Forsaken (Ancients of Light #1) Read online

  Forsaken

  Heather Fleener

  1stEdition

  Copyright © 2013 by Heather Fleener

  Smashwords Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and events either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to living, dead or undead persons, business, locations or events is purely coincidental. The author and publisher have no control over nor assume any responsibility for the content of any third-party website.

  Cover design by Alexandria N. Thompson

  Cover images © Can Stock Photo Inc./konradbak

  Discover other titles by Heather Fleener at Ancients of Light

  Genevieve – thanks for your friendship, teaching me so much, and appreciating my crazy neuroses.

  Thank you to all my friends and family that have encouraged me along the way and to each and every fan that has supported the series with your kind words.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  From the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  Her apartment was brightly lit against the oncoming evening, one of the few extravagances Ella allowed herself. The advent of night had made her anxious as long as she could remember; every light was always on by dusk and remained so until she went to bed. One stayed lit on her bedside table throughout the night.

  Ella was rushing around the tiny bedroom that her small space afforded her. Small was an exaggerated description of her flat on the outer edges of Chicago. Early spring had come to the city, which always fostered an itch in Ella and her circle of friends to spend a night at the clubs. Tonight was special though. She had submitted the final draft of her dissertation, effectively completing her PhD program in sociology at the University. Her friends were treating her, in celebration of her accomplishment, by taking her to all of their favorite haunts.

  Snagging sparkling baubles from her dresser to accessorize her ears and wrist, she mused that it was a good thing she was the guest of honor tonight. The last month at her waitressing gig had been slow - abysmal if she were honest. Spring had been rung in by a hellacious winter storm that caused everyone to cower in the warmth of their homes rather than enjoy the nightlife of the city. She was scraping to make her outrageous rent.

  Not for the first time since she had decided to make this city her home, Ella wished that her powers had been less of the Fire variety and more of the Spell Casting sort. There were no rules in the Witch world that prohibited using one’s powers for personal benefit; however, since she was gifted only with the magic from that single Caste, the best she could have done was spark a bonfire to reduce her heat bill.

  With a sigh, Ella snapped the clasp on her bracelet. It wasn’t that she was not used to struggling - it had been the way of existence for her and her mother. Her mother had taken leave of the Realm when Ella was but a few years of age. Fire Makers were a rigidly pious sort, more so than the other Castes. Rules were strictly adhered to, the appearance of propriety always maintained. Her mother’s unplanned pregnancy, coupled with her unwillingness to disclose the name of the father, had left them both subject to scorn and censure by the group.

  Like any mother, wanting the best for her daughter and not finding it within her own Caste, Moya had chosen to leave the Realm. Being a single mother in an unfamiliar city with an ingrained reluctance to engage with mortals had caused them to live a life of isolation and hardship. Nothing had been taken for granted in their home nestled in one of the dilapidated suburbs of Chicago.

  Ella had possessed a near worshipful love of her mother though and that had been enough. She had always been aware of her lineage and the powers that likely dwelled within her. At the age of six her magic had begun to emerge and it had been a struggle as a small child to rein it in completely. She and Moya had remained in the world of the humans until Ella’s powers grew too great. Her tenth birthday present had been a return trip to the Realm courtesy of the Ancient Sorcerer, Myrrdyn. With the Realm once more as their home, Ella had a safe haven where she had gained control over her gifts.

  Moya had died eight years later, slain by another Fire Maker in league with the Darks. It was during that time of devastating loss that Ella had set herself apart from her Faction entirely. She had never felt true kinship in her supposed Witch family and she had not felt the loss of their company greatly when she left the Realm for the last time and settled back in Chicago.

  Ella had built a life, earning both her undergraduate degree and continuing on to complete her PhD in that short span of time. Her friends lauded her as brilliant, but she humbly ascribed her accomplishments to sheer will and unbreakable determination to establish a meaningful existence. She refused to live a life where she was defined by the number of Darks she returned to Hell.

  None of her acquaintances were ever the wiser that Ella was of the immortal Fire Caste of Witch and she encountered few immortals in her blissful time free of the drama and strife that remained behind in the Realm. Once she had been shocked to happen upon a lone vampire roaming an alley in search of a human snack, but he had quickly shadowed off upon recognizing her Witch nature. To date none of the Witch breed had bothered her, with the exception of her visits from Myrrdyn.

  The Ancient’s appearances were always unexpected but always well received. Myrrdyn had been a favorite in her youth, a solid figure that had always provided just the right word of wisdom or sweet treat when needed. He had not been of her Caste, did not deign to associate himself with any single Caste actually. Perhaps that was the reason that he was so accepting of her and her mother.

  Pursing her lips, Ella gazed judgmentally at her reflection in the bedroom mirror. After smoothing the black pencil skirt over her hips she smiled, her eyes warming with the recollection of the wizened old Sorcerer. In her youth she had been shocked to realize that others of her kind regarded him in fear and awe. He had always been her friend.

  Pulling herself free of her reverie - her friends would soon arrive to collect her - she covered the few steps to her bathroom to fluff her hair and put the final touches on her makeup. Ella added a light sweep of blush to her high cheekbones. The creamy peach coloring of her skin was warm and a perfect complement to her thick, titian-hued tresses. Ending just below her shoulder blades, there was just enough wave to cause the mass to hang in beautiful fullness without actually curling at the ends.

  She pushed a few errant strands back from her vision and added a hint more mascara to the long lashe
s that framed her emerald eyes. The color was mesmerizing…her mother had possessed the very same eyes and Ella had gazed into them with adoration the first eighteen years of her life. Finished with her primping, she tugged one more stray lock into place. The fiery color was definitely not from her mother, Ella was most certain of that, since Moya had had stick-straight chocolaty tresses.

  Neither did she get her towering height and strong build from her petite mother. Ella was only a couple of inches short of six feet and her frame was accented by lean muscles. That had served her well during their time in the Realm. Though they were not of the Warrior Caste, Ella had been drawn to that group when they had returned. Much begging and pleading had finally convinced her mother to allow her to participate in training with those that learned weaponry. While the strength and fighting talent of the Warrior Caste was not innate to all in the Witch breed, any witch willing to learn was trained to wield weapons of war.

  Much to her mother’s delight, Ella had been exceptional with weapons. Had she stayed in the Realm she might have assumed a prominent role in the Fire Caste and the fight against the Darks. After her departure, she had kept herself in warrior form out of habit and because she actually enjoyed the physical activity of her training. She had purposefully abandoned her practice of magic though, leaving that to her Caste mates that remained embroiled in the war between the Light and the Dark in the Realm.

  Exiting the bath with that thought lingering, she dropped to the edge of the bed to tug on knee length black boots and then stood to smooth her hands over her clingy black sweater. Giving herself a final once over in the mirror, she exited back to the only other area in her apartment, a small sitting area that merged into a smaller kitchen. Though tiny, and not in the best neighborhood, her home was warmly decorated and tidy. She loved it here…because it was hers and it was not in the Realm.

  A sudden grin took her face…the advent of a spectacular life was on the horizon; there was a faint whisper echoing through her consciousness that was promising as much. Still smiling, she snatched her black clutch off the table and headed out the door, not stopping to dim a single light. With the brightness of the room and in her haste, Ella failed to see the dark figure that shadowed away from the lone window of her apartment.

  CHAPTER 2

  The night slipped by quickly, one club after the next and all began to blur. The large number of drinks pressed on her, each with a toast of her success, hadn’t helped. Eight of her friends had dragged her very willing-self through the club scene quite late into the cooling Chicago night.

  Ella exited the mass of bodies on the dance floor and was grateful to feel the cooler air wash over her as she trekked to the bar. Jason – the rich little frat bastard - had opened a tab for her. Her slur on his parentage was nothing more than a running joke between them and since tomorrow she had only a date with her pillow, she was determined to enjoy herself fully at his expense. Until the bar closed and she stumbled home, Ella was in celebratory mode. A witch did so love to party.

  She thought for a moment she felt eyes trailing her, but shook the feeling off. In this large mass of intoxicated young adults she might easily draw the attention of some horny male, though that would not normally have her spine tingling. Obviously, she had imbibed too much. That thought did not slow Ella’s progress towards the bar. She hopped up on a stool and waved the bartender in her direction with a flirtatious smile.

  Ella could take no pride in her looks, because those were a blessing of her lineage. Females of the Witch breed possessed a supernatural kind of beauty. It did not mean that she could not and would not use it to her advantage when warranted, and her need of another glass of wine was paramount at the moment.

  The tingling of her powers nudged her again and Ella frowned in irritation. An unexpected surge of magic always made her nervous. Though she had long since realized it was unreasonable to fear that someone nearby might sense the shift in her energy - years of time with the humans assured her that was not the case - she always experienced a brief feeling of unease anyway.

  The current spark of magic was probably brought on by the large volume of alcohol in her blood and the throb of blaring music. Having attributed cause to her magic’s pesky behavior, she brushed all worry aside. Ella was in her element and felt glorious, flirting wickedly while she requested her beverage. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror behind the bar, her grin widened. Her cheeks were flushed from her dancing and her eyes were bright. She was actually happy and felt again the foreshadowing whisper of wonderful things to come.

  Ella was still musing over that and the phone number that had accompanied the beverage napkin with her wine when she was nearly unseated by the jostle of a body against her arm. A sidelong glance showed her the large shoulder of a male as he squeezed into the space beside her. Ella shot him an annoyed glare; she hated being pinned in any tight space. When the offender turned to her with a ready apology, her aggravation was forgotten along with all instinct to breathe.

  Her widening gaze took in the most remarkable pair of topaz eyes flecked with shards of gold. With a little bit of effort, necessitated by the amount of her consumption that eve, she drew back and discovered that his face was as intoxicating as the contents of the glass she had been lifting to her lips. Her drink had paused midway there when she had seen him and now his warm hand coming to rest on her arm made certain the goblet did not make it any closer to her mouth.

  He shook his head at her with an explanation, “Princess, that swill will make your head hate you in the morn.” His accent was European but Ella could not place the locale. The deep timbre of his voice coupled with those good looks had her addled. He looked to be mid-thirties. His skin had a touch of bronze suggesting that he had just come to Chicago from some warmer clime and his dark hair just grazed the collar of his shirt. It was sexily disheveled as though he habitually ran a hand through it.

  By the time she remembered to suck in some air, the man had extracted the glass from her hand and was having a hushed conversation with the bartender while sliding her drink away. She took note that her new companion also crumbled the numbered napkin and dropped it dismissively to the floor when the other man walked off.

  He was certainly sin, wrapped in chocolate with a sprinkle of naughty. Visions of him would keep her happy in fantasy land for months. Ella felt a stabbing tingle of power again and dismissively tamped it down. Lifting her gaze to find his riveted on her, it became important to her only just then that he had robbed her of her wine. To interfere with a witch and her consumption of brew was a no-no indeed. Her brow creased in mild vexation, “Are you attempting to cut me off? Because I am a big girl and I can handle…”

  His finger found her lips, cutting off her rant before she could work herself into a lather over the stolen drink. Leaning in close enough that his breath caressed her cheek, he confirmed that the attraction was not one-sided, “I am merely making certain that later, when I taste your lips, they will not be tainted with that plonk.”

  Ella swore he shuddered with the characterization of her aforementioned drink before turning and nodding his thanks to the tender for the bottle of wine and glasses deposited on the bar. He swung that piercing gaze back to lock meaningfully on hers and murmured in the same smooth tone, “Your head needs to be clear enough to focus only on me when I kiss you the first time, Witch.”

  His words - both his claim to her attentions later and the call to her immortal nature - had the desired effect. A sharp intake of breath and quickening pulse accompanied the rapid rise of color to her cheeks. Her eyes flared wide before narrowing with animosity. An unnatural spark of green swirled in their depths, evidence of a rise in magic, and this time Ella let it go unfettered.

  Her intoxication had been enough to muddle her instincts and cause her to dismiss the warnings her magic had been screeching at her. Now that she had been clued in, it was easy for her to gain a sense of his nature as well…Vampire. Her lips curled in distaste, only to be answered by h
is smirk as he ignored her obvious ire to attend to their glasses. His unconcerned manner made her furious. He knew her to be of the Witch breed so he should be fleeing in the opposite direction, not pouring her a beverage…the arrogant bloodsucker.

  Ella leaned in while he tarried over the pour of wine. The rolled sleeves of his dress shirt gave her view of the corded muscles of his lower forearms and his wrists and revealed that any marking of the Light faction was absent. The dangerous sparkle in her eyes grew stronger with the realization that this one was aligned with the Dark. Shoving aside her shock and recalling the gist of his earlier proposition – kiss him indeed - Ella hissed quietly, “Over my dead body, Leech.”

  He took note of her assessment though he was completely at ease when he set the bottle back to the bar. A cocky grin spread over his face and he countered, “No gorgeous, I prefer your body hot for me, that luscious mouth of yours begging for more...” The vampire trailed off and presented her one of the goblets of swirling red liquid. His eyes touched on the flicker of pulse in the column of her neck before he continued in a husky whisper, “And you will beg, Witch.”

  So as not to draw notice of those humans in proximity, Ella eased back and accepted the glass. Tipping it to him in mock salute before raising it to her lips, she whispered over the rim, “This is as close as you’ll ever get, Vamp. Enjoy.” Despite her anger she was tempted to close her eyes and purr in ecstasy when the rich wine bathed her tongue. The fact that he was a Dark parasite and had totally ruined her evening and her hot fantasies kept her from doing just that.

  Her insult barely registered because he witnessed the pleasure that came over Ella. The Witch liked the finer things and that suited him well enough. With her momentary distraction, his hand snaked out to capture the nape of her neck and he leaned in close. He took enjoyment in the fact that her body stiffened reactively when he drew nearer to her throat.