Midnight's Atonement: The Cynn Cruors Bloodline Series, Book 3: The Cynn Cruors Bloodline Series, #3

By Isobelle Cate

Paranormal Romance Guild Nominee - 2019 Reviewers Choice Awards 

 

A supernatural war. An alluring journalist caught in the middle. A devouring lust…

 

Graeme Temple, a supernatural Cynn Cruor warrior, is nearly killed in a brutal siege on the Isle of Man, when he takes a silver bullet intended for his brother in arms and Dux, Roarke Hamilton. While on the mend, Graeme never expects to meet Kate Corrigan—an alluring investigative journalist trying to expose human trafficking ringleader—who kindles in Graeme a devouring lust, a desire to possess, and a need to protect. 

 

Kate never meant to fall so quickly for such a mysterious—not to mention extremely hot—hero, whose attraction she can't deny, no matter how hard she tries. She is about to expose the councilman responsible for human trafficking when her friends are kidnapped to silence her. Incorrigible, Kate refuses to back down. She looks to Graeme for help—and a steamy affair she can't resist...Thrown together, Graeme and Kate find their attraction for each other becomes a passionate conflagration. 

 

But not all is cut and dried. Graeme realizes he and Kate are hunting the very villain he has been searching for—for centuries. Will the feelings they have for each other be enough to destroy Dac Valerian and get them through? Will Graeme be the man to break through the walls of Kate's heart?

 

***CONTENT WARNING: This story contains adult language and sexual situations and intended for audiences 18+ ONLY***

 

This is the 3rd book of Isobelle Cate's, The Cynn Cruors Bloodline series. Want to start from the beginning? Read Rapture at Midnight!

 

Editorial Review

This was a great book and fortunately there are many more I have left to read. There is violence, romance, explicit sex, suspense, secrets and lies and a very unexpected surprise. - Paranormal Romance Guild Review 

 

This book is well written and will keep you turning the pages so you can find out what happens next, get ready for an emotional read. I loved the book and give it 5 stars as there are not more to give. - Paranormal Romance and Authors that Rock

 

Readers' Reviews

Another superb installment!!! - Vine™ Voice I will say that I loved how Isobelle brought this couple together and how she brought back all the other couples into the fold. There was also a surprise towards the end that I thought was brilliant. - Reviewer 

 

Isobelle Cate hit a home run with this one!!!!! Her writing just keeps getting better. I encourage everyone to read this series and especially if you like the paranormal. - Reviewer 

 

Isobelle Cate weaves modern day fears, and doubts into a truly gripping read. Isobelle has also skillfully woven folk law, history and legend into a passionate continuing tale of the Manchester based group, as they fight evil, find their mate, and the steam from the pages fogged my glasses!!! - Reviewer

• Language: English
• Publisher: Isobelle Cate
• Release date: Jan 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393942504

Book preview

C:\Users\Jennifer\Documents\_Jenn's Stuff\Format-Covers\Isobelle Cate\Covers\Midnight atonement\atonement.png

By

Isobelle Cate

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

MIDNIGHT’S ATONEMENT

All rights reserved.

Copyright 2014 © Isobelle Cate

Second Edition 2019

Cover: JRA Stevens for Down Write Nuts

Formatting: Down Write Nuts

Isobelle Cate has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1998, to be identified as Author of this Work.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher

A supernatural war. An alluring journalist caught in the middle. A devouring lust...

Graeme Temple, a supernatural Cynn Cruor warrior, is nearly killed in a brutal siege of the evil Dac Valerian’s fortress on the Isle of Man, when he takes a silver bullet intended for his comrade, Roarke Hamilton. Both Roarke and Graeme are hybrid warriors, part human, part vampire, part werewolf, bred by an ancient alchemist to save humans from Dac’s murderous race of Scatha Cruors.

While on the mend, Graeme never expected to meet Kate Corrigan—an alluring investigative journalist trying to expose human trafficking ringleader—who kindles in Graeme a devouring lust, a desire to possess, and a need to protect. And Kate never meant to fall so quickly for such a mysterious—not to mention extremely hot—hero, whose attraction she can’t deny, no matter how hard she tries.

Kate is about to expose the councillor responsible for human trafficking when her friends are kidnapped to silence her. Incorrigible, Kate refuses to back down. She looks to Graeme for help—and a steamy affair she can’t resist...

Thrown together, Graeme and Kate find their attraction for each other becomes a passionate conflagration that will not leave them unscathed. But not all is cut and dried. Graeme realizes he and Kate are hunting the very villain he has been searching for—for centuries. He might have to sacrifice Kate’s budding love and devotion to complete his quest.

Will the feelings they have for each other be enough to destroy Dac Valerian and get them through? Will Graeme be the man to break through the walls of Kate’s heart?

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

About the Author

Also by Isobelle Cate

I Would Take It All

If I could hold your hand

And heal your heart

Look into your eyes

And take away all your pain

Reach into your soul

And repair all the damage

No matter how deep and dark

I would take it all

Just to see the beautiful smile

Crest upon your face

To hear joy in your voice again

For you to shine as brightly

As the true star that you are

I would take it all

I would bare the weight of it all

Just so you would always be happy

Mend your spirit and watch you soar

You deserve all the love and happiness possible

You deserve nothing more than

All the very best this life has to offer

Even as jaded as you are to trust

With walls built tall and thick around your heart

Please know that there are those who will be true

Who will love you unconditionally

Who will stay with you

On your journey through life

Who will always

Without question have your back

I would sacrifice myself

For you to live and thrive

For you to flourish and succeed

To never shed another tear in sadness

I would give you my heart

So that you know

That each second

Of each day

You are and will always be loved

That you will never be or walk alone in this life

As long as my heart is still beating

I promise you this

I would take it all

To heal you

To make you smile

To ensure you are happy and loved

For you

I would give you

All of me

––––––––

Julie Mishler

Prologue

Midnight. Outside the Tower of London

September 1316

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Graeme de Almund felt himself being hauled off in a cart, the bodies of his brother Templars piled over him. He had lost consciousness after the Inquisitors tortured them. All of them. Even the old and infirm Templars were not spared. His throat choked with fury and the bile in his gut threatened to spill out of his mouth. If he allowed that, the men of the Inquisition would know that he was still alive. He couldn’t let that happen. He needed to survive to warn the rest of those hiding. Everyone thought he was dead and he should be. But no one knew that he was a Cynn Cruor save for Grand Master Jacques de Molay.

The cart jerked to a trot, the bodies rattling against and over him. He wanted to move, to scratch the itch that had landed on his nose caused by the hair of the dead Templar swinging across Graeme’s face. His stomach growled. The stench of death could not disguise the smell of blood that dripped from the many wounds around him. He needed sustenance. He could not think of sex at the moment, the one thing that would completely strengthen him, but the Kinaré gene inside him demanded that he feed himself. If only to gain enough stamina to get out of the cart before their bodies were hauled into a mass funeral pyre.

He wouldn’t be able to survive that.

Blood dripped down from the bodies above him. Graeme spat out the blood that came from the dead and took in the drops that came from those barely alive. A few drops were all he needed to gain enough strength to flee. After what seemed like an eternity, the cart came to a rolling stop.

Are they all dead?

That voice. Graeme froze. Fury unfurled in his belly demanding retribution. No! Retribution was not part of the code of the Order of the Temple, his heart warred with his head. He wanted to roar his rage and have it over and done with. He wanted to kill the man who had betrayed the Templars. A man who pretended to be a Templar himself. He wanted to skin the man alive for he was the person responsible for the arrest of de Molay in Paris two years before. The man who had been cast out of the Order because he had been caught spying, gathering information about the Templars most sensitive secrets. In revenge, he had wheedled his way into the inner sanctum of the French King convincing him that arresting the Grand Master would absolve him of his earthly sins, promising him a place in heaven. What mortal could guarantee a human being a place in the house of God?

But no one knew that this man wasn’t mortal. For he was a Scatha Cruor. For a long time Graeme believed that man to be Herod D’Argyle, Dac Valerian’s second in command. How wrong he was! The man responsible for the death of the Templars was now here, with Herod. A man he only recognized by the strange wheezing of his voice when he spoke. A very distinct sound that set him apart from the rest.

The same man who used to be a Cynn Cruor but changed sides, allowing his parents to be burned for witchcraft.

Bar du Daegal.

Yes my lord, they are. A wheezing voice was all Graeme could hear. All of them did not survive the torture.

Herod’s laugh was cold. They were not meant to.

Graeme felt the cart jiggle deeply from the left side as the cart driver jumped out of his seat, his poorly clad feet shuffling over dry earth. Motes of dust rose tickling Graeme’s nose. He swallowed hard determined not to sneeze. He heard the clinking of coins in someone’s hand before it fell to the ground.

Take the bodies to the clearing and burn them. Herod ordered. I will give you the rest of what I owe you after you’ve done so.

Aye, my lord, the cart driver replied eagerly.

Graeme forced his heart to slow down. With Herod around, he would know that someone was alive. He would know that there was a Cynn Cruor in their midst. From his vantage point at the bottom of the cart, he could see several clad feet. Even though they were not in full transformation form, the stench of death that surrounded Graeme could not disguise the fetid smell of the Scatha. It reminded him of the smell of London’s streets in the heat of a summer’s night when refuse and sewage mixed in a paste that people walked over. Graeme counted two more Scatha who accompanied Herod even as he noticed the weight above him getting lighter. If Herod found him and realized that he was a Cynn Cruor, all he needed to do was decapitate him and he would vanish with the air.

Graeme’s heart raced, the sound thudding loud in his ears. He closed his eyes. Herod should have heard his Cynn heart by now.

Wait, he heard Herod order.

The cart’s movements stilled, the bodies draped over Graeme weighing down on him again.

Graeme heard the silent swish of a blade being unsheathed. He closed his eyes. This was it. He would die an ignoble death, speared by a Scatha blade. He would not be given a chance to fight them in a field of battle. Still he drew strength from knowing that he had killed so many of the Scatha warriors who had joined the ranks of Raynard de Chatillon in Jerusalem. He felt good that he had helped protect the pilgrims on their way to the Holy Land from bandits who robbed them in the name of God. In the end, he no longer knew who God’s chosen people were and who the Almighty had condemned to eternal damnation. It didn’t matter whether they followed the cross, the book, or the crescent. Graeme vowed to protect every person with a seed of humanity in them. Now that he was about to meet his death, he prayed.

Graeme felt someone move above him. He heard a pitiful cry. It was one of the older Templars, arrested even after he had left the Order to live as a farmer.

I thought you said they were all dead. Herod’s voice was as cold as the steel he held.

Aye, my lord, they were. The man wheezed in protest.

You, miserable cart driver. You said there was no one left alive!

I can only tell you what the men in the Tower told me, the cart driver retorted defensively.

My lord, spare me. The voice above Graeme croaked. I have done nothing wrong. No! No!

Graeme shut his eyes tight as he heard the sword sheathe itself into the Templar above him. Warm living blood seeped down into him. Anger brought moisture piercing into his eyes even as his tongue snaked out to take the precious fluid. He would avenge all of the Templars above him.

If he lived.

My lord, the driver’s voice trembled. Believe me, I did not know.

Herod grunted. Carry on.

Aye my lord. Thank ye, my lord. The relief in the cart driver’s voice was palpable.

Just then, they heard riders coming through the dirt road. Graeme heard Herod swear.

See to it that this deed is completed. Herod barked at the Scatha with him. Then he’s all yours.

Sire?

Graeme could only guess that the horse that left had taken Herod away. He let out a breath for the small mercy. The blood he imbibed was strengthening the Kinaré inside him. Graeme flexed his hands before they curled into fists. His skin, mangled by the torture he underwent in the Tower pulled tight against the new skin that slowly formed over his wounds. He moved his limbs, inching his hips, bending his knees so that he could get up slowly. Graeme took his time to dislodge himself from underneath the corpses. He turned his face away from the sightless eyes of a Templar who fell into the space Graeme vacated. On and on it went, inch by slow inch, he moved. Not one of the Scatha Cruors or Bar du Daegal noticed the activity in the cart.

Graeme continued his unusual escape. He needed to save his strength if he was going to take on the Scatha left behind. Knowing them, they would kill the cart driver and feast on him. Either that or they would have their way with him.

Then kill him.

Hurry up, old man! the Scatha wheezed. We haven’t got all night.

Aye, my lord. I’m hurrying but dead bodies are difficult to carry and you’re not helping.

Perhaps you’d like to join the rest of the dead.

The scream that tore from the man’s throat was more than enough for Graeme. With a roar he dislodged himself from underneath the dead causing the Scatha to whirl about in surprise.

Graeme lunged at them, all three falling to the ground. He unsheathed the swords from their scabbards but before he could decapitate them they jumped up to face him. Graeme grinned when he saw their eyes glow green in the dark and their hands rip through their gloves to transform into claws. He wouldn’t be surprised if the cart driver’s heart failed him; Graeme would deal with him later. Right now, he wouldn’t take his eyes off the fiends. They would die tonight. Poor substitutes for Herod.

But they would have to do.

The Scatha screeches rent the air as they flew forward. Graeme lifted himself higher above their heads before slashing the air. As he landed, ash filled the ground around him, covering him as well. The sounds of the night suddenly grew still. Only Graeme’s hard breathing filled the air. His head snapped at the Scatha standing a few feet away from him. The Scatha cackled.

Just try, Cynn Cruor. You are no match for me in your weakened state. He wheezed before zooming into the darkness.

Inasmuch as he hated it, Graeme had to admit the Scatha was right. He felt a pang of guilt about letting the fiend go. But what was the point of going after one monster when he could kill more later? He turned to look at the cart driver and shook his head in wearily.

I’m not a demon, old man, he said. That cross you are holding aloft. I am a Templar. Surely you know what we are.

Ye..yes... the cart driver stammered. You’re in league with the devil. That’s why you and the rest have been tortured. You deserve to burn in the flames.

Graeme sighed. He stood up. He had no time for this. He had to leave. Rebuild his strength. He needed a willing woman to warm his bed and slake his lust.

If I were you, I would go. Graeme said instead not bothering to face the cart driver. Do not waste your time waiting for the man who gave you coin. If he finds out that his minions are dead, he will carve out your heart from your chest and eat it. Graeme looked over his shoulder. That is the demon you must fear. Fare thee well, old man. Choose wisely.

With that, Graeme staggered forward towards the forest, away from the carnage that could have been his grave.

Chapter One

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The Cynn Cruors’ Faesten

Manchester, United Kingdom

Present Day

––––––––

Pain. The word flashed in his mind like a neon sign. Every time it did, pain thumped a slow steady beat inside his system. He heard the monitor’s shrill warning beside his bed. His back was on fire causing him to roar at the agony that grew like the branches of a tree with his back as the trunk.

Graeme, stay with me. He heard Blake’s voice. It was upbeat but he could hear the desperation underneath. We’re still going to kick Dac’s arse, right? So keep fighting. You’re going to be fine.

But he wasn’t bloody fine. He was in abject agony, feeling the insidious silver inside his system. He shook violently causing the bed to shake. Arms held him down and he wanted those arms to let go of him so that he could flail. He knew that it would help ease the agony, but he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t tell those holding him down to let him go.

Don’t bloody hell die on me, Temple! He heard Zac shout. No!

Flatline.

Graeme bolted up from his bed. His heart raced as sweat, cold and clammy, bathed his naked body.

Just a dream. His mind chanted the phrase, the mantra calming him down, slowing his heartbeat. He sat up on the side of the bed, waiting for the dizziness to subside. Dammit, it didn’t leave him as fast as he expected. His weakened state made sure of that.

He stood as gingerly as a baby afraid to take its first steps. Gritting his teeth when pain shot out of his back, he relegated the sensation to the back of his mind and stood unsteadily on his feet. The floor seemed to undulate underneath his weight, and making him think he was on a ship on choppy water instead of inside his bedroom. He staggered towards the window, his feet shuffling, the dry skin on his soles and heels sounding like shed snakeskin dragging over wood. The air in the room caught the sweat from his body and dried him off as he went. Whether it was cold or hot he didn’t care. The sensations were a forgotten memory before he became a Cynn Cruor all those centuries ago.

He glanced down at the street below. Rivulets of water fell against the especially tinted windows of his room. Manchester was in for another rainy day. Buses and cars moved in opposite directions ferrying people to stops close to their offices. Others braved the rain, holding on to their brollies while others hugged their waterproof coats close to their bodies.

Those people will be soaked to the skin if they don’t get out of the rain, he mused.

Then he felt it. No, he remembered it. The paralyzing pain of the silver bullet entering his lower back, the inability to keep standing, the hours spent in the Faesten’s hospital walking that thin line separating life from death until the Ancients had arrived to help Zac heal him.

Graeme braced his hands on the windowsill and flexed his shoulders and neck. Discomfort followed his every move, like his skin wanted to stifle the muscles underneath it.  He swore under his breath at the sudden bites of pain scarring his lower back. He needed to get out of this funk. He shouldn’t dwell on what had been. It was over. He recovered. He’d been in worse situations.

But I’ve never been shot at like that, he muttered.

He couldn’t afford to be affected by one of the bravest things he had ever done. It was part of being a Cynn Cruor warrior. It was part of being a Templar. It was why he was the Faesten’s security expert. He would always save his Dux. He would always save any man he looked up to. And he would kill anyone who epitomized evil. He would never fail again as long as he lived.

Because without his strength, without his loyalty, without his commitment, he was nothing.

Several weeks had passed since he’d been shot. Zac said that with the Ancients’ help, Graeme would be good as new the next day, but it had taken two more weeks before Zac discharged him from the hospital wing and back to his quarters in the Faesten. When he was supposed to be up and about, he had developed a high fever that broke only after a fortnight. Something that never happened to a Cynn Cruor warrior, but it happened to him. Zac had already left with the Ancients in search of the special silver, but could still be reached via satellite phone until they vanished.

Roarke and Deanna took turns with Finn and Eirene to nurse him back to health. It was left to the four of them to make sure they followed Zac’s last instructions for him to get better. All had breathed a sigh of relief when the fever broke and he finally had several nights of rest. It had been a close call for everyone.

Because the unusual silver used to create the bullet had weakened the Kinaré gene inside Graeme.

While the women were with Graeme, Roarke and Finn made sure that every Faesten knew of the unusual silver. They needed to prepare each and every Cynn Cruor warrior until Zac returned. Problem was, they didn’t know when this would be let alone having a clue about where he and the Ancients were.

Graeme entered the bathroom and looked at himself at the special mirror that allowed the Cynn Cruor warriors to see their reflections clearly. He had lost a lot of weight. He ran his hand along his jaw now covered with bristly hair and turned his face left and right to stare at his hollow cheeks. He stepped back and scrutinised his body. Despite losing weight, Graeme was glad he didn’t lose that much muscle tone. Nothing hours in the gym couldn’t fix.

Graeme slowly turned around, his eyes narrowing at the pull of skin against skin, his lips compressed to a thin line as he concentrated on not overdoing it. His fixed his eyes at the mirror, and there, just an inch and a half above where his back dipped was his wound. It was puckered and looked like cracked earth during a drought. He winced. Even the simple twisting of his torso in order to examine his wound brought those jolts of pain from his back throughout his body. Impatience wormed its way up his brain. He’d be damned if he allowed this to defeat him.

Facing the mirror once more, Graeme reached for the electric razor. Shaving his beard of gave him a sense of an end to his recuperation. As soon as he showered, he’d go to the Faesten’s training floor and beat the crap out of himself.

Again.

Training once more had kept his mind off the fear that gnawed his gut since he got shot. That he would be less of a Cynn Cruor compared to his brethren. He started training, not giving a damn about the pain that would make even the strongest man howl.  He went through all the virtual reality scenarios the Faesten had over and over again until he could hardly stand. And still it wasn’t enough. A certain