’t know where they
could go or how they could hide, and felt ill-prepared to deal with realities he hadn’t
been taught to handle.