The Unforgiven
Authors: Joy Nash
USA TODAY
BESTSELLING AUTHOR JOY NASH!
IMMORTALS: THE CROSSING
“I read this book in one sitting because it is just too good to put down. Don’t miss out on one of the best paranormal romances of the year!”
—Romance Junkies
“Nash’s latest hero is a charming rogue with a compassionate heart, while her heroine is a desperate mother willing to sacrifice everything to save her son . . . Mac Lir is a hero to die for.”
—
RT Book Reviews
“Nash takes readers on a fast journey, keeping the action going from beginning to end. Cutting-edge drama, creative characters and a plot that moves like fire all create a great read. The Immortals series just keeps getting better and it may be hard to top this fantastic addition.”
—Paranormal Romance Writers
“This book is fantasy romance done right and done well.”
—All About Romance
“
Deep Magic
is filled with the imagery and magic of Druids during the Roman Era . . . Strong, lyrical writing with well drawn settings and characters bring the story alive. Suspense and twists hold the reader’s attention and an intense ending makes this a satisfying read.
Deep Magic
is an enchanting tale.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“Nash follows
The Grail King
with a love story that completely envelops the reader in a magical world. Skilled at merging reality with Druid legend, she illuminates a dark age with fiery passions, political complexities, and an enchanting story.”
—
RT Book Reviews
“Not since Mary Stewart’s Merlin trilogy has the magic of Avalon flowed as lyrically off the pages. Nash captures the myths of the Druids in a fresh, exciting approach delivering a tale that grabs hold of your heart and reaches deep into your soul bringing forth joy . . .”
—
RT Book Reviews
, Top Pick, 4 1/2 stars
“
The Grail King
turned out to be a rare jewel of a book, which grabbed my attention from the beginning and kept me enthralled until the very end . . . Wonderful, complex characters, an exciting, adventurous plot, and a great romance . . . Do yourself a favor and read
The Grail King
.”
—Once Upon a Romance Review
“Joy Nash has created a lush world for senses of all kinds . . . This is a wonderfully fast-paced read full of romance, love and fantasy that will continue to burn in the hearts of readers after the last page is turned.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Joy Nash is definitely one to be watched. She has great world building skills, and her own personal magic with the pen is guaranteed to make hers a very strong name on the market in the not too distant future.”
—Love Romances
His eyes were light, she thought. Blue, maybe? It was too dark to tell for sure. Starlight dusted his profile. His cheekbones slanted sharply, and his bold nose and strong jaw matched in angularity. It was a supremely masculine face, unexpectedly softened by lush eyelashes and the supple fullness of his lips. A dark, restless energy clung to him.
“I think I’d better go,” Maddie said.
“No.” His tone was one of quiet command. Inescapable. “No, I think not. Not quite yet.”
Then he was standing close. His hands, warm and large, cupped the back of her skull. His mouth was barely an inch from hers. He inhaled her startled breath and gave her a slow, wicked smile. Then he took her lips in an aching kiss.
Other books by Joy Nash:
SILVER SILENCE
A LITTLE LIGHT MAGIC
IMMORTALS: THE RECKONING (Anthology)
IMMORTALS: THE CROSSING
IMMORTALS: THE AWAKENING
DEEP MAGIC
THE GRAIL KING
CELTIC FIRE
DORCHESTER PUBLISHING
Published by
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
200 Madison Avenue
New York, NY 10016
Copyright © 2011 by Joy Nash
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Trade ISBN: 978-1-4285-1122-4
E-book ISBN: 978-1-4285-1189-7
First Dorchester Publishing, Co., Inc. edition: August 2011
The “DP” logo is the property of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
Printed in the United States of America.
Visit us online at
www.dorchesterpub.com
.
Dedication
To my biggest fans and cheerleaders:
To J—for all the groceries bought, dinners cooked, and chauffeur-dad miles driven
To J2—for your beauty, brains, and creativity, and for your intellectual curiosity about absolutely everything (well, except sports)
To K—for all the discussions on moral philosophy and religion, for your cheerful good nature, and for being at all times a peacemaker
To C—for your awesome scientific mind and your love of story, and for the book of your own that will be on the shelf someday, if only you can resist the time-sucking dark side of video gaming
To M—for the Metallica
And lastly, to the unknown woman who stopped by one of my book signings a few years ago. We chatted about Druidry and other esotery, and on your way out of the bookstore, you handed me a book about the Nephilim, saying, “I think you’ll like this.” You were right. Thank you!
When men began to multiply on the earth and daughters were born to them, the sons of Heaven saw how beautiful the daughters of Man were, and so they took for their wives as many of them as they chose . . . At that time the Nephilim appeared on earth.
—
Genesis 6:1-2,4
What I’ve felt, what I’ve known
Turn the pages, turn to stone
Behind the door,
Should I open it for you?
What I’ve felt, what I’ve known
Sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there,
’
Cause I’m the one who waits for you?
Or are you unforgiven, too?
—
Metallica, “The Unforgiven II
”
London, East End, Present Day
The last thing Artur Camulus wanted to see in his flat was a goddamned candy-ass archangel. But there it was, lounging on the sofa, white wing-tip loafers propped on the coffee table. Watching the telly. Drinking whiskey.
Artur’s telly. Artur’s whiskey.
A miniature ax man began chopping away at the inside of Artur’s skull, right between the eyes.
“Bloody hell. Isn’t anything sacred anymore? Get out, you sodding celestial prat.”
Gabriel’s hair was, as always, perfect. His pale eyes consumed the screen. A spotty adolescent boy took the stage of
Britain’s Got Talent
, and Artur’s blood began a slow boil.
“Blast it all to Oblivion.”
The angel patted the air. “Pipe down, will you? I want to see this. There’s no Simon Cowell where I come from.”
“No wonder they call it Heaven.”
“Shush!”
Artur killed the switch. Cowell’s big white teeth disappeared.
“Hey! I was watching that!”
“Right. And now you’re not. You’ve got a lot of nerve, Gabe, coming here.”
Ivory wings unfurled as the archangel drew to his full height. “Temper, temper. Come now, Artur. I know those two lovely . . . ahem . . .
ladies
. . . currently relaxing in your bed
have taxed your endurance, but didn’t your mother tell you? We must mind our manners, even under duress.”
“I’ll give you duress, you nancy poof. Get out, before I rip your wings off.”
“Is that demon humor? Rather unamusing, I must say. But then, I suppose one can’t expect comedy from a Nephilim.”
Artur stiffened. He knew what he was; he didn’t need a bloody git of an angel rubbing his face in it. As if he’d asked to be born. He hadn’t. But he could hardly escape the truth of what he was: five thousand years ago, his ancestor Samyaza, a fallen angel, had copulated with a human woman. That forbidden union, and others like it, had produced a race of unnatural, soulless creatures. Gabriel and his archangel brothers had named Artur’s kind Nephilim. But Artur would see himself in Oblivion before he answered to any such slur. He called himself by the name given to his celestial ancestors before their fall: Watcher.
For half a pence, he’d kick Gabriel’s pearly white arse into the street. Unfortunately, he couldn’t. Heaven’s messenger enjoyed unique immunity in the human world. Artur’s magic, powerful as it was, wasn’t worth shit against him.
And didn’t the dickless bastard know it.
“Really,” Gabe huffed, picking lint off his sleeve, “it would serve you right if I did leave.”
“Serve me right, then. Please.”
Gabriel frowned and tugged at his vest. The garment was white, like everything else about him. Suit, shirt, tie, socks, shoes. Hell, even his skin and hair were sickly shades of parchment.
Artur took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Enough bullshit, Gabe. Why are you here?”
“I’ve come from Glastonbury.”
Glastonbury? Glastonbury was Clan Samyaza’s territory, home to five of the clan’s Druid adepts. On occasion, it was
even home to Artur himself. Needless to say, archangels were not frequent visitors.
“Why?” he asked.
“I was summoned, of course. By one of yours.”
Artur snorted. “Unlikely.”
“But true. And not surprising, really, given last night’s dustup. Such a tragedy.”
A twinge of real unease pinched Artur’s throat. “Dustup? What dustup?”