Dream of My Soul: Dream Series

By Debra Jess

The world's only surviving vampire discovers her fiancé has returned from hell, giving her one last chance for forgiveness. The demon who killed them both, however, wants to kill them again and make sure that this time they stay dead.
 

Centuries after a mysterious demon ripped her soul from her body, Vincenzia still has nightmares about holding Marc in her arms as he died, not with tenderness, but with the steel grip of her supernatural strength as his blood coursed through her veins. If not for her paranormal friends showering her with love and hope, she would have walked into the sun to end her own life.
 

All Marc remembers from his Renaissance wedding is Vincenzia's teeth in his neck. As his soul left his body, Marc heard the voice of the priest begging him to follow the demon through a portal to hell and destroy him. After hundreds of years hunting the demon, Marc finds himself back in the land of the living with an angel companion who has ordered him to find Vincenzia.
 

Only together can they destroy the demon.
 

When Vincenzia and Marc reunite, they realize the rekindling of their love won't stop the demon from using her hybrid blood to bring hell to Earth. Only a sacrifice will stop the demon, but which one of them will have to die again so the world might live?
 

Dream of My Soul is the first riveting book in the Dreams series, a dark urban fantasy. If you crave charismatic characters, paranormal creatures, and seat-of-your-pants action, then you won't be able to put down Debra Jess's breathtaking new book.

Buy Dream of My Soul to plunge into this dark world today!

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Debra Jess, Corp.
• Release date: Jul 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781733115056

Book preview

1

The chilled wind whisked between the headstones as it plucked the dead oak leaves from the ground. Under the winter's moon the gust picked up speed and began to circle and spin until the small dust devil settled on a corner of the graveyard, a space not marked by granite or covered in ice. Through the thick, red Georgia clay a portal punched through to this world disrupting the whirlwind. It started small, barely a pinprick, but the power that leaked through from the other side scattered a family of raccoons and silenced the crickets as all the creatures that called this cemetery home stilled.

From the other side the demon whispered.

Vincenzia dug her fingernails into the soft leather of the van's steering wheel as a soft voice caressed her skin. She checked the rear view mirror, but nothing had changed. In the back seat, Bryce pounded away at his laptop trying to figure out if the old Victorian home they surveilled had a network he could hack. Ilario, in the passenger seat, studied the Victorian's blueprints, his elven eyes as sensitive in the dark as her own. On his shoulder, Rosemary flicked one of her dragonfly wings in boredom.

What's wrong? Ilario asked, as he set aside his tablet.

Of course he noticed her shiver, but Vincenzia didn't answer. Instead she glanced at the Victorian. Even from four blocks away she could tell no one was home. Lamplight lit one south facing room, but even her preternatural eyesight couldn't see through the heavy curtains. The sea breeze blew steady off the Atlantic and threaded through the palms of the ordinary, upper-class St. Augustine neighborhood.

The voice hadn't come from their target.

It's nothing, she replied. I thought Bryce had said something.

Bryce grunted in response as his fingers increased their speed. In the reflection of the driver's side window, Ilario's unsatisfied concern stared back at her. If Bryce, as large in human form as he was as a wolf, had spoken, half the neighborhood would have heard him.

The voice was probably a wayward ghost. In St. Augustine, Florida, you couldn't hit a stoplight without running through one spirit or another. Even though none of the apparitions she'd encountered over the centuries had ever spoken to her it wasn't impossible for her to hear the dead.

After all, she was a vampire and dead as they came.

Ilario, a sea elf with blue-silver hair, was her self-appointed guardian and far more sensitive to such beings than a vampire, even one still in possession of a soul shard. Yet, he didn't appear to have heard the voice at all.

I got nothing. Bryce slammed the laptop closed, his chevron mustache framing his frown. If the Believers live there, they must not have set up shop yet. There's nothing for me to hack, not even cable TV.

Maybe it's not them? Rosemary stood up and stretched, releasing her dark hair so it cascaded along her shoulders. Ilario reached up and stroked a finger down the pixie's back in sympathy, triggering a release of her sparkling dust onto his shoulder.

Was it possible that the clandestine group of elf watchers had decided not to set up a cell here in the Ancient City? Ilario was certain he saw one of the Elders while he fueled their roundabout at the marina. Another shiver let loose more worry that she tried to hide. Even if Bryce couldn't confirm their location tonight, none of them could risk exposure.

Forty years after their rogue family put down roots in Florida, it was time to leave. She would lose another home, watch it plunge into the ocean as Ilario sunk their little island he'd built to keep her safe. No matter how many times they'd fled and rebuilt, it never got easier.   

Damn the Believers. Nothing would make Vincenzia happier than to kick their asses all the way back to Venice and maybe spill some of their blood along the way. As if he'd read her mind, Ilario reached over and as gently as he had with Rosemary, ran a finger along her cheek. Comforted from his touch, Vincenzia closed her eyes. Deep inside her soul shard pulsed, repressing her violent nature, keeping it locked tight.

Let's head home, he said.

Despite her desire to lean into the warmth of Ilario's touch, she turned the key in the ignition. Before she could release the brake, the voice returned again, louder, more forceful this time, drowning out the noise from the engine.

The word it whispered was distinct: Vincenzia.

Lorenz slithered through the portal as it churned and widened, Vincenzia's name on his lips. He had called to her before the portal had opened all the way. How could help it? His eagerness to get his hands on her overcame any sense of restraint.

Of course, he couldn't have created the portal himself. His master had refused to show him how.

Not that it mattered. He had no intention of returning to Hell. This was his realm and he'd destroy all who challenge him. His ghostly form floated over the ground while he raised a translucent hand to summon the wind, directing the gust to scrub the earth clean of dead leaves and grass.

Perfect.

Another whisper and the wind altered its direction. The power in the air increased as crevices and mounds pinched the red clay into peaks that smoothed under the wind's massage until the careful touches had molded the figure of a human body. Lorenz summoned more wind until wavy hair, smooth cheekbones, long arms and legs" lay perfectly formed.

A moment of stillness passed while Lorenz admired his work. Behind him, his master finally breached the portal to join him.

Are you ready? his master asked.

Of course. Let's finish this already.

Both spirits lay down in the clay body. Time passed, then the body began to breathe. On the fifth breath, its eyes snapped open.

It is done! Lorenz shouted. Cast out, Master! There is no room here for both of us.

Lorenz arched his new body and heaved until the other demon retreated and hovered over him. Now he had control, as it should be. He pressed his elbows into the clay, then his hands until he sat upright. Once balanced, he examined his left hand.

The large ruby ring had survived his transition through the portal. It captured his attention no less in moonlight than it had by the light cast by the pit fires in Hell.

Do you wish to continue? his master asked.

Lorenz tore his eyes from his one prized possession to glance around the graveyard. Where am I?

A different time and place from whence I first took you. You are in a new world.

Why could you not return me to my own time and place? It will be near impossible for me to complete my transformation if I cannot find the blood I seek.

I only control the how, not the why or the when.

Lorenz swallowed his annoyance as he also noticed his new body wore no clothes, only the ring. He ran his fingers along his broad chest and lean torso. It all appeared familiar, a perfect copy of his mortal body.

My face – do I look like myself?

You appear just as you did when I first took you out of this mortal realm.

Lorenz inhaled. The thick mist tasted sweeter than honey, a relief to every one of his senses after the burn of sulfur that he had become accustomed to. Different time and place regardless, I cannot continue my journey unclothed.

That is something only you can change. I cannot assist unless you invite me back in.

No! I will do it myself. Never again would he allow another to control him. After a moment of concentration the clay surface of his body pinched. He thought about the clothing he had worn the last and final time he had dressed himself: shirt, tunic, hose, cape, hat, and shoes. Those had been the proper work-a-day clothes of the Venetian merchant he had once pretended to be.

Lorenz stood while he fussed with his sleeves until he realized that though the clothing resembled linen, leather, and suede, it was still clay and could harden and soften with a thought. A giddiness overcame him, as he realized he could change his entire identity should it become necessary.

Behind him the portal churned once more as it contracted.

Seek your destiny, Lorenz Correr, his former master said. But do not forget your promise to me, or what you suffered in Hell will be nothing compared to my retribution here.

Lorenz expected his master to return through the portal. Instead the other demon rose into the sky and disappeared. When the portal closed, the world stopped holding its breath and the crickets chirped once more. Not willing to wait another moment, he lifted his hand and chanted until a shadow emerged from the ruby ring. A mortal soul, dark, graceful, and incomplete floated free. It hovered for a moment before it floated away. With a pull on the ring, Lorenz jerked it back.   

Vincenzia's soul naturally sought its missing shard. No matter where in the world the hybrid elf-human turned vampire wandered, her soul would find her. All he had to do was follow it. If the soul continued south, it would lead him directly into the oncoming storm, judging by the billowing clouds that raced to obscure the moon.

He would have to hurry.

Lorenz walked to the nearest grave, but Vincenzia's soul dragged behind him as it tried to break loose and follow its own path. This would not do. He recalled the dark form and encased it inside the ring once again.

Without the hindrance of the Vincenzia's soul, Lorenz knelt in front of the headstone and chanted words he'd long ago memorized while he used the ring to scrape an intricate sign over the deceased’s name. The ground beneath his feet rumbled along with the approaching thunder. A skeletal hand punched out of the ground, forcing Lorenz to jump away.

He watched the skinless hand wiggle its fingers and dilate the hole, widening it until a shoulder emerged.

Satisfied, Lorenz proceeded to the next grave.

There's something here. Fear, like she hadn't felt since her forced turn, twisted her around, straining against her seatbelt to see everything inside the van all at once, but there was nothing to see except her friends. It called my name.

Animal, vegetable, or spiritual? Bryce asked as he packed away his laptop.

Spiritual, she said. No one outside this van knew her real name. How could a ghost have that information? The urge to flee crawled over her.

Bryce's mustache twitched. Can't help ya there, darlin'. Talk to the elf. 

Ghosts are attracted to the living. Ilario placed his hand over hers. She had released the emergency brake without realizing she'd done so. It would be unusual for one to contact a vampire in any manner.

It called my name. She yanked her hand away from Ilario, her own need to protect those around her overcame any desire to touch or be touched.

Rosemary flew around their heads, sprinkling dust all over the seats. There's nothing in here. I would have seen something.

Try outside, Ilario said, his fingers finding Vincenzia's again, this time tightening to the point where she could break free. Rosemary disappeared with a slight pop.

Did it say anything else? Bryce removed his field jacket. He was getting ready to shift in case the ghost brought corporeal friends.

No, just my name. A thought occurred to her, crowding out her fear and replacing it with joyful hope. Ilario, do you think it could be...

No.

His decisive answer deflated Vincenzia but she still clung to the possibility. Why not? Why wouldn't Marcello return?

Ilario sighed and pulled her hand to his heart, his thumb stroking her fingers. While his caress could warm her cold body, his spirit couldn't touch hers. Without a fully intact soul, Ilario couldn't infuse her with the empathic touch that elves used on the living. I saw his spirit, Vincenzia. Right after I killed Lorenz. The portal opened and he slipped through. Marcello's not coming back.

Vincenzia opened her mouth to argue, to demand how Ilario could be so sure but a scythe sliced through the inner core of body and touched her soul shard.

Ilario! she screamed.

She’s seizing!

Grab her!

A powerful pulse shot through her. She had no control over her body. Her back arched, ripping apart the seatbelt while her canines extended into her lips. Blood poured into her mouth and down her chin.

Got her! Hands, large and powerful, pinned her to her seat even as she fought against the restraint.

She could smell elf blood nearby. Despite her near saturated body, she wanted more.

It's a blood rage, Ilario shouted.

How? Bryce demanded. She just drank from you two days ago.

No one answered. Her soul shard bounced against her skin cage, seeking escape. She had drunk Ilario's blood all these centuries to keep her blood craving under control, but it was the shard of her soul that gave her a conscience. Whoever called her name wanted her shard. If she lost it, she would become a remorseless killer and Ilario would be forced to destroy her.

Or he would die trying.

Vincenzia threw open the van's door and staggered into the street. Her body stung as Rosemary rained hexes from above. She didn't need the blood, she didn't want the blood, but her instinct to drink clawed at her gut.

Stay away from me!

They wouldn't stay away, though. Her friends would figure out what went wrong. If she threatened the neighborhood, they would stop her somehow. The voice whispered louder. Vincenzia doubled over, her hands clapped over her ears, but it didn't matter. She could still hear it. She resisted Ilario as he wrapped his long arms around her to pull her upright.

The voice called again. Evil, pure and black, it invaded her body and grasped the shard. Only one other creature beside herself wanted to reunite her soul and it wasn't Marcello.

Help me. Her oversensitive skin rippled as Ilario pulled her closer.

I will.

She could see Bryce complete his shift. Both the wolf and Rosemary danced around her, blocking any chance to escape.

You promised! she screamed. You promised I wouldn't die like this. I won't die as a vampire!

Her soul squeezed against her ribs, almost free. She threw her head back and roared. Elf blood. Here. Now.

Ilario, caught off balance, tried to right himself, but Vincenzia pressed her advantage. She twisted and grabbed his throat, but Ilario intercepted her. His fingers dug in between her grip and his soft skin. No matter. She didn't want a quick kill. Instead, she found a gap in his defense and pierced an artery with her thumbnail. The wind carried the thick scent and she inhaled to draw it further into her body.

More.

She lunged forward, her teeth scraping the skin on his neck.

A mere droplet was all she licked before Rosemary zapped her painfully on the back of her head and Bryce sunk his teeth into her forearm, pulling out her nail. She hissed and wildly shook her arm until she tossed Bryce clear across the street, a good chunk of her flesh stuck in his mouth.

She ignored the gaping wound and focused only on Ilario.

More, more, more.  

Her single-minded pursuit left her vulnerable to Bryce's next attack as he charged her. He slammed her onto her back. In an instant, Ilario straddled her.

Those beautiful, silver, oh so familiar eyes stared at her with such sadness and compassion.  

Stop, Cenzia.

She struggled. The evil pull lost its grip and her shard settled back where it belonged.  

We're your friends. We want to help you.

This close to his lips only she could hear his soft voice.

You can't feed off me yet. If you drink today, I may not survive.

His voice soothed her, comforted her, mesmerized her. Only he could stroke what was left of her soul so tenderly.

You don't have to do this.

She knew that. A vampire with a soul, even just a small shard, could choose not to give in to her savage side. Before she finished that thought, the evil voice intruded, louder, more demanding. No, this wasn't Marcello. She knew who it was and she'd be damned—again—if she'd give Lorenz what he wanted.

What she wanted, however, had no place in this mortal world and the evil circumvented her rage and plunged into the shard. Her last grasp of control unraveled.

She reached around Ilario's head, grasped a handful of blue-silver hair, and yanked him closer before her teeth plunged into his neck.

2

Sergeant Marcello Chavalerio of the First Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, woke in a hospital room with a screaming headache. He glanced around to assess his situation. To his left, Robin sat on a cheap, plastic chair. Marc throttled back the tension that coursed through his veins, his instinct to fight unseen threats eased. Not many people could see the angels who watched over them, but Robin's presence could only mean Marc was safe.      

What happened? He whispered, his words thick in his throat. The low light and the lack of doctors or nurses poking at him meant he must have lain there for quite some time.

A small group of enemy combatants infiltrated the drop zone as you jumped. Several bullets struck you and your parachute before you could land.

The memory of his last jump rushed back, kicking his headache into high gear—enemy gunfire, the gust of wind as he spiraled off course, the shock of blood splatter—then light and the sensation of flying upwards not down.

Marc turned his head as far as the headache would allow. Robin's bland features were devoid of any concern, his generic fatigues cleaned and pressed, his light brown hair clipped as short as Marc's.

You pulled me out of there, didn't you?

I did.

The others–did you pull them out too?

Robin shook his head, his sorrow and sympathy leaking through his detached demeanor.

Why the hell not? He tried to sit up, but Robin's fingers bit into his shoulder, forcing him to lie back down.

Lie still, Robin ordered. Your friends are being cared for by their own angels.

So they're all dead? Marc's hope warred with his logic.

Yes.

Tell me more. Marc tried to rise again using his left hand for leverage, but found it tangled in an IV drip so he gave up for the final time and dropped back onto the bed. Tell me everything.

Robin talked, relaying the details of their failed assault from the moment Marc lost consciousness. Marc listened, while taking deep breaths to control the pain.

My brothers, he whispered.

I understand, Robin replied.

What did angels really know about death? Robin had always been chock full of advice to keep Marc out of serious trouble, but he had never physically interfered before.

Hey, Marc, don't cross the street yet. Wait for your mom to hold your hand.

Marc, seat belts were made for a reason.

Marc, you might want to put on that condom now.

Marc stayed quiet for a while until the sounds of the hospital penetrated his haze. The day shift turned the hospital into a livelier place. His neighbor, hidden by a curtain, flipped on a radio.  

Sounds like German.

You're in Landstuhl Regional Medical Center. Robin held up a hand to forestall further questions. A nurse came into the room, ignoring Robin as she bustled about his bed before moving to his roommate. Marc closed his eyes and feigned sleep.

After waiting a few minutes, Marc whispered with his eyes still closed. You couldn't have pulled me out before I got hurt?

I did. Robin's chair scrapped the floor as he pulled it closer to Marc's bed. I had to break your leg so it wouldn't look too suspicious when the locals found you lying outside the drop zone. They transported you to the border checkpoint. As far as the brass is concerned, it's a miracle you survived.

If they only knew, Marc said. So what happens next?

You'll be flown to Bethesda tomorrow, Robin said. You'll report to Walter Reed for an evaluation. After that you'll receive orders transferring you to a transition unit.

Which one?

Mine.

You're an angel. You don't have a unit.

That's what you think.

Marc reached for the tablet Robin held out to him. His arm shook with the strain and he missed the tablet the first time he tried. Robin, ever so patient, didn't baby him. He held it still until Marc, under his own power, grabbed it. At some point he was going to request a painkiller. Despite the pain, he could see the neatly typed transfer form and e-signature at the bottom.

Captain Robin L'Angel. That's...

Brilliant?

Tacky. Marc corrected, as he tossed the tablet back at Robin, who caught it easily. Why are you doing this?

He and Robin had always been a team, from the day four-year-old Marc saw a sandy-haired boy standing at the edge of his parents' backyard.

Hi. I'm Marc. Wanna play?

Sure. What game?

Marc raced over to the clothesline and pulled off two towels. He handed one to the new kid.

I'm Batman, you're Robin. They tied their makeshift capes around their necks. Marc grabbed Robin's hand. Let's go!

Yet, the only fight Robin had ever lost to Marc was the day Marc dropped out of college and enlisted.

This is a really bad idea, Marc.

You don't get a say in it.

Maybe I don't. I'm protesting anyway.

Protest all you want. This is my life and my choice.

Robin said nothing.

Will you leave? No longer be my angel? Marc asked, worried that his bid for independence meant the end of their fifteen-year friendship.

I'll always be your angel. Only you can end our relationship.

Batman will always need Robin. Marc gamely punched Robin's shoulder. So you'll just have to trust me.

Robin did and had never left Marc's side.

I'm really sorry. Robin leaned over and placed a hand on Marc's shoulder. "This isn't how I intended to tell you. Maybe you were right about joining the Army, but now you're needed for a much bigger war. The portal has opened again and it's time for you to remember who you really are.

Marc didn't like the fire Robin's eyes. He tried to push his head as far down as the thin pillow would allow. Though he'd always known that Robin was an angel, Marc had