Esha's Story

By Holly S. Roberts

When fate intercedes, Rondy and Esha fight her inevitable death and take the brief time they have to search for a miracle that could topple the childless world of vampires.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Holly S. Roberts
• Release date: Mar 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005751210

Holly S. Roberts

Holly S Roberts is a retired homicide detective and the USA TODAY Bestselling Author of Play and Ruck (Completion Sports series). She is excited to announce a new crime thriller series published by Bookouture Hachette releasing 1/13/2023. For Holly's spicier side, you'll love her anti-hero bad boys who will curl your toes (Hotter Than Hell series) and a lighter (not so spicy) humorous paranormal series with shifters and Hellhounds (Marinah and King). She also writes cozy mysteries under the pen name Suzie Ivy. She lives with her two spoiled dogs high in the mountains. Holly is a self-defense instructor and owned a martial arts gym where she taught women to kick butt. Visit wickedstorytelling.com for more info.

Book preview

Chapter One

Esha

The room is dark —my pain darker. It’s the only way to describe the anguish of my soul and how it descends throughout my body. Shooting pain moves into every one of my cells. I’m lying against a firm mat on a large pedestal, wearing a long, white cotton gown. My black hair is unbound and surrounds my head in soft waves without touching my shoulders, because even it is too heavy against my skin.

I am an unmated tigershifter; the gravest of sins, which comes with the penalty of death. My tiger knows this, and she causes the pain. She’s just below the surface, scratching at my insides, fighting to get out one last time.

Grandmother beats softly on the tabla, a native drum she has cherished for countless years. The rhythm steadies my pulse and offers comfort. Mother prays in her lilting voice to soothe herself and my grandmother. But her prayers can’t save me now.

This is the time of separation, when these two women who love me must say a final goodbye.

I’m ready, though I know they are staying as long as possible.

Through the fog of pain, I remember the heartache when my sister Quatea died. I cast my own prayers that Mother and Grandmother will find peace after I’m gone. They have lost far too many daughters.

The sadness in the room is a shroud. The heavy weight keeps me from rising and searching for the man who can save me. I should be past this stage, but there remains a flicker of need to find my mate. Now, I only want that need to end and my time on this earth to be over.

My mother’s voice breaks through the pain. Esha.

The drum stops. It is time.

Cool, comforting arms wrap around me, and I refuse to voice the discomfort they cause. Grandmother’s prayers begin in the background. When she eases away slightly, I open my eyes and peer at the beautiful woman holding me.

She gives me her soft smile with shining, teary eyes. Forgive me for failing you, my daughter. Go in peace.

Shhh, I tell her in a raspy, pain-filled voice. I take a deep breath and hope I can say the words that will relieve a small part of her sorrow. You did not fail, Mother. You and Grandmother have given me the greatest love. Thank you. She squeezes a little tighter. It is time to sing me away. I am at peace. This is a lie that I hope she believes.

Mother cries quietly as Grandmother begins singing Song of Endless Journeys. It’s the final song of separation. Mother moves aside, and Grandmother’s silken fingers glide over my face. She is trying to imprint me forever in her memory. I saw her do this with my sister. I know her memories will fade, which is the way it should be. You should not hold on to the dead. Her thoughts and those of Mother’s are for the living. Mother’s hand goes to my shoulder, and Grandmother moves back and places her arms around my mother. This is the strength my mother needs to add her voice to the song and let me go.

The words offer guidance as I embark on an unknown journey. I won’t admit my fear aloud. I must be strong for these two courageous women. I close my eyes and try to accept the passing of this life.

He’s coming, my tiger whispers into my mind. But it’s too late now. He will never find me in time. I make peace with this world. I hear the scissors as two locks of my hair are clipped—one strand for Mother and one for Grandmother. Mother’s crying creeps into the song, but she somehow continues. I keep my eyes closed and, as the song dies, I feel Grandmother’s and then Mother’s lips against my cheek. With a final squeeze of my fingers, they leave and close the door behind them.

The separation is complete, and I await death at the hands of a vampire.

Chapter Two

Yesterday, Rondy the Great

"I f I had known all the bullshit politics that are involved in being a vampire, I’d have passed," I say before slamming the car door and waiting for Marcus on the stone driveway. The sun is down, and we’re attending a meeting with the vampire council. In fucking India.

I’ve been a vampire for fifteen years, and I’m still considered a baby. Attending this meeting was something I couldn’t get out of, no matter how much I whined. I look like I’m about twenty-three or twenty-four, and I personify the young, spoiled vampire. Even though I complain, being a vampire is badass-motherfuckin’ cool. If it weren’t for the damned vamp politics, I could also add fucking fantastic to the end of the sentence. I should have been given full disclosure before The Moor turned me. I would have seriously considered drowning myself in a bucket of dirty water before the bullet hole in my chest killed me. Ah, hell, who am I kidding? I would have chosen my current path but, hey, a man has a right to complain.

I was maliciously shot by two poachers. One of my best friends, Treson, who is a werecat, was tied with his hands behind him, which made it impossible for him to shift to his cat form and help staunch the blood. Not that he could have saved me. My friends weren’t even sure if the vamp bite would save me. My other best friend, Talya, made the decision to try to change me to vampire while I was unconscious and at death’s door. Of course, she’s a werecat like Treson, and had no idea about the vamp shit I’d be forced to put up with.

The vampires of the United States are bad enough with all their rules. Dealing with the dickheads of Europe and Asia is another story entirely. They all have a collective stick up their asses, along with being hung up on lineage and crap like that. Hell, almost everything they do is a full-on ceremony. Need to take a piss? Have a fucking ceremony. The really pathetic thing is that vampires don’t have normal bodily functions, but the council dudes and dudettes probably have a ceremony for the fact that they don’t piss.

I roll my eyes because, in just a few minutes, I will no longer have even this small pleasure. Eye-rolling is way off limits.

Remember, Marcus says, I irritate you. All vampires irritate you. We do not live within the same clan.

You insisted I come here and that fucking irritates me, so it won’t be a lie, I grumpily throw back between clenched teeth. The vampires in Europe and Asia don’t get along so well. We, the American vampires, have gotten over that problem, but we don’t share our secrets as to how we did it. All this thinking gives me an imaginary headache. I can only imagine it, because vampires don’t have headaches either. My eyes go slightly amber with the angst I’m suffering, and this pisses me off, too. I should have better control after fifteen years.

Marcus grunts, but doesn’t say anything more until we approach the door of the castle-like residence of the Grand Poobah himself, known as Torbic. Remember what happened last time, and try seriously hard to keep it from happening again, he reminds me.

Yes, sir, I salute while fighting a grin at the memory. The last time I was here, a member of Torbic’s harem gave me sexy come-hither eyes, and later approached me in a dark hallway for a bit of grab and tickle. She was more than accommodating and returned the grab part in the best possible place. How was I to know Torbic had more than one claimed female? Hell, I figured he was mated. Torbic is thousands of years old. He’s also a lucky bastard to escape the clutches of being tied to one woman. I’ve not been as fortunate. Not that I wanted to escape at the time, but Sierra, the woman I had my heart set on, dumped me two years ago. Sierra also happens to be Marcus’ adopted daughter and the biological daughter of Ivan, The Moor’s alpha. Just maybe someone could have had the compassion to shoot me back then and save me from a broken heart.

Once a fool over a woman never a fool again, is my motto.

Anyway, if it wasn’t for Marcus interceding on my behalf during our last visit here, my head would now be separated from my body. I was much younger when the incident with Torbic’s concubine occurred; I’m much wiser now. Not that I act the part—carefree, take-nothing-seriously-Rondy is my best disguise. I guard the real me carefully. There are too many humans who need my special skills, and I don’t want people, mainly my extended family of vampires and beastkind friends, watching me too closely. So, juvenile Rondy with the pathetic vampire name is who they see, and I plan to keep it that way. Now, I just need to get through this bullshit so I can move forward in my secret life.

Marcus lifts the ornate knocker. It’s a gold wolf’s head with nice shiny teeth. Of course, because of my endless luck, it’s Letta who answers. She’s the young and beautiful werewolf concubine who gave me the outstanding hand job the last time I was here. Answering the door means she’s no longer one of Torbic’s favorites. I should feel bad for what happened, but I don’t. It felt too damn good.

Greetings, Letta. We are here for our meeting with your master, Marcus tells her, as if she doesn’t know.

The entire master thing irritates me, too. Liege is a much better title for a vamp, and it tends to be one that beastkind can comfortably live with. When in Rome and all that shit just doesn’t work for me, but Marcus plays the game to perfection. It’s why he’s usually the ambassador for the American vampires. Cherie, the liege of the Eastern American clan, told the other American vampires that she would return for a council visit when hell froze over. Marcus and I are here because hell is still pretty damn hot.