Forsaken Heart Read online

  Forsaken Heart

  by

  Elise Whyles

  Forsaken Heart

  Copyright © 2012, Elise Whyles

  ISBN: 9781937325244

  Publisher: Beachwalk Press, Inc.

  Electronic Publication: April, 2012

  Editor: Pamela Tyner

  Cover: LFD Designs

  eBooks are not transferable. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations in articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Back Cover Copy

  Punished for sins not her own, can a mortal claim her vampire mate?

  The world of immortals must unite to save both themselves and the mortals they co-exist with from an ancient evil.

  For Bede MacTaggert this means trusting in the warrior sent for her sister—a man of mystery, of power, and one who could easily sweep her into a world she’s destined to be part of.

  An imperial guard to the king of vampires, Gawain has always tuned out the needs of the flesh. Dedicating himself to the service of the royals, he’s lived on the fringes of his people for centuries. Now he’s forced from the shadows and into the arms of a woman who will awaken his heart and body to a passion unequaled.

  Content Warning: sexy alpha vampire, explicit sex, violence

  Dedication

  To my mom—your endless patience in listening to me work through ideas is greatly appreciated.

  To Ciara, who has thrown herself into the wild and dangerous world of co-authoring—thanks for the hard work, the dedication, and your friendship!

  Finally, to my son and hubby—without your love and support my dreams would still be gathering dust. I love you both!

  Acknowledgements

  I wish to thank my amazing co-author in this series, Ciara Lake, who has been a source of inspiration, of faith and understanding, and the best brainstorming partner ever when it comes to mystical beings.

  To our amazing editor Pam and our cover designer who has amazed both of us with the amazing covers and the beauty she’s given our visions.

  Finally, to our readers for your support and belief in us as we spin the dark tale of forgiveness and vengeance while finding love.

  Chapter 1

  Dark eyes peered from eerie shadows as the mist swirled around her naked body. Thin streams of light speared through night’s darkness. Bare branches waved in the breeze, like skeletal arms reaching, searching for their next victim. Leaves rustled and danced, shrouding the sound of her stalker. Icy tendrils wrapped around her legs, freezing her flesh with each passing second.

  Her heart racing, Bede clung to the jagged blade in her hand. Blood oozed down her fingers, glowing eyes tracing its path along the curve of the blade. Fangs dripping, lips peeled back, it paced closer, its feet hovering an inch above the forest floor. A long, sorrowful howl echoed through the darkness, chilling her to the bone.

  “Fated or no, you will be mine this night. I care not if he has claimed your pathetic, weak soul. ’Tis the flesh I’ve hungered for.” He growled, his massive frame lunging for her, his sword swinging high over his head. The light glinted off the weapon just as it sliced through the flesh of her…

  Bede screamed, jerking upright in her bed. Her trembling fingers trailed through her tangled locks as she brought her knees to her chest. Her heart raced, roaring in her ears, the faint coppery taste of blood on her tongue. Beyond her chamber door, she could hear the shuffling of feet, the harsh grunts of her father’s breathing. She winced at the slurred curses spewing from his lips and glanced through the weak light to where her sister lay curled into a ball.

  Little Una suffered so unnecessarily. Small and delicate, she could not do the arduous tasks their father expected of them. Many nights she’d gone to bed hungry, Bede taking the beating her father would normally have given her. Her heart aching, Bede had started hiding food in their small, dingy little room. Now, Una ate regularly, in fact more than she, herself ate.

  Pulled from her thoughts at the sound of wheels rolling to a stop by the house, Bede shifted and plucked at the cover, curiosity dragging across her mind. From beyond the door came the sound of someone jumping down, followed by the harsh panting of one unused to physical activity.

  “’Tis later than you’d said you’d be here. Well passed the hour.” Her father’s angry snarl sent a shiver down Bede’s spine.

  “Couldn’t be he’ped. Done got one of me brood down with the fever.”

  “Well, got one to replace it. You brung me gold? As right pretty as this one be, you’ll easily make the coins back in a night.”

  “I’d see the merchandise first.”

  “I told ye, she’s a fair girl to look upon.”

  Bede shuddered with each approaching footstep. Had the bastard sold Una? Fury rose like a suffocating mask, she pushed the blankets back and rose to face their thin chamber door. Loathing coated her tongue when the door swung inward to reveal her father’s frame. Beyond him another man stood cloaked in shadows. Inwardly cringing at the stench brought by their father’s entry, Bede raised her chin and glared at him. Forcing a calm expression, she hid her revulsion as best she could, yet cursed her late mother’s passing.

  “’Tis late for company, wouldn’t you think?”

  “Be silent.” He waved the man forward. “A good investment, Lugthor. Many would pay handsome…”

  The lust in the man’s gaze chilled her to the bone. Shuddering, Bede grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around her body. “Get out.” Turning to her father, she shook her head. “And you would do well to remember this is not your—”

  “By the gods, I’d be broke in a day with that sharp tongue. What of that one? That frail looking one—be good for a bit of entertainment.” Lugthor laughed, his gnarled, filthy finger pointing behind Bede.

  “Two coins extra and you can have ’em both.”

  Bede stepped between the stranger and her sister, fury lashing at her with each passing second. “Don’t touch her.”

  “Bede?” Una’s scared whisper echoed in her ears. “What is going on?”

  “Get dressed, you worthless little shite.” The furious snarl of their father’s voice filled the small room.

  Glaring at the drunken figure looming in the door, she reached for Una’s hand. “It will be okay, Una,” Bede soothed her, swallowing against her own fear. “Come now, quickly. Dress warmly, sister, we’re leaving.”

  “Leaving? But Momma…”

  “She will know us in the next life, Una. Come now. It would appear we’ve been sold.” Bede sneered. Her hand tightened on her dagger, the threat clear. Fear darted across their father’s weathered face before he shuffled back out of their room. “Momma’s spirit will know where to find us.” She closed the door in their faces, her voice a level, dead sound. Just as she will know who to condemn when the time comes. Bede turned to her sister. Una huddled on the bed, her blankets wrapped around her, fear in her pale eyes. “Come, think of this as one more adventure, Una. I promise no harm shall come to you.”

  “I do not fear for me,” Una whispered tightly. “His heart is black, Bede. Blacker than a grave he be, his heart has no emotion but greed. He desires you, and will not be swayed.”

  “Dark heart or not, he is a man. He must sleep, and when he does we will make good our escape. Now, quick as you can, pull on your shift and we shall leave this place.”

  Una offered a weak smile and reached for the thin, worn garment. Wordlessly they dressed, Bede tucking a dagger in a fold of her skirt and sliding the long, thin blade of her moth
er’s into the scabbard she tucked down the front of her dress. She’d not be some man’s toy—no matter the gold that her father received.

  “Getch’rselves out here. Wastin’ time is what you be doing.”

  Bede narrowed her eyes, a shudder racing over her at the fury in the drunken slurs. They’d be well off away from here.

  Wrapping a blanket around Una, Bede tugged her shawl over her shoulders and opened the door. Ignoring her father who sneered at them as he counted the coins before him, she turned to stride toward the door, Una’s hand clutched in hers. The sudden appearance of a fat, dirty arm across her path did little but stir the nausea.

  “You’d best curb any tricks. I ain’t as understanding as your sire be.”

  “Have no fear, you fat, foul, little creature, any tricks I may have you’ll not survive. Victory shall be within my grasp.” Shoving his arm from the doorjamb, she pulled her sister out into the night only to swallow a cry. A tired bag of bones dozed in his harness attached to a crude wagon. Six dirty faces peered from the bars, their eyes filled with a mixture of fear, loathing, and sadness.

  “Getch’rself into me wagon.”

  Bede stumbled forward, her hand tightening on Una’s as they moved toward the wagon. The rear door swung open and her ‘owner’ shoved her toward it.

  “Just to be sure you don’t get no ideas,” he ground out. “I’ve two dogs ain’t eaten in a day—you or that runt run and I’ll let ’em loose on you.”

  Bede turned. “Running is the last thing we will do.” She lifted her sister into the back and climbed in. Settling on the straw, she glanced around. None of the girls even looked at them, something for which she was eternally grateful. Leaning back, Una clinging to her, Bede let the rocking motion of the wagon lull her into a light doze.

  * * * *

  The wooden cup of wine spun across the tabletop as Gawain straightened with the inward swing of the door. The figure darkening the door of his rather humble home was as welcomed as a cup of dead blood.

  “What brings you to my home, Dorstan?” Gawain eyed the other man with disdain, a loathing sitting in his throat. Too often Dorstan had twisted the king’s ear, making it all but impossible to remain in court. Gawain sighed, he didn’t miss court, but he did regret he’d been shuffled off like some common whelp the king had deemed worthless.

  “Your task has been set.” With a leather encased hand, he reached into the pocket of his cloak. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a small bag on the table. “Payment for the gatekeeper as per King Hema’s orders. You’re to go to the hills of Tara and return to our king one who can read souls. Do it and you will earn his reward, perhaps your station back? ’Tis said she can see beyond the soul, she knows your end what were written long before your birth. I have heard she is of mortal flesh, so Hema thinks her to be one of the gods’ bastards.”

  “I’ve no desire to go about to find some witch.” Gawain pushed the coin aside, his eyes never leaving Dorstan’s impatient frame.

  “’Tisn’t a witch you’re to seek out.” Dorstan smirked, his dark eyes flashing momentarily. “I consulted with several of the sorceresses and Priestess Veronique, ’tis one of the Forsaken’s lines. Leave tonight. Take care, my warrior friend, the one you seek is hardly more than a babe and sacred to the king. Harm should not befall the creature. ’Tis rumored she is connected to his late and most beloved queen.”

  A shudder traced over Gawain. Queen Muadhnait, though long dead, was a sore point with King Hema. He still raged at her murder, threatening all who turned from the laws of their kind. To even consider embracing anything beyond the vampire way of life was to risk his wrath—and it could be and often was rather intense. Centuries had passed since the festival, since the horrid night, and Gawain loathed each passing year and the renewed grief Hema was consumed by.

  Idly, Gawain traced along the jagged scar that ran the length of his face, hatred, old, deep stirring. Although he, like all immortals, had the ability to do so, he refused to heal the wound completely. It was a mark of his failure, of his oath, and until he’d righted his error he’d wear it.

  Gawain heaved a breath as the door slammed shut, leaving him alone in the silence. He hated the Forsaken, the traitors who were whispered about in shadows. Hated everything they stood for—followers of a traitor, killers, they were lower than low, monsters without a soul. Being sent to bring one back was enough to turn the wine he’d been drinking.

  “Surely you don’t think you’re much different.” Seductive, the voice filled his small room before a tall, beautiful woman appeared. Her abundant breasts spilled from the sheer fabric of her gown and a crown sat atop her multi-colored hair. “Come, Gawain, even you can’t be so blind.” Her dark gaze trailed over him like a physical caress, lust in her eyes. Her tongue slid out to trace her full, pink lips.

  “Blind? Goddess, leave me in peace. I’m busy.” He snarled, rising to his feet, his mind already moving on to what he’d need to secure the mortal bitch.

  “Yes, I can see how busy you are.” She trailed a hand along the table as she walked over to him. Her long nails scratched through the stubble on his jaw. “Mark my words, vampire. The one you seek will enlighten you. Blood darkened with shame is pure, and even you can’t be so foolhardy as to believe Saltar will remain in his prison. Even now he rattles the bars, growing stronger with each passing moment. One day he will break free. Or have you forgotten how dark his heart is already?”

  She leaned forward, licking along his jaw. Her sharp teeth nipped at his earlobe, drawing a drop of blood. She sucked the lobe into her mouth, her tongue swirling around it. Her fingers dipped beneath the collar of his shirt, tracing over his flesh. Her other hand slid around his chest, drifting down his body, to the waistband of his trews where it slid under the leather placket.

  Gawain stepped back, a low growl his only response to her attempt at seduction. He reached around her to pull his sword down. Memory danced like fog through his mind as he turned to stare at the beauty before him. He’d seen her with Saltar, their embrace more than simply friendly. He’d always assumed Saltar was bedding the conniving witch, but he’d been unable to prove it. The goddess had managed to hide the truth quite well, and he’d had nothing to take to his king. Hema wouldn’t have listened anyway, not then.

  “I’ve forgotten nothing. Least of all how dearly you enjoy meddling. Stick to seducing other wayward men, I’ve no desire to sample what you so willingly sell. If you’re truly desperate for a bed to crawl into, I believe your lover is locked within the caverns. You can simply materialize there and slither over him before you taint the rest of the world with the filth between those thighs. I’ve a portal to catch.”

  “So quick to war, ’tis a wonder how your species has continued for so many centuries. Make war or love—you will always chose war. How typical of such a bloodthirsty breed, so ready to rush in to lap at the bloodshed. Quite nauseating really. Be wary, my stout warrior,” she purred. “What awaits you is not so easily dismissed as the wind. In fact, what waits you could very well do you in forever.”

  “I never worry about what awaits me. Danger lies only in the shadows of your black heart. Unlike some of my brethren, I’ve not taken to believing the lies you spout. Their falsities are limitless and deadly to the unthinking male. ’Tis my task to take care, and I watch my back very closely, especially around you. And unlike others, I’m not so foolhardy as to fall for the pleasures between a woman’s thighs. Especially yours.” Gawain sneered, raking a hard, disgusted look over her ample curves. His lips turned upward, revealing a fang before he schooled his features into an unreadable mask.

  “You know nothing of the pleasures of a bedroom. Taking such a vow makes you still a boy, hardly worthy of note for one such as myself.” Amuliana sniffed. “As much as I may like what you have between your legs, I’d rather not tutor you in the fine art of lovemaking. I prefer one with a bit more experience. A bit more talent in the bedchamber.”

  “I’d rather not know
you.” Gawain met her gaze. “I prefer to keep true to my flesh rather than indulge in the corrupt flesh you peddle. I’ve no desire to taint it with the disease and filth you offer. If you don’t mind, I’ve a task to do and I’ve no more time to listen to your crooked tongue.”

  “Indeed, take the utmost care. If Saltar rises, I am not the only being to suffer. He’ll rise a plague upon all who have condemned him. Human, vampire, dragon, Forsaken, immortal, or mortal. If it bears life, he will slaughter it.”

  “If he rises it will be on your head. Your interference is solely responsible for the loosening of his chains. Only you would dare to give him a taste of the freedom he craves. But what can one expect from one who lives by the whims of their need for sex. Aye, should he rise it will be on your head and no other.” Gawain slammed the door on her laughter. Closing his eyes, he exhaled, the air around him wavering before he vanished.

  * * * *

  The rich, earthy smell of moss and fresh water rose around him. The scent of the thick, lush grass beneath his feet danced in the air. Gawain’s fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword, flexing the clawing desire to do battle. Beyond his sight, he could smell the fear, the anger, the lust, and something sweeter, something he almost recognized. It washed over his tongue, teasing his appetite—and stirring him in ways he’d long denied himself.

  Gawain eased past several boulders to duck beneath the witch’s beard hanging from a thick, heavy branch. Straightening, he glanced around, his eyes sweeping the small, cramped clearing. Massive boulders protruded from the earth with deep jagged marks which traced over faint shapes, symbols of ancient times. Thick, moist moss crept across the ground, over the rocks, embracing them like a blanket. A heavy fog rolled along the ground, over his feet, his ankles, swirling and dancing in the night with a silent warning of things to come.