Forever in Darkness (novella) (Order of the Blade #4)
Read Forever in Darkness (novella) (Order of the Blade #4) Online
Authors: Stephanie Rowe
In
Darkness
***
An Order of the Blade Novella
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Praise for Forever in Darkness
“Stephanie Rowe has done it again. The Order Of The Blade series is one of the best urban fantasy/paranormal series I have read. Ian's story held me riveted from page one. It is sure to delight all her fans. Keep them coming!” ~
Alexx Mom Cat's Gateway Book Blog
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Praise for Darkness Awakened
“A fast-paced plot with strong characters, blazing sexual tension and sprinkled with witty banter,
Darkness Awakened
sucked me in and kept me hooked until the very last page.” ~
Literary Escapism
“Rarely do I find a book that so captivates my attention, that makes me laugh out loud, and cry when things look bad. And the sex, wow! It took my breath away... The pace kept me on the edge of my seat, and turning the pages. I did not want to put this book down...
[Darkness Awakened]
is a must read.” ~
D. Alexx Miller,
Alexx Mom Cat’s Gateway Book Blog
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Praise for Darkness Seduced
“[D]ark, edgy, sexy … sizzles on the page…sex with soul shattering connections that leave the reader a little breathless!...
Darkness Seduced
delivers tight plot lines, well written, witty and lyrical - Rowe lays down some seriously dark and sexy tracks. There is no doubt that this series will have a cult following. ” ~
Guilty Indulgence Book Club
“I was absolutely enthralled by this book…heart stopping action fueled by dangerous passions and hunky, primal men…If you’re looking for a book that will grab hold of you and not let go until it has been totally devoured, look no further than
Darkness Seduced
.”~
When Pen Met Paper Reviews
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Praise for Darkness Surrendered
“Book three of the Order of the Blades series is…superbly original and excellent, yet the passion, struggle and the depth of emotion that Ana and Elijah face is so brutal, yet is also pretty awe inspiring. I was swept away by Stephanie’s depth of character detail and emotion. I absolutely loved the roller-coaster that Stephanie, Ana and Elijah took me on.” ~
Becky Johnson,
Bex ‘n’ Books!
“
Darkness Surrendered
drew me so deeply into the story that I felt Ana and Elijah’s emotions as if they were my own…they completely engulfed me in their story…Ingenious plot turns and edge of your seat suspense…make
Darkness Surrendered
one of the best novels I have read in years.” ~
Tamara Hoffa,
Sizzling Hot Book Reviews
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Praise for Dawn at Birch Crossing
“Dawn at Birch Crossing
is m-a-g-i-c-a-l! Hands down, it is one of the best romances I have read. I can’t wait till it comes out and I can tell the world about it.” ~
Sharon Stogner, Love Romance Passion
“
Dawn at Birch Crossing
is contemporary romance at its best….There was not a moment that I wasn’t completely engrossed in the novel, the story, the characters. I very audibly cheered for them and did not shed just one tear, nope, rather bucket fulls. My heart at times broke for them. The narrative and dialogue surrounding these ‘tender’ moments in particular were so beautifully crafted, poetic even; it was this that had me blubbering. And of course on the flip side of the heart-wrenching events, was the amazing, witty humour….If it’s not obvious by now, then just to be clear, I love this book! I would most definitely and happily reread, which is an absolute first for me in this genre.”
Becky Johnson, Bex ‘N’ Books
“Dawn at Birch Crossing
is an amazing story of love and life…I literally laughed out loud, cried and cheered....
Dawn at Birch Crossing
is a must read and must re-read.”
Jeanne Stone-Hunter, My Book Addiction Reviews
***
Forever in Darkness
ISBN-10: 985179279
ISBN-13: 978-0-9851792-7-4
Copyright © 2012 by Stephanie Rowe.
Cover design © 2012 by Peter Davis. Cover design and layout by Peter Davis at
www.loszombios.com
. Cover photos courtesy of iStockphoto.com.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, disseminated, or transmitted in any form or by any means or for any use, including recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the author and/or the artist. The only exception is short excerpts or the cover image in reviews.
Please be a leading force in respecting the right of authors and artists to protect their work. This is a work of fiction. All the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel or on the cover are either products of the author’s or artist’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author or the artist.
For further information, please contact
[email protected]
Dedication
This novella simply MUST be dedicated to my brother, because it was his brilliant idea to write it. Without his support and innovative ideas, this story simply would not exist. So, thank you, from the very depths of my heart. You are the BEST!
Acknowledgements
Special thanks to my core team of amazing people, without whom I would never have been able to create this book. Each of you is so important, and your contribution was exactly what I needed. I’m so grateful to all of you! Your emails of support, or yelling at me because I hadn't sent you more of the book yet, or just your advice on covers, back cover copy and all things needed to whip this book into shape—every last one of them made a difference to me. I appreciate each one of you so much! I want to give a huge shout out to all my beta readers, who turned this novella around super-fast so I could get it out to my readers. You guys are the BEST! Special thanks to, Jeanne Hunter, Sharon Stogner, Jan Leyh, Summer Steelman, Teresa Gabelman, D. Alexx Miller, Holly Collins, Janet Juengling-Snell, and Jenn Shanks Pray. There are so many people I want to thank, but the people who simply must be called out are Denise Fluhr, Alencia Bates, Rebecca Johnson, Karen Roma, Nicole Telhiard, Denise Whelan, Tamara Hoffa, and Ashley Cuesta. Thank you also to the following for all their amazing help: Judi Pflughoeft, Deb Julienne, Julie Simpson, Mary Lynn Ostrum, Shell Bryce, Mariann Medina, Jodi Moore, Christine Mabry, and Amanda Tamayo. You guys are the best! Thanks so much to Pete Davis for such an amazing cover, and for all his hard work on the technical side to make this book come to life. Mom, you're the best. It means so much that you believe in me. I love you. Special thanks also to my amazing daughter, who I love more than words could ever express. You are my world, sweet girl, in all ways.
Ian Fitzgerald hurled the rusted shovel
aside, an aching emptiness tearing through his soul, trying to suck him down
into a chasm of despair and hell. The tool thunked mercilessly against the
unmarked tombstone resting in the dirt, waiting for its turn to be placed in
the ground.
On either side of him stretched
rows of gravestones, the granite crosses that marked the ignominious, cursed
deaths of every male in his line.
Every Fitzgerald male except him.
So far.
Ian grabbed the tombstone he'd
brought with him, his muscles straining as he swung it over to the fresh mound
of dirt and plunged it deep into the earth. The cross held out its arms,
mocking him, taunting him, promising him that he would be next, that he would
join the woman he'd just buried.
He would have no choice as to
whether he was going to die with her. It was his fate, just as it had been the
fate of every Fitzgerald male since the day his ancestor, Augustus Fitzgerald, had
brought doom upon them by killing the soul mate of a Calydon warrior steeped in
black magic.
When Augustus had shown no mercy
for the wizard's agony at losing his soul mate, the anguished male had cursed
Augustus and his progeny. He wanted to force the iron-willed Augustus to experience
the brutality of losing the woman he loved and to see what hell he'd caused
others. He doomed Augustus and his progeny not only to fall in love and lose the
woman who had captured his heart, but to be so overwhelmed by the loss that the
only solution was to kill himself.
Suicide was the ultimate dishonor
for a warrior, and every Fitzgerald male had made that choice since the curse
had been laid down.
And now, it was Ian's turn,
because he'd found the woman who'd broken through his shields, and he'd lost
her.
Twice.
And it fucking sucked.
"No," Ian growled, his
voice raw, his throat aching with the agony of fending off the despair stalking
him. Ian raised his face to the dark night and let the damp night air drift
across his skin, fighting against the hopelessness trying to take him down at
the sight of the fresh mound of earth, at the knowledge of the woman who lay
beneath the ground.
He could still feel her in his arms:
the trembling of her body as she tried to fight off death, the ache in her soul
as life was torn from her. He would never forget that hellacious moment when
that bastard had taken her life, and how completely helpless Ian had been to
stop it.
She'd already been unconscious when
he'd found her, chained to the wall in that hellhole, but she'd still been
alive. She hadn't died until Ian had reached her side and tried to free her.
He'd freed her. Yeah, he'd used his
weapons and broken those chains holding her down, but it had been too late.
She'd died in his arms, and all he'd been able to do was offer her a burial.
Not life. A damned
burial.
Ian was one of the elite Order of
the Blade warriors, an immortal Calydon who had spent the last six hundred
years taking down rogue Calydons who threatened innocents. He was the sixth
Fitzgerald male to become Order, descended from a long line of the most deadly
warriors alive. But since the curse had been laid down, Ian was the first that
had stayed alive long enough to ascend into the ranks of the Order. Since then,
all the others had died before they could develop the skills necessary for
admission into the elite.
The Fitzgerald males were the
strongest line. The toughest warriors. The most powerful legacy.
And yet none had survived the curse.
Until Ian.
Until now.
But he could tell from the brutal hopelessness
invading his soul that the curse had finally found him.
Son of a bitch.
In over six hundred years, no beast
or warrior had been able to best Ian or penetrate the iron will he'd erected to
bring honor back to his family. For more than six hundred years, he'd kept his
head down, never deviating from his mission, never giving the curse the opening
to touch him.
And yet, it had. It had brought his
woman to him, and made her die in his arms.
Twice.
Ian Fitzgerald, the toughest
bastard alive, had been completely unable to do anything to stop her from dying
even when she'd been in the protective shield of his body. He'd been right next
to her, breathing the same air as her, sharing the same space, actually holding
her in his arms, and she'd died anyway.
He'd completely failed her.
Failed.
He threw back his head and roared
his grief and guilt into the night. What was he worth if he couldn’t save the
woman he was born to protect? First his
sheva
, the woman destined to be
his soul mate for all eternity. Her name had been Catherine Taylor, according
to her driver's license. Ian stumbled across her, had a split second with her
in his arms, and then she'd been cleaved from him, cut down by one of his
teammates because she was his mate.
Elijah Ross, the warrior who'd
killed her, had simply been doing what all the Order members were all trained
to do: destroy the
sheva
before she could bond with the male and turn
him rogue. It was the Calydon destiny to find his
sheva,
bond with her,
and then go rogue and destroy everything that either of them cared about, and
it was the Order's mission to protect innocents from those rogue Calydons.
For Calydons who weren't Order
members, it was the male who was destroyed before he could go rogue, and the
woman was always preserved and protected. But Order members were too valuable,
so it was their women who had to be killed…with great honor and respect, of
course, but dead was dead. Killing an Order
sheva
was the sacrifice of
one innocent to save many, which was the choice they had all learned to accept
as a necessary element of their mission to protect. For Ian, that truth hadn't
lessened the devastating shock of having his
sheva
die in his arms.
It was a hellaciously different experience
to be on this side of it, and Ian knew he'd never kill another
sheva
again. Ever.
Pain knifed through Ian's chest, and
he was suddenly back in that moment when Catherine had died in his arms. He and
Elijah had been sprinting along the edge of a cliff, in pursuit of the very
bastard who had cursed Augustus, when Catherine had appeared out of nowhere,
careening down the side of the mountain, tumbling brutally to her death.
Ian had caught her, and for that
split second when she'd looked at him, he'd been utterly lost in the green
depths of her eyes…so lost that he'd failed to notice the threat that came from
his own damn camp.
He'd known instantly that she was
his soul mate…and so had Elijah. Shit, he could still hear her gasp of shock
and pain, the confusion in her eyes as Elijah's blade plunged into her heart. Ian's
anguish, his roar of fury as her body had gone limp in his arms. The fragile
life had been wiped out because she, as his
sheva,
was destined for him,
and the
sheva
bond, once completed, would turn him rogue and destroy them
both.
An innocent woman dead, because she
had the misfortune of being destined for him.
An innocent woman dead, because her
own mate had not protected her.
An innocent woman dead, because he
blew it.
Ian's body began to shake again,
and the rage screamed through his mind, the agony of the magnitude of his
failure. And loss. That monumental
loss
, emptiness and despair. His
chance at life, at connection, at bonding with the woman he was born to be
with. All gone.
Gone.
And then again? A second time? This
second woman had had no identification on her, but she'd looked, smelled and
felt exactly like his
sheva
. It made no sense, because his
sheva
had been killed eight months ago, but he
knew
this second woman had been
Catherine again. He was certain of it all the way to the depths of his soul.
He'd known it from the moment he'd walked into that room and saw her chained to
the wall, her auburn hair tangled around her shoulders. His entire being had
responded, so intensely, so powerfully, that he'd recognized it immediately as
the male responding to the presence of his mate.
He had no damn idea how she'd come
back to him after she’d died, but she had. And he'd failed her
twice.
Ian bellowed his rage as he
accepted the responsibility for her death. For his inability to do right by
her. His one job as a male was to protect the woman chosen for him as his mate,
and he'd let her die.
The agony hit him hard, dropping
him to his knees. He dug his fingers into the fresh dirt marking her grave and
howled his anguish, like a beast consumed by instincts too powerful to rationalize.
His forearms burning, Ian looked down
at the brands on his arms. One on each forearm, black brands in the shape of
the flanged mace that was his weapon. What good were they? Useless pieces of
shit.
His self-loathing surged, and he
called out his weapons. There was a flash of black light above his forearms, a
loud crack split the night, and then his weapons appeared in his hands. Ian
clenched them, and lurched to his feet.
"I am not worthy," he shouted
as he raised the weapons.
It ended now. There was only one thing
a man like him deserved.
Death.
His upper lip curved in disgust, he
reared back to plunge his weapon into his heart and—
He saw a flash of blue across his
palm, and he froze, the word carved there leaping into his mind. He went still
as his ancestor's voice echoed through his mind.
Honor.
Honor his legacy.
Honor his ancestors.
Honor his mission.
Honor.
The word he had lived
by for six hundred years.
Ian suddenly became aware of the
magnitude of the darkness trying to take him, and he stumbled backwards, shocked
by how deeply the curse had its claws thrust into him. "You don't get to take
me," he shouted at the night, even as his soul bled onto the grave beneath
his feet.
With a roar of fury, Ian hurled his
weapons at a nearby tree. They thudded into the trunk, nearly splitting the tree
in half. Ian sank to the earth, the damp ground seeping through his jeans, a grim
reminder of the grave he was kneeling on. Anguish tore through him, so
powerful, so devastating, he screamed from the force of it.
No. He would not succumb. He.
Would. Not.
Ian dug his hands into the dirt and
dropped his head, his muscles rigid as he fought the urge to retrieve his
weapons and use them to destroy himself.
Sweat streamed down his temples, and
a vast chasm of despair beat at him, commanding his capitulation. Words thundered
relentlessly through his mind, that grating, mesmerizing voice that had haunted
his family for generations, the one that had destroyed every male before him.
Failure.
Unworthy. Loss. Isolation. Loneliness.
“Fuck you,” Ian gritted out, his
body shaking with the intensity of resisting the urge to call his weapons back
and use them to finally wipe out the Fitzgerald line forever. “I’m going to
uphold my family’s honor, and you’re the one who’s going to die,” he spat out.
Ian opened his palm and stared at
the word he’d carved on his skin as he’d watched his ancestor die, a reminder
of the vow he’d made on that day to resist the curse that had destroyed
Augustus and doomed every male in his family.
Honor.
Die.
The voice reverberated
in his mind.
You cannot survive without her. You owe her your death.
Ian gritted his teeth, the brands
on his arms burning with the need to call his weapons back to his hands. He
watched the blades quiver in the tree trunk, working their way free, responding
to his instinctive call. “No,” he swore. “I will not succumb.”
He bowed his head, fighting against
the agony coursing through him. Beneath his hands was the damp earth, freshly
turned from the grave Ian had dug to bury the woman who had plunged deep into
his soul and ripped past the shields he'd fortified so religiously for six
hundred years. Dead. She was dead.
She was dead.
As he should be as
well.
Slowly, unable to resist the need
to call his weapons back, he raised his head, watching his weapons,
instinctively knowing how long he had until they would vanish. Calydon weapons
would maintain their form only for so long if they weren’t touching flesh. He
only had to hang on until they disappeared, and granted him a respite.
One weapon shimmered and
disappeared, and Ian felt some of his tension ease, knowing it would be several
minutes before he could recall it.
Then the other one tore out of the
tree, hurtling through the air back to his hand. Victory roared through him as
the curse came to life.
Time to die
. Ian lunged for the mace, his palm
open to catch it and thrust it through his heart—
It disintegrated in mid-air,
vanishing a split second before it hit his palm.
Spared.
“Son of a bitch.” Ian’s body shook with
relief and disgust, his hand still curved to catch his blade and shove it into
his body. Swearing, he stumbled to his feet, his mind reeling with how close
he'd come to succumbing, the need to destroy himself still coursing through him.
He had to get away, get out, and find his footing before his weapons came back
to him, before the curse took him.
Like some rookie loser, the big,
badass warrior needed to flee, and he needed to do it
now
.
Ian strode to his motorcycle, his
boots thudding in the soft dirt as he fought for his life against the invisible
foe that had destroyed every male in his line. He threw his leg over the seat
and punched the start button, kicking the engine into a roaring fury. But
instead of driving away, he looked back at the grave he’d just dug.