Blood, Lust & Spawns (Trilogy 1 of 3)

By Catharina Shields

(18+) ~ The first of three in this new paranormal romance trilogy.

Chicago's ambidextrous artiste du jour, Helena Davis, has been suffering an inexplicable case of insomnia for the past few months, and it's driving her insane. So when she receives a call in the dead of night from Chicago P.D.'s chief of police, her friend, Don Tyler, to do a forensic sketch for a witness to a murder in the prestigious Eastern Brooke Heights, she jumps at the chance.

Helena is a temperamental, antisocial, but extremely talented young woman. She's able to create works of art of any type, from charcoal sketches to clay sculptures to oils. Her gift lies in her ability to "feel" what a client wants, and when the only witness to the murder of a prominent media mogul, his beautiful wife Penelope, has trouble recollecting what she saw that night, Chief Tyler knows only one person who can pull the face of the perpetrator out of the foggy recesses of her mind.

From that night forward, though, Helena's peaceful, somewhat reclusive existence dramatically changes when she discovers Detective Morris, one of her antagonists at the CPD, is at the crime scene, too. That night, she discovers nothing is what it appears to be, and handsome but—in her opinion—arrogant Detective Morris helps her see, neither is she.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Catharina Shields
• Release date: Nov 20, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301665419

Catharina Shields

{PLEASE SCROLL DOWN FOR THE LIST OF MY AVAILABLE E-BOOKS} I've always enjoyed storytelling, ever since I was a child. My love for storytelling has evolved from hand-drawn comic strips, to creating hand-puppets - "Meemies and Fluffies" - for my younger brother and sisters' morning puppet show, to writing stories in longhand in spirals armed with only a Penmate pen while battling a stiff hand and dreaming of a day when I'd finally own a typewriter. Today, in my peaceful Southern California home near the mountains, I can't go a day without my computer and I now enjoy storytelling via my e-books, specializing in mystery, drama, Young Adult and paranormal romance. If you've read one of my books and like them, please leave a review, good or bad, and add me as a favorite author {a single click on a button to your left is all it takes}. Remember . . . reviews are tips for Authors.

Book preview

Blood, Lust & Spawns

Book 1 of 3

Published by

Catharina Shields at Smashwords.com

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 by Catharina Shields

Cover Design by Catharina Shields

Edited by C.Shields

All Rights Reserved

Author’s Note:

This is an original work of fiction.

All characters depicted are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

All characters are 18 years of age or older.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this e-book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to My Smashwords Page and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

***~~ Table of Contents ~~***

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Bonus Preview Chapter One of Blood, Lust & Spawns 2

About the Author

***~~ Prologue ~~***

The heavy, intricately carved door opened on silent hinges. Seconds later, a middle-aged, distinguished looking man with silver temples slipped into the room. He was a handsome, stately man in his late fifties, dressed in fine black and gold satin pajamas and warm, padded slippers. But for all his posh clothing and surroundings, he appeared anxious, even afraid.

The dimly lit library seemed devoid of visitors, but he knew that was never a guarantee. A few lamps were lit, but they were insufficient to illuminate a room with dark wood paneling, and two of the four walls were made up of shelves of books preserved behind glass doors. It was evident by the furniture that this large room was the mansion’s library that doubled as a study.

By day, the room had an aura of sophistication. By night it was eerily sinister and gloomy. But no matter what time of day it was, the temperature in the room was always very cold. This was how he was instructed to keep it because in this room very special meetings took place, the kind that could literally not stand the light of day.

Closing the door behind him, he slowly turned with big dark eyes full of dread. He swept his gaze around the large room scanning the twisted shadows looming on every wall. His heart thudded hard in his chest, slamming against his ribs. He knew any one of those shadows could be him; he who he feared most in the world.

The familiar sense of terror crept up on him again. This always happened when he was summoned to meet with this dark, mysterious stranger; one who was from a realm very few people were privy to, the Realm of Shadows.

You seem apprehensive, Max, a deep, velvety voice called from a dark corner.

Max snapped his head around as his round eyes swept the room. He zeroed in on the tall, dark silhouette of his nightly visitor standing in the corner of the room. He was certain that corner had been empty just moments ago. Now, the clear outline of a proud figure stood there, and he could feel him watching him. He could feel the chill of his cold eyes.

I-I’m just a little . . . I’m always like this when you come calling, Your Grace, Max stammered, and then swallowed.

The title Max used revealed the elevated status of this dark stranger. It was only bestowed upon the highest among men. Kings, Dukes, and the Pope were granted such an exclusive and honored title, even to this day. But in all truth, it had been sometime since this visitor had been a man.

I know, the visitor replied from his corner, his silhouette hinting at long smooth hair held close to his high-held head. Each time we meet, I hear how loudly and quickly your heart beats. Each time we meet, I hear it beat just a bit louder and just a bit quicker than the many times before.

The mysterious stranger finally walked into the pale ring of light and he smiled from a handsome, lean face. His age appeared to be somewhere in his mid-thirties, but looks could be deceiving, and this one thrived on deception. His eyes were extraordinarily light, but of a greenish hue. His pupils were undilated and his skin was eerily pale.

He wore a black waistcoat and trousers that were tucked into high, black military boots. He wore a crisp, white shirt with ruffled cuff that peeked from the broad, stiff cuffs of his jacket, and he wore a silk cravat tied around his neck beneath his muscular jaw. His attire was from a bygone era where his title ensured no door would remain closed to him. Today, once invited, no door, no matter how massive, would deny him entry either.

Max watched as his nightly visitor slowly smiled showing strong white teeth. He looked at him with those cold, undilated eyes from between bangs that fell from a center part. His hair was long, black, smooth, and straight, and although he wore it in a tail bound at the nape of his neck now, when loose, it would pass his shoulders in length.

Each time you obey me and come to me, his nightly visitor continued, I have noticed how your fear grows thicker, and how it fills the entire room. But I know your fears, dear friend, for I know you fear the price you have promised to pay for all that I have given you. This, and only this, is your reason for fearing me as you fear me now.

He raised his aristocratic nose and inhaled long and deeply as his eyes fell briefly to a quiet close. Aah . . . yes, dearest friend. Fear is thick and so superbly sweet all around you yet again. He lowered his head and opened his eyes to look at him with a cold grin. You rarely disappoint me, but of late I have wondered, shall this time prove to be the first?

F-Forgive me, Your Grace, but . . . I-I don’t know what you mean. I don’t know what you want. You’ve never made that clear to me.

Now his dark guest lowered his head as a predatory smile stretched across his cruel lips. A cold glint appeared in his pale green eyes. If any part of him was still human, it had now slipped away, and the beast that he had become, arose and it showed itself through his thin veneer of civility. Max cupped a heavily ringed hand around his throat.

Have I been so unclear then, Max? You know what I am. You knew when you agreed to accept my generosity you knew the price would be high. And have I not given you all that you have desired?

Y-Yes, of course, Your Grace.

Have all these years not been good to you?

Yes, of course, but I still don’t know—

—It is not the moment for you to speak, Max, his visitor cut him off with a harsh tone. Now is the moment for you to listen to what I have to say, he said with a cold, hard look in his eyes.

Max merely nodded.

Good! he said jovially. So, he resumed, as I have attempted to say, have not the doors of the most high opened and remained open for you at your leisure? he asked as he clasped his hands lightly at his back. Hm? he pressed, quirking his head.

Max felt panic rise. He had noticed that his nightly visitor’s eyes hadn’t dilated nor darkened. His whole demeanor was different. This didn’t feel right, and he instinctively knew something was amiss. Horribly amiss.

You-You came here tonight for a very special visit, Your Grace, Max said, hesitantly.

The tall dark stranger slowly smiled. Yes, Max. I am here on a special calling.

Special calling? Max asked. His voice skipped, but he quickly regained himself. In what way is this visit special?

Have all my visits not been special to you, Max?

W-Well of-of course they have been, Your Grace, Max stammered. He was never told what this visitor wanted for all the success he helped him with in business, but even back then, some thirty years ago, he knew the price would be high. Now he wondered if His Grace had come to collect. He was dying to ask him, but he didn’t dare.

I must confess I have been somewhat deceptive, and I have confused and troubled you. For that I must forever bear the burden of shame, his visitor said with a smile, bringing long fingers to his chest as he bowed his head with a look of feigned remorse.

De-Deceptive, Your Grace? Max swallowed big again, but he felt hope. Maybe he wasn’t there to collect after all? Maybe this was nothing but one of His Grace’s many games since he knew he enjoyed terrifying people simply for his pleasure.

Yes, Max, his visitor said. Deceptive. You see, my reason for having approached you with my generous offer in the past was purposely kept hidden from you. I know you have asked many times what the price would be, but let us not play the fool. You never really wanted to know, did you?

Well, I have asked—

—But you never really wanted to know, his visitor stated with a firmer tone, his smile briefly slipping.

It was enough to silence poor Max, and he slowly shook his head.

His visitor smiled again. I know this, Max. I know you were more interested in expanding that small broadcast station into the empire it has become. And I have helped you in every way you have needed and wanted, and I have done so without question, have I not?

Y-Yes, but I’ve always questioned how—

—You’ve made no true effort in that endeavor, Max, and we both know it, his visitor interrupted. Instead, you have taken my generosity with very few questions and without care, for you had but one goal in mind, and that was . . . success. It was all that mattered. He smiled. Yet I sense you now have earnest questions for me you wish to ask, and now you care very much what the answers to them are, do you not?

I-I—

—I believe we have agreed upon a price due and payable upon my discretion. He let his long nail trace lightly over the shining desk top beside him.

Is that why you’re here tonight?

His visitor looked at him and smiled. But what I have never confessed to another soul, he said rather than answer, be it to any human or any other thing, is a special wish I have harbored since, well, he chuckled, how do you humans say it these days? He swept a hand elegantly. Since . . . forever?

I don’t understand, Your Grace. Special wish?

Yes. He smiled. It is an extraordinary and long-held wish; one incredibly dear to my heart. But tonight you shall know for I have decided to share it with you. I am in need of your aid in order to witness its fulfillment. Would you like to know what that wish is?

Max swallowed. Yes, of course, Your Grace.

Good! He smiled much too friendly. You see, Max, I have forever longed to sire an heir, one of my flesh and, well, he chuckled, of my ill-acquired blood. This endeavor has taken countless years of careful cultivation and breeding, with, I must confess, he sighed and shook his head, "many, many disappointing results. Until now, that is. Are you prepared to hear of my success, Max?"

Y-Yes, Your Grace. Of course, he answered with a tone that clearly belied his words.

His visitor slowly smiled. Very well, he said. There has been an evolutionary miracle, Max, and I am quite pleased about it. For after countless disappointments, countless deaths, and incalculable amounts of spilled blood, the one, that One whose womb will swallow my lifeless seed and awaken it to life . . . that one has arrived. Much like you, I too have booked great success in my long-fought endeavor.

Max didn’t know what to say. Was His Grace talking about . . . fathering a child? Did he want to be a father? It’s not something he, himself, ever wished for nor understood why some men did, but knowing this visitor as only he did, it surprised him to hear he, of all . . . people, harbored a secret wish to be a father!

Are you . . . are you talking about producing a child of your own?

Quite, his visitor answered.

Don’t . . . people like you procreate . . . differently?

His visitor stared at him for a moment as if he didn’t understand what he was saying.

She is very precious, Max, he resumed with a more distant look in his undilated eyes. She has succeeded where numerous others have failed. I cannot tell you how my heart rejoices and overwhelms me that my time has finally arrived, and my long-held wish will soon come to fruition. The moment is close at hand when she will take my seed and nurture the fruit and produce my heir, one purely of my flesh and of my . . . lineage.

I-I don’t understand what you mean— Max was abruptly silenced when a hand was suddenly clamped around his throat. He instinctively held his breath, gripped with terror because his visitor had moved faster than a blink of his eye and he now stood behind him, and although the hand cupped his throat lightly, his other hand had taken his arm in a firm hold, as if to restrain him.

In all the years he had known this night creature, he had never been touched by him. The dynamics had suddenly changed, and not for the better. He was no fool. As light as those hands on him now were, he knew his visitor could break him in two without effort, and that thought alone made him go ashen in the face. He could barely breathe as he waited for his visitor’s next move. But the atmosphere had gone horribly sour and for the first time in his life, Max knew his life was in danger.

P-Please, Your Grace—

My patience is limited, Max, he heard the creature say in his ear. "Have you not been listening to what I have been saying? He could hear the creature’s teeth gnash in his ear just before he was grabbed by the hair and his head was snatched back. Have I not already confessed that in order that I may arrive at this moment, countless deaths have preceded it? That, dear Max, must include . . . yours."

Mercy, Your Grace! I beg you, have mercy on me, Max burst into terrified sobbing. I have a family now. I have power. I can give you anything you want, but I beg you, this one last time, have mercy on me and don’t kill me—

—There is no mercy for the damned, the dark man said, his voice hollow and echoed in his ear. When you struck the deal with the Devil, did you not think he would come to collect? When you struck the deal, did you think you were not already dead?

Please Your Grace!

Take pride, old friend, he said, not listening to his pleas. For you have served me well, better than most before you. But tonight, your greatest service shall be in honor of my unborn, my blessed son. For without your sacrifice he cannot come to be.

I beg you . . . Max sobbed.

Fare thee well, good servant, the creature whispered with a toothy mouth. And take with you that I shall forever remember you. Then his lips pulled back and his mouth widened with a snarling hiss.

Max struggled for his life, but he was caught in a vise-like grip. There was no escaping this attack. The dark stranger’s head shot down and he bit down hard. He sank his deadly fangs into his neck with a sickening crunch that ignited an explosion of excruciating pain. Max went stiff as he let out a strangled cry, already feeling his blood flow out of him as some trickled from between the dark lord’s pale lips.

It only took seconds to drain him. His complexion went from ashen to white in that short period of time, and his quick-beating heart pumped harder as less blood entered its chambers. He felt every ounce of strength leave him just before his eyes rolled up in his head and his body went completely limp. His jaw dropped and he let out a long death gurgle.

The lights were dimming for him, but not before a woman’s shrill and horrified scream tore through the silence of the library. Max heard it only briefly just before he sagged through his knees, hanging limp in the vise-like grip that kept him from falling on the posh Persian carpet beneath his numbed feet, listening to his wife’s scream as his world faded to black forever.

***~~ Chapter One ~~***

It was deep in the night when Helena Davis arrived at the address of billionaire Maximilian Holtmeyer. Leading an eccentric, almost reclusive life, she had no clue who this man was. She only knew he was wealthy. Obscenely so.

Helena found herself driving out to Holtmeyer’s mansion that night as a favor to a friend who happened to be chief of police. His name was Don Tyler. Don was a hardened New York cop turned Chief Inspector for the Chicago Police Department. He had only used her services for the more difficult cases in the past, so she knew this had to be one of them.

It was late—or early, depending on your perspective—when she arrived at the grand mansion that chilly September night. It was little over three in the morning, foggy, and uncomfortably cold, but Helena didn’t mind. She needed to get out of her home, and hopefully this was what she needed in order to get a good night’s rest—something that had been eluding her for much too long.

She slowed her SUV to parallel-park in between two squad cars along the curving drive. After she maneuvered the Explorer into its spot, she locked the emergency brake before setting the auto transmission in P. But then she paused. She frowned in thought while looking at the big, white house that was lit brightly by site lamps. The lamps were bright enough to make it look like day. This had to be a big and difficult case. There was a lot of activity in and around the house and security was tight.

Helena wasn’t there as a cop or any type of first responder. She was not, and has never been, part of the police force. She was just an extremely talented artist who was called in to help with a few forensic sketches every now and then, and that’s why she was there now, at that late—or early—hour.

She recalled the joy in Don’s voice when she told him she’d be able come out. She still felt a little guilty about that since she damn well knew she was doing this out of selfish reasons. He had apologized for bothering her, but he was also happy to know she hadn’t retired for the night. It wasn’t as if that was a stroke of luck, though. She rarely slept nights. She rarely slept at all, really. If she didn’t have her special drink—a berry wine—she would never sleep again.

Well, here I am, she sighed. Hope this works.

She exited her big SUV, hopping out of the high vehicle onto the winding gravel path. She reached in and got her black floppy briefcase that contained all her tools of the trade and what was always packed and ready to go. As she reached in, she noticed how foggy the Explorer’s windows were. It was really cold out, but strangely enough, she didn’t feel the chill at all. Strange, since she was usually sensitive to the cold, but then again, lots of new and strange things were happening to her in the past months. This was just one of them.

Yep, it was a very cold, very damp night, but unbeknownst to her, it was much more than that. It would become a night that would prove to be the turning point in her young life. From that night forward, her quiet, reclusive existence would end and she would find herself catapulted into the darkest recesses of society very few even knew existed. It would change her life forever. For now, though, all she was aware of was being called out on another favor, nurturing the hope that the cold night air and some concentrated work would help her find the sleep she so desperately needed.

Don Tyler was a large bear of a man. He was rotund, tall, and broad of stature. He had a wide face and ruddy cheeks, and he had a deep, firm, and authoritative voice that came from somewhere deep inside his chest. His presence alone commanded respect and he was never refused it, but he had never, and would never, raise his voice to her.

He couldn’t stop thanking her when he had called and discovered she was willing to help out. Her time was her own and she never charged for it. He confessed he was worried she wouldn’t come out to the site because he wouldn’t know what to do if she had refused.

Of course, he didn’t tell her this until after she had agreed.

He was tasked with a very delicate, very important case. It was an ultra sensitive one that had to remain hush-hush because it was one that was far out of the ordinary. Far out. In fact, it could easily be labeled supernatural.

That’s why he needed her.

Helena was, for one, naturally discrete and for two, she possessed an incredible and unique talent. It was a talent that had brought her fame and fortune the moment she stepped foot in an art class at a local community college. She possessed an uncanny ability to skillfully utilize all forms of art to produce work that projected exactly what her clients wanted—even if they didn’t know it themselves.

It was as if she could unlock the secrets of their soul and tap into the hidden parts of their psyche. She could access those areas of their minds with apparent ease, and she could draw out information that was hidden in the shadows, even from them.

In order to do this, Helena would go into a trance of sorts while focusing on her verbal model, as she called them, allowing their thoughts, feelings, and words to guide her. It was a trance of sorts because she was never really under. She was always conscious and fully aware of her surroundings, but when she was this concentrated on her verbal model, she felt as if she were in a foggy place where she could see, hear, feel, and even taste those necessary details trapped inside their minds.

Helena believed that the trance she’d undergo when sitting with her verbal models was nothing more than sharp concentrated focus. Their words, facial expressions, even the slight quiver of their lower lip were all she needed to draw out of them the picture they wanted to convey, but what they didn’t know how to verbalize. She could read them and connect with them, and then she’d let her gifted hands take over.

She really didn’t believe she had nor did anything special. She believed she was just a sketch artist who needed fewer words than most FBI forensic sketch professionals. Okay, so she was a little more skilled than your average forensic sketch artist, but not by much. For Helena, this wasn’t an opinion born out of modesty. Everyone who knew her knew she was the last person in the world they’d subscribe modesty to. This was about truth. And if anyone was a defender of the truth, Helena was in-your-face truth personified.

But she wasn’t giving herself enough credit here.

Her sketches had a success ratio of eighty-nine percent, according to Chicago PD calculations. But she pooh-poohed that away, attributing her talent as her being an artist first and foremost so she believed her abilities shouldn’t be so surprising. As for the eleven percent unsuccessful rate, well, it was usually because the witness or victim was too traumatized to give accurate readings as she called them.

In spite of her fame and fortune, Helena was as down-to-earth as one could be. Painfully so. She was also unbelievably eccentric with a look on life most people would dub odd—if they wanted to be polite about it. Usually, most people just called her crazy—but never to her face. They knew her reputation, and they avoided any altercation with her like the plague because although Helena Davis had the face of an angel she was anything but. Her in-your-face truthiness was backed by a vicious temper, like that of a Tasmanian Devil!

When not provoked or annoyed, though, and one never really knew where that ever-changing fine line was, she was very giving. For example, without the slightest hesitation, she said yes to Chief Tyler’s request and drove out in that chilly night to offer her services free of charge. On the other hand, once riled up, Helena had a very nasty and explosive temper. Oh, and a foul mouth to go with it—but only when she was provoked. She was otherwise quite . . . tolerable.

The lady in question now paused with briefcase in hand before she raised her pretty eyes to stare up at the brightly lit mansion. She wasn’t thinking about the crime or the crime scene, nor was she pondering the odd fact that the male and female uniformed cops scurrying about were exceptionally and conspicuously handsome and beautiful, although this alone was enough to rouse curiosity. That wasn’t the case with Helena, though. She’d never really been a real people person so things like that went straight over her ever-covered head.

No, at that moment, she was thinking about the time.

She was still pondering if it was very late or very early. She could never decide, but either way, she looked surprisingly awake for that hour. She stood there with big jade green eyes blinking in almost childlike wonder at the tall mansion, peering up from under a forest green mobcap. Her parted, bright red bangs spiraled down along her pretty face making her eyes seem even larger and more vulnerable than they actually were.

Finally having had her fill of just standing there doing nothing, she proceeded up the path toward the house. Had she known she was entering