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Songs of Blood
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Songs of Blood
Renee Peters
Rae Stilwell
Songs of Blood by Renee Peters and Rae Stilwell
www.theaegeans.com
Copyright © 2020 Renee Peters and Rae Stilwell
Cover Design © Rae Stilwell | raestilwell.com
ISBN: 978-1-7346441-1-1
Ebook ASIN: B0852GN1LW
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Contents
Join the World of the Aegeans
Prologue
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
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Epilogue
Appendix I
Appendix II
Appendix III
Appendix IV
Glossary
Thank you!
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More from the Aegean Immortals Series
Free Excerpt: Medley of Souls
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
This book is dedicated to:
Our Indie Author Community.
Your passion has inspired us, and your advice enriched us. We have learned so much from the lessons you shared of your own journeys. Songs of Blood would not be the book it has become without the support of your invisible hands.
Thank you.
“Success comes in every step. Even the ones that feel backward.”
-Renee and Rae
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Subscribers will receive a free copy of Saving Eden: The Urchin’s Song as a thank you for joining our world. Check out a preview at the link below.
Saving Eden: The Urchin’s Song
Do you remember when first
we built these walls?
Laying a sanctuary of bricks
and mixing into the mortar
our Hopes
our Dreams
our Love.
We thought they would protect all that
we came to cherish within their borders.
Yet these walls became
A gilded prison.
We inside,
and you
beyond.
Out
of
reach.
Come home.
The Aegean Immortals Series
Prologue
The City of Easthaven, East Yorkshire, England, Autumn 1805
The misting rains of autumn had conjured a fog that quivered beneath the light of a lamppost. Just beyond the reach of its gas-lit glow, the night beasts drifted through the shadows.
Two men left a stench of alcohol in their wake. They leaned into each other for support, breathing hot laughter into one another’s ears. Ahead of them, the diaphanous material of a noblewoman’s gown fluttered through the mist like a banner.
The woman posed a tall figure, as slender as a willow. Rainwater dappled her ivory skin, glittering beneath the fabric of the parasol resting on her shoulder. Beneath her cover, curls as silver as the stars bounced lightly across the smoothness of her back. For the moment, she seemed not to have noticed her followers.
Together, the three disappeared around the corner and out of sight.
The sole witness to the scene stood at some distance from the lamppost. For his height which surpassed that of most men of the age, the black fabric of his suit, and the umbrella that masked his face in shadows, the man gave the impression of a spirit of death. The only contrast he offered to the surrounding darkness was the paleness of his features and the golden blond of the waves that framed them. He stood still as the rain increased in intensity around him. Finally, with a slight curl of a full lip, the Lord stirred himself from his vigil.
He followed a few paces behind them, making little by way of sound as the steady tap of his shoes upon the cobblestone blended with the rhythm of the raindrops. They moved southward, where the stink of fish and river water rolled in on wet winds, briefly masking the odor of liquor and sweat that clung to the men.
The caravan of beasts and their prey marched onward toward the Rookery. There, the grease-stained row houses were packed so tightly against one another that the brickwork bulged with the strain, and the streets between them barely had room for a carriage to pass. Bolted against the buildings, rusty lanterns created pockets of trembling light.
One of the drunkards finally grew tired of the game and tripped over himself as he stumbled forward. He laughed, reaching out to catch hold of the sheer fabric of the woman’s gown.
No sooner had his fingers brushed the material, then his body careened violently to one side as if plucked up by an invisible hand and thrown. He crashed against the wrought iron fences that bordered the flats. Coughing hoarsely, the man jerked and began to make the effort to untangle himself only to give up with a strangled whimper.
His companion stared dumbly at the place he had landed, and the Lord saw the profile of the drunkard’s mouth tremble open before his head swiveled toward the woman.
By then, she too had turned around, lifting her parasol away so that the lantern light carved the elegant contours of her face from the shadows. Her attention was not on the drunkard, but over his shoulder, meeting the gaze of her blond watcher.
The gray of her eyes became a swirl of teal — the glow of the beast beneath her skin.
The man who remained standing of the duo let out a curse and a yelp, his foot scuffing backward in a splash of water before he too went flying.
With a cry, he landed upon his friend; and though it was no doubt a softer landing, neither of the men rose.
The silver-haired noblewoman and the blond Lord stood in silence for a few moments before he lifted the croo
k of his arm in invitation.
As if she had been waiting for just such a signal, the woman began to close the distance between them. She shifted the parasol into her opposite hand and slid the length of a slender arm into the crook that he had offered.
“Almost to the Rookery this time, amato,” she said, her words nearly lost beneath the sound of the rainfall. “There was a time you had less patience for fools.”
Shadows weighted her speech with the echo of loss.
“I am thankful to have gained something in my years,” he answered. “Had I not found patience, I might have found more cause for growing weary of the game instead.” He tilted his head to glance at her. “You could have tended to them more gently without my interference if it was your desire, my Queen.”
For a moment, the rain filled the quiet between them. What he could see of her expression behind the veil of water was gentle, but the muted ripples of music that threaded across the weave between their souls was not.
The Lord turned his focus to the walk ahead, speaking softly, “Despite what I have become, I would not let another touch you or the children. You know this.”
“I do.” Her elbow shifted beneath his to draw him closer before relaxing again. “As much as I know that the touch beyond reach has as much power to hurt as that which intends to harm,” she ended quietly. Her struggle distorted the perfection of her features. “Lian.”
She spoke his name and the withered cast around his soul cracked; a single note of his song escaping on the soft touch of a piano key. It fell as silent as he remained, and only the patter of rain on cobblestone and the cadence of their steps echoed through the darkness.
He led her back to the warmer light of the lamp posts and the open streets where the row houses were well-washed and maintained. When they stopped, he drew his arm from hers and took her fingers instead.
Lian left a kiss against the coolness of her knuckles and lingered there to breathe in the scent of age like old parchment that wafted on her Immortal skin. “I wish I did not harm you so,” he murmured and turned her hand to press another kiss to her palm. “I will not forgive myself for it.”
Straightening, he released her.
She finally met his eyes, and their shine belied the effort she made at assurance. “There is nothing to forgive, amato.” A smile trembled on her lips and slipped away into the shadows. “I am only weak tonight.” She claimed his fingers and lifted them to salute the blood-red signet that rested there with a kiss. “My Lord,” she murmured.
Lian Redmond, Earl of Rosse and Sovereign of Britain’s Aegean Immortals lowered into a bow befitting the Queen that she was. When he rose again, it was to watch her turn to depart, and he whispered his farewell between the raindrops.
“Be safe on your hunt, Celia.”
Chapter 1
Raven Manor, Easthaven, England 1810
The sun began to creep lower over the city of Easthaven, casting long shadows from townhomes and shopfronts over the market square and beyond. To the east, nestled between the River Humber and rolling acres dotted by the estates of the wealthy, sat a three-story manor. At first glance, it appeared unremarkable.
The aged design of the exterior was classical in nature, bearing columns and pilasters with arched-arcades that provided shelter from the sun. In the two centuries since its establishment, it had grown in layout and popularity, drawing more Immortals to the city. The taint of a thrall’s disease had followed in their wake infecting its human population.
Only the beasts and their prey ever entered the shadows of Raven Manor — a den of vice that serviced the sins of mortals and Immortals alike.
The degenerate and desperate both found their way into its darkness, seeking the Immortals for the pleasure of their bite or the weight of their coin. Some remained within the Manor, enthralled, servicing those who fed upon their blood in chambers as red as the vitae that stained their clothes and skin.
In the deepening dusk of evening, the mortals began to emerge from their rooms, navigating the twisting halls to attend their duties and chores before the guests of Raven Manor arrived. Most avoided the main hall that led to their Master’s office — all but one, who had the misfortune of easing the door open with a knock just as a masculine voice broke into the silence.
“You presume too much, Redmond —”
The words emerged icily from a man in the chamber. Of the four men and two women who had gathered, he was the oldest in appearance. Absalom Mészáros, the Arch Lord of Eromerde Coven, wore gray hair that still had the shine of youth swept back and set as if in continuation of the blade-like planes of his face. As tall and sturdy as a warrior Lord from ages long past, he sat, perpetually frowning, deepening the scars that carved a path up his neck and jaw and across the shallow of his cheek.
Lian Redmond did not move much, save to turn the storm-cast blue of his eyes upon the Lord.
“No doubt you will enlighten me, Absalom. I shall be pleased to have a deeper understanding of what offenses have led to this meeting than what we have already discussed.”
The Master of Raven Manor, Philippe Denard, eased himself straighter to acknowledge the thrall at the door. His black-tail coat was of expensive fabric and well-tailored to his slender form. Beneath it, a green-silk vest echoed the startling brilliance of his gaze, and hair the color of midnight caught the firelight.
In an armchair at his side, leaned over to pillow the high crest of her cheek on the heel of her palm, sat Philippe’s eldest Immortal offspring and business partner. Katherine Monette was a beauty in the classical sense, with her blonde hair fashionably coiffed and blue eyes that could send mortals jumping to please her with just a flash of a look. It was an entirely different look that had been trained on Absalom of Eromerde, but her expression found a softer touch when Philippe spoke.
“Leave it and go, girl.” The proprietor lifted a hand toward the servant, causing the gold-threaded embroidery on his vest to glimmer in the gaslight.
The thrall bowed her head and pushed her service cart across the plush rugs that lined the floor. She left the cart, loaded with golden goblets and a matching decanter that fogged with the heat of the liquid within, alongside the gathering of chairs.
Lian could smell the blood it held, even over the heavy scent of aged parchment that betrayed the blood of the Elder Immortals present in the room. The thrall did not open the decanter before curtseying and swiveling on her heel to leave.
“Oh, how thoughtful,” a giggling, feminine voice lifted as the door closed behind the thrall.
Arch Queen Neria stood at four inches over four feet, a dusky-skinned shadow seated alongside her Lord. She had hardly been thirteen or fourteen years when she was turned, though in the childish perfection of her face and the smallness of her delicate form, she could have been mistaken for younger. That was if one did not catch the age in her eyes, and the beauty that surpassed even those of her Immortal kindred around her; the beauty of Fae, polluted by the gift of their Immortal bite and blood.
The Child Queen tiptoed toward the serving cart. “Our dear Philippe Denard made sure we were served with gold,” she murred. She tilted her face Philippe’s way and flashed him a sweet smile. “But he will steal a prize not freely given.” Her golden eyes flickered to Absalom. “Would Husband like a drink?”
Her husband did not answer her. His gaze flared with a silver heat as his attention remained fixed on the Sovereign.
“Do the boundaries of the Houses mean nothing?” The Lord snarled. “Is it not enough that Eromerde has ceded the Crown? Must we cede also what miserable pittance of territory remains for the claim due our blood to — to a Freeborn?”
The Sovereign's body did not betray the dipping slur in his music for the slight. Even after centuries in possession of the Crown, he had not forgotten what it had meant to be on the other side.
Free.
There was an irony in the label that those Immortal members of recognized Aegean Houses had given to their Unhoused brethre
n; the rogue Immortals who had chosen or been forced into an existence beyond their rule.
The Free had no representation in House politics or rights to trials. They were unable to claim any territories or hunting grounds of their own — even if they had the protection of a House. Despite whatever wealth or status they might acquire, the Freeborn were viewed with the same cold disregard that most of his kind had for mortals; as only slightly more valuable than cattle.
It was how his family had been viewed before he revealed his lineage and claimed his birthright to rule the British Immortals — his Crown.
Their shared experience was the reason the lot of the Free had improved somewhat since his ascension to the throne. But not by much. He had done what little he could do to advocate changes in the laws of blood. But the matter of rights was yet determined by the Imperial Council in Rome — the Council of the Firsts of their kind.