His Mortal Soul
Authors: a.c. Mason
Lyrical Press, Inc.
www.lyricalpress.com
Copyright ©2012 by a.c.Mason
First published in 2012, 2012
Can she save his immortal soul ... and help him find heaven on earth?
Touching Sephora may cost Kieran his mortal soul...
Kieran has always been a good Catholic, even studying for the priesthood. But there are complications. A few weeks before his ordination into the priesthood, he was made a vampire. And then there's Sephora, the beautiful, independent American student who draws him to her. His “blackbird", she seems to hold all the secrets to life and happiness, like the mythological creature of the ancient Celts. Despite his best intentions and though he knows he can only hurt her, her hold on him increases by the minute.
Although Ireland promised Sephora an escape from the horrors of a brutal attack she suffered two years ago, she has discovered that the true scars lie within. But being with Kieran melts away the pain and his touch provides her the refuge to reclaim her body.
WARNING: A gorgeous Irish hero and gutsy heroine. Biblical and religious themes that might offend. Graphic sex. The theme of survival and healing after sexual assault.
This curse of being bitten and becoming a vampire was a test of his faith. And so was
she
. Kieran couldn't let her lure him from saving his soul—from lifting the hex. Admittedly, stalking her wasn't helping him achieve that. Nor did he have any intention of stopping. Father O'Brian would be disappointed, but tonight was Kieran's last on earth. Better he spend his time where he wanted to be—with
her
.
A well-dressed male student wrapped an arm around her and guided her away from the hall through the exit. Inside, students wasted money and brain cells in the name of a good time. The door shut behind the
clift
—fool—and her, muting the blaring music. The asphalt pathway where they walked was deserted. The freckle-faced man laughed as he stumbled. The scent of his illicit intent reached Kieran. He hadn't thought she was that type of woman, but lately he'd learned he was wrong about a great many things.
The devil and demons weren't just the stuff of myth and legends. Evil dwelled within the heart of every human. All that was needed was something to unlock it.
His Mortal Soul
9781616503574
Copyright © 2012, a.c. Mason
Edited by Mary A. Murray
Book design by Lyrical Press, Inc.
Cover Art by Renee Rocco
First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: March, 2012
Lyrical Press, Incorporated www.lyricalpress.com eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
PUBLISHER'S NOTE:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated
Mary Murray has pushed my writing and me as an author in ways that have expanded my belief in my own abilities. She opened the first door and provided me the ability tell stories. Thank you for all your hard work.
Thank you to Casea Major and AS for helping refine the story.
Lorcan Kieran stood behind the pillar a few feet away from
her
. Dampness lingered in the cool autumn night outside the university's gymnasium. The annual autumn student gathering took place inside.
Since that morning two weeks ago when he'd laid eyes on her, he'd sensed her. Always. As if her spirit had linked to his. He'd been standing over the side of the bridge, about to jump, when the fog had lifted and she'd appeared in all her splendor. Now the thread between them told him when she rose in the morning and the moment exhaustion claimed her each night.
She was
mo lon dubh. His blackbird
. Would he teach her or would she enlighten him? For some reason, he was suddenly reminded of the story his grandmother told of St. Kevin and the Blackbird, how St. Kevin and the Blackbird cared for each other. But he was no saint.
Her dark wavy hair blew in the wind and her cocoa skin shimmered in the moonlight. More than any other, her scent enticed the monster he had become and the thirst growing inside.
His mortal soul was damned. If he was able to make it to his ordination, he might have a chance at redemption. This curse of being bitten and becoming a vampire was a test of his faith. And so was
she
. He couldn't let her lure him from saving his soul—from lifting the hex. Admittedly, stalking her wasn't helping him achieve that. Nor did he have any intention of stopping. Father O'Brian would be disappointed, but tonight was Kieran's last on earth. Better he spend his time where he wanted to be—with
her
.
A well-dressed male student wrapped an arm around her and guided her away from the hall through the exit. Inside, students wasted money and brain cells in the name of a good time. The door shut behind the
clift
—fool—and her, muting the blaring music. The asphalt pathway where they walked was deserted. The freckle-faced man laughed as he stumbled. The scent of his illicit intent reached Kieran. He hadn't thought she was that type of woman, but lately he'd learned he was wrong about a great many things.
The devil and demons weren't just the stuff of myths and legends. Evil dwelled within the heart of every human. All that was needed was something to unlock it.
"I feel strange.” She raised her hand to her face. A pink flush warmed the coloration of her cheeks.
The lanky
clift
led her to the western student residence building. “How much did you drink, love?” A Dublin native by his speech.
She pushed his arm off of her and wobbled to the wall. “I didn't. I don't ever...” She shook her head and tried to focus. “Shit ... Did you put something in my drink?” Her movements were sluggish and uncontrolled.
"Just put a little something in your drink to help you relax. Come on.” He tugged her. “It's early, let's have some fun. My room is just over here."
She pulled away from him. “What did you give me ... Patrick?” With her forearm, she wiped her forehead. “I've got to go."
"Relax, Sephora. A little whiskey won't hurt you.” He backed her against the wall. “You and I are going to have a little fun. I've never been with a black chick before."
"And this ‘black chick’ won't be your test run, either.” She shoved him. “I knew that drink didn't taste right."
"What is it with you ... Are you a dyke?” He staggered, and pinned her with his much larger frame. “I can eat pussy real good. My last girlfriend said I was as good as any lesbian she had."
"Good night, Patrick.” She turned her face from him.
Kieran waited to see if the boy would leave. Maybe he hadn't been wrong about her. She didn't seem to want to go with him.
Now red-faced, the man grabbed her by her shoulders and pushed her into the wall. “Calm down. Don't be such a frigid bitch."
"Don't do this, please!” She yanked free. Tears pooled in her eyes.
Images from her thoughts flooded Kieran's mind. She had run in the sand. Droplets had wet her cheeks as fear surged through her. She had been chased down.
The pounding of her heart thundered in Kieran's head. The physical scars had healed, but what happened still had its hooks in her deeply.
A man had grabbed her by her hair and his arm had wrapped around her neck, squeezing the air from her windpipe. The distress had paralyzed her and her limbs had grown heavy. Kieran struggled to breathe and placed a hand on the pillar. The flashes were of a horror she'd experienced.
"Help!” she screamed. Sheer terror was plain in her shaking voice. “Please, someone help me."
The unmistakable plea pulled him from the intensity of her memory.
The freckle-faced man caught her arm, threw her to the building.
She grunted in pain.
The man covered her mouth with his hand. “Shut up."
Before Kieran's thoughts registered his intent, he stood behind the man. These abilities took getting used to. Even the demon within him didn't like this man touching her.
Her eyes widened with fear as she met Kieran's stare.
He placed his hand on the man's shoulder. “Let the lady go."
"Fuck off, buddy.” He shrugged, attempting to remove Kieran's hand, but the effort was wasted.
Kieran pulled the grubby
clift
away, spun and thrust him into the wall. With ease, he could kill him. The demon craved it. Begged for it. Just one. Feed ...
us
. Kieran gripped the man by the neck and lifted him off the ground. The man's feet dangled. The pulse beneath his fingers thundered, luring him—and the thirst.
"I don't think you understood me.” His strength was one of the changes that he didn't mind. The being trapped on earth alone for eternity, that came off as a big letdown. It was the possibility of burning in hell that held less appeal to him. He didn't much like warm climates.
She covered her eyes and curled into a ball on the ground against the wall. The scent of fresh blood rose from her. She cradled the back of her head.
His fangs descended and his vision clouded in shades of red. “
You'll never hurt a woman again,
” he ordered into the man's mind with a hiss. “
You're going to go to your room. And you won't remember this
."
The freckle-faced man nodded.
Kieran released him. None too soon either, as the pit in his stomach protested. The man turned from them and ran to the western residence building.
Kieran's vision returned to normal and his fangs retracted. With any luck, she hadn't seen the changes.
"He's gone.” Kieran turned to her.
"Deacon Lorcan Kieran?” she asked, peeking at him through her fingers.
Had he scared her just now? Not him, but the demon within him.
A smile formed on his lips. She too remembered their brief meeting on the bridge. He'd been so newly turned. Once he'd made sure she hadn't intended to jump off the bridge to save him, he'd fled. Her scent was enslaving.
"Yes, Ms. Silverman.” He held out his hand to assist her, afraid of what would happen once he touched her.
Blood coated her hand.
His stomach grumbled. The infinite pit of hunger grew, but it was south of his waist.
She rose with her arms wrapped around her torso, leaning into the wall. “How do you know my name?” She too appeared to recall having refused to give him her name during the fateful encounter on the bridge.
If he admitted the truth, would she think him a creepy stalker? “I've inquired about you."
"Why?” She cocked an eyebrow and wavered against the wall. The breeze tousled her curls, mixing her scent with those of the soil of his ancestors, water from the canal and the cool autumn evening.
He could think of nothing more appetizing than her. “I wanted to make sure you hadn't found other ways to end your life."
She stared at the bandages on his fingers.
Kieran placed his hands behind his back. Touching the Bible caused his flesh to burst into flames. The Band-Aids provided a layer of protection.
"As I told you that morning, I wasn't trying to end my life. I thought I saw someone go over the side of the bridge.” She let out a heavy exhalation.
He wasn't about to tell her it had been him. But when he'd heard her scream and run to his aid, he'd held onto the underside of the bridge. Then he'd climbed up the other side. He'd worried she'd hurt herself trying to save him. He couldn't even die like that. At least, not the way humans could. He was one of the damned.