Between Bloode and Stone

  Between the Shadows

  Marie Harte

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and plot points stem from the writer’s imagination. They are fictitious and not to be interpreted as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locations or organizations is entirely coincidental.

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  BETWEEN BLOODE AND STONE

  ISBN-13: 978-1642920635

  Copyright © October 2021 by Marie Harte

  No Box Books

  Cover by Well Covered Books

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  All Rights Are Reserved. None of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for reviews or promotion. http://marieharte.com

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  For exclusive excerpts, news, and contests, sign up for Marie’s newsletter. https://bit.ly/3tCHbX2

  BETWEEN THE SHADOWS

  Between Bloode and Stone

  Between Bloode and Craft

  Between Bloode and Water

  Between Bloode and Wolf

  Between Bloode and Death

  Between Bloode and Gods

  Contents

  A Note from Mormo

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  Also by Marie

  About the Author

  A Note from Mormo

  There are many things in this world that don’t fit into humanity’s concept of what’s real. Much of the magir—that’s the paranormal community for you mortal types—has been kept secret. But there are some of us who’ve seen beyond realms, and we are right to fear what’s coming.

  Granted, I find vampires annoying. First of all, they’re pretentious, referring to themselves as those “Of the Bloode.” Bloode, as you might expect, is very important to them. It’s not just that red liquid in their bodies. In a vampire, “bloode” is that essence infused with blood and magic; it’s what makes them what they are.

  The petty bastards are powerful, and they don’t like to follow rules. Cursed by the gods not long after their creation, they are forced to keep low numbers. Vampires get along only with those in their own clan. A clan is like an extended family. Think in population numbers of ten to sixty members. I know, sounds like a small number. It is. It has to be.

  Those clans belong to tribes, and a tribe can hold anywhere from a thousand to ten thousand Of the Bloode. The vampires have ten tribes, and each tribe has a different name. (See how they make everything so complicated?)

  The strigoi tribe make powerful vampires. They can shapeshift into ravens and have the power of seduction over mortals. The nachzehrer, however, shapeshift into wolves, and they’re known to be able to call on a fierce, unstoppable strength at will. And so it is with all the tribes, powerful yet held in check by the need to kill those who aren’t of their clan, those who aren’t kin. Hell, even within the same tribe, the individual clans clash constantly.

  They’re raging balls of chaos, and no one would really care if they all disappeared.

  Well, except for my mistress. The goddess Hecate is lovely beyond words. Unfortunately, she’s got a soft spot for hard cases. And death. She insists the vampires might be the cure to the Darkness that comes to wipe out worlds.

  Her plan isn’t the best. Hecate has commanded me to take charge of their species, starting with a brand new clan of vampires, using six of the most annoying, contentious, miserable bastards I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.

  I know it’ll take more than dark magic to make these jackasses get along, let alone leave me alive and breathing at the end of it all. (Don’t think I haven’t seen them eyeing my neck like it’s bottling the finest of bloode wines.)

  But I am Hecate’s humble servant, and I will serve. So here we are. But it’s so, so hard not to give into the urge to obliterate them on a daily basis.

  Especially Varujan of the Crimson Veil. Because, oh, just read on.

  Prologue

  Mercer Island, Washington

  Month of the Super Blue Blood Moon

  The pain, though excruciating, felt familiar. Shadows bathed the room. The sound of battle and the scent of bloode, sweat, and excitement spiced the air. Varujan rolled away before the blade took off his whole hand. Three of his fingers lay scattered across the hated blue mat, the bright spatter of bloode a welcome sight against the never-ending tedium of exhaustion and annoyance—or what that their jailer called their daily training. More like time spent in a torturous gymnasium for the damned.

  “By the Black Crow, are you dancing or fighting?” Gwyn roared. “Pin him down, lads. Stop playing with your prey. He’s not dinner!” But no one paid Gwyn the slightest bit of attention, the plotting bastards competing to end Varu once and for all.

  Gwyn Ap Nudd, a fae hero and renowned leader of the Wild Hunt, had a pedigree the gods must envy. He was eternally young, sound of mind and body, and beautiful. His green eyes were sharp, his hearing excellent, his ability to track unparalleled.

  And he hated being ignored.

  But what could he expect with students who despised being told what to do? Compliance? Vampires didn’t follow rules. Even Gwyn knew that.

  Nachzehrer, revenant, vrykolakas. Known by their many tribal names across the world, vampires had two major things in common: they detested anyone not a vampire, and they loathed those outside their own clans. Cursed long ago to check their growing power, vampires could only coexist in small groups.

  Yet despite their many conflicts, those Of the Bloode possessed similar traits. All vampires, no matter where they came from, were male in gender. They could go unnoticed by humans unless they wished otherwise, and they couldn’t survive sunlight. Most of them had dark hair and dark eyes that turned red when in extreme duress or excited.

  Like now. All the vampires “training” with Varu stared with red eyes, their fangs visible, their nails steel-hard claws. The scent of bloode filled the room, and hunger pulsed in the air.

  Gwyn thought that keeping vampires underfed and on edge would encourage an adherence to discipline during hard times. But he only made them more ferocious and uncontrollable.

  The fae aimed his majestic bow around the darkened gymnasium, targeting all of them so fast he looked a blur. But he didn’t fire, which wasn’t like him. “Let the training spell work through you,” he barked. “You should view each other as a team, not the enemy.”

  In the past six months, the spell had yet to work even once.

  The vampire closest to Varu made a rude gesture to Gwyn with his middle finger. Two across from the fae laughed outright, while the remaining pair watched Varu, waiting for another opportunity to slice him to pieces. That or take on Gwyn again. Only the fae’s keen ability to use that bow with his blessed arrows had kept him alive these past months.

  Varu studied the blond bastard giving orders no one cared to follow. Heroic, annoying, and…tasty. Varu licked his lips, famished. He could really go for some fae right about now.

  That inattention cost him. Varu cursed when claws dug into his shoulder, ripping into his muscle and forcing him to cut away, losing too much bloode and tissue, his regeneration hampered by his many wounds. He put on a burst of speed he could ill afford and nearly caught Gwyn. Unfortunately, in Varu’s current state, he was no match for the fae hero, who retaliated in force.

  No one could shoot like Gwyn Ap Nudd. Varu dodged four of the arrows shot in the span of a second. Regrettably, he couldn’t avoid the fifth and sixth arrows that followed, piercing his femoral arteries. More bloode sprayed, and his fellow teammates converged on him with the bloodlust that made their species both feared and crazed.

  They cut into him, not to devour, but to kill. Vampires didn’t eat their own kind unless absolutely necessary. But their damage would take him too long to heal. They refused to stop.

  “Maim, not murder, you monsters!” Gwyn shouted. “Remember, discipline, order. You…ach!” The first month he’d been with them, Gwyn had been the soul of patience and courtesy. Boy, had that gone the way of the wind—fast. “That. Is. It. I’m done with the lot of you!”

  Gwyn glared at all of them then turned his displeasure on a creature that appeared out of nowhere, and one Varu really could have done without. Mormo—a brutally strong, white-haired bastard, neither old nor young, vampire yet not, his energy a mix of death and magic and something unpleasantly powerful.

  “I did my best to help,” Gwyn said bitterly. “But I honestly have no idea what your mistress was thinking.” The fae shook his head. “Vampires never work well together.”

  Varu could have told them that from the start. In fact, he had. Several times.
As had the others. But the great and powerful Mormo had ignored them all, too focused on supposed bloode-debts incurred by their clans, demanding recompense in a laughable idea of forced servitude.

  And now, as Varu felt his life’s essence leave him, he could finally make that payment in full. For you, Father. I hope you’re fucking satisfied with me now.

  Unfortunately, the others didn’t care that Gwyn had quit, or that Varu was on the verge of true death. They continued to come after him, caught in the euphoria of the kill. Varu twisted away from them, but his movements became sluggish as he slipped on his own bloode. The revenant tore through his biceps. The nachzehrer severed his Achilles tendon. The big vryko dug claws through Varu’s intercostal muscles and broke through rib bones, reaching for his heart. Varu locked eyes with the savage, doing his best to stop the monster from ripping out the organ, but a surge of power distracted him.

  Everyone froze and as one turned to Mormo.

  Mormo’s eyes blazed red as he took in the chaos around them, studying the mess of bloode and guts dirtying his precious training facility. He looked up at the sole window in the place. It had been covered in a black sheet of metal to prevent sunlight from entering during daylight. Because day or night, they had been forced to forego rest to become a “cohesive unit.”

  “What? You need me to say pretty please?” Mormo grimaced as he stepped over Varu’s severed fingers and pointed skyward. “Just do it, Gwyn. Today would be nice.”

  “Fine. You asked for it.” Gwyn aimed high and let his arrow fly, piercing the metal like it was nothing. At the same time, all Varu’s opponents darted for the walls, shielding themselves away from the sunlight that speared into Varu and smothered him with excruciating pain.

  Agony filled every cell of his body as he slowly turned to dust. His sight left him, but he could unfortunately hear Mormo sigh and say, “It’s become painfully clear to me that we’re now all bound to suffer. Dickheads.” Mormo murmured something else under his breath, then said aloud, “Come closer, you who are Of the Bloode. Much, much closer…”

  Varu’s attackers shrieked as Mormo released his magic. Varu felt it coat him as well, severing old ties and creating new ones, and he swore, long and loud. And after I’d just resigned myself to a true death after all…

  1

  Four months later, Seattle

  The dim bar stank of piss and grease, the food a step above the overpriced booze and dirty clientele. A popular hangout for college kids and desperate older men wanting to get laid, the bar didn’t carry anything Varu would consider delectable—in spirits or women.

  He glared at his new kin, so tired of dealing with fellow vampires he wanted to vomit. Alas, he hadn’t ingested actual food in over three hundred years. He had no urge to try it again in this century.

  Apart from Varu, Duncan probably came closest to being civilized. The revenant practiced seduction well enough. Always a cock buried in some female or other. Just what they needed on this particular mission.

  Mormo wanted them to find a young woman in downtown Seattle. Considering the four-million-plus people in the city, Varu thought the asshole insane for even thinking they might suss her out with the help of a little spell. But then, Varu had forgotten who they were really working for.

  Hecate, goddess of ancient magic, boundaries, and death. Not a bad goddess if one had to worship, he supposed. But those Of the Bloode didn’t venerate deities. They took pleasure in the hunt, the kill, and in victories earned through skill and ferocity. Prayers were for the weak who needed something other than themselves to believe in.

  Besides, in the four months they’d been damned to live with Mormo in a human city, they had yet to witness Hecate in any way, shape, or form. No, a vampire needed only his own fangs and claws to get a job done.

  He said to Duncan, “Plan A.”

  “Right.” Duncan nodded. The large male had lived in England for just over two hundred years before his rebirth as Varu’s kin. Varu mentally cringed at the clan name Mormo had given them. The Night Bloode. How…pedestrian. But better than his first suggestion of the Seattle Bloode—which already belonged to the local upir clan. Seattle and vampirism went together as well as witches and fire. Not a great combination.

  Still, Duncan didn’t seem to care what anyone called him. He would get the job done with minimal fuss. No matter what clan he belonged to, no matter whose kin, Duncan was a tremendously fast fighter, smart, and a master of seduction.

  The revenant caught Varu’s glance and, with a wide grin, headed for the bar, shrugging away his ability to go unnoticed. Once he’d reached the attractive bartender in a shirt that looked painted on, Duncan started flirting with the witchy redhead for all he was worth. If she had any information on their quarry, Duncan would get it.

  Leaving him to his task, Varu left the bar and spotted the dark SUV waiting for him in the alley. He’d told the others to leave him and Duncan behind. But had they listened? No.

  He sighed. Since their recent rebirth into a new clan, they’d become used to one another’s company, no longer feeling an urge to kill since they’d been bound as kin. But the need to dominate was part of what made a vampire a vampire. Hierarchy within a clan was normal. With Mormo being the obvious patriarch, the next level fell to the most powerful—namely, Varu.

  Except the others continued to test him. Varu had learned enough about them to know they probably felt they had that right. But what they didn’t know about him might just be their downfall.

  Duncan typically followed Varu without complaint. An occasion to screw a pretty human, despite her being a witch, was nothing over which to argue. Fortunately, the somewhat problematic pair he often fought with had work away from the city tonight, so two less problems to have to handle. Which left Varu the other two idiots currently in the SUV.

  He opened the passenger door and got in, not surprised to see Orion behind the wheel. The vryko, a vampire from the Greek island of Santorini, was tall, muscular, and stubborn. And like those of his tribe, he was skilled in powers of hypnosis rather than seduction. In a matter of sheer strength, Orion would likely best him.

  Wisely, Varu never let that be the only point of contest between them.

  With a glare, Orion peeled out of the alley.

  “Head home,” Varu ordered. Home, what a joke. But now bound to Mormo and his goddess, what choice did they have?

  Orion didn’t say anything.

  Varu sighed. “Just get it off that huge chest.”

  “Why use Duncan?” Orion growled, sounding more like a wolf than the raven he could shapeshift into.

  “Because he’s funny and acts like he likes women.”

  “I like women.”

  “I like women too,” came a voice heavily accented in German. “Why do you always choose the weaker ones for this kind of job?” Kraft complained from the backseat. Like Orion, he had a large frame and dense strength, his hair shaggy though, not as short and coarse as Orion’s. A German nachzehrer, he could assume the form of a wolf at will and had a wonderful rage that added to his power. Too bad he also had a huge dose of dickhead in that DNA. “And why does Orion get to drive all the time?”

  Varu silently counted to ten. “He’s behind the wheel. Does it matter?”

  “Did you know your accent appears when you’re annoyed?” Orion said, wearing a smirk. “What part of Romania do you hail from? Or was it called Dacia? You know, back before Christ was born.”