Read Forbidden (The Gabriel Lennox Series Book 1) Online
Authors: M.L. Desir
Forbidden (The Gabriel Lennox Series Book 1)
ORBIDDEN
OOK
O
NE
OF
THE
G
ABRIEL
L
ENNOX
S
ERIES
M.L. DESIR
Booktrope Editions
Seattle WA 2015
Copyright 2015 Monique L. Desir
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.
Attribution
— You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).
Noncommercial
— You may not use this work for commercial purposes.
No Derivative Works
— You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.
Inquiries about additional permissions should be directed to:
[email protected]
Cover Design by Melody Barber
Edited by Majanka Verstraete
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.
Print ISBN 978-1-62015-729-9
EPUB ISBN 978-1-62015-751-0
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015906142
Chapter 6: You Are Their Conduit
Chapter 11: Share It With a Kiss
Chapter 12: Jack-of-All-Trades
Chapter 22: Poor Dead Creatures
Chapter 25: Seth Makes His Move
Chapter 26: Whom the Gods Would Destroy
Chapter 27: The Boy With Empty Eyes
Chapter 30: One Hundred Years of Sleep
Chapter 31: Pardon the Traitors
Chapter 33: Devil in the Serpent
Dedicated to my mom and dad for their continued support and encouragement.
I also dedicate this book to my two wonderful sons and devoted fiancé: without all of your love and encouragement, I may never have had the courage and strength to follow my dreams.
I want to thank Julie Simrock for recognizing my work and Booktrope for guiding me along the way. Thank you to my awesome book manager, April Gerard—you’re the best. I am grateful for your fervent encouragement, the late-night calls, the pep talks, and for opening my eyes to the wonderful world of technology. Thank you to my hard-working editor, Majanka Verstraete; my dedicated project manager, Samantha March; my powerhouse proofreader, Amy Oravec; and my fabulous and patient cover designer, Melody Barber. An enormous thanks to my beta readers—the talented E. Rose Sabin for keeping my characters true to themselves. Thank you, Tamara Creasman, for throwing ideas back and forth with me, staying up late while writing, and chatting at Starbucks. You’re a precious writing buddy and friend! Thanks to PINAWOR (Pinellas Authors and Writers Organization), a wonderful group of men and women who listened to me read the novel in its infancy every Saturday, encouraging me to write more. Thank you also to my favorite professor, Dr. Gregory Byrd, for telling me to embrace rather than second-guess my unique writing style and voice.
Most of all, I thank my family: my mother for instilling in me a love for books at an early age and inspiring me to write all of my strange ideas and weave them into worlds and my father for telling me to persevere (even when he thought I wasn’t listening). I am indebted to my older brother, Serge, who is an aspiring author, for encouraging me to write despite my insecurities and doubt. And most of all, a special thanks to my oldest son, Darien, and my fiancé, Brian. Without you two fabulous men, I would have given up, time and time again. Yet, with your gentle urging and loving kindness, I accomplished what I thought impossible: SUCCESS!
THE MOON
SHONE
as an iridescent pearl, and beneath its pale silver glow stood a youth underneath a tree. And he was not alone. “You must draw more to me,” instructed a melodic voice from the tree. “I will give the Chosen life, and in turn, they shall give me blood.”
The youth nodded and knew not to argue . . . yes, it was far better to agree. Gashing his white wrist, he watched a red stream trickle, which the black soil imbibed. Although he had performed the ritual many times before, it never ceased to amaze him.
Faster than thought, fruit blossomed on the Tree’s branches; the youth plucked one and ate it.
Crimson Butterfly
London, 1888
GABRIEL STARED
AT THE PRETTY
, blonde whore dancing to a sensuous rhythm only she could hear— because it obviously didn’t match the lively, plucking harp music in the background. Nathaniel, who had insisted on their coming to this brothel, paid no attention but droned on from across the room, repeating the fairy tale he’d told many times before. Gabriel was sick of hearing it.
The blonde swayed her hips; the gems on her black dress glittered. Raising her slender arms over her head, she undid her jeweled hair piece. A slight movement with her hands let her hair fall long and loose around her shoulders. She held the ornament, an emerald serpent with ruby eyes, and brandished it slowly through the air. The longer Gabriel observed the hair piece, the more it resembled a weapon.
She slid it over her breasts, a knowing smile creeping on her lips. She leaned in front of him, exposing small, firm breasts, and caressed the side of his face. Gabriel pulled her closer and buried his face in the crevice of her long neck and white shoulders.
One hand slid against his chest, and the other rested on his neck. “Move an inch, and I will run this through you,” she whispered in his ear. “I know what you are.”
He felt a sharp pressure beneath his heart as she spoke. His eyes lowered to a small wooden stake—no longer than four or five inches—she had drawn from beneath her long skirt.
Nathaniel droned on, seemingly oblivious to the situation.
“Go ahead. Do it, if you can.
Do it
.” Gabriel smiled at her and pressed into her. His smile darkened into a scowl when he heard the breathy hiss of his silk cravat ripping against the sharp stake. “Move an inch?” he mocked her. “I’ve moved several inches, and you have only accomplished annoying me with your stupid little toothpick.”
The girl stared back at him, confidence replaced with withering fear. Her hand trembled. With wide-eyed terror, she glanced in Nathaniel’s direction.
Without a thought, Gabriel took the stake from the girl’s hand and shoved her backward, fast as lightning. As she fell to the carpeted floor, he drew his arm back, and with one powerful blow, he drove the stake through her chest.
The girl squirmed like a wingless butterfly. She coughed up a pale red bubble as she tried dislodging the stake.
Soon after, she lay silent, motionless.
Gabriel shifted to the window and sat on its sill. Crossing his arms against his chest, he glanced at the growing light of a dawning London sky.
Across from him in the hearth, the fire faded. Leaning against the heavy masonry of the fireplace, Nathaniel broke off his story and looked at the dead girl. He cleared his throat. “My, my.” He pointed to the pool of blood flowing out from beneath the girl. “That stain looks like a crimson butterfly.”
“Does it?” Gabriel asked without much enthusiasm.
Nathaniel tossed his blonde mane behind his shoulders. “You’re such a bore. No fun at all. Haven’t you an imagination? And by the way, why did you kill Annabelle?”
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Oh, that was her name. Surely, you know. I saw the look she gave you.”
Ignoring him, Nathaniel began the story again, while Gabriel drifted off into himself, pretending not to care or to hear. He had heard it too many times and didn’t know why Nathaniel persisted in repeating the tale of a beautiful prince who received the offer of immortality from a mysterious being.
“The fruit-bearing Visitor
told the young prince he could become a god,” Nathaniel began. “The prince couldn’t help but notice the visitor’s supernatural beauty, which goaded him to ask if the visitors had already tasted the fruit. The visitor only smirked in reply. No flash of teeth.”
He paused for a second before he continued his story.
“The prince
tasted the fruit—it tasted of blood
and left him with a terrible thirst. He asked the Visitor what he should drink to quench his dry throat. ‘The juice of mortals will suffice,’ the Visitor replied. And so, many a maiden and youth were stolen from their homes and bled like pigs in a slaughterhouse to satiate the prince’s great Thirst.” Oh, it was so bloody maddening to hear the story over and over again, but never to understand it
. What’s the damn point?
Gabriel asked himself.
What does it mean? Is there a meaning at all?
Nathaniel smiled at him. “It’s maddening, isn’t it?”
“What is?” Gabriel asked, feigning misunderstanding.
“The story. So beautifully simple and yet so terribly maddening.” Kneeling beside Annabelle, Nathaniel picked her up and carried her to an inner room.
Gabriel followed him. He lingered in the doorway while Nathaniel placed Annabelle’s body on a curtained bed that filled the center of the room.
He made his way to the bed to get a better view of what Nathaniel was up to.
Nathaniel pulled the stake from the dead whore’s chest, placing it beside her on the bed. Then he leaned forward and drank from the girl’s wrist. He took out a pocket-sized knife from his coat, slit his own wrist, and brought it to her dead lips.
“What are you doing?” Gabriel asked.
“I want to make her one of us.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am. You wouldn’t object if she had red hair and perhaps green eyes like your sister, hmm?”
Gabriel narrowed his eyes. “What an utter fool you are.”
Nathaniel’s eyes chilled. “That sounds like the beginning of a temper tantrum. I must’ve hit a nerve.”
“You’re bloody damn right. How dare you bring my sister into this? Your whore tried to kill me.
Nathaniel threw back his head and laughed. “How ironic.
You
killed the girl because you feared that she would kill you? You’re nearly three hundred years old, and still you fear death? Come now, don’t be so ridiculous.”
Gabriel looked away from Nathaniel to the girl. He had lived for supposedly three centuries and yet he felt no older than twenty-six—his age when he had been turned. Or “Enlightened,” as Nathaniel had called it.
He observed the girl as if appraising an object of little value—a mere thing. In the lamp’s soft glow she looked . . . appealing. Her blonde hair hung loose and perfect against her death-pale complexion. She looked much better now that she lay quiet and still. What color had her eyes been? He couldn’t remember. He turned his attention back to Nathaniel. “Don’t waste your blood. She isn’t one of the Chosen.” He paused, thinking. “Or are you just bluffing? Her little threat with the stake? Just admit it.”
“Maybe I did so to teach you a lesson. Perhaps,” Nathaniel replied, his voice as cold as the ice in his eyes, “you should ask yourself why you fear her becoming one of us.” The iciness warned he would soon turn angry.
Gabriel glared at him without speaking.
Nathaniel nodded, a scowl on his lips. “Since you fear it so badly, I will not Enlighten her. It’s a lesson you’re still not ready to learn.” He let out a loud sigh. “Gabriel, you must purge yourself of fear. It may cause you to err.”
“What of hate?” He didn’t try to disguise the bitterness in his words.
Nathaniel gave a tight smile. “Purge that, too. It will only keep you from the truth.”
Truth? Was there ever such a thing?
Gabriel looked away.
“And love?” Nathaniel asked. “That is the most dangerous of all. It poisons the blood.”
Gabriel smirked and opened his mouth to say something spiteful, but someone knocked at the antechamber’s door. As he ambled toward it, he loosened his tie and slightly tousled his hair to make it appear as if he were having a good time. He covered the puddle of blood with an Oriental rug. Opening the door, he bestowed one of his most gracious smiles.
“Good morning, Mr. Lancaster,” the brothel’s Madame, an older woman with long silver-gray hair rolled into a bun, greeted him.
“Good day.”
“Are you gentlemen enjoying yourselves?” She raised her eyebrows. Her gray eyes lit up, hopeful.
“Yes, of course.”
“If you’d like to keep the company of our Annabelle, I’m afraid you’ll have to pay more. She’s very popular with our guests.” She paused, and with an elegant gesture placed her hand on her chest, “You see, someone else has asked for her services, gentlemen. Forgive me for my bluntness.”
Nathaniel laughed, eyeing Gabriel. “No need to apologize. We were just leaving, weren’t we, Mr. Lancaster?”
Ignoring Nathaniel’s meaningful stare, Gabriel took his coat off the back of a chair and draped it over his arm. The Madame held the door open for them.
“Have a lovely day, gentlemen,” she called to their backs. Gabriel looked over his shoulder to see the gray Madame waving with a smile, ignorant of Annabelle and the stake.
Pity.
Nathaniel paused, turned around, and pressed a wad of bills into her pale, blue-veined hand. She looked up into his face, her stare filled with curiosity and confusion.
Still locked into stares with the Madame, Nathaniel spoke in Gabriel’s mind, his voice as cold as ice.
Hush money, for your sake. She’s a woman of the world, she will yield to it.
It had been awhile since they had spoken this way, and Gabriel shuddered. At times like this, he found it useful, wonderful. But at the same time, it disgusted him—this intrusion, this rape of his mind.
Another woman stood at the front door, her skin as pale as white marble and her slender frame draped in a blue gown. She drew back one side of the double doors, smiling. “Good day, gentlemen.”
“Upon my soul, I hope it to be a day as lovely as you,” Nathaniel replied, bowing slightly to her.
They walked out the door and stepped into the waiting carriage. Seconds later, a hysterical scream rose from the brothel, cracking with horror.
Smiling, Gabriel thought of the sight the Madame had found after drawing back the curtains of the four-poster bed.