Blood Evolution (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Read online

  BLOOD EVOLUTION

  Kimberly Adkins

  ROMANCE

  www.BookStrand.com

  ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED: Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to only ONE LEGAL copy for your own personal reading on your own personal computer or device. You do not have resell or distribution rights without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee, or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden. If you do not want this book anymore, you must delete it from your computer.

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000."

  If you find a Siren-BookStrand e-book being sold or shared illegally, please let us know at

  [email protected]

  A SIREN-BOOKSTRAND TITLE

  IMPRINT: Romance

  BLOOD EVOLUTION

  Copyright © 2010 by Kimberly Adkins

  E-book ISBN: 1-60601-897-3

  First E-book Publication: July 2010

  Cover design by Jinger Heaston

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2010 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  www.BookStrand.com

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to my dear friend and critique partner, Angela Steed. Thank you so much for all the years of inspiration and encouragement. Whenever I count my blessings, I always count you twice.

  BLOOD EVOLUTION

  KIMBERLY ADKINS

  Copyright © 2010

  Prologue

  Amon speaks:

  I first noticed the wine stains on your virgin white veil, the swollen texture of the bloated, transparent fibers. It was sensual, as I ran my fingertips across the folds. Electrifying, as it met my lips, and I remembered….

  Your beauty was like art to me, with those passionate, full lips turned down in sardonic humor. Skin so fine and pale I could write volumes upon your features as I drank your innocence, at once in love with your pure heart, at once filled with the desire for your sacred soul. I became your shadow and, eventually, for the love of you, your savior.

  Throughout all your mortal lifetimes, you were my work in progress. I touched you here, then there, in your dreams—molding you into the brilliance of your own self.

  Do you see now how you called me to you with your dream of eternal love and your precious vulnerability? How could I not find you again? How could I not love you? How could I not strive to give you the eternity you desired?

  I knew you were the one the moment I felt your breath, the moment I beheld your heart.

  Chapter One

  Rue Royal was nestled quietly between the powerful Mississippi River and the vibrant madness of Bourbon Street. Antique glassware glittered on display in the windows of every shop he passed. They were magnificent treasures from the past hinting to passersby of secrets yet to be revealed.

  He moved easily over the large grey flagstones that made up the sidewalks of the decadent city, the treacherously cracked and displaced rock tilting from time to time in an effort to catch an unwary tourist in its pitch.

  Amon, however, was no stranger to the dangers of the exotic illusions in the ravaged quarter. In his lifetime, throughout his long and sanguine partnership with immortality, he had never found a city so accepting of the unexplained. Truly, New Orleans was the pinnacle of mystery, where myriad different religions, magic and the unknown came together in a cacophony of frenzied belief.

  He hesitated in the shadows for only a moment, not from fear of discovery, but for the surprise that shot its way up his spine when her scent drifted across street and into the darkness where he waited.

  “Aziza.” Her name left his lips with the smallest of discernible whispers.

  Oh, the glorious pain! His mind bellowed, from within its prison of time and restraint.

  She had crossed the secluded alleyway, her figure as lithe, as graceful as his unrelenting memory had strived to preserve. Had there ever been a time when his love for her had not burned through his soul? Did he trade his life for this eternal curse? Was the moment of destiny upon him?

  He watched her thick, dark hair sway across her bare shoulders with a kind of helpless wonder. She stepped up to a two-storied building painted a lovely pale yellow with green trim, and her wrap-around skirt parted briefly to give him a tantalizing glimpse of her shapely, olive skinned legs. From his distant hiding place, Amon’s expert ears picked up the sound of the creaking boards on the small porch and a moment of euphoria brought the breath back into his body.

  The desire flowed through his veins in furious amounts and, in a split second, she had let herself in the door, escaping his view. Just as his heartbeat adjusted and the blood of a millennium slowed again in his veins, a car swerved unexpectedly onto the deserted street. For a moment, his world was as brightly lit as if the noonday sun had appeared.

  He froze from reflex alone, knowing very well that no man-made light could harm him. But, what an apparition he had become over the centuries as his bronzed flesh faded into an impossibly pale hue. Only his long, black hair remained the same. Even his deep green eyes had changed somehow, tainted perhaps by all the knowledge and sorrow he had witnessed in his extended lifetime.

  Oh, but he still longed for the sun, and he remembered the way it felt against his skin before he sacrificed his life to save hers. With the smallest of movements, he pulled his ancient journal from an inner pocket of his long, dark coat. Reverent fingers stroked the soft leather cover. How many times had he copied those words over as the centuries passed and new ways of recording history had evolved?

  Evolved like me, he thought to himself as he opened the well-worn tome to glance at the words he had so fastidiously penned time and time again. How much of it was actual memory, and how much of it was added as an afterthought as the tale was told each time again?

  “As if I could ever forget the way we started,” he whispered to the now empty street. “I remember well the beginning, and the end, of everything I had ever known.”

  Journal Entry:

  It began in the temple, where the sand must be swept from the stones at dawn. Nearly in tides it came, past the gates, filling the delicate crevices of the sculpted runes, blanketing the words of the God and covering their magic.

  I had not been chosen for the “Great Honor,” and, although disappointment weighed heavy in my heart, there was excitement coursing through my veins as the preparations for the ceremony began. It was to be the experience of a lifetime, as I would have grown far too old before the choosing came once more.

  Supplicants from across our lands had been arriving day and night for many cycles, crowding the capital city and vying for preference among the priests. Only one hundred had been chosen, yet the uncountable overflow of worsh
ippers would remain for the Ten-Day Feast and celebration of the God.

  “Amon!” I glanced up from my chore to see the figure of a small child skipping toward me. “Titum Sa’ hare wishes to see you in the inner chamber!” He hopped up and down, wringing his hands in excitement.

  My stomach knotted instantly, churning my insides with apprehension. Titum Sa’ hare was a priestess of the inner sanctum! I could not let my emotions betray my nervous exhilaration, as I was several years above this child and must set an appropriate example.

  “You must finish my morning duties then,” I spoke coolly, handing him my reeds.

  “I don’t have to do what you say,” he pouted, putting his hands on his hips. “You’re still an initiate, same as me.”

  “That may be true, child,” I stood a few small inches above him, casting a tiny shadow across his face, “but perhaps I may mention to Titum Sa’ hare your unwillingness to work even the lowest chore to further the God’s glory. I’m sure she will understand when the duties of greater importance are handed out.”

  They were bold words, really, considering I did not know the high priestess. In truth, I had never met anyone of such impressive rank, as the teaching of the initiates was seen to by the lower level priesthood.

  That may have been the reason my legs were shaky as I walked away from the boy, who resumed my work with a zealous passion. Although dawn had just broken across the horizon, sweat beaded my forehead. I felt it instantly as I stepped into the cool darkness of the corridor. The sand lingered beneath my thin sandals, grinding and scraping against the smooth stone under my feet. The passage, well lit by torches, primarily served the initiates and slaves of the temple, and was more functional than the ceremonial corridors, which displayed the wealth and magic of the God to visitors.

  My pathway wound slowly to the left. The temple to which I was bound in service was constructed almost entirely below ground and formed a winding circular pattern. Each level below the last corresponded in varying degrees to the importance of those who resided within the inner sanctums. Mere acolytes such as myself rarely passed below the first two levels, and I had progressed nearly that far already. The air became frosty and dry as I continued, yet I felt the sweat on my palms and the back of my neck despite the chill.

  The appearance of the guide startled me at first.

  It seemed the shadows grew thicker before my eyes, collected themselves into form, and poured forth the silent, pale being suddenly at my side. He spoke no words to me, and I knew somewhere in my mind that he never would. I also knew his rank was more than that of an “escort,” that these guides were protectors of the inner levels. It was my first encounter with such a person, having never been this deep within the sanctums. I wondered if it were true, what others said about them, that they could read minds. I was instantly afraid of the thought.

  His face bore no expression and he walked with me as if my destination were already known to him. We wound our way downward and, although his presence inspired a small amount of fear, it was somehow comforting to be anything other than alone.

  Without warning, my silent companion stopped halfway down the corridor. I froze in my own tracks. It was as if an invisible stone wall had slammed across my path, and I suspected I would not have been able to progress further without the accompanying figure. He parted the thick, dark drapes, which covered a doorway in the secluded alcove to my right.

  Sweet, heavy incense drifted through the opening, and I instantly became lightheaded and breathless. My movements were disconnected from my thought processes and I glided into the room on a wisp of smoke. The passage I left behind had been dark, yet it took me several minutes to adjust to the dim candlelight inside.

  She sat across the room from me, an easy smile on her perfect lips. They were an exquisite feature, set upon her flawless, marble face. The black luster of her midnight hair seemed to draw the darkness from the shadows to envelop her in an otherworldly halo. I stood transfixed, my eyes captivated by her beautiful mouth. Her lips did not move as she welcomed me, and her voice filled me with images and sounds I had only glimpsed in my dreams. She wore a simple shift of finely crafted, twilight blue silk and it shimmered as she rose to join me.

  “Amon,” she whispered, gently cradling my face in her delicate hands as I gazed into the deep green eyes that matched my own. “You have grown handsome and strong, my son. I am so very pleased to be able to bring you to me.”

  I had never known my mother until then.

  Chapter Two

  The memory-filled journal twisted in his hands. He wanted to take the stairs three at a time to reach the young woman as quickly as possible. Hell, he wanted to fly up to her second floor window and snatch her from her mundane life, show her all the glory of their lost love and the destiny fate had denied them for far too long.

  He must force himself to be careful. She would not remember him.

  Amon was torn by his long-suppressed passion and nearly delirious with the possibility that he might feel her lips against his one more time. Though he had fantasized about this very moment for centuries, he found himself a prisoner of fear for all the things that could go wrong—the way things went wrong on the night Aziza died and he was born into an eternity of suffering, with new blood in his veins that would forever deny him the simple joy of sunlight…

  Journal Entry:

  I gently touched the smooth, dark surface. At that time in my life, I still shivered from the honor bestowed upon me, the thrill that the immortal God had looked upon me for any reason and recognized my existence. So warm was the liquid. I closed my eyes as the tendrils of heat spread through my fingertips, a soothing drape of comfort in the chill of the sacred chamber.

  Our task was most essential, I was told. We ferried the souls from the depths of the flesh into the height of consciousness with a touch, with a symbol.

  One by one they were led…the privileged, the sacrifices of the Ten-Day Feast. I never knew what vision would spring into my mind--the outline of a heart, of a world or the breath of a soul that came to me as it knelt at my station. But, as each presented himself, I gently dipped my fingers into the warm, black ash.

  As each of the Chosen bent their forehead to me, I saw color. It came at first as solid but faded where I needed to trace, and I did as the line spoke. I made the art of ascension required for these people to bring their knowledge to the God, the legends and lore of their world from the fabric of existence....

  The Chosen were honored above all of our scholars, our leaders, and our religious icons as they stood before us, giving thanks to He whom we could not question. To be selected meant the future was established in stone, that One’s family was safe and settled for lifetimes beyond reckoning. Their descendants the priests themselves have vowed to protect.

  It was my duty, my place in the temple now, to trace the icons upon the brows of the privileged as if each one was a God in his own right. Often my mother watched me work, a vision of near pride as she hung about the shadows. Perhaps some may have questioned her reasons for keeping me close, yet I never did.

  Though rare an occurrence, it certainly wasn’t the first time a priestess bore a child on the cusp of her sacrifice to the God, and it would not be the first time she watched her son grow with honor into the ranks of the loyal.

  But my honor would be my downfall.

  The next of the chosen came veiled, as the women always do. Like an angel, she entered the chamber of ascension. Her key to my heart was only her eyes, and I had glanced upon many in my time. How she could be different, as she was, I still cannot say, except that time as I knew it knelt gently in my palm and waited for me to gaze upon her face. For the first time since I began my exalted work in the temple, I saw the true essence of the person before me.

  Trembling for the first moment, I took my finger and placed it in the liquid ash, knowing even then that no symbol could truly serve the glory of the God with my vision of this woman’s soul. Her lips parted slightly when the very
tip of my forefinger brushed her skin. I closed my eyes and felt a carnival of color and emotion pouring across her face.

  “Amon,” she whispered as I traced, in reverence of my vision, a perfect crescent moon and star upon her delicate skin.

  “Only those I serve within the sanctum may call upon me by name, most honored one.” I still do not know how she called me that way, during that intimate moment as my heart reached for her colors. Perhaps I longed for her to know my name, and as I think back on it now, that must have been the case.

  “I call you what I must,” she said simply, looking at me with such dazzling presence.

  My hand lingered near her forehead so I could feel her breath through the veil fall upon the sensitive skin of my palm. I was overwhelmed with the desire to touch her cheek, to cradle her lovely face. In the sacred candlelight of the temple where I served our god, I saw her lips curve against the sheer fabric that covered her mouth and I became aroused.

  I was clearly shaken by the experience and there was no denying the fact the marking was finished. The moment I realized this, her chaperones came to take her gently by the arm. She was ushered properly from my presence, but not before her eyes turned to me one last time, marking my own soul with such an art by which masterpieces are made.

  “Never has joy been so deeply drawn that the thought of tragedy may forever be lost,” I whispered to the darkness.

  The darkness answered me in the only way it could, with a thousand shades of gray and the possibility of dreams.