Of Shadow Born Read online

  PRAISE FOR

  SHADOW’S FALL

  “Dianne Sylvan is truly a remarkable storyteller. With the ability to bring her characters to life and make their hearts pound with action, readers will salivate for the next installment of the Shadow World series . . . Sylvan presents readers with yet another fantastically compelling story.”

  —Nocturne Romance Reads

  “The third Shadow World urban fantasy is a great, exhilarating entry with several stunning twists, including a fabulous, shocking cliff-hanging climax. Fans will believe in the Sylvan mythos thriving in a modern technological world . . . Fast-paced with backstabbing and betrayal, Shadow’s Fall is superb.”

  —Alternative Worlds

  “Shadow’s Fall is an exciting, well-executed third installment to Ms. Sylvan’s wonderful Shadow World, and I now wait impatiently for the fourth installment.”

  —Smexy Books

  “It’s the true talent of a writer who can have her readers feeling the same things as her characters along with them, and Sylvan’s highly developed characters do just that.”

  —SF Site

  PRAISE FOR

  SHADOWFLAME

  “I absolutely loved this book! . . . Fans of vampire books everywhere, I have found the next big thing, and it is the Shadow World series by Dianne Sylvan. The twists and turns that Sylvan placed in this book kept me flying through the pages . . . Queen Miranda is one of the strongest female characters I have come across, and hands down this series is going to be sensational! I cannot rave enough over this one.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Dianne Sylvan’s writing is captivating. She creates a world that will suck you in from the get-go. Her writing style is fluid and unrelenting. Shadowflame follows the same near-flawless writing style that book one did . . . I enjoyed the suspense and Dianne Sylvan’s creative way of keeping readers on their toes.”

  —Nocturne Romance Reads

  “If you thought Queen of Shadows was fantastic, you are going to be blown away by Shadowflame . . . Dianne really knows how to rip your heart out and get you feeling everything the characters are feeling as you read. Go out and buy it now; if you have not read Queen of Shadows yet, go out and buy that one, too, because you won’t want to miss them.”

  —Urban Fantasy Investigations

  “Shadowflame succeeds the previous Queen of Shadows in so many ways, and you are left wondering if it is even possible to turn the pages fast enough. Dianne Sylvan has truly created a vampire world that I would want to be a part of for years to come . . . A phenomenal book from beginning to end.”

  —Mystifying Paranormal Reviews

  “Dianne Sylvan is the queen of emotional storytelling . . . I loved it. Even the gritty, hard parts. Sylvan goes where other authors don’t dare. And I praise her for it.”

  —The Spinecracker

  PRAISE FOR

  QUEEN OF SHADOWS

  “Sylvan’s powerful debut is packed with startling action, sensual romance, and delightfully nerdy vampires . . . [Her] compelling take on vampirism, her endearing characters, and a complex, unabashedly feminist plot will have readers hungry for a sequel.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “Queen of Shadows pulled me in . . . Dianne Sylvan’s rich, dark, sexy reimagined Austin is filled with people I want to visit again and again . . . Sylvan’s got voice, doesn’t miss a beat, and rocks it all the way to the last note. Sit down. Shut up. And enjoy the show. It’s intense, dark, sexy, with just the right touch of humor. Looking for a new addiction? Go no further.”

  —Devon Monk, author of Magic for a Price

  “Grabbed me on the first page and didn’t let go. Miranda, the heroine, is vulnerable and gutsy, with magical abilities even she doesn’t suspect. Vampire David Solomon is as powerful and heroic as he is deliciously seductive. Dianne Sylvan has created an original take on vampires that I thoroughly enjoyed, and I’ll be looking for her next book with great anticipation. She’s a skilled and talented storyteller who definitively knows how to deliver one hell of a book!”

  —Angela Knight, New York Times bestselling author of

  Master of Darkness

  “Dianne Sylvan is an incredibly talented writer. She draws the reader not only into the story but into the very marrow of someone who is starting to question their grip on reality.”

  —Sacramento Book Review

  “My favorite book of 2010 so far . . . Moving, well written, suspenseful, and sensual, this is a novel you won’t want to miss.”

  —Fantasy Literature

  “Miranda’s character is a treat as she moves from victim to self-possessed, capable heroine . . . The supporting characters are equally well developed, providing a sense of weight and history to this thoroughly entertaining take on paranormal romance.”

  —Monsters and Critics

  “Plucked at my heartstrings in a smooth rhythm of fear, mistrust, and love . . . Watching the romance between Miranda and David develop was a treat. Watching Miranda become a true warrior woman was the icing on the cake.”

  —Bitten by Books

  Ace Books by Dianne Sylvan

  QUEEN OF SHADOWS

  SHADOWFLAME

  SHADOW’S FALL

  OF SHADOW BORN

  OF SHADOW BORN

  DIANNE SYLVAN

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  USA / Canada / UK / Ireland / Australia / New Zealand / India / South Africa / China

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  For more information about the Penguin Group, visit penguin.com.

  OF SHADOW BORN

  An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2013 by Dianne Sylvan.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.

  ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-62205-6

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Ace mass-market edition / April 2013

  Cover art by Gene Mollica.

  Cover design by Annette Fiore DeFex.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  To Mom and Dad,

  who gave me a home, love, and room in which to dream

  Contents

  Praise

  Also by Dianne Sylvan

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Part One

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Part Two

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixtee
n

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Epilogue

  PART ONE

  On Dark Wings

  One

  “Brave new world, friends! Brave new world!”

  Bill raised his glass to the entire bar, or at least the half-dozen vampires that were out tonight. This was the only place he’d found open, but tonight was a night for a party.

  The bartender looked nervous at his toast. “Keep it down, Bill . . . Somebody might hear you.”

  “Screw ’em,” Bill replied with a laugh. “We’re free, man. No more rules, no more looking over your shoulder.” He turned back to the bar, but nobody was making eye contact; in fact, they looked scared. “Oh, come on—eighteen years we’ve been too afraid to piss in this territory without permission. Now it’s back to the good old days—the Auren days. Remember when we could eat whoever we wanted and live like real vampires, not some pussy-whipped hippies?”

  He looked over at the guy two stools down. “How about you, friend? Have a drink with me to celebrate.”

  Eyes a strange shade of lavender fixed on his. “Why not?”

  Bill motioned to the bartender, who let out an exasperated breath and poured out two shots. The other vampire, a slender, sort of girly-looking fellow with pierced eyebrows and a black leather coat buttoned up to his neck, clinked glasses with him, then knocked back the shot smoothly.

  “Are you a native of this territory?” the pale-eyed vampire asked over the rim of his shot glass. He looked at Bill as if he were studying him in a zoo, and if Bill hadn’t already had most of a bottle, he might have been uneasy.

  “Ninety-eight years,” Bill said. “Long enough to have seen Primes come and go and know we’re better off without this one.”

  “And what about the next one?” he asked. “What if he’s as bad as Solomon?”

  Bill laughed again. “Nobody’s as bad as Solomon. Bastard was tracking all of us like criminals, making us live like slaves.”

  “Oh? I heard that the population here nearly doubled in his tenure—why would that happen if everyone was so miserable?”

  “Beats the shit out of me. All I know is, I’m gonna go out there and rip a few throats, and there isn’t a damned soul who can stop me.”

  He set down the glass and smiled. “I can think of at least one damned soul who can.”

  Before Bill could reply, there was a sword pointed at his throat.

  Bill’s shot glass clunked down onto the bar, spilling the last few drops of whiskey, but the bartender was standing there gaping and didn’t make a move toward it. “I—I—”

  With his free hand, the pale-eyed vampire opened the collar of his coat, revealing the glowing emerald that hung from his neck. Bill swallowed hard, terror gripping him in a cold fist.

  “Tell all your friends,” the vampire said in a quiet, calm voice that everyone in the bar could still hear. “This territory is still protected by a Signet. The law stands as before. Put one fang out of line and I will gut you, take your head, and sow your corpse with salt.”

  Bill was panting. “Who . . . who the hell are you?”

  An icy smile. “Just a temp.” He lowered the sword, casting his gaze around the bar. No one was looking, but everyone was listening. “Spread the word,” he said.

  Then he tossed a folded bill onto the bar, nodded to the bartender, and walked out into the darkness.

  * * *

  There’s a vampire on my couch.

  “Lark, seriously, this is the fifth message I’ve left you. I’ve been trying to reach you since last night—I need you to come over, okay? I’ll explain when you get here.”

  The living room was as dark as she could get it, with blankets hung over the one window, but Stella had a candle burning on her altar and its light flickered in the jewel-toned hair of the unconscious woman who hadn’t so much as twitched in nearly thirty hours. Once in a while Stella could see her chest rise and fall, but it was the only sign Miranda Grey was even alive. Her skin was ashen, and the aura of power that had surrounded her when they’d met seemed to have evaporated into the night as Stella half led, half carried her to the car and across Austin to Stella’s apartment.

  Even the light in her Signet was dull. It still shone, but through a glass darkly. Stella would have called it a coma if Miranda were human. Did vampires have comas?

  There’s a vampire on my couch. This is not my life.

  She wanted desperately to call her father. He might have some idea what the hell was going on . . . but her intuition told her to wait, and it was intuition that had led her to the building downtown just before the front of it blew out and turned the whole world into hell. She somehow didn’t think the human police would know anything more about the whole thing than she did.

  Miranda hadn’t spoken or even acknowledged Stella’s presence once they were in the car. She just fell against the window and passed out.

  Stella stood in the doorway between the living room and the tiny kitchen, chewing on her fingernail, wondering what she was supposed to do now.

  She’d done the best she could to make Miranda comfortable, whatever that meant in this situation—she’d pulled her boots off, unbuckled the sword from her waist and laid it on the coffee table, wiped the soot off her face and swabbed at the wounds all over her torso . . . but by then the gashes were already healing, leaving only angry pink scabs in their wake. Stella had debated with herself on whether to do anything else, but the sight of all those bloody holes in Miranda’s shirt was too creepy, so she wrestled the singer out of her clothes and into a set of Stella’s pajamas. They were about three sizes too big but would have to do for now. She doubted Miranda would care at this point.

  Long about noon, there was a knock.

  Stella jumped about a mile and squeaked. Warily, she checked the peephole, then let out a massive sigh of relief. She darted over to the couch and yanked a throw blanket down over Miranda’s exposed skin, just in case—the front door opened into a short hallway, but she had no idea how much sunlight was too much.

  Lark was just about to pound on the door again when Stella opened it.

  “Jesus Fancy Dancing Christ, Stell! What is all this?” Lark, who looked more worried than Stella had ever seen her, held up her phone and the list of missed calls and texts.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Stella demanded, hauling her inside and locking the door again.

  “Hung over, of course,” Lark replied. “I had my phone off. What’s the big emergency?”

  Stella ushered her into the living room and gestured helplessly at the couch.

  Lark gave her a dubious look. “Um . . . you know how I always said I’d help you bury a body? That was a metaphor, sweetie.”

  Stella sighed again. “No . . . look.”

  She lifted the blanket.

  Lark’s mouth dropped open. “Is that . . . ?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What the . . . ?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “How did . . . ?”

  Stella pointed at her altar, where the tarot cards were still spread as she’d left them. “I was doing a reading, and I had a vision. I followed it downtown to this building that was on fire, and found her in the street.”

  Lark, eyes still huge, sank down in the rickety armchair they’d scavenged from behind a furniture store. “There’s a famous person on your couch.”

  Stella nodded.

  “And . . . she’s wearing your Hello Kitty pajamas.”

  Wordlessly, Stella picked up the remains of Miranda’s shirt from the table and held it up so Lark could see the dozen holes in it. “She was shot,” Stella said. “With a bunch of arrows.”

  “Arrows.” Lark lowered her eyes from the shirt to Miranda, then seemed to notice what was on the coffee table. “And the sword . . . ?”

  “Hers.”

  Stella and Lark stared at each other for a moment. Stella took a
deep breath. “Remember that night we went to the fetish club and you blacked out? Well . . . you didn’t black out. We were attacked. By vampires. Miranda wiped our memories, or she tried to, but it didn’t work on me because of my gift. I bet if you concentrated hard enough on that night, it would come back to you, too. I don’t think they’re used to messing around with Witches’ memories.”

  There was no immediate reply, so Stella went on hurriedly. “I was right—she’s a vampire. She’s a really important vampire, it turns out, and so’s her husband. There’s a whole freaking society of them out there. And I don’t know what went down last night, but someone tried to kill her, and I brought her here. She hasn’t woken up. She hasn’t even moved. I didn’t know what to do, so I called you.”

  Lark just stared at her for a minute.

  “Okay,” she finally said, very carefully, as if speaking to a psychotic who might go off at any second. “Are you sure she’s a vampire?”

  Rolling her eyes, Stella bent over Miranda and gently took hold of her face; she pried the singer’s mouth open slightly, exposing her upper teeth, and poked at a canine.

  Lark sucked in an astonished breath as the tooth slid downward, then back. “Okay. I believe you. Okay. What do we do?”

  “I don’t know. I just . . . I have this feeling she’s in danger and we have to keep her safe.”

  “Why in hell would you want to protect a vampire? She could kill us!”

  “It’s not like that,” Stella insisted. “She’s one of the good guys. I think. They rescued us from the ones that attacked us and took us to some kind of clinic. I heard her husband talking to my dad—they’ve got some kind of law enforcement that keeps other vampires from hurting people.”

  “Your dad knows?”

  “He knows about them. He doesn’t know I remember what happened.”

  “Then we should call your dad, Stella! Whatever this is, it’s way past our pay grade!”

  “Not yet. After she wakes up, maybe. But not yet. Please, Lark . . . you’ve got to trust me on this.”