Full Moon Rising (Midnight Moonlight, Book 5)

By Eren Reverie

Sometimes, it's just to much to hope you can rest in peace.

Abby has dealt with ancient vampires. She's handled faeries, and helped her best friend usurp the local faerie king's throne. It should be time for a break, right?

Wrong.

Dead wrong.

Abby might have saved her girlfriend from turning into one of the soulless undead -- and saved her best friend from becoming a faerie lord's personal hall pass into reality -- but in the processes she's been forced to neglect other people she cares about, and now those problems need to be dealt with. Although her boyfriend managed to escape the ancient vampire that had been controlling him, in the process his lycanthrope side took over. Now it's a brand new day: and some one is going to have to pay the price of letting a werewolf run free for a night. Someone else. Someone with no knowledge of the supernatural world, who woke up with a nasty dog bite and a strangely aggressive attitude....

Can Abby and her friends -- and lovers -- pull off enough damage control to prevent a catastrophe? Or will they be too late to prevent another mortal from succumbing to a werewolf's bite? They don't know who was bitten, or how to find him. In fact, the only thing that's for certain is that they're going to have to move fast: It might be a brand new day, but that only means that evening is coming. And this evening, there happens to be a full moon rising....

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eren Reverie
• Release date: Apr 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310001048

Eren Reverie

Hi! Eren here. I’m a married, transgender, bi (but distinctly lesbian leaning) 30-something recovering-caffeine addict. I’d like to say I’m a full-time housewife and professional author, but the fact is that I’m currently a part-time housewife and professional cubical occupant.These stories are my attempt to turn that around and achieve some of my dreams. Specifically, I’d like to become a professional write-from-home author and housewife, and never have to dwell in a cubical again.I enjoy adventures, comedies, non-traditional romances, interwoven story arcs, most sorts of kinky goodness and juxtaposing the bizarre and larger than life with the daily and mundane... so those are the sorts of stories I’ll be trying to tell. (Although honesty behooves me to admit that I am a shy girl, and the amount of explicit eroticism you’ll find in my work will depend entirely on how much the story demands and how fiercely embarrassed I become while writing it!)Thank you for joining me on my journeys of imagination.

Book preview

Hans came to slowly. Pain befuddled his senses: sharp, agonizing spikes interlacing the layers of ache that made up his body. He groaned when he opened his eyes, and regretted all of it. The groan hurt his throat. His eyelids hurt, and exposing them to the light hurt his eyes. They blurred and watered, trying to clear out the flakes of dried blood that had drifted in when opening them had broken the scabbed crusts holding them shut.

He hurt everywhere. And he smelled blood. His own blood.

So, a man suddenly said somewhere to his left. Sleeping beauty awakens.

With an agonizing effort, Hans managed to roll on his side. He was handicapped by the shackles binding his wrists behind his back. They tingled -- not quite, but almost, burning. Silver, or silver lined. The ones around his ankles were the same.

Hans blinked, trying to clear his blurry vision and take in his surroundings. His nose helped more: there was one person in the room. Another -- a woman -- who had been earlier: just a couple hours ago. He was covered in blood, almost all of it his and none of it fresh. There were other scents, too. Old, old scents that seemed familiar. Hans ignored them and tried to focus on the other man. Another captive, or my jailor? He wasn't someone Hans knew, but he smelled of dried blood, too. And an undercurrent that made Hans' wolf sit up and snarl.

Werewolf.

Rival, Hans' wolf growled. Interloper. Kill.

Fellow captive, Hans tried to reason. He struggled to push his wolf down, while it struggled to take over. Not that it would be able to do much while he was in silver shackles: if he succumbed to the beast, it would control his mind but be unable to shift his body. He would be trapped and insane.

With more difficulty than he remembered it taking on any night other than the full moon, Hans managed to keep control out of his wolf's jaws.

…you, Hans managed to groan out. He tried again. Who are… you?

The man snorted. That's actually what I'd like to ask you, he said. He stepped away from the wall and walked to where Hans could see him more easily, though he stayed near the wall while Hans was in the middle of the room.

Not a prisoner, then. The man wasn't shackled. Hans' pulse started to ramp up despite the way it made his chest hurt. Adrenaline made some of the ache fade, while tightening muscles made the sharp pains worse.

I'm Curtis, the werewolf said. You?

Hans, Hans spat. Curtis was young. The sense he gave off was of barely more than a pup, but Hans knew perfectly well that had nothing to do with how dangerous he might be. Any werewolf was capable of being just as savage as the beast inside of them, however harmless they might seem in their human semblance.

Cool, Curtis said. You good, Hans, or are you going to flip out and try to kill me again?

Hans narrowed his eyes. His breathing was a little ragged from the adrenaline pumping through him: he was having a lot more trouble keeping his wolf in check than he was used to. I'm good, he said. My wolf wants to drag you through the city by your spilled intestines.

Curtis laughed. Alright, he said. As long as me and you are cool, yeah? But try to keep that thing under wraps, man. I know they're territorial and it can be hard for a newbie, but it isn't even the full moon yet. He turned and thumbed an intercom on the wall. Hey, Cassie. He's up and human, Curtis said. Says his name is Hans.

The crackle of the intercom hit Hans with a sledgehammer of memories. The old, faded scents snapped into sharp, crystal clear focus. He knew exactly where he was.

What are you doing here?! Hans roared. He heaved himself up, onto his knees. He could feel anger flooding through him: almost a match for his wolf, and the wolf's fury wasn't known for being bounded by reason. This is a pack holding! Hans had shifted in this basement many times, back before… The wolf growled in Hans' throat.

Woah! Curtis exclaimed. He held his hands up defensively. Calm down, dude! What pack? There hasn't been a pack in this city for, like, sixty years or something! He hit the intercom again. "Cassie, he is flipping the fuck out down here! Move your ass!"

Suddenly, the trapdoor in the ceiling swung down. A vertical ladder unfolded and snapped into place. Hans screamed his throat ragged in a snarling growl that wasn't meant to issue from a humanbeing. His muscles bunched and spasmed, but he couldn't shift. The wolf screamed louder in frustration.

As soon as the ladder was in place, a woman practically ran down it: half sliding and half stepping, facing out so that her heels were the only things that tapped the rungs and she could jump to the ground once she was halfway there. She wore a college sweatshirt and a worn pair of jeans, Hans noted while the wolf thrashed on the floor. It felt like he couldn't do anything but observe. She also had unkempt, medium brown hair and dark green eyes that were slightly unfocused behind her thick framed glasses. But she didn't smell of wolf.

Upstairs, Curt, Cassie said in a tone that was pure business. "That wolf wants you dead. I'm not going to be able to get him calmed down while you're hanging around."

Curtis grunted, but didn't protest. Hans' wolf -- in human form -- had fallen to the ground while trying to throw itself forward. Curtis didn't seem thrilled about how big he was, Hans thought, but his wolf also wasn't exactly a threat while all trussed up, either. You need me, or Silver, just shout, Curtis called back as he clambered up the ladder. Cassie ignored him and approached Hans' prone form.

Cassie crouched next to Hans, but out of easy reach. Hans' wolf growled and snapped at her. She ignored him.

Hey, Cassie said to Hans. He wasn't sure how, but somehow she was addressing him, specifically, and not just the idea that he was in his body somewhere. It's daylight out, and your aura is in a lot better shape than it was last night. She nodded at the wolf in his body. He can't push you around like this. Be assertive and take control back, Hans.

Hans stared at her. If he'd had a way to reply, it probably would've been an exasperated: You try it if it's that easy! Unfortunately, he didn't. His wolf lunged toward Cassie, snapped his teeth and snarled at her -- but fell short.

Cassie jumped, then scowled at Hans' wolf. Bad! She told it loudly.

It growled at her and bared Hans' teeth.

Cassie stared Hans' wolf in the eye -- and even though he was looking out of the same eyes, Hans knew it was his wolf she had locked gazes with. I said 'bad,' Cassie said firmly.

Hans' wolf started to sit up, still growling. Cassie frowned at it.

Down! she snapped, and when Hans' body kept rising she lifted her hand and swung it down in an open-palm slap. It connected, making Hans' wolf yelp and tumble backwards. Cassie didn't give it time to recover. She strode closer, easily in lunging distance. With one hand she pointed imperiously at the ground. The other she raised threateningly. "I said down," she repeated -- again transfixing the wolf's gaze with her own.

Hans watched from his fixed perspective, fascinated, as a very brief battle of wills took place. Maybe it was just that he -- and his wolf -- were exhausted and in serious pain, or maybe it was Cassie's utter confidence and total lack of any scent of fear. Hans' wolf whined, but didn't get back up. It pressed itself to the floor. It looked up at her and started to growl -- so Cassie stepped forward and raised her hand a little higher.

The wolf fled, ceding control of his body back to Hans.

Hans blew out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in. It's me, he hastened to say before his aches could be further agitated with a full-armed slap -- but Cassie had already lowered her arm and was crouching down next to him.

Are you okay? Cassie asked.

Hans stared back at her. He was busy trying to figure that out himself. I don't know, he admitted. The last thing he remembered was being in an alley and being told to keep watch over the corpse of the man Director Lewellan had drained and left to die of an emptied soul. He squeezed his eyes shut. What did I…? he asked out loud.

You lost control, Cassie said. Um… you're a werewolf.

Hans looked up at her and smiled despite himself. I know, he said. "And it's been a long time since I've lost control. What happened?"

Oh, Cassie said. Well, I'm not sure. I mean… well, I don't know who you are so if any of this doesn't make sense, just ask me to clear it up, okay?

Hans nodded.

Alright, Cassie continued. I'm sort of an honorary member of some of the local witch-y circles around here. Um. Well, a couple of days ago there was this big scare about a vampire that went nuts. Curtis is a friend of mine, and I was pretty freaked so he offered to stay over and be my guard dog. But then last night, I get this call from Kels -- he's a local wizard. Not really a bigshot, but networked. Anyway, he called me to ask if I'd get some ghosts riled up to watch for goblins and trolls and things. Because apparently the whole vampire thing was a hoax or a diversion or… something.

Cassie shrugged. "Anyway, Curtis and I were up because of the vampire thing, so when Kels called I agreed to do what I could. Except as soon as I open the front door, you came barreling through in total feral mode." She watched Hans, judging his reaction. He grimaced, but didn't say anything.

I'm a medium, Cassie said. "Basically. Anyway, I can't really see auras but I can see spirits, and you were almost gone: barely a whisper of a ghost clinging to the wolf's body. He probably would've torn me to pieces, except Curtis was right there and already in his wolf shape -- and, well…"

Werewolves are territorial, Hans said.

Yeah, Cassie agreed. "The two of you trashed upstairs, and Curt got pretty messed up -- but he was still human minded while you were totally beast-ed out. He led you on a chase so I could get to safety, and then the next thing I know he's coming back in human form, dragging you along in your human form. He said your wolf just suddenly lost control, like it had been cut off, and you careened into the side of a building and passed out."

Hans nodded. And then shifted unconsciously, he assumed. It wasn't uncommon for a werewolf to revert to their most natural form when neither human nor wolf could direct their body.

Cassie nodded. "So we got you secured down here, and put you in silver shackles in case the wolf woke up first. And we've kind of been waiting to ask you what happened since then. She squinted at him. I can't see it now, but when your wolf was in control I could tell that your spirit is in much better shape than it was last night. She nodded -- not at Hans, but somehow at his wolf -- Judging by how he looks, I think you two are a lot closer to even right now. So what happened to weaken you so much last night? Was it the faeries?"

Hans tried to put together his evening so he could answer. Coiled around his thoughts, the wolf growled distrusting at Cassie. She jabbed a finger at it.

No, Cassie told it. "I will smack you again."

The wolf yelped in shock at being addressed and dashed deeper in Hans' thoughts; freeing him further of its emotional influence. He breathed out in a sigh: for the first time since… For the first time since Abigail started feeding on me, he admitted to himself, he felt like his wolf and self were back in the balance he'd managed to achieve with his decades of self discipline.

It wasn't faeries, Hans answered. I was under a geas. Cast by a vampire, but not the one that everyone was panicked about. It was cast by the Director that started those rumors. He was framing her for his own wrong doings, and trying to compel me to help him. Hans frowned. It was hard to separate his memories from the wolf's for that night. They'd started bleeding together even before the geas, thanks to all the holes Abigail's feeding had poked in his soul.

I broke the geas, Hans said. He'd intended to get the homeless man to someone who could save him: To Linda, or one of the warlocks John knew, or even to the circle that operated out of the hospital. But that was too much. The backlash must've been what let the wolf take over. Usually I can keep it under control all the way up to the full moon.

After that, his memories disappeared into a jumble of emotions and instincts: the wolf had been entirely in control, and he hadn't even been strong enough to hang on as an observer. Hans shrugged. It must have been afraid of the Director, so it came here. He looked around uneasily. Being in control of himself again, here, actually made him more uneasy. To the wolf, this was just home. It didn't associate the same memories with the place that he did.

To Hans, it was a home he had fled.

Cassie shivered. I can't imagine someone who can scare a were, she said.

Hans looked at her incredulously. Says the woman who cowed one with a firm slap! he thought.

But why here? Cassie asked.

Because, Hans said, "back when there was a pack, we owned this apartment community."

Cassie blinked twice as she digested that. Then, suddenly, her head snapped to the side and her jaw dropped. What?! she yelped at the same time as a phone rang once up on the first floor. Distantly, Hans heard Curtis answering it.

He couldn't make out what the other werewolf said, let alone what was said to him, but Hans did hear Curtis' sudden exclamation of Holy shit!

Cassie's eyes grew huge and her mouth hung open once more as she stared into space.

What? Hans demanded. What's happening?

Cassie's unfocused gaze suddenly sharpened as she turned toward him. Her mouth clicked shut at the same time ad Curtis came clambering down the ladder. Did you hear? He practically shouted. Did you hear?!

Hans clamped down on the Wolf's desire to lunge at Curtis while Cassie twisted around to address him. Yes, Cassie answered. "Mike just told me. It's true. One of the vampires actually launched an attack on the fairies lands. Like: she went through a portal and attacked them on their own turf! Cassie's voice skipped an octave. Kels was right: they started another war!"

A shiver of pure dread ran through Hans and his wolf both. Those memories -- the losses they'd suffered in the last war -- they shared equally, on the deepest levels. But while Hans was struggling with the surge of loss, Curtis was laughing.

Tell Mike he's just as out of dates as he would be if he were still alive, Curtis said. "That was Kels on the phone. The vamps are already back. Cassie, they destroyed the faerie king who reigned opposite our world. Curtis laughed again: a mixture of excitement and disbelief. Cassie, that vampire didn't start a war. She conquered a fucking kingdom!"

Cassie sank down until she was sitting on the floor. Oh god, she moaned. Curt, do you realize what that means?

Curtis crouched beside her. Yeah, he said. "It means that for the first time ever our side has a real beachhead on their world. This is awesome!"

No, Cassie said.

Curtis frowned. Well then, what? He asked, clearly disappointed that his excitement wasn't shared.

Cassie didn't reply. She was staring into space again, her eyes unfocused. Hans answered for her.

It means, he told the other werewolf, "that for the first time ever we're posing a threat to their world order on their world. Hans caught Curtis' eye and refused to let his gaze go. It means that if the other faerie kingdoms decide we're a threat they need to deal with, they won't be fighting us in terms of one kingdom to one city. It means that if another Great War starts the first thing they will do -- all of them -- is crush us, here, so we can't threaten their kingdoms and safe havens and personal empires over there."

Chapter 2

While I followed Melvin my mind whirled in about a half dozen different directions.  Not being in a mad panic was nice, but rather than making it easier for me to keep focused, the lack of anything terrifying to keep my attention made it want to splinter and run down side trails at any provocation.  I didn't pay much attention to the scenery, and tried to get my thoughts sorted instead.

So much had happened, so fast, that I hadn't really had the chance to absorb all of it.  It was more like I'd just been bludgeoned with it, over and over, in the worst possible ways at the worst possible moments.

How long had it even been?

Monday.  Monday I'd gone into work knowing it was going to be a scary day.  Monday, my old boss, one Mr. Salvatore, had come back from a year long sabbatical to inform us of his failing health and introduce his successor.  Monday, I'd gone on a date with Hans, my future boss, and found out he was a werewolf -- and that the man he was replacing was a vampire.

Tuesday had been New Year's Eve.  Tuesday, I'd had to keep my best friend Megan from being murdered and turned into a vampire by our obsessive vampire boss.  Tuesday I'd found out that Megan had been hiding a crush on me for years.  And I'd wound up making out with another woman.  Tuesday, I'd been killed by Mr. Salvatore -- and then I'd come back and returned the favor, sort of.  Hans, my beautiful viking/werewolf/boyfriend/boss to be had filled Mr. Salvatore with lead via a shotgun injection system, and the gore splattering in the morning sun had burned my apartment down in the process.

I guess Mr. Salvatore's death was technically Wednesday morning, then.  Wednesday I'd moved in with Hans.  I'd also started dating Emma, the woman I'd made out with the night before.  And I'd done my best to avoid Megan, because while she'd been unconscious and I'd been starving for blood I'd taken hers: licking a scratch on her cheek and, unbeknownst to me, binding us together forever.

And saying we were bound together forever wasn't an exercise in hyperbole: On Thursday I'd discovered that Megan was a changeling.  A faerie who had been switched with a mortal infant at birth and raised as a human -- not even knowing it herself! -- so that she would be immune to being banished back to the faerie world by the disbelief of those mortals who didn't know that the supernatural was real.  And since she was my first blood, my curse had taken a part of her soul to serve as its anchor, and had adapted to require the blood of other beings with life force just as potent as her own.  I hadn't realized what that meant until I'd almost killed Emma, and also discovered that feeding on Hans had been weakening his control over the wolf within him to the point that they were starting to bleed into each other psychically.  But I'd managed to push life force back into Emma to replace what I'd taken -- something that only faeries were supposed to be able to do -- and then I'd used other faerie powers, thanks to that portion of Megan's soul, to hunt down another faerie I could feed on.

Even then I hadn't really realized what sharing a fraction of Megan's soul meant.  It was possible that I still didn't.  Friday morning I'd finally met with one of the Directors, the elite elder vampires who ran the war waged by mortals against those faeries that would reduce the world to barbarism so they could feed on rampant fear and superstition.  And Director Lewellan had told me that by saving Emma I'd cursed her with a my vampire-tainted life force, and that she would become a ghoul -- or die.  Then he'd tried to compel me.  He'd tried to get me to give him Megan, and when that failed he'd framed me for murder and told the world that I was out of control: a rogue vampire who killed to feed.

Unfortunately for both of us, even if he had been able to compel me, I wouldn't have been able to give him Megan: while I'd been hunting, she had been abducted by the traitorous witch Katherine and delivered to a faerie warlord: Archarel, the faerie king who ruled the lands opposite the city we lived in.  So then, on Friday evening, I'd woken up to discover that the entire supernatural world was hunting me.  That the only way to save Emma was to rescue Megan, so that someone could 'push' untainted life force into her aura.  And that it was up to me, and Fumiko, and my dad to get it done.

And we had.  Before the night had ended, I'd killed Lewellan.  I'd destroyed Archarel and given his kingdom to Megan.  Megan had saved Emma, and I finally -- finally! -- had a moment to breath in peace.  I'd even damaged my soul badly enough fighting Lord Archarel that it couldn't maintain enough of an aura for my anxieties to hound me the way they usually would, which meant that not only did I have time to breath, but I had the emotional balance to make use of it.

And, well, a bit of insatiable thirst to counter balance that.  I bit my lip gently and let myself be distracted by the faerie I was following.  Melvin had a tendency to dress in old-time suits.  The only details there that never changed were his cane -- which concealed a very lethal sword -- and a battered, rust-red top hat.  Odd taste in clothing aside, Melvin was also obnoxiously attractive.  In an annoying, sadistic, mischievous 'I just want to play with you until you break' sort of a way.  Worse, he had a crush on me, and for Melvin 'courting' and 'trying to enslave' had turned out to be roughly the same thing.

On the other hand: his blood was delicious.

I was interrupted in my open appreciation of Melvin's coattails by the faerie suddenly turning around and catching me at it.  He raised one eyebrow in some combination of knowing smugness and interested appraisal.  So, he said as though he already knew the answer, will there be anything else?

I let my gaze wander up his chest and fixate on his neck.  That depends, I said, on what else you're offering.

Melvin started to say something appropriately smarmy, but cut off when he realized my gaze wasn't meeting his.  He swallowed, which made his throat flex enticingly, and took a step away from me.  I kept my fangs safely hidden behind my lips and took a step in pursuit.

Melvin held up his hands defensively, even though it wasn't like I was lunging at him or anything.  Yet.  Abby, he said as though trying to get my attention -- or at least draw it away from his throat.  Abigail!

I took a deep breath and jerked my eyes up to his face.  I was sufficiently myself to feel sympathy for the note of panic in his voice -- but also thirsty enough to be annoyed he wasn't being more sympathetic to the note of hunger that had injected itself into my demeanor.

Selfish jerk.

What? I asked.  I gave him a small pout -- I've seen Megan get all sorts of things out of guys with a pout, so I figured it should be worth a few sips of blood.  I stepped closer.  I'm thirsty, I said in my best 'I'm a poor suffering innocent' voice.

Melvin caught me by the shoulders and held me back.  His cane had disappeared -- it did that, I'd noticed, when he wasn't actively using it as a prop.  And I am not a beverage, Melvin said sharply.

I snorted and smiled at him, showing a bit of fang.  And I'm not a fuck toy, I countered, but you keep trying to imply that I belong in your bedroom.  And in chains.  Simultaneously.  I shook my head at him sadly.  Honestly, Melvin, if you want this relationship to work you're going to have to learn to compromise on these things.

Melvin pushed me away, hard.  I stumbled, but caught myself on the bed that Katherine had been enspelled on prior to Archarel's death.  My lips twisted in a scowl, but at the moment I was facing away from Melvin and he did not see.

What relationship? He demanded.  "And you're the one who came up with an excuse to have me escort you to a bedroom while Megan and Emma reconnected, Abigail!"

I twisted around and let him see my scowl.  Yeah, I snapped, "because that's where the portal to Earth is."  My damaged aura limited the complexity of my emotions, but once one started gaining momentum it became intense due to the lack of competition, and annoyance with Melvin was rapidly consuming everything I was capable of experiencing.  "God, did you think I…  Not everything in my life is about you being a sexy elf, Melvin."  I still had shit to do: I needed to find a new home, find Hans, have a quick snack on someone, get a hold of my dad and let him know I was okay…  "And you're the one who's in love with me, anyway!"

Melvin straightened.  For the last time, he said -- sounding almost as angry as I felt --  "I am not in love with you!"

Melvin was lying, of course: I'd felt the way his emotions ad resonated toward me when I'd taken them in with his blood before.  But right now, knowing that didn't help.  I was too angry.  Irrationally so, but the part of me that recognized it as irrational was wrapped up in the apathetic emptiness of my damaged aura.  And besides:  I'd already recently -- very recently -- had it thrown in my face by Megan and Emma that love didn't have to be of the storybook one and only variety.  And while Emma was openly polyamorous -- and Megan was presumably aware of and okay with that, since they'd dated pretty seriously -- my anger surged at the thought that Melvin might not be, and that what I knew he felt for me might be eclipsed in his aura by what he felt for so done else.

So who is it? I demanded bitterly.  Orlina?  Melvin and Megan's human counterpart had known each other for god only knew how long before I'd even known Melvin existed, let alone suspected him of stalking me specifically.  He'd been damn casual about walking around with her on his arm after I killed Archarel, too.

Melvin took a step back.  His brow scrunched in confusion.  What? He asked incredulously.

Good question, my apathetic half thought.  I had no idea where that had come from or why it sounded like an accusation: but then again, I never knew where anything that came out of my mouth originated from when I was on autopilot.  If it were up to me, Id just keep my mouth shut all the time!  But it wasn't up to me, and there was no real denying that I was firmly on automatic now.  Or that my autopilot had decided to take my anger and go with it.

I stood up.  You know what? I asked rhetorically.  Fuck you.  I mean, I get it.  You're a fairy.  You're all about yanking people's emotions around and fucking with them.  Figuratively and physically, I thought, assuming all of his intimations about what he'd do to me in a bedroom aren't just more bullshit.  "Well I don't have time for your emotional sadism, Melvin.  I've got shit to do.  And the only reason I asked you to bring me here was so I could go home and get it done!"

My arms were trembling with tension when I was done yelling -- but it was tension that vanished almost instantly.  So I can go home.  Just like that, I was reminded that I didn't have a home anymore, and my anger collapsed into depression.

I turned away from Melvin before he could see me start crying and assume it was because of him.  Fortunately, my autopilot was just as dedicated as I was to not letting people see what a wreck I was.  It sent me stalking to the portal circle with a swiftness that could probably be mistaken for angry withdrawal instead of desperate retreat.

I don't need to do anything to activate it, I thought.  Just step into the circle, and then out.  I belong in that world, not this one.  I took the steps without looking back.

It was a mistake.

The transference was instantaneous.  And just like the first time I had passed between worlds, I was immediately assaulted by the agony of entering a home without invitation.  I didn't scream so much as I gurgled and stumble forward.  My poor abused aura was shredded by the weave's snares  -- and right on their heels came a lethargy I was powerless to resist.

I heard someone shout in alarm, but I couldn't register who.  Oh, I thought as I tumbled forward and planted my face into the floor.  The sun is coming up.  I hadn't felt sunrise's approach while I'd been in Megan's kingdom.  I guess I should add 'get a watch' to the shit to do list? I thought, and then my consciousness was yanked into a different state as my body went dormant.

Chapter 3

The transition between my living point of view to the semi-omniscience of being dormant was only disorienting because I hadn't been expecting to pass out. I felt a tiny surge of annoyance with Melvin for not being willing to give me blood: if he had, I might not be hovering over my physical body, uncertain of what was going on in the world beyond a few feet of my dormant corpse. Then my emotions settled, allowing the peaceful clarity of dormancy to take over: After all, what right did I have to be annoyed? It wasn't like Melvin had ever willingly given me his blood before. The first time he'd 'given' me blood I had tricked him by tying my wellbeing to the geas binding him to protect Megan from harm. And the time after that I'd even more blatantly seized him and flat out taken what I wanted. I suspected I would find that realization upsetting when I resumed living, but at the moment it was just a fact.

I needed more donors.

Whoever had shouted when I collapsed was outside of the radius of my awareness. So to was anyone else who might have been around, so I had an indeterminate amount of time to ponder what to do about my feeding habits without distractions. Any new donors would have to be faeries, of course. Or possibly humans with faerie familiars -- Feeding on Fumiko while Bonbon had pushed essence to her had worked well enough.

The obvious choices were my personal army, who wouldn't have a choice in the matter if I didn't give it to them, and Emma or Megan. Feeding on Megan and Emma still seemed to run at odds with the drive to protect them, though, and I'd reinforced that drive often enough that I even still felt it while dormant.

It was a conundrum.

My introspection was interrupted by people coming into the radius of my awareness. I recognized Derrick, the solock I'd enthralled, as one of them. With him was a fae I did not recognize -- a goblin of some sort. Derrick crouched beside my corpse, then looked up and addressed someone outside of my range. Call Mr. Cullison, he said. Or Mister -- No, I don't care if it's normal for vampires to be dormant during the day. They walked out of here, so I want one of them to tell us if she needs anything. He turned back to my body and easily lifted it. Then his head snapped up again, his attention grabbed by someone outside my range once more.

We're relocating her, Derrick said. Sure, we could move her to the bed, but this is still a potential point of conflict. We'll use the other bedroom to remove her from the immediate area and set a separate guard there.

The goblin scurried out in front of Derrick, but to one side so he wouldn't be in the solock's way. Respectfully, Sir Derrick, I will inform Sir Reid of Lady Abigail's condition. He will wish to reinforce whatever guard watches over her, I am certain.

Derrick hesitated, but only for a second. Reid's the big troll? He asked. The one Mr. Stuessy had words with?

The goblin nodded.

Alright, Derrick agreed. And hurry back with word of whatever reinforcements he has in mind.

The little goblin grinned, snapped a sharp salute, and disappeared in a swirl of shadowy mist. From my current vantage I had much better perception of the flow of magic than usual, and I could actually see the glamour of the goblin's body unravel -- then be sucked away into apparent nothingness as it was pulled back to the faerie world.

That must be why their blood always vanishes so quickly, I thought. It's being sucked back into themselves, or into the weave, or being banished back to its native world or something like that. It was an interesting observation, but not a very meaningful one… except that my native soul was damaged and had a tendency to leak, now. Not unlike a faerie's glamoured body 'leaked' when damaged. I wonder if that means a faerie would know how to patch my soul back up? Being unable to really 'live' had its advantages -- but being so close to being 'dead' all the time was a significant draw back, as my current dormancy could attest.

Derrick strode toward the bedroom door, and since he was carrying me the locus of my awareness moved with him. Mr. Kallaher slid into my range -- it seemed that he was the one Derrick had addressed -- along with a few other donors I didn't recognize. Probably' Thomas's, then, since I thought I knew most of Benjamin's at least by sight now. Although, maybe they belonged to that third scion? I moved meeting her up in my que -- I didn't particularly care for the fact that she had my dad and I didn't know anything about her except that she was a vampire.

Mr. Kallaher was frowning when Derrick passed him, but didn't say anything while I was in range to hear it. Derrick took me out into hall -- little more than a landing for the stairs -- and across it. He fumbled the next door open, and went through it sideways, still carrying my unresponsive corpse. His eyes immediately darted about to check the corners, and then he carried me the rest of the way into Emma's room.

I only 'saw' a sliver of it. The bed appeared to be on the wall opposite the door, which is where Derrick took me. It was a twin, with a couple of pillows, a jersey sheet set and one of those synthetic, fuzzy blankets. Derrick put me down on the bed, then stepped out of my range. When he came back, he was tugging a wheeled office desk chair -- the cheap kind -- that he set up next to the bed. He gave me one more long glance, then shook his head, unslung his rifle, and sat down facing the door.

I realized that I could keep track of the passage of time, roughly, by watching Derrick's breathing. However, that was intensely boring so I ended up paying him little mind and turning back to my introspections. I chose to focus on the damage to my soul. I didn't have a faerie on hand to tell me how to fix it, but that didn't mean I couldn't look at it and maybe figure something out myself. Besides, I hadn't yet taken the time to get a real evaluation of how bad it was -- and I wasn't going to be able to get a better look than I would while dormant.

My soul had been breached almost a dozen times, I found after a close examination. Only one of those was truly large: that was from the first time it had started to split under the pressure of Archarel forcing essence into me. Two more places were clearly rents left by that same battle; the others were different -- more like holes than tears. I recognized some as having been left by the spikes of energy Lewellan used when he cast geases. Others I managed to attribute to times I had been fed on -- by Megan, for one, and some that I thought might have been left over from before I'd died and become a vampire.

The holes were small and didn't seem very problematic -- not in comparison to the great big tears Archarel had left, anyway. The damage there was smooth, and I could sort of see where it had started to heal on its own, on the older ones: if my mortal essence was like water, then my soul had the consistency of ice, and there were rings of ice inside of the holes. It looks like a little bit of any aura that leaks through these 'freezes' to the inside, I thought. Eventually they'll be sealed off. I looked over the damage again, this time noting the number of 'rings' in each puncture. Using the ones that I thought corresponded to Lewellan's geases, I confirmed my theory. I could count the number of rings in each injury, and the older ones -- the ones which had been healing longer -- had correspondingly more rings. Like the rings of a tree, except they grow inward over time instead of outward each year.

I was interrupted from further speculation by Derrick suddenly jumping in his chair. He snapped his rifle up. What are you… Okay, he said. He lowered the muzzle of his weapon a half inch, but other than that he showed no sign of relaxing. But the rest of you keep your distance. His eyes darted back and forth, but I had no idea what he was taking in. Omniscience, I thought, Really isn't that useful when it's only limited to a few feet in radius. My natural hearing and vision would have been much more informative at times like this. Derrick's little goblin climbed up onto the foot of the bed, then sat down cross legged. I guess he came back with Reid's reinforcements, rather than just with word of them.

Unable to do anything about it one way or the other, I dismissed Derrick from my focus once more. This time I turned my attention to the tears Archarel had left behind in my soul.

I started with the largest one. It was gruesomely ragged in a way that the punctures from feeding were not. Bits of broken off soul seemed to have been pulled or pushed out of place -- tendrils from the weave had anchored to them, and they remained attached to the rest of my soul by bare threads. If those threads broke, I suspected, those shards would be dragged off into the weave.

I 'looked' closer. Elsewhere, my soul had very clearly fit with my analogy of water and ice, which made the threads holding together the scraps along the edge of the tear seem strange. And they were: when I looked closely, I could see that those threads extended into the 'ice' around the torn portion of my soul, but weren't actually a part of it. The wove through it like veins -- Like veins, I thought, or like a latticework.

I took a tiny portion of my remaining aura and nudged it toward the tear. As the drop of essence crossed the threshold marked by my soul, threads from the weave latched into it and almost instantly whisked it away. I gathered up another droplet of aura. This time I concentrated harder, carefully guiding it so that it pressed against the tattered edge of my soul rather then passing through the opening. When it moved into the threshold between my soul and the weave, the weave again latched onto it -- but this time some of it 'froze' into the edge of my soul. The back half of the droplet was torn away by the weave, but a part of it remained fixed in place: a wedge that was thicker alongside the rest of my soul and narrowed as it pointed into the opening of the tear. The sharp edge of it crumbled away, broken and ripped by strands of the weave until it was a rounded lump of nearly uniform thickness, firmly affixed to the rest of my soul.

For a moment I contemplated my efforts. So, this will heal over time, too. And if I put some effort into it, I could probably mend it faster by directing the flow of my aura along the edges of the tear, rather than letting any spill out without having a chance to be bound back into my self. It would make sense not to feed too fully, too, I thought. If I do feed completely, most of the aura that presses against these places in my soul will be pulled away by the weave. Not a very efficient use of aura, that.

But it still didn't explain the strange veins that ran through the portion of my soul around the tear, and jutted out like bits of twisted rebar where my soul had ruptured.

Twisted rebar, I suddenly thought, or torn stitches.

When my soul had burst, I'd felt like it was ripping apart at the seams. Looking at it now, I realized that in most cases the threads looked like they would line up to meet on either side of the tear -- and at the top and bottom. Latticework is right, I thought -- and with that thought came an idea.

I redirected my attention. Not to the physical world, where nothing much seemed to have changed, but to my leylines. If I was going to repair myself, I was going to need the essence to do so. Since Archarel had been able to pull at will from his servants -- and I knew I could pull essence like a faerie could, while I was dormant -- it made sense that I should be able to pull from those of Archarel's minions who had agreed to swear fealty to me if I defeated their previous lord. I found Reid's ley line without difficulty, but a stronger connection caught my attention before I fixated on it.

Sebastian. Sebas, it seemed, had bound himself to me far more thoroughly than Reid had. Either that, or he was significantly closer. In either case, pulling from him would be easiest, so I chose to focus on that link. I didn't intend to take much -- just enough to test my theory -- so I wasn't worried about leaving him in too weakened of a state. After all, I had fed on him in order to scare him into swearing his oaths to serve and obey me. And it just wouldn't do to break my butler before I've really gotten any use out of him.

I tugged gently at the aura available through my ley line to Sebastian. Almost instantly I felt a burst of energy -- and just as suddenly the ley line constricted. If I could have laughed I would have been tempted to: At the same time, my gown from the previous evening dissolved into shadowy wisps and vanished. Beside me in the physical world, Derrick yelped in surprise and demanded to know what was happening. His goblin liaison stood and peered at me in curiosity, but didn't answer.

And that explains the strength of my connection to Sebastian over Reid, I thought. That gown had been a glamour Sebastian had woven -- which meant it was, quite literally, a part of him. And since physical proximity could impact the strength of a connection, and it was sort of hard to get any more physically close than flush against the skin… Hm. I'm probably going to freak out about that, too, once I've had something to drink, I thought -- but it was an idle thought. I had essence available to work with now, and had to turn my attention toward preventing my vampiric curse from consuming it.

I'd discovered while fighting with director Lewellan that essence I 'pulled' rather than 'drank' took on a different form. When I drew essence through a bite, the way vampires were supposed to, what I took in felt more like a liquid -- like the blood that carried it, or like a mortal aura. But when I 'pulled' essence -- feeding like a faerie -- it was brought into my aura as strands that wove into a latticework as they piled up. Looking at the essence I'd brought in from Sebastian's gown confirmed it for me: the strands that had riddled my soul at the places it had torn had been arranged in a similar latticework. Just not as deep as what was now stored in my soul -- the strands at my wound were like the remains of a sheet that had been stretched out for my soul to grow over, rather than piles of folded linen.

With a careful bit of concentration I gathered up some of my newest essence. Most of my focus was still on keeping it away from the ravenous claws of my vampiric curse, but that still left me with enough mindfulness to tease out the ends of a few strands and guide them toward the edge of my ripped soul. One strand was too far out of line with the others. I lost the ability to control the end of it as it passed through the opening and outside of my soul. Fortunately, however, it presented so small a surface that the weave was unable to anchor to it and suck it away before I could reel it back in.

The other strands slapped against the edge of my soul, but didn't freeze into it. I pulled them back and concentrated on them, reinforcing their ends and shaping them: adding small barbs and hooks like I had seen so many times in a geas. This time, when I pressed them against the torn edge of my soul, they snagged and hooked, anchoring in place. Ha! I felt a very brief flare of satisfaction before the tranquility of dormancy washed it away. I spooled out more of those threads -- enough to cross the gap made by the tear and then some -- before twisting and breaking them free of the rest of the mass.

Holding onto them as separate items from the rest of the essence I'd drawn them from proved surprisingly difficult. I felt the tax on my concentration swell, and I actually lost my grip on two of the strands. They whipped about for an instant before their free ends touched the rest of the mass and dissolved into the latticework. I let them go, instead focusing on the few strands I still held in mind.

I added barbs to the free ends of those strands as well, and then stretched them across the gap in my soul. I pressed them against the far side, letting them anchor in place stretched across the gap. I repeated the process, using as many strands as I could focus on at a time, until I had a network of criss crossing lines covering a small part of the tear.

While I had worked on that Sebastian had entered the radius of my awareness. No doubt he had felt me pull apart his glamour, and come to investigate. He leaned in over my corpse while Derrick watched nervously.

Oh good, I thought to Sebas when he seemed close enough for me to be able to push the message along. "If this works the way I think it will, I'll be waking up soon. For that matter, I'll be up again soon even if it doesn't work the way I think it will. In any event, I will be parched and I won't be in any state to be careful not to hurt whomever I feed off of. Be a good butler and instruct Reid to come here with some of his troops, alright? They can spread the burden of being fed on amongst themselves." That seemed like it would be safest for everyone involved.

Sebastian yanked back from me as soon as I was done giving my instructions. I watched him blink at my corpse a few times -- and then, through my connection to him, I saw the connection between himself and Reid briefly fluctuate. It looked similar to the way the connection between Sebas and myself had rippled when I'd thought my desires at him, so I assumed it meant he'd passed my orders along in a similar fashion. After that happened, Sebastian straightened and turned. I believe she will be waking up soon, he announced. And it is likely she will be thirsty. Reid, if you would be so good as to select a few of your followers to donate their blood to her? It will be safest if her needs are spread out between more than one of us.

Aw, I thought. Reid must be among the reinforcements that came to watch over me. And by announcing my orders like that Sebas is making sure Reid knows that they aren't a suggestion, while also covering up the fact that I can send my thoughts to faeries that are close enough to me. That was probably a good idea. The more tricks I had hidden up my sleeves, the better off I seemed to be whenever the shit hit the fan.

Reid and a handful of other trolls came forward to cluster within the radius of my awareness. Derrick was forced to retreat out of my range. Unhappily, if his sputtered protest was any sign -- but apparently Derrick was willing to give Sebastian the benefit of the doubt, because he did back off without shooting any of the fae that moved to replace him.

I turned my attention back to my work. This time, instead of gathering more threads with my mind, I pinched off another droplet of my older essence -- the essence that was still 'liquid.' Essence that I'd gathered as a vampire, rather than as a faerie. With a thought I sent the drop of aura drifting toward the net I'd woven and anchored over the tear in my soul. This time, rather than being sucked out into the weave the drop snagged on the net like a drop of water caught on a spider's web. It hung there, slowly constricting; freezing into a little jewel of soul-stuff.

Perfect, I thought. I redoubled my efforts. This time I didn't tear any strands free of the remains of Sebastian's glamour. Instead, I anchored one end of it against my soul as I had before, and then I spooled it across. Whenever I pulled the strand across the tear, I added barbs into the strand without bothering to split the segment off. Then I pressed it into place, letting it snag and anchor before twisting the rest of the aura and spooling another line of it across the gap, running in the other direction. Soon I had a zigzag going back and forth across the entire tear and -- just for good measure -- a few passes going across it from top to bottom as well.

It wasn't pretty, but it was fairly