The Necromancer's Redemption

By Mimi Sebastian

"In this series, there is no shortage of action, betrayal and bringing back the dead"--Paranormal Romance Guild on The Necromancer's Betrayal

"If you enjoy an urban fantasy with a little romance and sex on the side, you'll probably enjoy The Necromancer's Seduction." --Bewitching Book Tours Magazine

Between hell and a hard place . . .

Before he died, necromancer Ruby Montagne's demon grandfather passed her his Death Essence--his power. And that would be good . . . if she had a clue how to use it. Unfortunately, the impending destruction of both of her worlds demands she figures it out--fast. She's got to stop an invasion of zombies from the bowels of hell. She has help from Xavier, the demon she's nicknamed the Big Bad. But while Xavier does teach her to control her new power, he's just setting her up for trouble. Bad trouble. Still, he's better than the demon High Inquisitor, who's obsessed with trying to kill her.

Ruby's got even more trouble. She wants to regain the trust of her sometimes-lover, sometimes-adversary, Ewan--a demon warrior who's six-feet-plus of chiseled muscle and coiled sexuality. It'd be a lot easier if her beloved friend, Lysander, a powerful vampire, wouldn't keep trying to lure her into bed.

In order to defeat the zombies she must find--and learn how to use--an ancient artifact that will keep the veil between the worlds from shattering. But there's a cost--the artifact feeds on souls. If she masters the artifact's power, she'll save both the human and demon worlds. But there's not much time . . . and the artifact is hungry. Will she forfeit her soul before she's able to fix the veil?

Mimi Sebastian raised herself on books, an unhealthy dose of comics, and movies. When a career as a punk guitarist failed to materialize, she completed her degree in urban planning. By day, she debates the merits of transport oriented development. By night she writes about necromancers and pirates.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BelleBooks
• Release date: Mar 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781611946147

Book preview

Praise for Mimi Sebastian’s Necromancer series...

Of The Necromancer’s Seduction...

Sometimes funny, sometimes creeptastic, sometimes downright scary.

—Happy Tails and Trails

If you are looking for a major supernatural fix with zombies, demons, revenants (zombies with their souls intact), and more wrapped in a fast and fun read, you have found the perfect book. I am so excited for the sequel. It can’t get here fast enough.

—Offbeat Vagabond

I really loved this book, it had romance, suspense, surprises, vampires, demons, witches, zombies and revenants. So, what more could a lover of paranormal want?

—Paranormal Romance Guild

Of The Necromancer’s Betrayal...

I found Ruby to be entertaining and realistic. Her snark was well placed and her emotions were wonderful. The plot itself was fun and made for a quick read, in a good way. I loved reading the tale and think it was perfectly set for another book in the series while making sure to fully complete this one.

—Book Bliss

Those that enjoy paranormal in all forms will find The Necromancer’s Betrayal to be a great fit.

—InsideStone

Books by Mimi Sebastian

The Necromancer’s Seduction

The Necromancer’s Betrayal

The Necromancer’s Redemption

by

Mimi Sebastian

ImaJinn Books

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

ImaJinn Books

PO BOX 300921

Memphis, TN 38130

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-614-7

Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-596-6

ImaJinn Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Copyright © 2015 by Mimi Sebastian

Published in the United States of America.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

The author and publisher have provided this ebook to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way.

Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: [e-mail]

ImaJinn Books was founded by Linda Kichline.

We at ImaJinn Books enjoy hearing from readers. Visit our websites

ImaJinnBooks.com

BelleBooks.com

BellBridgeBooks.com

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Cover design: Debra Dixon

Interior design: Hank Smith

Photo/Art credits:

Face (manipulated) © Dunca Daniel | Dreamstime.com

Couple (manipulated) © HotDamnStock.com

Staircase (manipulated) © Perseomedusa | Dreamstime.com

:Arnm:01:

Chapter One

GUS, THE DEMON butler, poked his head in the study, his expression one of impatience. You can’t hide in here all evening.

I waved off his entreaty, not quite ready to face the gathered hordes.

The San Francisco Victorian, otherwise known as the demon lair, crackled with a high octane buzz. Tonight’s soirée was far from the normal Saturday diversion. Then again, nothing in this house could ever be characterized as normal. The supernaturals in attendance had come expecting a cosmic event—to witness the fireworks, maybe even light some of their own, and see where the burning embers landed.

Laughter and conversational chatter twisted down the hallways, clogging the downstairs parlor, along with the ambient, trip-hop Pandora mix wafting from the speakers wired throughout the lair.

In the occasional awkward conversation break, in the side glance thrown to see who’d arrived—in those moments, sometimes only a blink’s worth, I sensed the power and mystery slinking about as everyone sought to make sense of the most recent events. Malthus Green—former demon overlord and my grandfather—had been killed, setting different demon factions against each other and the supernatural races on the offensive. Relations between vampires, witches, werewolves and demons had never been tidy. You’d have better luck calming a hive full of hornets. I, who’d previously avoided all things supernatural, now found myself ensnared in that hive, expressly when many had come tonight to seek some evidence of whether or not I’d killed Malthus. Because Ruby Montagne doesn’t have enough crazy in her life.

I turned away from the fireplace and faced Gus, still standing at the doorway. You really channeled Martha Stewart in decorating the lair, I said, laughing at his satisfied smirk. In true diva fashion, he’d lined the corridors and halls in color-coordinated candles, as if he’d read my mind on the need to lighten the more austere décor and introduce a little feng shui flow. Gus continued to reveal hidden talents, the most surprising being the high flying, black-winged dervish he’d disguised underneath his about-to-disintegrate human realm façade.

Ewan is sulking. I presume he will seek you out shortly, Gus said, offering a bemused smile before ducking back into the hall.

An anxious anticipation made my insides churn. Nothing short of a ten-year self-enforced seclusion in a Himalayan monastery would prepare me for that impending encounter. So I’d done the next best thing, having spent the day donning my armor. I adjusted the shoulder strap of my simple, but sexy black dress purchased at the boutique owned by a witch, Ivanka, and patted the intricate updo I had done at the salon. Nothing less would do for tonight’s Ascension Ceremony, recognizing me, professor-necromancer-part-demon, as the new interim demon overlord.

Personally, I was continually baffled by my part demon-ness and what it meant for my humanity and my necromancy. I certainly didn’t inherit any exciting demon traits, including their penchant for enviable, effortless glamour. While not overweight, my hard-to-fit curvy figure often made shopping for clothes more of a chore than fun. And while many men and supernaturals alike seemed to dig the whole fiery red-head thing, I still wasn’t sure what they saw in my usually awkward and disheveled state when more polished, refined inhuman females strutted about. Whatever the attraction, I wasn’t complaining. It had led to some amazing sex with some pretty hunky, hot, supernatural males, including the sulking Ewan. No, definitely not complaining, despite all the drama.

Demon attendants scuttled about, carrying trays filled with delectable treats and lots and lots of alcohol. Supes loved their libations. One of the servers swooped into the study and offered me a Death in the Afternoon. I eyed the aspiring comedian moonlighting as a server, who responded to my arched brow with a blank look, as if he hadn’t just offered the necromancer a death-themed drink. I reached for a glass of wine. He clicked his tongue in disapproval and scurried away.

I sipped on the Malbec, savoring the spicy, fruity blend. Malthus had died in my arms in this same study three weeks ago—the place he’d lorded over demons in this realm and to a certain extent, the entire supernatural community. The place he’d asked me to raise the dead, initiating a series of events restoring me here—once again. My own homecoming, sans a sparkling tiara. A crown of thorns would have been more appropriate.

The composure I’d spent the last thirty minutes carefully erecting suddenly abandoned me, and I deflated onto a chair. Now I was expected to embrace a demon legacy weighed down by tragedy and trespasses committed centuries ago. I slid my eyes to the spot on the floor where I’d held Malthus’s dying body. He’d sacrificed everything—his relationship with my grandmother, reconciliation with my mother and me, and ultimately, his life, to protect us, the human-necromancers, and salvage what remained of his kind.

I hadn’t had enough time, after discovering he was my grandfather, to truly know him. Mostly, I’d hated him as the demon who had manipulated me at every turn. Now only sadness and regret for not letting him into my life stained my thoughts of him. I held many regrets. Death of friends. Guilt over my best friend, Kara’s, exile from her coven. Betrayal of Ewan, the one demon for whom I cared deeply.

And I was tired of regretting... of fearing.

Demons never seemed to fear anything and I had to tap that vein, but first I had to unravel their politics, which was something to fear in of itself. Their political scheming reduced The War of the Roses to grade school playground machinations. The best turn I’d ever mastered on the playground was finagling a ride on the seesaw. If I was to succeed in this tragi-comedy, I had to master the rules of the playground and make things right again for Ewan, for this world, for all of the demons left in precarious positions after Malthus’s death. He’d been killed by the head of the demon council, Ivo, who’d carefully tended a century’s old grudge against Malthus, a grudge now happily transferred to me. Malthus had apparently broken a demon law by procreating with a necromancer, my grandmother, and Ivo had made it his mission to make sure Malthus paid the ultimate price. He’d wanted to just kill me, but Malthus had bargained his life for mine.

I paused with the wine glass to my lips, intending to take a small sip because the last thing I needed was to slosh my way through the night, but ended up tossing down half the glass. Gus, having re-entered the study, merely lifted an eyebrow in response.

He and the other demons had the nerves of steel routine down—another trait I’d sought to nurture. Maybe they lacked nerves altogether.

Well, except one.

Chapter Two

THE NERVES-ON-STEROIDS demon in question, Ewan March or Marchios—his demon moniker—strode into the study. The force of his entry caught me in its concussive wave, knocking the breath from my lungs. He brushed past me and poured a scotch, tossed it down in one long gulp, and glowered at me.

Demon. Angel. Devil. Our relationship had tip-toed from a hopeful passion only to be squashed when we discovered I was Malthus’s granddaughter. Malthus had bound Ewan in a debt pact—an extreme punishment for leading some kind of rebellion in the demon realm. The pact prevented him from pursuing relationships with Malthus’s bloodline beyond bodyguard or tea server.

Ewan scrutinized me a few more moments then spoke. I don’t know what you’re doing, what you and Malthus cooked up before he died. But I’m certain you didn’t jump into this absurd scenario with Xavier because you actually believe in his twisted crusade. Right now, I’m still too pissed off over the debt pact transfer to figure it out, but I will eventually.

His voice dripped with salacious menace, a spine tingling combination of honey spiked with eye-watering levels of cayenne. I couldn’t decide if he was threatening or seducing me. I’d confronted a pissed off Ewan before, but had never sensed this same level of intensity, this same bone jarring fear of facing off against a predator that could devour me in seconds.

Before dying, Malthus had transferred Ewan’s debt pact to the Big Bad, Xavier. While Ewan and I could now cavort without repercussions, our relationship had become too marred and unrecognizable, like a boxer emerging from another round, face beaten to a pulp, bruised by betrayal. We’d shared some incredible moments, but we couldn’t base a relationship on moments, no matter how exquisite and soul shattering.

Ewan circled around me slowly. His breath, tinged with the hot spice of alcohol, brushed my neck as he leaned close, as if stalking me from behind, sending goose bumps in frenzied leaps down my back. I skittered behind Malthus’s desk, hoping the thick wood would buffer me from Ewan’s savage intensity, but it didn’t. He could have flicked the heavy desk away as if it were cardboard. He stalked closer and leaned over the desk, his hands braced on the burnished oak. I shivered. My goose bumps shivered.

The transfer of his debt pact to Xavier had thrust a new, unconstrained Ewan to the fore. The stringent Malthus had dulled Ewan’s bad boy impulses. Duty had bound Malthus to the point of weakness while Xavier sought ways to escape the paradigms set by both demons and the supernatural community. Now, under Xavier’s charge and no longer subject to certain taboos, Ewan had sharpened his seductive instincts on a potent whetstone.

It didn’t help he was decked out in demon traditional garb, which I found way more sexy than our more functional human fashion. The shiny, black caftan, in the style of an African boubou, fell to his knees. Silver embroidery wound around the hem and the stiff, straight collar. His skin gleamed in shades of gold and copper—an effect triggered by intense emotions—creating a camouflage effect in battle and a disarming one right now. He presented a devastating picture, and it never failed to send heat coursing through my body to converge between my legs. Every time he dressed in demon attire, I realized his demeanor in the human realm hid the fiercer Marchios, the demon. But was Ewan in there too?

He stared at me, unrelenting. I also don’t believe Malthus would have transferred his death essence to you if he thought you’d fully committed to Xavier’s agenda.

I diverted my gaze to the built-in bookshelves filled with thick, unnaturally preserved tomes and treatises and god knew what else. I wanted to explain why Malthus had given me his death essence, what remained of his now extinct demon Death Cult’s wellspring of power. They’d used the arcane element to birth necromancers, later discovering we could make more of the non-renewable death essence from the living souls of humans. Some in the Death Cult had grown addicted to the power rush provided by the death essence and, together with equally addicted necromancers, harvested human souls, catalyzing a backlash against the Death Cult and a necromancer genocide, the effects of which reverberated to this day. Really, when it came right down to it, I was the supernatural equivalent of a drug dealer for death demons.

I stood, suddenly dizzy as the death essence swarmed over me, prickling my insides as if bees had taken residence. Ewan stepped closer, but I shot out my hand and he stopped. Malthus would never have let Ewan question him so blatantly and neither could I. I steadied myself and turned to him. The debt pact binds you to Xavier. You are sworn to serve him. That’s all you need to know.

Something in me died. A necessary demise perhaps, yet no less painful. I had to act the demon bitch if we were to survive, and the bitchiness had included betraying Ewan, so Xavier would trust me enough to reveal his plans. And no matter what justification Malthus and I had contrived at the time, we had betrayed Ewan by transferring his debt pact not to just any old demon, but to the Big Bad himself.

Ewan clenched his jaw. The muscles in his neck corded. I braced for the impact of his oncoming fury when Jax and Damon entered the study, relieving me from Ewan’s looming presence, although the two demons were almost as skilled in dishing out their own generous portions of defiance.

The dark complexioned, exotic-looking Jax, a flesh-eating demon and Kara’s lover, was bound to me by his loyalty to Malthus and this house. Damon, Ewan’s fellow warrior demon, had distrusted me from our first meeting and only offered help out of his fierce loyalty to Ewan. And that was when he was feeling particularly magnanimous. I was surprised he’d shown up, wearing his axe strapped on his back no less, although I doubt anyone present would dare propose he remove it.

Ewan pushed off the desk and embraced his blond, mustached friend. Damon stood taller than Ewan’s six plus feet. Hell, he stood taller than most demons.

I’m returning to the demon realm, Damon said, and the look of utter befuddlement that possessed Ewan’s face mirrored my own confusion. I’m going to help form an alliance to remove Ivo from the demon council.

I’d all but given up on making sense of the mind-bending demon politics, but had known, before the necromancer genocide and the Death Cult’s fall from grace, demon society had lacked an overarching ruling structure. Its society had been organized along different cults, like medieval guilds. Each cult commanded a certain skill or power and set rules and oversight for its members. In theory, all cults held equal power. In practice, some, like the Warrior Cult and the Death Cult, had risen above the others. After the genocide, Ivo had led the dismantling of the cult structure—the Reformation—and the installation of a more hierarchical, less tolerant social-political system, governed by a council he now led. It was very convenient for him, in my opinion.

Ewan regarded Damon thoughtfully. While I think mounting an opposition is needed, how will you deal with Ivo? You would be subjecting yourself to his authority and punishment if he discovers your plans.

And I wouldn’t be subject to another form of tyranny here? Damon said, derision twisting his lips. His gaze was fixed on Ewan, but both of us knew he was referring to Xavier and me. I’m not worried about Ivo. When have I ever submitted to someone’s authority unwillingly?

An unabashed grin spread across Ewan’s face. Yes, I’ve experienced your defiance first hand.

Deservedly so, my friend. They exchanged a long look while I wondered how a disagreement between the two powerful warriors would have played out and how many structures would have survived intact.

Until Ruby can stabilize the portal, all of us should avoid travel between the realms. You may not be able to return if things get bad, Ewan said.

Damon’s stark green eyes drifted to me. Why is the portal failing?

No one knows why and Malthus isn’t around to explain or fix it, I said, unable to repress the defensive note underlying my tone, one driven by my own anxiousness and despair. We were all screwed if the portal between the human and demon realms collapsed, leaving a gaping hole in the Veil between worlds through which other, more noxious creatures could slip past. Damon dismissed me with a scowl. Like the portal falling apart was my fault?

Ivo killed Malthus. He’ll do the same to anyone who opposes him, Ewan said.

Damon’s lip curled. Let him try. My home is with my people. I’m not concerned with returning to the human realm. He clasped Ewan’s shoulder. We’ve always fought together, now we have chosen different paths. I hope they’ll eventually converge. I hope we don’t find ourselves on different sides of the battlefield.

Damon extended his hand, and, in my paranoia, I thought for a brief tense moment, he was reaching for the axe, but he pointed at me while looking at Ewan. Why do you trust her? Damon asked, causing my rancor to inch up a notch.

You’re one of my oldest friends. We’ve bled on the battlefield. You know I’ll always stand by you, but you have to trust me on this one, Ewan replied.

I smirked at Ewan’s change from being my tormentor to defender, which was fine with me. While Ewan was intimidating in his own right, I trusted him not to slice my head off. Not so with Damon.

I’ve always trusted you, Marchios, but I’m not sure you’re thinking with the right organ on this one. He leveled his gaze at Ewan’s crotch, eliciting a half growl, half chuckle from Ewan. Then he stepped toward the door. She’ll be the death of you, he said.

Ewan met my eyes, his expression as cryptic as the images grafted onto the stained glass windows behind him. Then so be it.

My tolerance of their banter at my expense having worn thin, I stood abruptly. Fuck all of you, I said, and made for the door. In the hall, I heard Jax say, What did I do?

It wasn’t the exit befitting a demon princess or whatever the heck I was, but who cared. I didn’t need to subject myself to their taunts. I understood demon protocol enough to know they’d outright disrespected my position. While they’d never display such discord in front of the other demons, it still wasn’t right. I had to learn how to demand the respect befitting a true demon asshole.

Yet, was that really what I wanted to become? Certainly the demons had super strength, bad attitude, healing ability, and crazy powers. I was a professor, raised by her grandma, and a necromancer, who no one really liked and who could conjure zombies that fell apart and ate brains. The white elephant in the room. And now, suddenly, everyone wanted to know my next move. Now I was some harbinger of doom. Whatever that meant.

Instead of rushing off, I should have ordered them out of the study, but I wanted a change of scenery, wishing for the clock to speed ahead to my secret meeting with Kara in our backyard shed. Since the events leading to Malthus’s death, she’d retreated into hiding, plotting to overthrow the current coven leader, Sybil, with a small group of coven exiles.

I sought a quiet moment in the rounded portico just off the main entrance when a high-blood pressure head rush jarred my senses moments before Lysander appeared next to me.

So if I took some blood pressure medication, would that counter the effect of our blood bond? I asked my vampire friend, who was sometimes more, especially since we began swapping blood so I couldn’t turn the vampires into zombies.

He laughed. Is that how it feels for you? If we’re to liken the bond to drugs, I’d say I just took a dose of Viagra.

I dipped my head, not wanting him to see the flush invading my cheeks, although he’d probably sensed my heart rate increase. Lysander and I had exchanged blood a total of three times. Each exchange had cultivated a new sensation inside me, which intensified after he’d taken over as the new Master Vampire. Not that Lysander needed his vampire powers to make women swoon. His thick blond hair, swept back in a barely combed manner, sultry green eyes, and lean muscular physique exerted more than enough delirium on the opposite sex.

So what kind of dog and pony show did you have to tolerate to become Master? I asked.

Exchanging blood with lots and lots of vampires over the course of a week.

Okay. I’m not complaining anymore about this whole Godfather scene then.

Speaking of which, what’s the scuttlebutt going around over your involvement in offing Malthus? Not that I believe it for a second.

I appreciate the vote of confidence and you’re right. The demons on the other side are working to oust the perpetrator. I couldn’t have stood it if Lysander believed I’d killed Malthus. The demons in both realms knew Ivo had done the