Page 1 of Shadow's End

Chapter

One

The thing about my dreams was, they almost always came true. The five or so percent that didn’t were generallyrealdreams—ones based on wants, desires, or even fears—rather than being prophetic.

This one had me walking barefoot through a forest—I mean, why? It was summer, for God’s sake, and snakes abounded, even at night. The air was warm and alive with golden threads that danced around me, a firestorm of power that was mine to use even if it would never belong to me. A figure padded lightly beside me, two more behind, and another two whose weight I could feel through the earth but could not see were moving toward us from the other side of this woodland.

Light of a different kind filtered through the trees ahead. It wasn’t moonlight or even firelight, but something far darker.

Mage fire.

A deeply dangerous purple fire that could kill with just a touch.

And I knew, without knowing how, that its source was a vampire almost as old as time itself.

Fear slithered through me, and there was a part of my brain screaming that I needed to wake, that I didn’t want to see what lay ahead. But these dreams were always relentless.

I walked on, feet barely touching the ground, the soil under my toes warm and filled with an energy as sharp as the air. The closer I moved to the deadly light, the more dread grew, until my heart raced fiercely and every breath was a short, sharp explosion of fear.

I moved through trees wilting under the glow of the mage fire into a clearing that held neither life nor death, and yet wasn’t empty.

A man—anakedman—lay in the middle of a dark pentagram. Black candles burned at each of the cardinal points, but they weren’t the source of the deadly mage fire, nor was the large protection circle surrounding the pentagram. In the three-foot scrap of ground between the two, creatures roamed. Creatures that were wispy and insubstantial, yet all teeth and talons.

The man in the middle of the pentagram was pale of skin and thin to the point of emaciation. His legs and arms were spread-eagled, each limb pinned to the ground by wooden stakes driven through his flesh. Thick, red veins of poison extended away from each entry point, suggesting those stakes were white ash—a wood historically deadly to vampires.

This man wasn’t a vampire, but he was the next best thing—a thrall, beings who’d dined on the flesh of their mistress or master, thereby receiving eternal life in exchange for eternal service.

He alsowasn’ta stranger. This was Roger, who was not only Maelle’s thrall, but also, in many respects, her sanity. Our resident vampire was already walking a tightrope of control after Roger had barely survived two previous attempts on his life. Of course, she was also thecauseof one of those near-deathexperiences. She’d physically drained his energy to the point of death after my mad—and now very dead—ex had bombed her nightclub and almost killed her. A third, this time successful, attempt on Roger’s life would definitely end whatever grip on sanity she had.

I stopped well beyond the protection circle and the creatures that roamed within it and waited to see if Roger lived or not.

After several long seconds, his chest rose a fraction. It was enough to indicate life; thralls already walked the twilight world, and there was plenty of debate as to whether they actuallyneededto breathe.

The dream forced me closer. The insubstantial creatures bared teeth and prowled back and forth, red eyes gleaming with hunger. Spirit eaters, instinct whispered, not flesh.

I shivered and rubbed nonexistent arms.

Shadows moved on the other side of the clearing, and a figure stepped into view. She was small and dainty, with golden hair curled on the top of her head to resemble a crown. She looked no more than sixteen or seventeen years old, but she was far older. Centuries older.

This was Marie Nicolete Bouchier, who was not only Maelle’s former loverandher maker, but a dark mage even more powerful than Maelle.

I knew then this wasn’t just a prophetic dream. She’d called me here. Or, more precisely, called my spirit here. How or why, I had no idea, but it scared the hell out of me.

Because I couldn’t wake. As much as I wanted to, I just couldn’t. The dream’s grip remained far too tight.

And would, I knew, until she’d said whatever she’d called me here for.

I flexed my fingers and tried to remain calm. I was still wearing the protection charms around my neck, even in this dream, and the multiple spells and wild magic layered withinthem burned against nonexistent skin. Itwasacting against whatever magic was at work here, even if it wasn’t strong enough to prevent it. And Marie, for all her power, was not a spirit eater.

Of course, the things that roamed that three-foot strip of barren groundwere. But if she’d intended them to consume my soul, surely she would have simply sent them directly into my dreams rather than keeping them leashed like this.

They were a warning, nothing more.

I stopped just short of the protection circle. Its energy burned over me, a dark and dangerous blanket that could smother in an instant. Goose bumps prickled, and my heartbeat leapt, becoming a fierce drumbeat that echoed across the clearing’s silence.

From the other side of the flames came Marie’s soft laugh.

“Ah,” she said, her voice soft, melodious, and very heavily French accented. “Human fear. It is such a delicious sound.”

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