Rise of the Priestess: The Demon Lover's Chronicles, #3

By Julian M. Coleman

**This Book Contains Graphic Violence/Adult Content**

 

Marie is cursed, and someone is going to pay for that.

 

Beautiful, sophisticated, and otherworldly Marie Silverstone has always lived in the demon's shadow. She grows up in Maryland – pampered, rich and angry. Like her mother, Angelina, Marie craves an everyday life. She weds, becomes a physician, and has children. Despite her ordinariness, she often fears the demon's bloodthirsty return. As a priestess, Marie must disrupt her family life and force Cesar back to Hell.

But does she have to fight the powerful vampire and his disciples?

 

What if she did nothing? After all, isn't she entitled to her peaceful life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julian M. Coleman
• Release date: Jan 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9780990893936

Julian M. Coleman

I'm a 2016 IAN Paranormal/Supernatural Award Winning author who grew up in Richmond, Virginia. My family was poor, but my imagination was rich. I suffered from bad dreams. I still dream about demons, but now those dreams provide the sauces to my stories.  By day I'm run-of-the-mill analyst grinding out data within a dark blue cubby, but by night I churn out horrific stories based on the demons that haunt me in nightmares. 

Book preview

Rise of the Priestess

The Demon Lover’s Chronicles – Book 3

By Julian M. Coleman

Copyright 2015

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

ISBN: 9780990893936

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

The César Trilogy - Book Trailer

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1QunBcuD3cg

Dedication:

to My beloved Mina

CREDITS

Editor: John Hudspith

http://www.johnhudspith.co.uk/

Cover Artist: Steven Novak

http://www.novakillustration.com/graphicdesign.html

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1: The Promise

Chapter 2: Tasty Vengeance

Chapter 3: Envy and Wrath

Chapter 4: A Brief Return Home

Chapter 5: Saving Buddy

Chapter 6: Not So Simple Simon

Chapter 7: Regrets

Chapter 8: Lonely Little Girl

Chapter 9: The Compromise

Chapter 10: The Other Silverstone

Chapter 11: A Kept Doll

Chapter 12: Reunited

Chapter 13: Submission

Chapter 14 - 2007

Chapter 15: The Trio

Chapter 16: Summoned Home

Chapter 17: Damned Power

Chapter 18: Bloated Foreboding

Chapter 19: The Demonic Priestess

Chapter 20: Showdown

About the Author

Chapter 1 - The Promise

Madame Silverstone paced the length of her lawyer’s corner office with her manicured fingers entwined tightly around a white-laced handkerchief that she used occasionally to dab at her eyes. Monsieur Renault’s sparse but tasteful office afforded him the luxurious view of the Arch de Triomphe and Angelina gazed upon the spectacle with appreciative longing.

Somewhat detached, she watched the cars and pedestrians below, nursing a helpless anger at the whole world for continuing to move on without Allen. In an abstract way, she felt as if someone had blown powdered fire in her face and forced her into that nightmarish consciousness where she couldn’t speak or move. That hellish existence, she decided, was preferable to admitting that Allen was gone.

Monsieur Renault reviewed the documents with quiet but anxious concern. He poured himself a glass of water from a sweating decanter on his desk, and drank with gusto. He was afraid to confront her; she could smell his fear.

He gave himself another moment before he challenged, Madame, you’re giving up your parental rights? I don’t understand why you’re making this decision now and under these severe circumstances.

Angelina’s eyes gushed anew, but despite her grief, she snared him with her contempt. He was taking much too long to review the documents that they had discussed just the day before. Screw the formalities. For all she knew that bastard was landing at the Charles de Gaulle Airport, while her lawyer wanted to dicker on meaningless details.

In a quivering voice, she chastised, I am not asking you for your opinion. When have I ever followed your advice? I just want you to review everything. My accountant has already set up an account for Marie and Madame Mabeny in the United States. They are expected to board their flight in an hour. Your job is to review these documents and give them your legal blessings. Do you understand?

Monsieur Renault peeled off his horn-rimmed spectacles, plucked a tissue from the silver-plated box on his desk, and polished them furiously. After a moment, he nervously slid the glasses up the bridge of his bulbous nose and again began reviewing the documents.

Madame, he said finally, I know we discussed this yesterday, but are you sure that you want to sell off all the hotels and garages?

Her life was over. Her happiness was over. Angelina sobbed uncontrollably until she forced herself to regain composure.

Monsieur Renault attempted to rise, to offer her some comfort; she raised a hand to stop him. Finally, in an exasperated huff, she explained again, My husband is dead. I’ve located an American lawyer to work with you on the sale of his property. Everything goes to Marie and by proxy to Madame Mabeny. For God’s sake, man, do what I ask of you! Don’t ask me why, just make sure everything is legal and aboveboard.

And what of you, Madame? he inquired, tenderly. Surely, you are in no condition to make these kind of permanent decisions. I know that in the past our associations have been a little disagreeable, but I have always honored your decisions.

Do you know how my husband died? she whispered.

Renault looked down quickly and began shuffling papers. I believe he was murdered.

Angelina leaned over him, sniffed his fear, and also saw clear evidence of his arousal. She said softly, You read his faxed death certificate. But what the certificate didn’t tell you and what was told to me was that someone had eaten my husband.

Renault gasped, Madame, I...

She quieted him, "Sssh, just bless my paperwork. As you can see, I have kept you on retainer until Marie is twenty-five years old. I will trust you to ensure that my daughter is not cheated or swindled. If she is, I will visit you and we both know that you don’t want that."

He responded stiffly, Madame, Paris just will not be the same without you.

Renault called in his witnesses, had Angelina sign in the appropriate places, and before he could wish her bonne chance, she was gone. 

Angelina met her daughter at the Ecole Militaire. The campus was one of their favorite places because their vantage point of the Eiffel Tower was spectacular, and here they could avoid the sightseeing buses and skilled pickpockets that blended with the tourists with chameleon-like invisibility. Their last day was unseasonably warm and quite beautiful, an insult really to the gaping pain that flowed through them like poison.

Angelina memorized the latticed ironwork that stretched skyward for nearly one thousand feet. She could’ve chosen anywhere to say good-bye—the Louvre, the Arch de Triomphe—but the Eiffel Tower had welcomed her and Allen to France as the Statue of Liberty had welcomed American immigrants. The tower was on the way to the airport, and she had to have this last memorable view of home.

Although the sun’s warmth turned fierce, Angelina truly felt cold. The world had grown colder since Allen’s death. At first she thought that she and Marie could simply escape to another country, but she had no doubt that he would track them down.

Angelina just couldn’t take the risk that he would kill Marie. Her daughter was all she had left. With a different parent and a different life, Marie had a chance to grow up and grow old.

Marie, who wore a hint of makeup, was attired in a smart, light green Chanel suit. Her dark hair was combed back into a severe ponytail. Her preteen features, while maturing, still hinted at cherubic preadolescence. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her stare was vacant. She clasped Angelina’s hand with stubborn tenacity.

Angelina glanced at her watch. They shouldn’t linger. All the tedious details of their lives had been rearranged with great speed and precision.

This was one of the few times Angelina was grateful that she didn’t require much sleep, and noted that unlike her lawyers, her accountants and general managers had been more agreeable. Even Nana had worked through the night to arrange their flights and temporary residence.

For their safety, Angelina couldn’t know their destination. She was leery of leaving such mundane things as city and school selections to someone who wasn’t familiar with the country. But she really didn’t have a choice, did she?

A knot of emotion ballooned in her throat. She coughed daintily into her gloved hand to try to dislodge it without calling any more attention to her grief. Marie tore her gaze from the Eiffel Tower. Her red-rimmed eyes pleaded once again to go with her. Angelina’s response was to shake her head. She simply couldn’t take the chance.

She cupped her daughter’s face in her hand and marveled at how quickly she had matured. Her gaze dropped to the little berries that were her breasts and despite her grief, Marie balked at this scrutiny. Angelina heard her think, Ma mere, s’il vous plait!

For the first time in an eternity, Angelina smiled at Marie’s self-conscious blush. She hugged her daughter. You must go, she said.

Marie asked, When will I see you again?

At first, Angelina didn’t trust her voice, and then she said, I know this isn’t fair to you, that you lose your papa and me in the same week, but...

Marie’s eyes filled up instantly and tears rolled down her cheeks. She had grown up to be so beautiful. She had Rachel’s eyes. So I get to lose you too? I’m an orphan now?

Angelina turned away and forced her attention back to the tower. "You know he is coming. You know what he did to your papa. I can’t..." her voice broke as streams of fresh tears carved into her brown cheeks.

Despite all her power, she had been powerless to save her own husband. Allen had been a good man. He hadn’t deserved to suffer as he had.

Angelina’s heart broke as she confided, ...I can’t let him near you. I hope that when you’re older you will forgive me.

Marie’s fingers went automatically to the scarab necklace her papa had purchased in Egypt. She stroked it absentmindedly as she leveled Angelina with an unwavering gaze full of hatred. She demanded in a quiet voice, I do understand, Mama. Please kill him for me. Then with venomous certainty, she uttered in words that were like spikes driven into Angelina’s heart, Papa was betrayed. Promise me you will kill all of them and make them suffer just like my papa.

Angelina lifted her daughter’s hand and brushed her lips against the knuckles. "I promise, cherie."

Chapter 2 – Tasty Vengeance

Donald emerged from the employee lounge. He straightened the tangled yellow and maroon tassels on his maroon jacket. He then patted his fade in place before slipping on his maroon cap with the slick black bill that made him look like a skipper on a ship. Finally convinced that he looked fine in his uniform, he sauntered over to the registration desk in a pimp strut.

The new girl was working the desk. She was a fresh young thing with a bodacious butt. Donald decided that she was just what the doctor ordered.

As he arrived at the desk, fresh young thing was 100 percent business as she handed a key over to a customer who also had a bodacious butt. Donald was close enough to hear her welcome the customer to the hotel and tell her that her room number was 315.

Donald froze. The hair on his balls prickled up as he felt a chill do a pimp strut up his spine and suck the breath out of him as it did so. With a twang of guilt, Donald remembered the French brother who had died in Room 315.

The atmosphere at the hotel