Creator of Shadows (Scarlet Rain Series, Book 3): Scarlet Rain, #3

By Miranda Stork

When Lorenna is kidnapped by Feoran, the head of the vampyric Clan, it’s a dent in the Resistance. While she was expecting his twisted advances to her, she didn’t expect to feel something for him in return.

But that’s the least of her problems.

The city is more in ruins than ever, the Cuans being cut off one by one to prevent the rebellious humans taking over any part of New London. And after the discovery made at the Factory, armies of clones now walk the streets, ready to kill and trained viciously by their vampire masters.

The rebels must band together in full force, both to rescue their beloved witch from Feoran’s clutches, and to give the final push against the Clan. But a traitor in the heart of their inner circle is plotting with a vampire who wants more than they have, threatening to bring everything they have worked for tumbling down around them.

Can Lorenna gain her freedom to help her friends, and can they finally cut the head off the serpent that is the Clan? Or will humanity forever remain in its iron grip?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Isara Press
• Release date: Aug 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781501438950

Book preview

Creator of Shadows

Miranda Stork

Published by Isara Press

Copyright © Miranda Stork 2014-2016

The right of Miranda Stork to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers; Isara Press.

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Dedications

As always, an enormous thank you to my fiancé, Mark. You’re always there for me, whether it’s when I’m feeling down, or if I’m on a high. I couldn’t go through this world without you by side, and you’re the muse for every good man I write into my books. Love you, darling.

And a huge thank you to my closest friends, who know exactly who they are. You’re an amazing bunch of writers, and I can’t imagine a day when we’re not chattering away to one another about something, even if sometimes we don’t get to see each other as much as we’d like. I know you’re always there for me, and I’m always there for you. Love you guys, too.

The Scarlet Rain Series

Vigilante of Shadows (Book 1)

Keeper of Shadows (Book 2)

Creator of Shadows (Book 3)

Destroyer of Shadows (Book 4)

Chapter One

If she tried slamming herself against the door one more time, she was going to break something vital. And she probably needed all those vital things if she was going to make Feoran pay for this.

Lorenna gave a grunt and slid down against the polished wood, landing heavily on her backside. She lifted a grubby hand and ran it through her stuck-together hair, rolling her eyes in disgust at the tatters. She slumped back and gazed around her cell, taking in the broken bed and bench. The floor was uncomfortable against her bones, made up of grey slabs of stone, cold and unforgiving.

You could have at least left me with some water! she cried out, twisting herself so her shout might be heard outside. Lorenna sighed to herself when no response came, and leaned her head against the door once more. She didn’t have a clue where Feoran was. Or why he had taken her—well, no, that wasn’t strictly true. It was because he had the hots for her. Unrequited hots, I’d like to add. But it still didn’t explain exactly why he thought locking her up would help her see him in a romantic light. Stockholm Syndrome might be the closest he would get, and that wasn’t going to happen, as far as she was concerned.

Receiving no answer, the witch rubbed her hands together, firing up her magic. Thrusting her hands out, she attempted to blow a hole through the stone walls...succeeding only in making a few small sparks jump away from her fingers. "Bloody hell!" she yelled in frustration. There seemed to be a barrier in the room, preventing her from casting any spells. Perhaps snatching her away from battle hadn’t been a spur of the moment thing after all. Feoran had obviously planned this for some time. Barriers of this kind required heady magic. Black magic. Witches expected high prices for their services, and didn’t give them away for free.

As if on cue, keys rattled in the lock above Lorenna’s head. She jumped up in readiness, cursing the lack of protection she had for herself. Her violet eyes drifted over to the bed, a brief thought about trying to snap off a leg dancing around her mind. But there wasn’t time. She shuffled backwards as the oak door shuddered open, revealing the ominous silhouette of Feoran.

Hello, little witch. Enjoying your stay?

Lorenna gave a sneer. The views aren’t much, and the food is terrible. I’d rate it a shitty experience so far.

Feoran strode into the room, the sconces from behind casting light across the sharp planes of his face, black eyes gleaming like hot coals. A slow grin crossed his face, and he shrugged casually, meandering across the stone slabs until he halted in front of her. Lorenna flinched, but kept her features cold and unafraid. "Little witch, you’ll find you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, you know. I have much more comfortable rooms than this."

I’d rather jump in a pit of snakes, thanks. Lorenna’s mouth drew in a hard line.

Feoran hid a snigger. That can be arranged.

Lorenna gave a dry laugh, and tossed her hair over her shoulder, folding her arms. "So what do I owe this immense pleasure to? I’ve got a busy day, you know."

Doing what? Making sparks? The vampire jerked his finger towards her hands. You can’t do much else in here. I had it specially made for you.

How kind, Lorenna spat, her breathing speeding up with her rising fury. Let’s cut to it. What the fuck do you want, Feoran?

He twirled around and made his way to the bed, seating himself on it with a grace unbecoming of his stature. Lorenna’s eyes flickered over to the open door, but she knew better than that. It wouldn’t be wide open if he thought she could escape. Feoran followed her eye-line, clearing his throat to attract her attention back to him. If you want to put it so bluntly...yes—a fuck. What do you think I want, Lorenna? A cosy conversation and dinner?

Taken aback by his words, the witch swallowed anxiously, trying to coax some saliva back into her dry throat. She shook her head resolutely, tightening her grip on her arms as she folded them across her chest. Her violet eyes deepened to purple as she innocently replied, You know what, Feoran? I think you’re a lot like the Phantom of the Opera.

Not quite what you would expect under the surface and into dramatic entrances? he smirked back, letting his tongue run over one fang.

Lorenna’s lips twitched, and she retorted, No. Just as ugly under the mask and twice as unlikely to get the girl.

He said nothing, but his stained eyes darkened to rich claret as he rose up, the bed springs rattling. Shoving his hands into the neatly tailored pockets of his suit trousers, he walked across the room slowly and looked up at the walls, as though viewing fine art in a gallery. Lorenna’s heart clenched in her chest. Feoran being quiet was nothing to be happy about, it was more of a warning for his anger. I think you need to stay here for a while, Lorenna, he bit out, his low tone seething with rage. Perhaps you will be more hospitable when you’ve enjoyed the cold, hard mattress in here. Good day, little witch.

He went as quickly as he had entered, marching out and slamming the door closed behind him once more. Lorenna defiantly stuck her middle finger up after his retreating figure, swallowing back the scream that rattled at her vocal chords. She bent and snatched up a metal cup lying on the floor, devoid of any liquid, throwing it at the back of the door with vicious accuracy. The sound of it hitting and bouncing on the floor reverberated around her small cell, mocking her.

Hey! Hey, you!

Lorenna nearly jumped out of her skin as the whisper came from her back, somewhere from the vicinity of the wall. She twisted around with a thumping pulse, her eyes darting across each brick, her palms slickening with sweat. Voices coming out of walls was not a psychosis she wanted to develop. It’s probably a trick of Feoran’s. Keep your cool.

Over here!

The unmistakeable grating of stone sliding against stone came after the voice, and Lorenna narrowed her eyes as a tiny shower of powdered cement trickled from the wall opposite the bed. Dropping to her knees, she held her breath as the slab wriggled from side to side, disappearing as though sucked through a vacuum. Two chocolate eyes came into view, flickering back and forth across Lorenna’s face, strands of dark hair sweeping over the figure’s forehead. You’re new.

And...you’re in the next room. What the hell? How did you get that brick out? Lorenna hissed, giving a nervous glance to the cool air seeping in under the door. It wouldn’t have surprised her if Feoran himself had breezed under it as a wind and materialised in the cell. Who are you?

A scoff came from the figure. As if I’m going to tell you that. I’m another prisoner, that’s all you need to know. And don’t tell me your name, I don’t like holding information.

Why not?

In case of torture.

Fuck. I hadn’t even thought about that yet. Bile rose in Lorenna’s throat, and she swallowed it back quickly, shuffling closer to the gap. Grit crunched into her knees, and she clenched her teeth tightly, ignoring the pain as she leaned down further to look directly into her cellmate’s eyes. Aren’t you worried someone might find this little hole?

Not really. I’ve had several inspections and they’ve never found it yet. I used to talk to the girl before you.

There was a girl before me?

Yup. She went about a week ago. She didn’t even scream.

Lorenna rocked back on her heels, leaning against the cold wall. Her head spun with overload, and she pursed her lips tightly together again as the same scream bubbled beneath the surface. 

Are you still there?

She came back to her senses, nodding to herself and bending down to the gap again. Yeah, I’m here. I just...I’m here.

She moved her face out of the way just in time as an ebony hand shot through, waving back and forth wildly. Noticing with a shudder that there was dried blood under the fingernails of the figure’s hand, Lorenna took it and shook awkwardly, the hand retracting after a few second. The soft twang of the figure’s South London accent came again, as Lorenna’s cellmate added, Look, I’m not giving you my name, but...you can call me Sharpy.

Sharpy?

Let’s just say I’m usually good in a knife fight. Makes no difference if your enemies have knives of their own though, in their mouths. Kind of makes it unfair.

Guess that answers how she got in here. Poor woman. Lorenna was about to ask another question when a rattle was heard from the door in Sharpy’s cell. The block was hurriedly shoved back into place with little ceremony, and the conversation was ended. Muffled voices came from the cell next door, but she couldn’t make out any of the words.

Looking down at her palms once more, she stood up gingerly and made her way across to the bed, stretching them out until her fingers tingled with trapped nerves. Desperately she called forth her magic, scanning her hands for any aura, the familiar feeling of it reaching out from her soul, but not quite breaking the surface. She slumped onto the thin mattress, sinking her head into her hands. For the first time since she had been thrown into this nightmare, something inside her broke, and she cried until her eyes hurt from the strain.

Chapter Two

Torolf bent to pick up the metallic object, when a surge of electricity bolted out of nowhere, sending the tin can clattering along the floor merrily. He gave a heavy sigh, but his lips curled in a grin. Straightening himself again, he raised an eyebrow at a giggling Psyche, scooping up a ball of used newspaper and throwing it at her.

She laughed and raised her arm to cover her face, twisting to avoid the projectile, grimacing as it hit her arm with a wet plop. Torolf! That’s disgusting, gods only know what that was.

He scoffed at her, shouldering the worn satchel by his side. Serves you right for misusing your powers.

Aw...but I’m just practicing with them, she pouted jokingly, opening her palm to reveal a crackling blue ball of energy, reflecting off her stormy-grey eyes. The ball lit up the abandoned house around them in an acrid blue light, bouncing off every discarded shred of paper and crushed food tin. The newspapers and planks of wood across the broken window let in hardly any natural light, but an icy breeze whipped around them and whispered through the room. Psyche gave a cheeky wink and closed her palm, the glowing orb vanishing with a soft pop, returning to the task of sifting through the rubbish.

Michael shook his head across the other side of the room, holding up a long strip of cloth with disgust, letting it drop back and sink into an untidy pile of old clothes. I still don’t see why we can’t use the damn Black Market. Why are we poking around in here for supplies?

The six-foot werewolf craned his head over his shoulder to fix the human with a tired stare. His eyes flashing with darkness, he replied, Because we’re not made of money, and because we don’t let things go to waste. Now, hurry up so we can get the fuck out of here.

The three of them hurriedly got back to rummaging for supplies. Cuan Delta was completely shut down now, but it didn’t prevent those who knew how from getting where they needed to. And even the Black Market could run out of things from time to time, especially lately. Things had got worse over the last month since Lorenna had been kidnapped, everyone feeling the pinch of several extra mouths in their midst. The Clan was clamping down on the food supplies and tunnels, which meant it was harder to get anything into the city. And it didn’t help that two of those mouths came with fangs that didn’t require normal food. So they had been taking turns to snatch up what they could when they had the chance, despite the vampires upping their patrols.

Twice as many Enforcers as before now thronged the desolate streets outside, a sign that they had at least hit Feoran hard. He was scared. Because although he was alive, although he had kidnapped Lorenna, he had stared death in the face—and it hadn’t been on his side. The Rebellion grew stronger on both sides, for the immortals and the humans. But they were slowly starving, dying of common colds or falling over with fatigue. In one month, the Enforcers had ransacked two more of the Cuans, taking anyone they saw fit, taking them to the Factory without reason. Chaos was rife, and the only instinct left was survival.

A sudden shout from outside the house made Psyche look up sharply, her heart building a staccato beat against her ribs. She glanced across to Torolf and Michael, both of them listening with bated breath. Torolf nodded back to her, and the three of them ducked down, shuffling over to the window. Shoving her brown satchel around to her back, Psyche was the first one to reach the weathered boards. Her trembling fingers gripped the edge of the window frame as she peered through the narrow crack between the papers and wood planks, eyes darting from side to side as she held her breath. The late August wind that hit her eyes was sharper than she thought it would be, and she blinked to rid herself of the stinging sensation that pricked at her eyeballs.

The steady rhythm of booted feet came to her ears, growing closer as she crouched lower from sight, as though they might see through the layers of her viewpoint. There was no way it was one of the Rebellion from either side—they wouldn’t be shouting and striding through the streets as though they owned the place. It could only be one of the Enforcers. And where there was one, there was sure to be more. As if answering her own thoughts, the booted feet stopped, and a black leather coat came into view, halting outside the house.

Here! They’re around here somewhere...I can smell them.

Rip the houses apart. I want them found. NOW!

The march of several more boots thundered towards her, and Psyche backed down from the window, shuffling back into the room. She let out a calming breath as the warmth of Torolf’s hand came behind her, pressing into the small of her back. He leaned into her ear, his breath tickling her skin as he whispered, There’s five of them, I can scent them. Time for us to go. We’ll leave out the back way.

No good, Michael hissed from across the room. There is no ‘back way’ in here. The whole building is collapsed in on itself, remember? We saw when we came from the last lot. His hand slowly reached around to his side, fingers alighting on the glinting edges of his gun. Before they had left the hideout, he had loaded up with every rifle and gun he could get on his torso before it became cumbersome to move with them. The other humans he had arrived with a month ago hadn’t wanted him to go, Deron and Glen, but they couldn’t stop him altogether. John had arrived with them, but decided to return to the Human Rebellion, as they still needed a leader. Psyche understood how Michael felt. It was soul-crushing to be in the middle of a crisis and feel useless, if you thought you could help.

The werewolf tutted, cursing under his breath. I did forget that. Shit. They’re not going to bugger off, either. They know we’re here.

Then we’ve only got one choice. Psyche gave a strange, wry smile and let her power flare through her body, bursting forth from deep within her soul. I almost feel sorry for them.

Torolf spun her around, fangs already poised beneath his lower lip, eyes silvery and full of concern. Gripping her arms hard with a tense grip, he whispered, Hey, no heroics, right? We’re trying to get back, not make a statement.

Pressing a firm kiss to his lips, she stroked her hand across his jaw. He nipped at it playfully, gazing down at her as though he were drinking her in. Psyche replied, Understood. I can have restraint sometimes, you know.

Hey, lovebirds. Sorry to break it up, but they’re getting close, Michael broke in, palming his gun and slowly making his way across to the battered front door. Psyche and Torolf both nodded in unison, coming away and getting themselves in position. Torolf let his wolf come free, claws sliding out from his fingers with a crunch that still turned Psyche’s stomach. Following suit in preparation, she clasped her hands together, letting a stream of darkness spill forth. Ever since Feoran had attacked, she had been practicing with her newfound powers, and they grew stronger every day. They appeared to have no boundaries, but their real value lay in how the Shadowmen could tap into the magic with her. Psyche gave an imperceptible shiver at that thought. Despite what they had done to help her, despite the fact they had brought her back from the grave, she still didn’t entirely trust them. Whispers came from somewhere in the back of her mind, and she knew they were watching in on what was happening.

Three, two, one... The werewolf’s muttering was broken as he launched himself at the door, sunlight flooding the dusty room as he burst through, leaping out into the street with a howl. He landed on the back of an Enforcer, the vampyric creature crying out as his claws reached through their chest. The vampire clutched uselessly at the sharp implements, struggling to free themselves, but they hit the broken pavement and burst into grey ash before their hand ever reached the silver magnum hanging under their coat.

Another one leapt to aid him, but Michael sprang into action, angling himself against the door and firing off three shots. One of them nicked the Enforcer’s coat, but the other two found their target, disappearing through the other side of his head. He stuttered for a second, dark blood bubbling from his mouth as he choked, his veins turning black like poisoned ivy across his skin as he collapsed face-first. A cloud of ash rose in the air, thick and choking. Another Enforcer was in place before Michael was ready for them, and a shot rang out as it hit his shoulder with full force.

Fuck! he shouted through clenched teeth, returning fire. The vampire was too quick though, and neatly dodged his rapidly fired bullets. Blood poured from Michael’s wound, and Psyche spotted the other two Enforcers pausing, scenting the air. Blood around vampires was a dangerous thing. They would lose all logic in getting to him, and while that would make them easier to kill, it might not save Michael in time.

She yanked him back from the door, into the room again, and stood in the doorway. Torolf turned with a growl for the lone Enforcer who had fired his gun, the two of them moving with blinding speed at one another. The other two vampires set off at a dead run for Psyche, gathering speed as they rushed at the black-haired woman readying herself. She narrowed her eyes with a smirk, opening her palms towards them. A burst of dark energy came towards them, crackling and whispering as it surrounded them. A screech ripped through the air, defiant and vengeful. Two shadowmen appeared behind each Enforcer, and grabbed them about their necks, dragging them backwards into the black hole they came from. The two vampires struggled and wheezed beneath the crushing hold, attempting to grab the arms of the shadowmen, but meeting nothing more substantial than air.

Psyche nodded grimly at the two Shadows, and clenched her hands, indicating the show needed to be over. There was a disturbing popping noise, and the two vampires were swallowed, wheezing and kicking, into the darkness of the Shadowmens’ realm. She twisted her head in time to see Torolf finishing with the remaining Enforcer, blood spattering across the pitted road. He looked up at her with wild eyes, chest heaving with heavy breaths.

I told you not to be a hero! he shouted, pushing the limp body of the vampire aside as he made his way back over towards Michael and herself.

Psyche pointed back into the house, Michael clutching his shoulder with a grimace. I didn’t have any choice. One of them winged Michael.

The older man struggled to his feet, biting his lip in obvious agony, and he tightened the grip on his gaping wound as red stained his fingers. Torolf came across to take the satchel from him, swinging it up to join the other one already around his neck. Michael gazed up at him with a tired expression. I’m okay. Cheers, mate. That noise will have echoed for miles, though. We have to get out of here.

The distant yelling of more Enforcers could already be heard from the other end of the Cuan. The three of them exchanged drawn looks before edging out the door and flying down the street as fast as their feet would carry them. They hammered around the corner, towards the only man-cover left that had not been locked shut. Torolf bent and gritted his teeth, grunting as he lifted the heavy circle of metal, prising it open enough for Psyche to help Michael down, before disappearing into the depths below herself. The werewolf leapt down after her, heaving the cover back into place with his shoulder.

Vampire boots thumped across the surface above, but the sounds grew quieter as the three rebels ventured along the winding sewer tunnels, back towards their base. None of them spoke a word as they twisted and turned along the slick metal pipes, wading through three decades of un-cleared rubbish. Eventually reaching the door back into their base, they unlocked the heavy bars holding it by turning the massive wheel mechanism, and disappeared inside with sighs of relief.

Psyche was still holding Michael upright, helping him to walk with one arm about her shoulders. Come on, she urged, forcing a smile on her face. Sick bay for you. I’ll find Deron. With Lorenna gone, the closest they had to someone who knew what to do medically was Deron, who had received training from the Human Rebellion. It wasn’t much, but it was better than slapping a plaster on everything. And frankly, it was lucky he was there, considering what had happened.

Easy, easy. Torolf dropped the satchels to the floor and reached over, catching Michael as he slipped from Psyche’s hold. She let go reluctantly, gazing at the injured man with a deep frown creasing her brow. Picking up the two bags, she followed after as her mate led Michael through into the main living area. The lights flickered above, a further reminder of how things were getting worse. They had always managed to patch into the electrical system the vampires set up, but since the vampires had decided the humans needed lengthy blackouts for their rebellious acts, the immortals had to make do with generators. And seeing as the parts were at least thirty years old in the best of cases, they weren’t running too smoothly.

The others looked up as one when the three of them entered the main room. A large chamber built sometime back in the twentieth century, its original use had been as a nuclear shelter, but luckily it had never served its purpose. It resembled something from an army base, all metal walls and cafeteria tables, but attempts had been made by the women to make it more homely. A few reclaimed armchairs in varying patterns were arranged around the radiators, patchy cushions finding a home on them. Melinda and Glen lounged on two of the chairs, still looking pale, but at least well enough to sit and talk to one another. Psyche smiled to herself. It was good to see her old friend, and even better to see there was someone good she was falling for. The smile fell as she roved her eyes across the room to Harold, who was sat nursing a coffee and scowling at the laughing pair.

Arianwen leaned around the corner from the kitchen area, her welcoming grin fading as she spotted Michael’s shoulder. Dropping the knife in her hand onto the counter, she raced over, wiping her hands down her front. Deron! You’re needed! Deron and Aodhan were in deep discussion at one of the cafeteria tables, and the dread-headed Jamaican rose up with concern in his eyes.

Please, I’m fine, Michael wheezed, sinking down onto one of the table seats, grimacing as he twisted his shoulder. It’s nothing. I’ve had far worse.

’Dat ya’ have, mon’, ‘dat ya’ have, Deron chuckled, carefully peeling back his friend’s shirt, separating the sticky blood-coated fabric from the wound, whistling sharply as the extent of it was revealed. He immediately set to work, wiping away the excess with a cloth before disappearing to get his tools.

Psyche and Torolf dragged themselves over to the kitchen area, dumping the satchels on top. Aodhan came over, lifting one of the bags with a large hand and peering inside. He gave a heavy sigh at the meagre pile within, placing it back down and locking darkened eyes with Torolf. His horns rippled black, curled back from his temples. Psyche could still remember the first time she had seen Aodhan in full demon form, and the chill that had run through her at the sight. Now it was as commonplace as brushing her teeth. It wasn’t as if she was fully human anymore either, although no one was certain what she actually was now. And the only person who could tell her was currently being held by the biggest arsehole this side of a blood-bank.

Is that all you could find, then? The tall demon’s Scottish tones cut through her daydream, snapping her back to the unfortunate reality before them. His question wasn’t accusatory, rather it was mournful for the situation. His crestfallen features lit up for a second as his Entwined, Arianwen, sidled in beside him and linked her arm through his, leaning into him.

Torolf gave a curt nod, placing his hands flat on the counter. I’m afraid so, Aodhan. There’s hardly anything left to scavenge. The place has been picked clean over the last few weeks—mainly by us. He reached into the bag and pulled out the few tins of meat and fruit that had survived the recent searches from the Enforcers.

Harold came over, coffee still in hand, and gave a dry snort at the scene. The other four all raised their heads and stared at him coldly, daring him to speak. Ignoring their seething gazes, he knocked back the rest of the liquid, giving a satisfied sigh, placing the chipped mug into the sink. The vultures circle, do they not? Seems I’m the only one with a steady supply of food around here. He glanced over towards Melinda and gave his lips a deliberate lick.

Hey! Watch your fucking step, bloodsucker, Psyche warned, stepping towards him. Torolf laid a gentle hand on her arm, squeezing it and coming to stand behind her, hugging her into him and staring the vampire down. Harold didn’t move, his jaw clenching. Ever since Psyche had proven herself in battle, he had been more careful than ever to avoid her. Everyone had made it obvious he wasn’t there through their choice, but merely as a necessity. You keep away from Melinda. At the mention of her name, Melinda glanced up with worried eyes, but turned back in her seat, burrowing down and ignoring the fight behind her.

Don’t worry, I won’t be sinking my fangs into anyone here. At least not for now, Harold grinned, revealing the mentioned canines with a wink. But I may have to make a complaint about the coffee. Haven’t you people heard of sugar?

Aodhan leaned across to the second satchel, throwing it across the blemished grey Formica. Here, vampire. If you can find any, you welcome to have it. We’re lucky we’ve got coffee at all, remember that.

Releasing her hold on him, Arianwen grabbed the tins on the top and turned around to start placing them in cupboards, her auburn hair falling across her face as she shook her head. Maybe. But we’ve got to face the possibility that we’re running lower than we can afford to.

Puckering an eyebrow, Harold lost his cheerful tone and muttered, I don’t see why we can’t use the Black Market. Don’t they normally have everything?

Well, they would, Torolf remarked, gathering up the second bag and passing the content to Arianwen, but your little vamp buddies put a stop to that, didn’t they? They’ve blocked off half the sewer tunnels in the city, and who knows when they’ll find the rest. If there’s no way to get around and search outside for more supplies, they can’t get them in. Half the immortals have vanished to try their luck elsewhere in the country.

The group fell silent, Aodhan heaving a heavy sigh before twisting on his heel and making his way back over to the bookshelves. Arianwen paused in her task and gazed after him sadly, her shoulders slumping. Psyche followed her gaze, crossing over and giving the red-headed demoness a tight hug. Arianwen burst into a delighted grin at the gesture, hugging back before giving Psyche a grateful nod and turning back to the tins. Everyone knew what Aodhan was doing, but it seemed hopeless. While it was well known that the immortals moved freely around the country—or as freely as they could, anyway—it was less likely for the humans. Yet Arianwen and Aodhan had been doing research into any possible settlements for them outside New London. It was the main reason Andred and Vladimir had been gone so long before, searching for any small villages or towns.

With that thought, Psyche tugged on Torolf’s arm. Where are Andred and Vladimir? I thought they were here when we left?

Glancing up from his work, Aodhan gave a weary nod, his emerald eyes dark and tired. They were. They’ve gone out scavenging, same as you guys. Left after you went out.

The group retreated to the warmth of the armchairs, with the exception of Arianwen, who crossed the room to sit by Aodhan’s side. She perched herself on the seat next to him, grasping his hand tightly, rewarded with a passionate kiss between the two of them. Psyche’s heart leapt to see the gesture, and she gazed across to her own lover, Torolf. Reading her thoughts, he passed behind her seat, giving a low growl and nipping her on the ear with a grin before plumping down opposite her. Glen and Melinda fell silent as the group approached, giving wan smiles.

How are you feeling? Psyche asked, scanning her friend’s face with some anxiety. Melinda may have looked better, but she still worried about her. She couldn’t help it after what she had learned about Melinda’s escape, that it had all been for her benefit. The debt would never be repaid, she knew that much.

I’m good. Just taking it easy. The pale brunette turned her head and patted Glen’s hand, Harold flinching at the movement. Torolf shot him a warning glare, but said nothing. We both are.

Glen’s face lit up as he beamed back at her. It was obvious the young man was taken with her. We’ll look after each other, he added, picking up her hand and giving it a dramatic kiss. She giggled and pulled her hand back quickly, her cheeks flushing.

The armchair legs screeched as Harold pushed away, rising up and disappearing into the private quarters of the bunker, punching a wall as he passed. It left a dent as he cursed under his breath, the metal protesting against the blow. The others watched