Genre: Erotic Paranormal Romance Heat Level: 3 Word Count: 15, 500 ISBN: 978-0-3695-1358-8 Editor: Stephanie Marrie Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Forsaken Hearts by Faedra Rose

Heat Level 3
$2.99
Be the first to leave a review
SKU 978-0-3695-1358-8
Stock
Read Description and Excerpt
Wishlist

Create Wishlist

Hearts of Avalar, 4

Zade is an outcast—a scarred wolf shifter without a pack. There could be no worse fate for a beast bound by nature to find their Fated Mate. But Fate can be as cruel as she can be kind … and Zade’s path inevitably crosses that of the ancient, and embittered vampire, Elizabeth.

Will fur fly, and blood paint the forest red? Or will the two forsaken souls find common ground, and a way to overcome the prejudices of their kinds to create their very own bloody Happily Ever After?

 

Excerpt:

Elizabeth

Dropping from the ancient rafters, flapping my wings just once, I shift, landing silently upon the decaying wooden floorboards of the long derelict temple. The pews—where elemental witches once worshipped and communed with the Goddess—are covered in dust, and the dark forest beyond has invaded the once sacred space. Strong, gnarled roots threaten the very foundations, while gleaming poison ivy writhes, snaking in through the cracks to curtain the entrances. Moonlight filters through shattered windowpanes, casting twisted, elongated shadows in the darkness, adding to the Gothic and abandoned nature of the rotting place of worship—my current place of solitude.

Hunger whispers at the edges of my consciousness with a thousand years of practiced patience. Eliciting a deep sigh, I tread through the glittering shards of broken glass strewn over the aisles. They pepper the dusty pews like fragments of crystal reflecting the iridescence of the celestial body glowing like a white-hot jewel in the expansive eternity of the night’s sky above.

Brushing past the trailing ivy I step out into the cool air beneath the stars. The Dead Forest is quiet, but not silent. It never is. Fireflies dance to their own song in the gloom, while crickets chirp in the underbrush. Magnificent owls soar between the trees, the occasional death shriek of unsuspecting rodents momentarily disturbing the peace in their wake.

Swiping my long black hair from my eyes, I close them and enjoy the whisper of the breeze caressing my cold skin. With a sigh my mind wanders to memories of long ago, to hillsides bathed in bright, warm sunlight. I see the green valleys, sweeping mountains, and deep blue rivers of my home country as clearly in my mind’s eye as if I had seen them just yesterday.

I recall the feel of my mount between my legs, the scent of horse sweat, and the flexing, bronzed muscles of my servants slaving away in the fields beyond the castle. I was once a great noble woman and have laid claim to many titles over the centuries… But now I am no more than a myth, a legend; a monster spoken about in hushed tones to children to scare them into obedience. Now, I am just Elizabeth, an ancient vampire living alone in the shadows of a land that was never mine to begin with. My true home, where my kind originated, was burned to ash long ago by dragons. We fled across the Sea of Sorrow to survive, for nothing but the power of the Goddess can defeat dragonfire.

Now, in Avalar, a great and beautiful island queendom, I avoid my own kind like the plague, and I’ve lived—if lived is the right word—through several mortal lifetimes. My old blood carries hatred and prejudices like a sickness that refuses to be cleansed and healed. The battles between sires and bloodlines, the fight for dominance and supremacy over each other… Those days are long gone, and yet they still haunt me like a plague in the back of my mind. I played my part in those wars too many lifetimes ago. And though I carry the wounds of the past in my heart, I won’t reignite those wars here. War, in all its forms, is pointless and serves no one but the victor.

Killing for a cause is like fucking for virginity; it’s senseless madness. I have drowned nations in seas of blood, and swept through kingdoms, a storm of death with razor-sharp fangs. But that is not who I am anymore. I am no longer Elizabeth the Red. I kill only to feed, and I feed only as often as is necessary to prevent desiccation and maintain my strength. I cannot lose sight of the fact that centuries of bloodshed have earned me countless enemies. I would be remiss to think that I am free of them—even now I cannot allow myself to drop my guard.

Without warning a soul shattering, anguish-filled howl splits the night, slicing the serenity of the forest like a knife through mortal flesh, jarring me instantly from my reveries of the past. My brow furrows and my senses flare to life. That is not the cry of an ordinary wolf. I know it with a certainty that sends a thrill of danger racing through my veins.

I have not seen a wolf shifter in these parts for some two hundred years. The old packs know better because they remember that this territory is forbidden to them. To trespass into land occupied by an immortal is a death sentence… Perhaps tonight I shall have an easy meal.

My thirst flares at the promise of fresh blood, and not just any blood, but shifter blood—magically potent and infinitely more satisfying than mortal or witch blood. And I need not fear repercussions; for there are none to be had. I fear no one. I am among the oldest of my kind now and am stronger and faster than even the wisest and eldest of the shifters alive today. Any who dare enter my lands do so at their own risk.

The packs will not contest my right to feed and defend what is mine and the witches have never been foolish enough to venture this far into the untamed wilds. They prefer to live among their own kind in their elegant castles and houses of stone, divided even by the elements they wield. For as long as I can remember, since I first dragged myself from the bitter embrace of the sea and onto these shores, the witches have been divided; Earth, Air, Fire, and Water vying for the authority of Chaos… the element of magic itself.

Shifting into my elegant bat form, I take to wing, soaring high above the canopy of the dark forest. My supernaturally sensitive hearing guides me to the precise location of the intruding wolf as if he were a glowing beacon in the gloom. Diving into the shadows like a lethal, silent arrow, I alight within the foliage of a tall black pine, blending into the shadows, hidden from view by the pungent, glossy needles.

Peering down into the glade below, I spy the injured shifter in his mortal-appearing form; the shape we adopt to blend in when the need arises. The scent of his blood fills me with equal parts lust and hunger. Sitting by a small stream, I see a discarded trap beside him, a vicious thing made by man with teeth of iron to maim the native inhabitants of Avalar. I almost feel a pang of sympathy for the shifter. His leg has been bitten deep, and he winces as he scoops handfuls of water in an attempt to wash it clean. I wince with him, but for an altogether different reason. What a waste of precious blood!

Even injured as he is, he’ll put up a fight I imagine. It’s a shame, really. He looks to be a beautiful specimen of a man. With long, tangled blond hair, his muscles gleam beneath the moonlight, flexing as he leans back and forth tending to his grisly, bloody wounds. His bare, open flesh obviously stings upon contact with the chilly water of the stream, and he grimaces, throwing back his head to the stars, his ice-blue eyes sparkling like cold fire.

The subtle hiss of his breath and the flash of his brilliant blue eyes stirs something within me, and I find myself second guessing my impromptu dinner plans.

Series:
/series-hearts-of-avalar/

Similar Items