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  Shattered

  Of Light and Blood - Book 2

  Melissa Lummis

  Shattered

  Amazon Edition

  * * *

  Samskaras

  Book 2 in the Of Light and Blood Saga

  Copyright © 2018 by Melissa Lummis

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Discover other titles by Melissa Lummis at Amazon

  Created with Vellum

  This book is dedicated to my Penn State Family,

  Who has endured their own trials and tribulations with the utmost grace and compassion.

  We are…and will always be…Penn State.

  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

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Late February, 1917, somewhere in rural Pennsylvania

  Wolf gritted his teeth as he fought to subdue the raving lunatic, but Lars was stronger than a mere man should be. At least two of Wolf’s ribs were broken, and for once in his long so-called life, he feared a human. Blow after blow rained down on Wolf until he felt he had no more choices. If the evil spirit wouldn’t leave his friend, then he had to take his friend from the evil spirit. Wolf grabbed Lars’ head with both hands and in that split second a wild punch connected.

  Wolf’s nose cracked and blood spurted; stars formed in his vision, but he didn’t lose his grip. Wolf twisted and yanked. The spine snapped, skin and tissue ripped with a wet sound. A few seconds later the heart stopped beating, and Wolf dropped the head before the neck could tear away. He slumped next to his dead partner bracing his thumb and fingers on either side of his crooked nose and clicked it back into place. More stars sparkled in his vision, but he ignored the pain.

  Surveying the bloody mess, he wondered how their mission had gone so wrong. It had been simple: acquire Hannah Stoltzfus. She lay not far from him; her head lolled at an odd angle, her once startling blue eyes now dull in death. Wolf cursed under his breath. He had underestimated the dybbuk that had taken possession of Lars, and his arrogance had cost the young woman’s life. Hunkering in his cold place where emotions couldn’t reach him, he wrapped numb refuge around his heart.

  “Wolf.”

  He started. He thought himself alone, and if he hadn’t been vampire, he might not have heard Isabelle. She lay by the bed on the other side of the room with a stain darkening the front of her wine-colored, wool suit. The stain could have been anything, except Wolf smelled the blood. In his haste to stop Lars from killing Hannah, he hadn’t seen Isabelle. Wolf crawled to her side, wincing as his broken ribs healed themselves. He held his ear to her mouth. Her heart beat once. She sucked in a whisper of a breath.

  “Belle, I could—” he started.

  “No,” her eyelids fluttered, “neither of us wants that.” He held his breath as she took another, as if there were only enough air in the room for one of them. “I tried to stop him. I should have listened to you.”

  “It’s not your fault. It’s mine.” Wolf’s fingers brushed Isabelle’s cheek.

  “Our rings,” she inhaled noiselessly. Her heart beat. “Give them to Isodore.”

  He listened for her next breath, her next heartbeat, but there were no more. Wolf sat motionless in the dim room. He refused the emotions that surged, and it wasn’t a fight at all. He burrowed deep inside himself, to a windowless place discovered when he was turned. At times like this, he thought it might be nice to stay there forever, never to war with his emotions and impulses again. But in there, it was impossible to feel, thus, far too easy to slip and fall and lose his way.

  Although emotions could be tricksters, they were also his barometer. They let him know when he was on the verge of making grave mistakes—most of the time. Had he made one tonight? In leaving Isabelle alone with Lars? In taking his friend’s life? He did what he had to do, but that was small comfort, and it would be no comfort at all to the Andersons’ ten-year-old daughter when he handed over her dead parents’ wedding rings. He lifted Belle’s left hand and kissed her pale knuckles, squeezing his eyes shut. When he opened them, he took his first breath since her last.

  The silver band around her pinky finger gleamed in the faint light from the window. There were no scratches or marks of any kind, and for no reason Wolf could explain the metal felt alive.

  Fae metal, he thought with disgust and worked it gingerly over her knuckle. He kissed Isabelle’s palm and laid it on the floor. He flinched at the first flicker of the storm of grief and regret on the horizon.

  Making his way back to her husband, he slid the matching ring off Lars’ finger. How long had they been friends? Time had lost its edge for Wolf—being a vampire had that effect—but Isabelle had been pregnant when they met.

  Wolf inhaled sharply through his nose and held it. Standing up, he hefted the wedding rings in the palm of his hand. Belle’s tiny one made no sound against her husband’s large one. No weight. He balled his hand around them. No temperature.

  Looking down at the young woman at his feet he grimaced: mission failed. The once carefully arranged and pinned braids on top of her head were loose and frayed. What had the Culper Ring wanted with her, a farmer’s daughter with no known associations? He blew out the breath he had been holding. He was told only what he needed to know to accomplish each mission.

  An intense longing billowed through him as a ghostly tingle shivered up his spine. His eyes widened. He started to kneel beside the woman who couldn’t have been more than eighteen, but stopped short as inexplicable anguish tightened his jaw. She was alive just minutes ago. He stretched out a hand to touch her pale cheek, and then yanked it back.

  She had been warm and breathing and those eyes would have glowed from the inside, as if they possessed their own light. He shook his head at his mad thoughts—he never met the girl—and pocketed the rings. He turned to leave, then took one last look over his shoulder at her. She’d been beautiful.

  He ran out the door. He had to report in and get this mess cleaned up before dawn.

  Chapter One

  Christian leaned against his grey
Jaguar watching the cars crawl by. A handful of the pedestrians played accidental chicken with the traffic. The city came to life in sauntering groups of humans buried in a haze of laughter and banter. The clatter of the city was a cocoon of solitude for Christian.

  He settled into it with relief. It was good to be back and away from Modore’s insanity—for a while. He shivered and two seconds later his smartphone tweeted. Speak of the devil. He scowled and with movements too quick to see, he put the phone to his ear.

  “Yes?”

  “We need you to make your move, Christian.” Even over the cell signal, Modore’s voice cracked with agitation. “Now.”

  Christian’s eyes darted over the bustling street as he tensed. “Already? I think we might be pressing our luck.”

  “Oh, I think you are perfectly capable of bringing the red witch into the fold.”

  A taxi cab honked at a stumbling group of giggling women. Christian glanced up at the rush of laugher. He didn’t doubt Modore’s words, but he had wanted to play this out in his own way. Slowly, a step at a time, would have worked better for this quarry.

  She was guarded and locked down in general, but acted especially cautious around him. She had excellent instincts. But, of course, he couldn’t say no to his maker.

  “As you wish.” His words rang with resignation.

  Modore chuckled like a parent indulging a child. “My dear Christian, you are my favorite. Do you know that?”

  Christian’s lips twitched. “I’m flattered.” An ambulance siren blared somewhere in the city. “So why the hurry?” He crossed to the driver’s side of his Jaguar.

  “Let’s just say Mark had such great promise.”

  Christian tucked his free hand under the opposite arm and sagged against the car. Should he ask what happened to Mark? He was so young and full of potential. Some questions were better left unasked when it came to Modore.

  Christian hadn’t risen in Modore’s estimation by accident. At one time, Christian had an uncanny ability to choose the right things to say to his maker, but not lately. The ancient vampire was on edge and Christian no longer knew what would set him off.

  “And my Light Walker is still not mine.” Was it Christian’s imagination, or was Modore pouting? What was it about this Light Walker? Christian had never heard of a Light Walker before he’d met Modore. Why was he so hell bent on claiming her?

  Christian glanced around the street as he opened the car door. “I think you should let the Light Walker go, Modore. Why do we need her? We can accomplish our goals without her.”

  When Modore didn’t respond, Christian paused midway into the driver’s seat. Don’t move. Don’t even breathe. Christian’d crossed some line that hadn’t existed just months before. Damn.

  Repressing a sigh Christian said, “But I am yours to command.”

  “Good boy.”

  He flinched as he eased himself into the leather seat. Was he a mutt in training, again? Those were days he didn’t want to relive.

  “Trust me. This may take some doing, but in the end, we will reap the rewards.”

  Modore hung up and Christian tossed his cell phone on the console. He stared unseeing at the squirming city life, white knuckling the leather steering wheel. He wasn’t opposed to bonding with the red witch, not anymore. As a matter of fact, he was concerned over his growing infatuation with her. Was he losing his edge? Because that could be deadly.

  At the thought of her, something moved in his chest and things lower flexed. He groaned and dropped his forehead to the steering wheel. In another lifetime, under any other circumstances, he would have enjoyed seducing her. Wasn’t it enough that he had sold his own soul to the devil?

  “Damn it all to hell.” He snapped his head up and punched the dashboard, the louvers in the vent shattering. The rewards Modore was so eager for were exactly what Christian was afraid of.

  * * *

  Heather leaned close to her reflection, fluffing her red mane and pressing glossed lips together. Dabbing at them with well-manicured fingers, she straightened while she adjusted the beaded bra top. The club music thumped inside her chest. The dressing room door muffled the words to the song. Next to her, Tara and Rochelle patted sweat from their necks and chests with white washcloths.

  “It’s packed tonight.” Glancing at Heather, Tara added, “You look perfect.”

  “Did you see him?” The words were out of Heather’s mouth before she knew what she was going to say. Carefully arranging her features into a bored expression, she turned to Tara and leaned on the make-up counter.

  The doe-eyed blonde shook her head. “No, sorry sweetie.” She pursed her lips into an apologetic frown. “But you know how it is from the stage. You can’t see faces, unless they sit upfront, which he never does.”

  Looking away to hide the frown she couldn’t subdue, Heather tugged at a bra strap. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Hey.” Rochelle ran the back of her index finger under one eye as she leaned close to the mirror. “You aren’t getting hung up on this guy, are you?” Stretching out her face, she inspected for more running mascara, then wiped her hands on the wash cloth. Straightening, she peered out of the corner of her eye at Heather. “You know better than that.”

  “No.” Heather fussed with her blue harem pants and beaded belt. “He’s just nice to look at. Gives me somebody to focus on, you know?”

  “Mmm hmm. I know that look, girlfriend.” Rolling her eyes, Rochelle tossed the stained washcloth into a bin.

  Heather slipped her silk veil through the breakaway loops on her belt, careful to keep her eyes on her own business. She didn’t think she was hung up on him, but she had grown accustomed to him being there. And he hadn’t shown up in several weeks.

  She jerked on the veil and one of the Velcro loops ripped free. She huffed as she refastened it. Lesson learned, again. Don’t count on anything or anybody, especially a handsome vampire with piercing blue eyes that goes by the name of Christian. At the last refrain of the music, she whirled towards the dressing room door.

  “Heather.” The stage director’s voice buzzed through the intercom. “You’re up next.”

  “Coming.”

  * * *

  Once on stage, she gratefully slipped into the zone. Raul announced her and the curtain rose. Heather was a mere shadow cast on blue silk stretched between her upraised hands. Sensual music urged her to life as she waved the veil around herself in figure eights, big sweeps, and tight turns.

  She slipped it over her head and down her body, hiding the slow swing of her hips. Swirling around, she exposed glimpses of smooth shoulders and soft belly. She took a moment to search the crowd, reaching out for Christian with both her eyes and her magic, but he wasn’t there. Almost missing her cue, she packed the disappointment deep down in her stomach.

  As the veil part of her routine came to an end, she exposed her back to the cheering crowd. Dropping the veil, it pooled at her feet. She flicked her hips to each measure of the drum. When the beat quickened, so did her hips. That’s when she felt him.

  Her heart beat faster than the music as she turned to find him. His electric blue gaze grazed her skin like a physical touch, and her shiver fueled her belly’s undulations. How had she gotten so hung up on him? And what did she think was going to happen? And where had he been for three weeks?

  “Be careful, puddin’.” It was her mother’s voice. Dead for over two years, she still managed to nag from the grave.

  Christian smiled and her dance turned playful. All thoughts fell away as she beckoned to him with her arms, her hands, her legs. Her hips took on a life of their own, pulling her first in one direction, then the other.

  Spinning in circles, snapping her head around, careful to find him at each turn, she used him like an anchor. He sat just inside the haze of lights, so she could make out his face and his mildly amused expression. She stretched out with her magic.

  I missed you.

  He rewarded her with a sultry smile. Giddy, she flipped
her long, red hair over her head, bowing to him. She gyrated her hip as she lifted her head, wiping the hair away out of her face as if waking from a deep sleep. The music thinned until all that remained was the sharp slap of a distinct beat. Her belly flexed and jumped with it.

  The drum quickened and so did her hips: tick—flip tock—flick. The coins dangling from her belt made their own music. Christian’s gaze intensified and so did her dance. She grasped an invisible rope one hand at a time, dragging herself across the stage, her hips slinking as if they had a life of their own.

  She tossed her hair side to side as the crowd cheered, her feet stepping out in the opposite direction, legs stretched long. The dance became all about the shimmy as she turned her backside to the crowd, gliding upstage, coins jangling. The drums spun her to the right, then to the left, and she ended with a flourish: chest thrust forward, head back, arms over her head. Applause and hoots from the crowd crescendoed as she stepped off the stage, trailing the veil after her.

  “Our beautiful Heather!” Raul clapped his hands over his head and then introduced the next act.

  Heather’s heart hammered. Breathless, she prowled through the crowd, exposing the gold garter belt around her firm thigh. One of the bouncers walked with her, a watchful wrinkle between his eyes as men tucked bills into the garter. Heather’s excitement escalated as she approached Christian, but she curled her lips into a seductive smile.