The Immortal Plague: The Immortal Wars Trilogy, #1

By M.K. Dawn

In a world ruled by Immortals....
...humans have everything to fear.

Ethan Calaway has spent years living off the grid and out of the watchful eyes of the world's blood-thirsty overlords.
Until his sister goes missing.
Her last known location: The Immortal Realm.
Breaking into enemy territory won't be easy.
Getting out alive? Near impossible.
But with the help of a couple of unlikely allies, he might have a chance.
Can Ethan save his sister from the clutches of the Immortal Council?
Or will the secrets he uncovers cost him his life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.K. Dawn
• Release date: May 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393366591

M.K. Dawn

M.K. Dawn was born and raised in San Antonio, Texas. She now lives south of town on a cattle ranch with her husband, two kids, seven dogs, and a rabbit. When she's not writing, she can be found driving her kids around to after-school activities, decorating cakes and watching as much Netflix as she can. But her all-time favorite hobby will always and forever be reading.

Book preview

The Immortal Plague

The Immortal Wars Trilogy Book 1

M.K. Dawn

Copyright © 2018 by M. K. Dawn

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Contents

1. CHAPTER ONE

2. CHAPTER TWO

3. CHAPTER THREE

4. CHAPTER FOUR

5. CHAPTER FIVE

6. CHAPTER SIX

7. CHAPTER SEVEN

8. CHAPTER EIGHT

9. CHAPTER NINE

10. CHAPTER TEN

11. CHAPTER ELEVEN

12. CHAPTER TWELVE

13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN

14. CHAPTER FOURTEEN

15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN

16. CHAPTER SIXTEEN

17. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

18. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

19. CHAPTER NINETEEN

20. CHAPTER TWENTY

21. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

22. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

23. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

24. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

25. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

26. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

27. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

28. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

29. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

30. CHAPTER THIRTY

31. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

32. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

33. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

34. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

35. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

36. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

37. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

38. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

39. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

40. CHAPTER FORTY

41. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

42. CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

43. CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

44. CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

45. CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

46. CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

47. CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

48. CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

49. CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

50. CHAPTER FIFTY

51. CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

52. CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

53. CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

54. CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

55. CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

56. CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Sneak Peek

CHAPTER ONE

Ethan Calaway flipped on the forty-year-old box of a television set and plopped into his new dingy, side-of-the-road recliner. As a child, his mother always scolded him for bringing home what she considered junk—beat-up bikes and broken toys. If it looked to be remotely salvageable, Ethan would throw it on the wagon he rigged to the back of his bike and haul it home to see what he could make with it.

Back in those days, scavenging was done for the hell of it. Today it was a necessity. Luxury items such as furniture, TVs, and more than a single serving set of dishes were hard to come by. Even a roof over your head was considered a hot commodity.

Ethan had come across his home a few years back. Most weren’t so lucky and took up squatting; a practice that didn’t end well in many cases.

The one room hunting cabin came furnished with twin bunk beds, a beat-up sofa, wood-burning stove, and kitchen. Even an outhouse in the back. The pre-wired electricity was an added bonus, not that he utilized it as he preferred to use the generator. It kept him off the grid.

Good evening, the dull newscaster said in his tired, uninterested tone. It is the thirty-eighth day in the fifteenth year of the uprising.

It’s fucking February! Ethan roared, buzzed off the moonshine he’d been drinking since noon. Even the date was controlled by them.

A month from now marks the hundredth anniversary of the day the Immortal Council stepped out from the shadows and revealed themselves to the world. No longer the mythical creatures we believed them to be, but a race of powerful beings ready to right the injustices which forced them into hiding centuries ago.

Ethan’s grip tightened around his lukewarm glass, ready to throw the damn thing at the ancient TV if alcohol wasn’t so hard to come by. He settled for a worn copy of Moby Dick—one of his many treasured, rare books. It ricocheted off the bulged-out screen and landed on the floor with a thud, pages flying in every direction.

Shit. His mother had given him that book for his tenth birthday…at the last party he’d ever attended.

To commemorate this historic event— The inconstant speakers resounded at a pitch just shy of ear-shattering.

Forgetting about the ruined book, Ethan lowered the volume and scoffed at the bullshit the news anchor was about to force-feed what little audience watched. The majority of people couldn’t care less about what these people had to say. As the last remaining news station in what was left of the United States, the information communicated was censored; as were the newspapers, radios stations, and mail. All modern technology had been taken from them as a punishment for their rebellion. The only reason they were still allowed to broadcast was to push their propaganda.

…each town will hold a festival to celebrate—

Celebrate? What the hell was this guy smoking? There wasn’t a chance in hell any human would feel like celebrating the day a hundred years ago when the world had learned the truth about the existence of vampires.

The monsters had always been a part of his reality, though he’d never encountered them growing up. They were the reason his parents had left their childhood home of North Dakota when he was two and moved to South Texas. The reason humans feared the darkness of night. Their presence brought with it a plague so horrendous it engulfed the world he grew up in and replaced it with emptiness and despair.

He drained his glass and poured himself the remaining few ounces. It would be a while before he could afford another bottle, so tonight, he would savor every last drop, hangover be damned.

In other news, the anchor continued, Evie Calaway, reporter and outspoken activist…

Ethan returned his attention to the broadcast.

…who five years ago founded SHU—Sanguines and Humans United—and has led the fight to end segregation and unite both the human and Sanguine race, will not be joining us tonight.

What the hell? He leaned forward and turned up the sound. His twin sister never missed a chance to be on air.

Her affiliation with the Immortals has been widely scrutinized, exasperated by the public invitation by the Council to grant her access to their realm, making her the first human allowed within since the construction of their great wall. She was scheduled to meet with the Council and discuss various solutions on how the two races could learn to coexist. Tonight she was to report on her experiences but sadly, his tone grew dark, we seem to be experiencing technical difficulties and are unable to go live. Please tune in tomorrow evening as we hope these issues will be resolved and Miss Calaway will be able to share with us her experiences. Good evening.

The television faded and blurred, the news being the only program allowed to air in their god-forsaken world.

Ethan picked up the landline and dialed Evie’s number. The phone rang a dozen times or so, until the voicemail kicked in, which was expected. He left a quick message asking her to call when she had a minute. No matter where she was, what she was doing, Evie always made a point to check her home messages. It might take her a couple of days to return the call, but he wasn’t worried.

Evie always found her way home.

CHAPTER TWO

Samantha de Alne woke just as the last of the sun’s rays trickled through the cracked window curtain. She must have forgotten to button it closed last night. Samantha winced, her sensitive eyes unaccustomed to natural light without the aid of sunglasses. It was a wonder she slept the entire day. The dozens of drinks the night before no doubt helped. So did the hours of dancing and…

She flipped to her side and glared at the unoccupied spot on the bed.

Damn him to hell!

Her friends had warned her to stay away from Chad, with his smooth words and soft touch. They were a ploy—one he played so perfectly, she’d fallen for it. Again.

Had woken up the next evening alone. Again.

It wasn’t like she was a fledgling any longer. Hadn’t been in sixty some odd years. Though still a young adult in the eyes of her elders, at the age of eighty-two, she was too old to continue putting up with his crap.

Her phone vibrated on the nightstand. She didn’t have to read it; she knew who it was from and what it said. Every Sunday it was the same: her mother sent a reminder that she was to join them for dinner, like she’d forget from one week to the next.

The tradition had begun when she moved into her first apartment at the age of twenty-one. Dinner was served exactly two hours after sunset. The entertainment varied from belittling Samantha’s current career choice to an interrogation on her love life.

Samantha watched as the seconds ticked away. She needed to get up if she was going to make it on time or risk never hearing the end of it. Her parents were both sticklers for punctuality.

But still she laid there contemplating a way out of dinner; a way out of the family obligation that grew closer each day.

Both her parents were founding members of the Immortal Realm. Her father sat on the Council and her mother was a prominent OB-GYN.

One day, when her father retired, Samantha would take his place on the Council. It was a position she had inherited when both her brothers died during the Blood War—a position she had no desire to accept.

Dragging herself out of bed with a heavy sigh, Samantha showered, dressed, and made it out the door in thirty minutes flat. She didn’t bother with make-up, accessories, or styling her hair. Her mother would only criticize it all, whether she put in the effort or not.

Her parents lived fifty miles north, on the outskirts of the realm’s capitol. The drive was a nuisance but provided a reason as to why she did not visit more often. It also allowed her time to mentally prepare for their visit and the questions that were to follow.

Each week she had a story prepared about her job, her love and social life. They would want to know details about how she spent her week. A slight slip would lead to additional questions, which would only drag the dinner well into the evening. As much of a disappointment as she was, her parents still insisted on keeping a close relationship. They had a way of smothering her and making her feel inadequate all in the same breath—a technique that took years to perfect.

Samantha exited the highway and veered right down the long, winding road that led to her parents’ country estate.

She reached the iron gates, took a deep breath, and buzzed the massive castle of a house.

Hello? a woman answered—one Samantha didn’t recognize; her mother had difficulty keeping the help.

Hi. It’s Samantha.

The woman didn’t respond.

Samantha de Alne. Vivian and Luther’s daughter. I’m here for Sunday dinner.

Let her in, her mother snapped. Samantha could practically hear the poor housekeeper jump.

Oh, yes. Right away, ma’am. The gate groaned and swung open.

Samantha drove to the front of the massive Victorian mansion and was greeted by the kind, familiar face of Benson Warrer.

He had been their family’s butler for her entire life and more than half of her parents’—which was impressive since they were nearly five hundred years old. Over the years, so much of the help had come and gone, but he was always there. A father figure and a confidant when Samantha’s parents were too busy with their own self-absorbed lives.

He was her favorite person in the entire world, and even though he was approaching eight-hundred years of age, the lines on his face were smooth, his black hair was dark and full. It was only in his eyes one could see his age.

You going to sit in there all day? he scolded, though there was no irritation in his voice. I have more important matters to attend to.

Samantha threw open the car door. I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused. If I’ve thrown off your schedule in any way, I would gladly take it upon myself to park my own vehicle.

Benson pulled her into a tight hug. You will do nothing of the sort.

I’ve missed you these past few weeks. My father said you were away on family business. Samantha took a step back. I thought all your relatives were gone.

Blood relation is not the lone manner in which one has a family. He cupped her cheeks. Take you, for instance, my lovely child. You are more like a granddaughter to me than my liege.

Her heart ached at the formality of the ancient term. You know how much I detest that title. It makes it sound like I’m your master and you’re my slave.

Neither of which are true. I am free to come and go as I please and am paid a rather large sum for my services.

Still. The terminology needs to be modernized. If not for your sake, and those who work in the field, for public appearance. The Sanguines my age see things very differently than the elders.

A small, rare chuckle escaped his lips. Your generation never ceases to amaze me. Always so quick to dismiss our origin. The tower bell chimed—a ridiculous addition to her childhood home—indicating it was the top of the hour. Hurry inside now, child. Your mother is on a tear today. Something about the human woman’s visit.

Evie Calaway? Samantha knew the human well—more than she would even think to admit in her parents’ house.

Her visit had been all over the news. The Council had invited her into their realm a week ago to meet with them and discuss various ways to close the gap between Sanguines and humans. It was her understanding that the visit was a diplomatic one. So why would her mother—who didn’t even sit on the Council—have anything to worry about?

That would be the one. The corner of Benson’s mouth twitched as he held open the door. Of course, you didn’t hear that from me.

CHAPTER THREE

Samantha entered the foyer leery of what might await her. If indeed her mother was in one of her moods, which would be no surprise, then it was best to proceed with caution.

There was no additional maid to greet her at the door. The study to her left and the parlor to her right were both vacant. Before her, the grand staircase was clear. She heard not one word—not a single footstep—even with her exceptional hearing. This meant one of two things: the hired help had all been fired or they were hiding from her mother. Both were plausible explanations. Her mother went through employees like cheap wine, not that she ever touched the stuff.

The grandfather clocked read eight-o-one. Dinner should have been served at eight on the dot. Samantha couldn’t believe her mother wasn’t storming through the house in search of her tardy daughter.

Samantha! Vivian’s voice echoed through the house. Get in here this instant.

Coming, Mother. Samantha long believed her mother enjoyed the sound of her own voice and the way people jumped to attention when it was raised.

Where have you been? Her mother grabbed Samantha by the elbow and dragged her deeper into the unusually bare dining room. She was dressed in red designer pants and a fitted silver top. A sea of golden hair hit just below her shoulders; always the picture of perfection Samantha wished she could imitate. Until the female opened her mouth to speak. And what have you done with your hair? The brown is dull and there’s no volume whatsoever. Are you using the shampoo I recommended?

Instead of fighting with her mother, Samantha forced a smile. I haven’t had a chance to pick any up.

Why are you not wearing make-up? Or jewelry?

Samantha cocked her head. I was running late.

Vivian’s jaw clenched. You are a public figure and cannot be seen as anything other than formidable. That starts with your appearance. This stringy windblown look will not be tolerated. Don’t even get me started on your eyes. Muted topaz. She sneered. "They have the look of a Sanguine twice your age. If you do not have time to tend to your own needs, someone must be present to do so. You need a servant. Take my new one. The girl’s an idiot. It will at least save me the breath needed to fire her."

Mother, that’s not necessary. It was the same every week. Her mother would find a flaw in Samantha’s appearance and that would lead to the servant talk once again. I like to do things on my own.

As heir to a Council seat, living in such a way is unheard of. That dreadfully small shack you call a home. No driver. No housekeeper. No—

Mother, Samantha interrupted. The way you and Father and the rest of the Council live is outdated. The younger Sanguines, they live the same as I do.

The other heirs keep the practices of the old ways.

They were also spoiled brats, but Samantha kept that to herself. We have many centuries before I take Father’s place.

I fear that may be too soon to correct all the mistakes we made raising you.

Twenty-years ago the comment would have cut her to her core, but Samantha had grown used to her mother’s insults. This one didn’t even make the top hundred of the most poisonous.

My lady, a timid Sanguine female with auburn hair and fair skin staggered into the room, head hung as to not meet Vivian’s glare, dinner is ready to be served.

How is that possible if we have yet to be summoned to the table?

The female jumped at Vivian’s sharp tone. I’m sorry, my lady. I…I…

Don’t just stand there! Fetch my husband at once!

The girl nearly lost her footing as she bolted from the room.

Come. Vivian practically shoved Samantha out the door. "Guess we have to seat ourselves this evening."

Um. Where are we going?

The garden room.

For dinner? She couldn’t remember eating anywhere other than the dining room.

We have guests.

Samantha thought she misheard. Guests?

That’s what I said. Guests. Why do you look so surprised? We have guests quite often.

And you left them alone? Her mother may have been a cold, uncaring woman but was always the most attentive of hosts.

They requested a moment in private with your father, she explained. Council business.

A sudden giddiness took over and the smile she fought so hard to keep plastered on her face became genuine. Company meant playing the part of perfect, proud parents and the conversation would revolve around politics or other worldly news. Samantha could fade into the background and actually enjoy her meal without the fear of insult.

The ladies have returned, Luther announced as Vivian and Samantha entered the garden room. It was small compared to the dining hall and gave off a cheerful vibe with its floor-to-ceiling windows and massive array of greenery.

Come, come. It is well past dinner. He took his wife’s hand, sat at the head of a six-person white washed table with her to his right.

Samantha had always felt small standing next to her father. With his massive frame and tall stature, he stood well over six and a half feet tall. His dark hair and eyes intimidated her more than she would ever admit out loud. He had a presence that made most cower, herself included.

Counselor Walsh, if you would be so kind to take the place to my left.

The male complied.

Samantha knew better than to take her seat before it was offered. Another one of her mother’s ridiculous rules.

Samantha, you will sit next to your mother as always. A sudden brush on her back caught her off guard.

Chad, there you are my boy, Jacob Walsh beamed. There was nothing fake about their father-son relationship.

Father, Mr. and Mrs. de Alne, I apologize for stepping out to take a phone call without an explanation. He offered Samantha his arm. Please, Sam. Let me take you to your seat.

Samantha cleared her throat in an attempt to hide her dismay and allowed him to lead her. The last thing she wanted was her parents to find out she still had any sort of relationship with Chad—news they would have been thrilled to learn. They had made it known a very long time ago that he would be a welcomed addition to their family. At one point in her life, she agreed, until his indiscretions were discovered.

However, in weak moments such as last night, she found herself blinded by his charm. Now sober and clear-headed, she saw him for who he really was: a weasel trying to claw his way to the top. The Council seat he’d inherit was nowhere near the status of her father’s.

"I hate the nickname Sam," Vivian said as they took their seats, Chad next to his father.

That was one thing they both could agree on and Chad knew it.

No disrespect, Mrs. de Alne. Chad winked at Samantha. Just a little joke between childhood friends.

This time Samantha didn’t cover up her pinched expression.

Chad only laughed, showing off those perfect teeth and dimples. Accented by his green eyes and shaggy blond hair, he was hard to stay mad at. It didn’t help that her anger seemed to never bother him the way she wished it would. He had a way of defusing any tense situation with a smile.

"As funny as it may be, Vivian snarled, let’s keep the informalities for more private settings."

Chad cleared his throat to cover up his laughter. Of course.

Now. Vivian rang the bell which held a permanent place to her right. Where the hell is that female with our dinner!

CHAPTER FOUR

The conversation started off light. Usually, when a Council member joined them for dinner, it was all business. That was not the case with the Walsh family. Jacob and Luther grew up together; raised their families together. With them, business always came second.

Jacob. Vivian set down her fork; she never started a conversation mid-bite. I was disappointed to learn Nicolette would not be joining us today. Or any of your other children.

Jacob lifted his napkin to dab the corners of his mouth before speaking. She was disappointed as well but could not bear to leave our youngest, Antonia, so close after the birth of their fourth child.

Grandchildren, Vivian cooed. What a blessing they must be.

Samantha nearly choked on her blood at her mother’s exaggerated sentiment, earning her a dirty look from both parents.

Jacob didn’t seem to notice. Yes, they are wonderful.

Chad snorted. Which reminds me of a conversation I had with a human the other day. I was attending to some of Father’s business in the human realm while he was at Antonia’s birth and this human—

Vivian finger-tapped the table, cutting off Chad. Humans are not suitable dinner conversation.

Unlike most, Vivian’s glare didn’t do much to intimidate Chad. I promise, the story is important.

Fine. She waved a petite hand. Continue.

This human—I forget his name. Chad cocked his chin to his father. A customer you tend to often. He asked about your whereabouts and when I told him you were at the birth of your grandchild he was shocked.

This was hardly news. The things humans believed to be true about their race were ridiculous and stemmed from myth. Most Samantha had met treated her and other Sanguines as equals, respected them for what they were—a unique race that just happened to drink blood to survive. However, there were some she’d come into contact with that only saw them as mythical creatures—vampires.

It was for this reason, Samantha, like the majority of Sanguines, was forbidden to have any contact with humans. However, there were illegal underground clubs—one in particular named Blood Lust—that she frequented. It was a place where humans and Sanguines could socialize, dance, and drink. Most didn’t dare such a venture but for her it felt like freedom.

Jacob laughed. What a silly race. And did he say how he thought we procreated?

Same old bullshit. Chad turned to Vivian. Pardon my language.

She sneered. Excused. Your frustration is understandable.

Chad’s nostrils flared. He believed we bit humans and turned them into one of us. Honestly, after a hundred years you’d think they’d learn.

A common misconception she heard often from humans. It couldn’t be further from the truth. Sanguine, as other living beings, produced their own, biological offspring.

Luther leaned back in his chair. "They still believe we once drank human blood, not animals, before I