Darkstorm (Heart of a Vampire, Book 3)

By Amber Kallyn

After a millennia apart, can two vampires rekindle their love, or will the line between right and wrong keep them apart?

Hunted by the demon who imprisoned her for hundreds of years, Ashlyn MacDougal is fleeing with a secret which could destroy her soul. When she runs into her lost love, Connor Gregory, life twists upside down.

Connor has spent the last thousand years as a Judge for the Magic Council, tracking and destroying demons. Especially the abominations—those part demon, part vampire. When he discovers his long lost lover is not only alive, but protecting a half-breed, his confusion knows no bounds.

Thrown together by circumstance, they must resolve their past. With demons after them, Ashlyn and Connor come to find their love still burns. Yet, the secrets she hides, and his duty to his job, might just keep them apart for another eternity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amber Kallyn
• Release date: Oct 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301595693

Amber Kallyn

One of those rare breeds, Amber Kallyn is an Arizona native who can trace her family's history through six generations in the state. She lives with her four very active children. Included in the menagerie are four cats (though there's always room for more) and a snake. Amber loves the paranormal, from dragons to werewolves to vampires. She's currently at work on her next book, probably running around the house acting out a fight scene with her collection of swords and daggers. Or maybe, wishing she had claws to practice the other fight scenes. A voracious lover of the written word, Amber found at an early age that she could read fast. Really fast. She devours novels by the day, novellas by the hour, and is always looking to get her hands on more. Website: AmberKallyn.com Twitter: twitter.com/HigleyBrowne Blogs: amberkallyn.wordpress.com and higleybrowne.wordpress.com Co-Author Blogs: 7evildwarves.wordpress.com and plotmamas.wordpress.com Or email her at: [e-mail]

Book preview

Chapter 1

Connor Gregory hunted along the back streets of Phoenix, Arizona.

The strident smell of human blood, fresh on the night air, made his senses hum. And his hunger roar.

It had been hours since his last pint of blood.

But responsibilities as a Judge for the Magic Council—those who made the laws and rules for the Arcaine—spurred Connor on. He shoved his body’s needs back.

Concentrated on the coppery smell.

The accompanying hints in the air of magic, and mayhem.

A human cult was currently striking terror into the hearts of the mortals that lived in this large, sprawling city.

A cult that seemed to know an awful lot about real demon magic.

Which meant there was most likely a creature, from the depths of one hell or another, actually helping them out.

Connor grinned humorlessly into the night.

His job was to hunt that demon down.

Kill it.

All in a productive day’s work.

He followed the scent of blood and magic into the alleyways of a mostly deserted business district. For the southwest, these buildings, towering into the sky, felt out of place.

They also hindered his ability to track.

Connor despised big cities. Lights all hours of the night. The crowds, the noise, the stench of it all.

He’d have preferred to stay up in the mountains, in his cousin’s sleepy little town of Moss Creek.

But when duty called...

He rounded another corner, reaching yet another shadowed alley. Stopped, frozen for a split second.

Another time and place, such a reaction could have cost him his head—and his life.

In a flash, Connor pressed his back to the wall, easily blending into the shadows, with his black duster, and dark jeans and boots.

Not far down this wide alley, in front of an oversized, rusted dumpster, knelt a group of teenagers.

All four had taken the goth look to the extreme.

One boy’s shaved head glinted with piercings.

Black and red swirling tattoos covered the second boy’s skin.

Both girls could have been twins, with their pale skin, and hair obviously dyed black. They wore black make-up, from eyes to lips. How anyone could walk in thigh-high boots, with six-inch heels covered in spikes, was beyond Connor.

Nor did he understand why anyone would wear spike-studded collars, like every single one of these kids.

When one of the boys shifted slightly, it allowed Connor a good look at the asphalt in front of the kids.

And the magic circle being drawn.

Runes of destruction and death had been inscribed along a smaller, inner circle.

Hissing, Connor exhaled sharply.

Damned kids.

Did they even know what they were playing at? The dangers such things brought?

The tattooed boy leaned over and continued making more symbols. For a ritual Connor recognized quite well.

A dark, demon-inspired ritual designed to rip the soul from an innocent mortal.

Composing himself—hardening his heart for what he must do—Connor breathed deeply of the night air.

Blood.

Hints of rotting flesh.

And, damn it all, sure enough there was an underlying, yet quite distinct, sulfurous odor.

Demon.

Reaching over his shoulder, Connor pulled his katana, Akoukirito, from the sheath on his back.

A Japanese sword master had crafted both, hundreds of years ago. The sword, named for its use in striking down evil, was honed to an edge that rarely dulled.

While Connor was as deadly with his hands as his blade, if one of these seemingly innocent kids was the demon, he’d need the sword.

He held Akoukirito down along his leg.

Slowly, silently approached the group.

First thing was first. He had to stop them from completing this ritual.

Otherwise, this area, and these four kids, would end up nothing more than a nice, juicy meal.

Connor sure as the hells didn’t want to have to deal with any demon pumped up on soul magic.

Certainly not one strong enough to be pulling the strings, and causing the deaths, around the city recently.

Yet, as Connor drew closer, the kids all remained oblivious to his presence.

With a sigh, he resheathed his sword.

They might be working with a demon, but it wasn’t here right now.

In a blink, he flashed across the remaining distance.

Shot a fist, if restrained, at the throat of the tattooed boy drawing the dangerous runes.

The kid fell back, choking and sputtering.

Chalk clattered to the ground.

The other three jumped to their feet. They circled Connor. As if they would actually have a chance to participate in this fight.

Perhaps even win.

Chuckling, Connor crouched and spun, sweeping his foot across the ground.

And knocked all three on their asses.

Then he grabbed the artist. Tossed him near the others.

He glared until panicky shouts faded, and their stares encompassed him.

Allowing anger to deepen his voice into a menacing growl, he demanded, Who are you working for?

Tattoo clutched his throat. Glared back at Connor with a hatred only the youth could attain. Fuck off, he rasped.

The other three looked at each other, then inched away from their apparent leader.

Connor strode to the kid. Towered over him menacingly.

Tattoo swallowed, looking around the alley, anywhere but at Connor. Almost instantly, as if realizing he’d shown fear, he jerked his chin back up.

Who are you working for? Connor repeated.

The boy smirked. Don’t know what you mean.

Moving so fast there was no way these young mortals could follow him, Connor grabbed the kid. Picked him up and shoved him against the nearest wall.

Tattoo’s feet kicked uselessly at the brick, high above the ground.

I won’t ask again, Connor growled harder.

The boy squeaked. The smell of urine soaked into the air. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he began to hyperventilate.

One of the girls shouted, You’re gonna kill him.

Connor slowly turned his head.

She and her friends gasped, crab walking backwards, until they hit the wall on the other side of the alley.

He knew what they saw.

His anger at the stupidity of these children had fired his blood.

Fangs extended. Showing clearly through his grim scowl.

Eyes, a blood red, blazing with fury.

They saw the monster inside of Connor.

The monster he truly was.

He used it to his advantage. Lied, I’ll snap his neck before you can blink, little girl, if you don’t answer my question.

She sniffled. The other girl started to sob. The boy beside them inched farther away, heading in the direction of the alley’s entrance.

I-I... we don’t know his name, she finally replied.

Connor prompted, But he calls himself...

Diablo.

The devil, aye? Not quite. Connor’s chuckle was a raspy sound that made the girl flinch.

He let the boy slide to the ground.

Instructed the girl, if in a slightly softer tone, Tell me everything.

After she’d listed off several addresses where he might find this Diablo, Connor turned from the four kids. He approached the circle, with its nearly completed runes.

Too close.

And drawn far too correctly.

Not bothering to glance back at the youths, he asked, Where did you learn this?

The same girl hurried to answer. Diablo taught us.

Probably told them it would give them some sort of magic, too. Not the death that would have come for them all.

Shaking his head, Connor pulled a palm-sized leather pouch from one of his duster pockets. Grabbing a handful of the special sand from the bag, he sprinkled it over the circle, the runes. Then he ground it all beneath his boot.

By the time he finished, the markings had disappeared from the asphalt.

The magic and darkness was gone from the air.

Turning back to the kids, Connor glared at all four of them. Let anger deepen his voice into a dangerous growl. Play with magic again, and I’ll be back. Next time won’t be as pleasant.

He strode out of the alley, knowing the likelihood his words would go unheeded.

But there was nothing else he could do here.

Aye, his job was to save the mortals—from evil.

Not their own stupidity.

It took him a while to get back to a busier part of the city. On one of the main streets, Connor scanned each direction.

Trying to track any scent beneath the fumes of exhaust and people was difficult, if not impossible.

Best to first check out the addresses the girl gave him.

On the other hand, since he’d stopped the ritual, any demon behind such things would know something had gone wrong.

They’d be missing their expected meal.

And, would most likely—in Connor’s experience—be hightailing their cowardly ass out of any preferred hangouts.

Taking an extra ten minutes wouldn’t change anything.

Decided, Connor headed toward a pub that catered to those like him. He could get a drink, a meal. Then he’d finish this night’s frustrating hunt.

Two blocks from the bar, the air filled with the stench of sulfurous smoke.

Connor slowed, easing along the sidewalk.

Searching for the demon that was nearby.

Across the street, a tall man stood in front of a closed door. His black clothes, inky dark hair and pale face pegged him as another goth type.

But the thin black band, encircling the green in his eyes—which somehow seemed strangely familiar—told another story.

Demon.

Connor inhaled deeply, letting his heightened senses sift through the scents.

The guy wasn’t pure demon.

Something else, most likely vampire, filled his blood.

Half-breed.

He stared at the man across the street.

As a Judge, one of Connor’s jobs was to kill any half-demon he came across.

They were well known for being crazed with bloodlust—the two monsters inside them unable to coexist easily in any human body.

Between the vampire blood, and the demon soul, this had to be the one responsible for the murders throughout the city.

It would explain the extent of the depraved torture done to the victims.

Tonight was turning into a wild ride.

And, just maybe, he’d get lucky enough to catch this guy, and dispose of him, without too much more damage to the city.

Connor moved toward the street, keeping an eye on the half-demon, while watching for a break in the traffic.

The man suddenly left the doorway. Strode down the street.

Exactly the way Connor had come.

Probably going to search out the teenagers. Find out why the ritual hadn’t been completed.

Connor stayed on his side of the street, matching the demon’s pace.

Minutes passed.

Then the demon stopped. He pulled a cell phone out of one pocket and answered a call.

If Connor had been closer, or the traffic—human and vehicle—lighter, he could have listened in.

Instead, he was forced to resort to trying to read the demon’s lips. Something he’d never quite mastered.

Saying to hell with it, he watched a small opening in the traffic draw closer.

Just as he was ready to make a dash for it, he saw her.

Connor’s heart stopped beating. A tight band clamped around his chest.

He couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t move.

Couldn’t think.

He could only stare across the busy street in disbelief.

She stood just beyond the demon, her red hair up in a chignon. Strands curled down around her heart-shaped face.

Just like he remembered.

She glanced his way, though Connor could tell she didn’t see him.

His heart resumed with a rapid pace.

A scream rang through him.

Ashlyn?

From her high cheekbones, small nose, and wide, startling green eyes, to the lush body he’d once known intimately—even if that had been centuries ago—her curves unhidden by the dark, sleeveless blouse, her slim, ankle-length skirt.

This woman looked exactly the same as Ashlyn.

But she couldn’t be.

The sounds of the city faded a little, overshadowed by those of the past.

Scottish war cries echoed in the dark of the night as coming ships roused clan defenders. They’d blocked off the cliff stairs, leading to the beach a hundred feet below, all confident they could repel any invaders.

Until they’d looked down.

Had seen red-eyed monsters, scaling the very rock itself.

Connor’s last glance of Ashlyn had been her fear-laden face, as she shepherded a group of children through a hidden door in the clan castle.

All had died that night, but for Connor, and two of his cousins.

When they woke, it had been as raving beasts.

Vampires.

Ashlyn had not survived.

Connor shook his memories away, staring at a woman whose image—even after a thousand years—still haunted his dreams.

Every damned night.

The demon approached the woman that looked so much like his Ashlyn.

She held out her hand.

The hell-spawn touched her soft, creamy skin. Bent close to say something near her ear.

Connor dodged into the street, ignoring the blaring of horns.

Ashlyn or not, she must be saved.

At the commotion, she looked up.

Met his gaze.

Her stunning green eyes widened.

She gasped, bringing her free hand up to cover her heart. Her lips began to curl, in the shy smile Connor remembered so well.

Chills raced over his skin.

His lungs emptied on an explosive breath.

His stomach clenched as if a car had slammed into him.

Such stunning similarities jerked him into a vortex of confusion.

It couldn’t possibly be Ashlyn...

Could it?

Hot emotion thrummed through Connor.

Then she glanced at the demon by her side.

Her smile disappeared, replaced by haunting fear.

She grabbed the demon’s arm, and together, they raced away, along the street.

Chapter 2

Ashlyn MacDougal ran as fast as she could.

Beside her, Sean kept pace.

Her heart raced, each beat a hard thumping slap in her chest. Her mind whirled, unable to settle on any single thought.

Or emotion.

Dread.

Terror.

Underlying it all were memories—sweetness, love—from so very long ago.

She’d thought such things dead.

Long buried.

Yet, the very sight of Connor Gregory had thrown her far backwards in time.

Who was that? Sean asked, drawing Ashlyn from her thoughts.

There were so many answers to that question.

Right now, the only one which mattered was, A Judge.

Sean glanced back, his hand tightening on her arm.

Her son knew full well the consequences of running into a Judge.

Vampires like her were safe at first glance. But Sean, his blood a mix of vampire and demon, was to be killed on sight.

Breathing became a struggle as a sharp pain worked between Ashlyn’s ribs. How close is he?

Sean glanced back again. Two blocks. And catching up.

She silently cursed herself for leaving her swords at the hotel.

Not that they would do her any good. Not against Connor. The man had been an expert swordsman.

Surely, in the many centuries that had slowly gone by, he’d further improved.

But, at least having her swords, would make Ashlyn feel better.

Instead, her magic would have to do.

She didn’t