Immortal Amour

By L. A. Kennedy

Leading a fierce battle to protect his race, Cael must choose between the life he has and the woman he wants.

Fiercely loyal to his men, Cael has sacrificed himself for the good of the race. Undercover as the Calyph, he has lost everything he's ever loved and wanted in an attempt to smoke out the Genesys before the irregulars are extinguished. Now he will sacrifice again to save his one true love.

Cael has always been savage by nature, quick with temper, quick with violence. It takes finely tuned control to keep his Vampyre instinct from taking over and consuming the little bit of humanity he still clings to. Cael is no stranger to loss. He knows that painful fury all too well. But when his Fyrvor, his one true love, goes missing, he pities the SOB who took her. With ice in his veins, he swears vengeance.

Des has worked her fair share of cases as an agent for the Netherworld, policing the little slice of in-between, where life and death, man and monster, are as subjective as ivory and eggshell. She is a Kler'voient—a Prophetyc, born with a second sight limited to the past. They call it a gift. She calls it what it is—a burden and a curse.

Cael is deep undercover and sinking into the darkness of his sacrifice. Des doesn't want cannon fodder in her life. That alone would make their relationship difficult enough without them being the prime target for the Order, who are hatching new strategies for wiping the irregulars off the face of the earth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Totally Bound Publishing
• Release date: Apr 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781786510228

L. A. Kennedy

L.A. Kennedy, beyond the story… L.A. Kennedy is a Canadian born writer, living in the ever-growing city of Vancouver, Canada. Here, she spends her days getting lost in the beauty of reading and writing. L.A. Kennedy mainly writes fictional books. And can be found researching myth, folklore, and everything in between, with a special interest in edge-of-your-seat paranormal romance. L.A. Kennedy can be found behind a mountain of books, on any given Sunday. L.A. Kennedy’s writing credits include two hit series that mix mystery, horror, paranormal romance, fantasy, and intrigue.

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Immortal Amour

ISBN # 978-1-78651-022-8

©Copyright L.A. Kennedy 2016

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright March 2016

Edited by Jamie D. Rose

Totally Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2016 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

Warning:

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Simmering and a Sexometer of 1.

The Genesys Project

IMMORTAL AMOUR

L.A. Kennedy

Book one in The Genesys Project series

Leading a fierce battle to protect his race, Cael must choose between the life he has and the woman he wants.

Fiercely loyal to his men, Cael has sacrificed himself for the good of the race. Undercover as the Calyph, he has lost everything he’s ever loved and wanted in an attempt to smoke out the Genesys before the irregulars are extinguished. Now he will sacrifice again to save his one true love.

Cael has always been savage by nature, quick with temper, quick with violence. It takes finely tuned control to keep his Vampyre instinct from taking over and consuming the little bit of humanity he still clings to. Cael is no stranger to loss. He knows that painful fury all too well. But when his Fyrvor, his one true love, goes missing, he pities the SOB who took her. With ice in his veins, he swears vengeance.

Des has worked her fair share of cases as an agent for the Netherworld, policing the little slice of in-between, where life and death, man and monster, are as subjective as ivory and eggshell. She is a Kler’voient—a Prophetyc, born with a second sight limited to the past. They call it a gift. She calls it what it is—a burden and a curse.

Cael is deep undercover and sinking into the darkness of his sacrifice. Des doesn’t want cannon fodder in her life. That alone would make their relationship difficult enough without them being the prime target for the Order, who are hatching new strategies for wiping the irregulars off the face of the earth.

Dedication

Dedicated to you, Van, with much love and admiration.

Thank you for being my true north and for finding me each time I was lost. I don’t think I would have made it without you, the cups of coffee, or your ridiculous knowledge of pretty much everything. Thank you for loving my brain as much as I love yours, and for listening to me ramble on and on about my characters, as though they are real.

And to Christine D. and Amy M., you’re both my number one cheerleaders. This one’s for you both, and your wait. Thank you for you believing in me and for your unlimited supply of encouragement and updates on the real world while I closed myself off behind a wall of books and writing.

Acknowledgments

With a special thanks to Jamie Rose, Editor Extraordinaire. I’ve said it before, but it’s never enough. Thank you for your continued belief in me, and for the amazing attention you’ve given to me and my work. You are a blessing. Do some yoga, grab a martini—it’s never too early!—and enjoy the read. It’s all thanks to you!

A special thank you to my writer friends. Thank you for tolerating my last-minute insanity. For the record, three in the morning is never too late to make brownies and debate the importance of a well-placed hyphen.

Trademarks Acknowledgment

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Romeo and Juliet: William Shakespeare

Othello: William Shakespeare

YouTube: Google Inc.

Technicolor: Technicolor Trademark Management SAS Corporation

Coke: Coca-Cola Company

I Fink U Freeky: Die Antwoord

Wet-Nap: Nice-Pak Products Inc.

Band-Aid: Johnson & Johnson Corporation

GQ: Conde Naste

Dr. Martens: Airwair Intnl. Ltd.

VW: Volkswagen of America Inc.

Geek Stink Breath: Green Day

The Wishing Year: Noelle Oxenhandler

Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night: Dylan Thomas

Jerry Springer: NBC Universal Television Distribution

I Am Woman: Ray Burton and Helen Reddy

Death lies on her, like an untimely frost

Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.

William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act IV, scene 5, line 28

Chapter One

Midnight crime scenes… Of all of the crime scenes to be at, Des favored these ones.

Darkness had this way of stealing the truth. Des was thankful for that, as she stared down at the ruined remains of what she thought had been a man. There was so little left. It could have been just about anything, including an animal carcass. She was pretty sure a small cow hadn’t been tossed off the beaten path, which left only one thing. The broadness of the shoulders, or what was left of them, told her it was a man—was, the key word. It once was a man. In the pitch blackness of the summer night, the blood took on a different color altogether. Black liquid tar pooled under the bloated remains.

Desdemona Bloodworth—Des, to those who knew her—had worked her fair share of cases for The Netherworld, policing the little slice of in between, where life and death, man and monster, were as subjective as ivory and eggshell. Born a Kler’voient, a Prophetyc, she was born with a second sight. To her chagrin, her sight was limited to the past. They called it a gift, a rare and valuable talent, so she’d been told. She called it what it was—a burden and a curse.

Her curse, like a coin, had two sides—one side for good and one side for evil. Should she choose the wicked and shiny side of the coin, Des could control thoughts, giving someone memories that made them jump off a bridge or into the path of an oncoming train. Alas, she chose the good side, the dull and virtuous. And there was nothing nearly as fun with the side that landed on morality. On this side, she was the one that was left with the memories and the desire to toss herself in front of a train.

Des was the end result of what had happened when an angel and demon crossed the unspoken line, creating what the Orygin had forbidden. She was good and evil, yet neither, with the ability of both. With a soul that sits in Pergetore, she tried to earn the feathers on her wings to pull her soul out of there. So far, not so good, case in point, she’s still fucking here.

A deal struck between the Orygin and Ruynous said that the winged couldn’t be locked away in Hades and half-breeds could not walk the earth in full power. Each good deed earned a feather for a set of wings only Des’ soul could see and feel. A full set would force the Wardyn to expel her soul and she’d be home free. Until then, Des and her soul were stuck in a perpetual rerun of a shitty reality TV show called life.

The Netherworld had been in existence since mankind had become perverted, spitting out beasts and burden. An irregular gene had been activated by the Genesys, the creator of the Rancor Order, for an absolute unquestioning army. He’d tried to play God and screwed them all. Anyone who had been born with this dormant irregular gene had become something more and less than man. Cue the reason the Netherworld had come into existence.

The Netherworld was similar to any other police task force, roping in those who broke the law. Only this flavor of criminal had fangs and claws. Fangs and claws were what Des hated the most. Pesky little things they were. The locals called in the twisted and perverted her to help catch the twisted and perverted them. It was the circle of life around here. Des wasn’t one to complain, much. It paid the bills and for the therapy that she should be going to.

She worked some of the most gruesome cases due to her ‘gift’. Most people were rotated off the grisly and heinous crimes every few years, human or not, or they washed out and crawled into a bottle. She was burned out and had already been in and out of a bottle or two.

But here she was, at midnight, leaning over the remains of a body, bloodied and left for the birds and critters, trying to earn another feather for a set of wings she couldn’t see.

The body lay on its side. Claw marks ran down the back and front of him, like a hot knife through butter. The pale white skin, drained of blood, had been sliced and gouged, ripped from the bones and laid over him like a safety blanket. Innards had been spilled onto the gravel, still shiny in the moonlight, reflecting the stars and flashing police lights. It was almost beautiful, the still calmness only death can bring, had it not been for the whole ‘dead and torn up’ part.

The second body lay roughly ten feet away. Des’ eyes focused on the lumpiness of his remains, like a sack of red, broken potatoes. It’s odd how your mind will focus on trivial facts, she thought, noting the oddities that came to mind, like how dirty the intestines were or how the hair wasn’t messy enough. For a moment, she wondered where he had his nails done. Her brain tried to pull away from the horror with thoughts that didn’t matter, thoughts that kept the truth of what she was looking at, at bay. It was an irritating fail-safe when she was on the job and the job was dealing in horror.

The second body had been ripped open, his chest splayed and insides removed completely, leaving him an empty sack of what once was a person. Des had stared at him, not a drop of blood had touched his perfect face, but the horror of the night was etched deep within it. She wouldn’t forget the look frozen in his glossy eyes and slackened jaw.

In daylight or utter darkness, some things couldn’t be lied about. Fear was fear. It didn’t matter how much light shined down. Fear didn’t care what kind of spotlight it was under. Fear was like Mother Nature. It didn’t think twice about wishes or timing. It just was. It had its own timeline, its own needs, and it didn’t give a shit about anyone else’s. Fear didn’t discriminate. It didn’t hate or care. Fear was fear for all. Fear hung in the air, coating skin like jelled sweat—like the remains of Mother Nature’s fury.

The bodies were lost under the canopies of the trees. Des rubbed the goosebumps from her arms, grateful that she didn’t have to stand beside them—smelling them, seeing them and mourning their deaths. From yards away, she could disassociate, divorce her emotions from the heinousness of the night. From here, each could be an ‘it’. She could lie to herself at a distance. From here, they could be bodies and nothing more.

For now, anyway…

As soon as she let her vision out, it wouldn’t matter where she was standing. She could be on the other side of this field and still feel it. The brutality would stain the air for miles, like being caught in the middle of a hailstorm, no escape from the little bruising bullets. The emotions she’d let in would feel like blistering hot hail and there would be no escape for her.

Being this close would feel like a football team all tackling her at once. She hated it and loved it. Her curse was a double-edged blade. If she didn’t use it, it would come out on its own and cut her off at the knees. It sprouted its ugly head at the worst of times, like standing beside a child and screaming at the thoughts running through their little heads. But using it left her feeling like a smashed bag of assholes. Consequently, this was how Des had gotten into the job, and why she had been there that night. She needed to use her curse before it used her.

She had done her job, poking at them like they were meaty clues. Besides them, there were no others to be found in the trees or on the ground around them. No surprise. Des wasn’t called in unless the Netherworld task force had hit a brick wall at two hundred miles an hour, face first.

Why was the Netherworld working a double murder on the edge of the burbs? These weren’t just any men. From the brief flashes in her mind’s eye, she could see wolves running. The smell of them filled her lungs and settled deep in her chest. She could taste them on the back of her tongue like a small sip of wine from an hour ago.

Cue the curse.

Each time she started a crime scene, she’d use her eyes and gut instinct, all of that pesky training they took. ‘Never depend on inhuman abilities, they could be gone tomorrow,’ they’d said. Unlikely, in her case. She’d been praying to the Orygin for that very thing her entire life. But here she was, curse still as strong as ever, a perpetual mind wedgie of the most epic of varieties. It was like dangling off the flagpole.

Once she’d get an idea of what had taken place, she’d unleash the curse. Her supervisor had finally cured her habit of screaming, Release the Kraken! or her personal favorite, This is Sparta! No one got her humor around here. Sure, she had usually been standing over someone dead and should have had better sense than to crack a joke. In her defense, it was how she coped, joking at the wrong time. It was that or cry, and she was tired of crying around the boys.

Des took a deep breath and looked over her notes again to prepare for the visions. Going in blind was an assault on her brain. She needed something to ground her thoughts or she picked up everything, including snippets from the peanut gallery around. When she finally stepped up to bat and opened her mind to the emotions that still hung in the air, she was slapped with scenes and smells, tastes and emotions. To call it disorientating would be a grand understatement. It was painful, both physically and emotionally. Every section of her consciousness came alive at once, like rolling her brain around in a bowl of toothpicks.

Des slammed the door to her curse, taking in deep breaths—in through the nose and out through the mouth—forcing her to breathe past the need to vomit. Like many times before, she hadn’t prepared herself enough for the assault. It had been careless. Every now and again, she forgot the magnitude of what death could do to the mind. When she got too comfortable with her curse, it had the habit of throat-punching her to put her back in place. It was a little reminder that they worked as a team. Her curse was not her bitch, and this was the souvenir of that vacation down ‘Think Again Lane’.

She hadn’t been prepared for two dead bodies. One down, she could usually handle. Two, and she was kicked in the chest and