Nemesis: Paranormal Angel Romance (Realm of Flame and Shadow Book 2) Read online

  Nemesis

  A Realm of Flame and Shadow Novel

  Christina Phillips

  Phoenix 18 Publishing

  Nemesis

  A Realm of Flame and Shadow novel

  Book Two

  Copyright © 2020. Christina Phillips

  All rights reserved. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  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.

  Christinaphillips.com

  Edited by Amanda Ashby

  Cover Design: Covers by Christian

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Also by Christina Phillips

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Christina Phillips

  Prologue

  Azrael

  Romania: Nine hundred years ago

  The stench of rotting flesh and corrupted humanity turned Azrael’s stomach as he slashed through the vacant-eyed half-bloods guarding the castle’s foul master. Hidden deep in the tangled forest, with only pale slivers of the crescent moon as illumination, the castle loomed black and foreboding. Exuding an evil that caused his skin to crawl with revulsion.

  The vision of death that had haunted him for more than one hundred years was finally unfolding.

  The vampires had fled beneath Azrael’s blade, leaving behind their ill-equipped offspring to defend what remained of their domain.

  Dhampirs.

  Cursed creatures created from the union between vampire and human. Hair matted, skin filthy, they didn’t stand a chance as he decapitated them with sickening efficiency. They didn’t deserve this death, but they should never have existed in the first place.

  Their destruction was a mercy, a release from their pitiful existence.

  He strode through the dark, echoing halls. Torches flickered in wall sconces, enhancing the shadows that clung like monstrous spiders from the soaring vault, but he didn’t hesitate.

  The same unnatural vibration that he’d detected in the astral planes during the last few decades grew stronger with every second. Whatever it was, the source was here. And whatever it was, he had vowed to destroy it.

  If he didn’t, devastation would fall across the Earth as vampires and their spawn spread their evil. His vision had foretold it.

  He’d been plagued only once before, millennia ago, by recurring visions of Earth-wide devastation. He hadn’t understood the magnitude of what he was being shown, because he’d been blind to the truth. That the great Alpha goddess herself, who had created all the archangels, was the one his visions warned him of. The results had been catastrophic.

  That would never happen again.

  He followed the corrupt energy and surveyed the massive double doors ahead. The unidentified vibration soaked through the timber, permeated the ancient stone walls, and sank into his blood like an ethereal heartbeat. Whatever existed behind those doors had existed for countless centuries.

  He tightened his grip on his katana and kicked open the doors. For a second the heavy fog of incense blurred his vision.

  But only for a second.

  What the hell?

  His gut knotted as he stared at the creature imprisoned in the center of the chamber.

  Bedraggled, dull, and clearly sick, the great bird huddled within its iron cage. Rage boiled through Azrael’s veins.

  It was a phoenix.

  A magnificent, rare bird that flourished in myths and legends, yet it had existed in elusive enclaves for countless millennia. He had encountered two of the mystical creatures in the past and both times their majesty had filled him with awe. What the fuck was a pack of vampires doing with a phoenix?

  “You dare penetrate my inner sanctum?” The voice was cold and dripped with aristocratic arrogance. Azrael tore his infuriated gaze from the phoenix and faced the vampire lord. The discordance in the astral planes might have originated from the phoenix, but the creatures weren’t inherently good or evil. Something—or someone—had distorted its essence almost beyond recognition. The phoenix was no longer his prey. “Human scum.”

  He bared his teeth and slashed the powerful katana through the bars that held the majestic bird captive. The creature shuddered and sunk further into itself, as if the promise of freedom was nothing but an illusion.

  The vampire reared in fury. Black shadows lengthened, claws extended, and sharp teeth glowed in predatory single-mindedness. He advanced, his intent clear, his ignorance of who—or what—he truly faced contemptuously evident.

  Azrael dropped his glamour and extended his wings to their full, glorious extent. Not only to stop the vampire in his tracks but also to protect the cowering phoenix.

  “Demon.” The vampire spat the word at him, no longer speaking Romanian but ancient Phoenician. The patronizing air vanished as finally he realized his error in misjudging Azrael’s heritage.

  He still misjudged. But demon was a lot closer than human.

  “Your filthy reign is over,” he growled.

  The phoenix emerged from its prison and lurched inelegantly in the air above him. He raised his katana, a sign of protection, and the vampire hissed in outrage as he retreated from the gleaming, blood-soaked blade.

  “We’ll meet again, uniilă.” The vampire reverted to Romanian. “This is not over between us.”

  With that he spun on his heel and dispersed into venomous black smoke.

  Azrael swore furiously in the language of the ancients then swung around as the phoenix flew towards the narrow window. It shattered through the glass and as it soared into the black velvet night, free at last, it burst into flame.

  Chapter 1

  Rowan

  London. Eight months ago

  Rowan Moreton slammed on the brakes, mounted the curb and leaped from the sleek black Mercedes McLaren. She was parked illegally but it was three in the morning and the dark side alley was deserted. She drew her beloved katana and silently ran to
wards ominous shadows that pooled at the end of the alley.

  Don’t let me be too late.

  But in her heart, she knew her quarry had gone. All she could detect in the air was the sharp tang of recently spilled blood and the acrid reek of terror.

  But still she gripped her katana, ready for ambush, as she kept her back against the crumbling stone walls. Her eyesight adjusted to the gloom—one of the advantages of her tainted dhampir blood—and her preternatural hearing caught a faint, gurgling breath.

  No rogue vampire remained in the area. Heart thudding, hoping she was wrong about the victim who huddled on the worn cobblestones, she advanced. With every step her rage magnified as impotent injustice seethed through her veins.

  Of course she hadn’t been wrong.

  She crouched over the torn and bloodied young woman. Claws had slashed her face and ripped through her throat. Rowan’s stomach knotted in futile distress at the unmistakable evidence that the creature hadn’t stopped there.

  With her free hand she gently brushed back the woman’s blood matted hair. Without treatment she would die. But no human hospital could help her. Not now.

  “It’s all right. You’re safe now.” Four times over the last six years Rowan had whispered those words to victims, and she hated herself more each time. But what else could she say? What else could she do? “Can you hear me? What’s your name?”

  The woman opened one swollen eye. Terror oozed from every pore, every tortured breath. But her gazed fixed on Rowan, as if she was her lifeline.

  “Lily.” The word was guttural, barely coherent. “I can’t—can’t remember…”

  “Try not to worry.” Stupid words, but she kept her tone soothing, a form of mild hypnosis. Although her talent was nothing compared to the power wielded by full-blood vampires, the amethyst jewelry she wore helped enhance her ability. “I’m going to take you home with me, Lily. Look after you until you’re better.”

  “Yes.” Lily’s whisper drifted on the fetid air as she slipped into induced unconsciousness. Gritting her teeth Rowan lifted the slender woman, hoping to hell that this time the vampire had failed to impregnate another innocent victim.

  She wasn’t going to hold her breath. All she could hope was that this time the woman would survive the birth itself, unlike the last victim Rowan had saved.

  But first Lily had to survive this night. There was only one place Rowan could take her. The house she had called home since the day her own mother had died. In order to give me this cursed life. She shook off the memory and resolutely stalked into the night.

  Back to the headquarters of the society that she’d pledged her loyalty to at the age of fifteen.

  The Enclave of the Phoenix.

  London. Present Day

  “Rowan, cheri, it won’t kill you to smile a little.” Marguerite, whose French accent was as pronounced now as it had, probably, been nearly two hundred and fifty years ago when she’d escaped from Madame Guillotine, prodded Rowan in the ribs. “You want to celebrate your birthday, non? Trust me, you won’t get laid with that unbecoming scowl on your face.”

  Rowan slung the petite blonde vampire an irritated glare as the bouncers cleared a path for them to enter the hideously selective nightclub in Chelsea.

  It was all very well for Meg. She only had to look at a male—mortal or otherwise—and he fell at her feet. Rowan had never quite got the hang of small talk. Being a half-human freak wasn’t something she could ever share with anyone, and for some reason that was all she could obsess about on the rare occasion a guy attempted to flirt with her.

  “I’m worried about Lily.” Over the last couple of days Lily—who, at twenty-two, was only two years younger than her and the closest thing to a real human girl friend she’d ever had—had become lethargic and scarily forgetful. “I should be there with her, not out clubbing.”

  Meg shrugged, supremely unaffected by Lily’s obvious decline.

  “You’re a hunter, Rowan, not a babysitter. The human has plenty of nursemaids. Now, tell me. Anything here you find tasty? It’s been an age since you’ve had any fun.”

  As Meg dragged her towards the bar Rowan glanced around, unimpressed by the minor celebrities and desperate wannabes who littered the plush interior. It was true. Lily was safe at the Enclave, surrounded by those who knew how to care for her and the unborn child she carried. It was also true that it had been ages since Rowan had indulged in what Meg termed fun.

  As in, sex.

  In fact, her sex life was so pathetic she could remember the exact time and place of her last encounter. A year ago, tonight. On her twenty-third birthday.

  On the back seat of a Bentley.

  It had been rushed, frenzied, and sordid. Not something she liked to remember. Then again, she didn’t much like recalling any of her infrequent couplings. None of them meant anything. None of them had ever meant anything after Steven, her first and only love, had been murdered in front of her eyes on her seventeenth birthday.

  One day she’d get over that.

  Maybe.

  Given her lifestyle she should have got over it years ago but the hard knot of guilt in the center of her chest never eased. Because his brutal death, at the age of nineteen, had been all her fault.

  As Meg flirted outrageously with a couple of guys at the bar, who appeared to be vying for the privilege of buying the drinks, she realized her hand was curling over her hip. She froze, then forcibly splayed her fingers and concentrated on trying to look normal.

  But it was hard, when she knew that everyone in the club, except Meg, would run screaming into the night if they knew what she really was.

  And besides, she missed her katana. She felt naked and vulnerable without it. The stiletto hidden inside her purple suede ankle boot really wasn’t that much of a comfort.

  Meg nudged her and handed her a lethal looking drink. “Lambs to the slaughter,” she said with satisfaction. “Want to share?”

  Rowan glanced back at the bar where the two guys remained riveted on Meg. They looked like a couple of American football players and their biceps bulged beneath their designer shirts. They’d shit themselves if they knew what Meg really was. And what she intended for them.

  “I don’t have the teeth for it. Remember?” She offered the vampire an insincere grin to hammer home her point. Meg tossed her hair in an impatient gesture.

  “Always the same excuse.” She sounded offended. “You know I’d get things started for you, cheri. You deserve a treat on your special day.”

  Before she could stop herself, she licked her lips. The lure of fresh blood was a temptation. A gut-burning, forbidden, temptation, she constantly fought to resist.

  But it wasn’t just the fact she didn’t possess fangs. Her immune system was tarnished by her human heritage. No matter how her vampire half hungered to satisfy its primal bloodlust, she had to make do with a sanitized, medicated version.

  Unless she wanted to die.

  Of course, it depended on who she believed. The Elector High Council proclaimed it as a fact, while Meg, who’d cared for her since she was a baby and trained her in weaponry from the age of six, appeared keen for her to attempt something that could kill her. But the vampire was adamant Rowan would be perfectly all right. Then again Meg didn’t care much for the Elector High Council. She didn’t care much for authority, period. And while Rowan agreed that the Council, isolated in Eastern Europe, was an antiquated and possibly irrelevant blot of bureaucracy, she couldn’t shift the fear that had been ingrained in her from her earliest memories.

  Untreated blood would destroy her.

  “I’ll pass.” She sniffed the drink. Was it worth downing the lot in one gulp? Alcohol affected her corrupted biology in unexpected ways. She never knew whether she’d be perfectly fine or plunge into a hallucinogenic nightmare. “Go play with your toys, Meg.”

  Meg narrowed her eyes, clearly intent on arguing the point, but then her burly lambs appeared as if they found it impossible to stay away. With one fi
nal condemning glance the vampire swirled on her six-inch stilettos and led them to their slaughter.

  Slaughter by orgasm. She watched them disappear into the crowd. Maybe she should have taken up Meg’s offer.

  She craved that elusive, intimate connection with a man willing to hold her close, without any preconceived expectations. Someone she could share her fears and dreams with.

  Someone to share her life with.

  Despair trickled through her as she gave the clubbers another surreptitious glance. Anonymous sex wasn’t what she wanted. But it was all she was ever likely to get.

  The Elector High Council discouraged its dhampirs from embarking in long-term relationships. After what had happened to Steven, she understood why.

  In her peripheral vision a tall, leather-clad figure strode into the club and her preternatural senses went on full alert. But even as she swung around, she knew he was no vampire. Irritation spiked through her. Couldn’t she relax for even one night of the year?

  She spared him a fleeting glance and then couldn’t drag her gaze away. He was in profile, built like a warrior and was frowning across the sea of posturing humans as though he searched for something just beyond his reach.