On Midnight Wings Read online

  Praise for Adrian Phoenix and The Maker’s Song series

  “The Maker’s Song has a raw and complex storyline, incredible world building, and characters with multiple layers. Adrian Phoenix has developed Dante into someone who feels real, with flaws, faults and little quirks. . . . A must-read series for paranormal and urban fantasy fans.”

  —Paranormal Romance Addict

  ETCHED IN BONE

  “Edgy, fast paced and tantalizingly addictive, this is without a doubt the best novel in this amazingly enjoyable series to date.”

  —Black Lagoon Reviews

  “There are not enough words to describe how much I love this series, or just how emotional this series truly is. Each book is better than the last.”

  —VampChix

  “The intensity starts off with a bang and ends with the same sizzling impact! . . . This is one series that I will never miss a page of.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Darkly haunting and impressively imaginative.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  BENEATH THE SKIN

  “Adrian Phoenix has done it again! Complex, lyrical, and beautifully written . . . another unique and compulsive page-turner.”

  —Jenna Black, acclaimed author of Dark Descendant

  “This violent, wrenching tale is something special.”

  —Affaire de Coeur

  “Lush, sexy, and thrilling . . . darkly addictive.”

  —Jeaniene Frost, New York Times bestselling author

  “This darkly dramatic tale is one wild ride in a series that only promises to get better.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Another world comprised of both shimmering beauty and tactile violence. . . . Fusing and melding the worlds of angels, vampires, and mortals into a story where appearances hide greater truths ensures an engrossing and matchless reading experience.”

  —Bitten by Books

  IN THE BLOOD

  “Phoenix trips the dark fantastic in this wild, bloody sequel. . . . She keeps the plot thick and the tension high.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Filled with twisting plots, shadowy government agencies, conspiracies, and betrayals . . . this dark urban fantasy is not only action-packed from beginning to end, but at its core, it is also a story of hope and love.”

  —ParaNormal Romance

  “The atmosphere is dark, and treachery abounds, making this story white-knuckle reading in the extreme.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  A RUSH OF WINGS

  “Hard-charging action sequences, steamy sex scenes, and a surprising government conspiracy make this debut engrossingly fun.”

  —Entertainment Weekly

  “Phoenix’s lively debut has it all. . . . Phoenix alternates romantic homages to gothdom and steamy blood-drinking threesomes with enough terse, fast-paced thriller scenes to satisfy even the most jaded fan.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Phoenix’s gritty and original characters are instantly engaging, and the rapid pace keeps you glued to the pages.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “A thrilling tale of lust and murder that will keep you turning the pages to see what happens next.”

  —Gothic Beauty

  “A complex, layered story filled with twists and turns . . . a dark, rich treat you won’t soon forget.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “This one pulled me in from the first page. Heather and Dante are among those rare characters readers so often look for and seldom find.”

  —Barb Hendee, New York Times bestselling author

  “A fast-paced ride, its New Orleans setting appropriately rich and gothic, its characters both real and surprising.”

  —Kristine Kathryn Rusch, New York Times bestselling author

  Thank you for downloading this Pocket Books eBook.

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  This one is dedicated to all the members of Club Hell and to each and every one of my fans for their endless patience and support, and to my editor, Adam Wilson, and my agent, Matt Bialer, for the same reasons. I can’t thank you enough. Y’all are truly the best. Hellions RULE!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  AS ALWAYS, TO MY friends and family. I couldn’t have done it without you.

  GLOSSARY

  TO MAKE THINGS AS simple as possible, I’ve listed not only words, but phrases used in the story. Please keep in mind that Cajun is different from Parisian French and the French generally spoken in Europe. Different grammatically and even, sometimes, in pronunciation and spelling.

  The French that Guy Mauvais uses is traditional French as opposed to Dante’s Cajun.

  For the Irish and Welsh words—including the ones I’ve created—pronunciation is provided.

  One final thing: Prejean is pronounced PRAY-zhawn.

  aingeal (AIN-gyahl), angel. Fallen/Elohim word.

  ami (m); amie (f), friend. Mon ami, my friend.

  ange, angel; ma p’tite ange (f), my little angel.

  Anhrefncathl (ann-HREVN-cathl), chaos song; the song of a Maker. Fallen/Elohim word.

  apprenti (s), apprentis (pl), apprentices.

  assolutamente (Italian), absolutely.

  bastardo (Italian), bastard.

  bâtard, bastard.

  beaucoup, very, much, many, a great deal.

  bien, well, very.

  bon, good, nice, fine, kind.

  bueno (Spanish), good.

  buono (Italian), good.

  ça fait pas rien, you’re welcome. Also, pas de quoi.

  ça fini pas, it never ends.

  calon-cyfaill (KAW-lawn CUHV-aisle), bondmate, heartmate.

  catin (f), doll, dear, sweetheart.

  ça va bien, I’m fine, I’m good, okay.

  Cercle de Druide, Circle of Druids, a sacred and select nightkind order.

  c’est bon, that’s good.

  c’est vrai, that’s true.

  Chalkydri (chal-KOO-dree), winged serpentine demons of Sheol, subservient to the Elohim.

  cher (m); chère (f), dear, beloved. Mon cher, ma chère, my dear or my beloved.

  cher ami, mon (m); chère amie, ma (f), my dearest friend, my best friend; intimate, implying a special relationship.

  chèri (m); chèrie (f), dearest, darling, honey.

  conjurer, also known as a hoodoo; a practitioner of hoodoo.

  Conseil du Sang, le, the Council of Blood, nightkind lawgivers.

  couche-couche, a dish made with a base of moist corn bread.

  creawdwr (KRAY-OW-dooer), creator; Maker/Unmaker; an extremely rare branch of the Elohim believed to be extinct. Last known creawdwr was Yahweh.

  creu tân (kray tahn), Maker’s fire, a creawdwr’s power of creation.

  cydymaith (kuh-DUH-mith), companion.

  da (Russian), yes.

  d’accord, okay.

  dannazione (Italian), damn.

  Elohim (s and pl), the Fallen; the beings mythologized as fallen angels.

  faites-moi, make me.

  Fallen, see Elohim.

  fi’ de garce, son of a bitch.

  filidh, master Bards/warriors of the llygaid.

  fils, son; mon fils, my son.

  fille de sang (f), blood-daughter; “turned” female offspring of a vampire.

  fils de sang (m), blood-son; “turned” male offspring of a vampire.

  fratello (Italian), brother.

  grazie (Italian), thank you; molte grazie, many thanks.

  gri
s-gris, magic, spell, charm.

  hoodoo, a system of folk magic; also means a practitioner of that system of magic.

  houngan, an initiated priest in the religion of Vodou.

  imposible (Spanish), impossible.

  j’ai faim, I’m hungry.

  jamais, never.

  je connais, I know.

  je sais pas, I don’t know.

  je t’aime, I love you.

  je t’en prie, I beg you.

  je te promets, I promise you.

  je t’entends, I hear you; je t’entends, catin, I hear you, doll.

  joli (m); jolie (f), pretty, cute; mon joli, my pretty boy.

  j’su ici, I’m here.

  j’su sûr, I’m sure.

  llafnau, the special forces branch of the llygaid.

  Llygad (THLOO-gad) (s), eye; a watcher; keeper of immortal history; story-shaper; Llygaid (THLOO-guide) (pl).

  loa, spirits who serve as intermediaries between Bon Dieu and humanity.

  ma belle femme, my beautiful woman, lady. Can mean wife or significant other.

  Madre de Dios (Spanish), Mother of God.

  mambo, an initiated priestess in the religion of Vodou.

  ma mère, my mother.

  ma naturalmente. Ti prego di perdonarmi (Italian), but of course. Please forgive me.

  marmot (m), brat.

  menteur (m); menteuse (f), liar.

  merci, thank you; merci beaucoup, thanks a lot; merci bien, thanks very much.

  merde, shit.

  mère de sang (f), blood-mother; female vampire who has turned another and become their “parent.”

  mia bella assassina (f) (Italian), my beautiful assassin.

  mi hija (Spanish), my daughter.

  mio amico (m) (Italian), my friend.

  Mon Dieu, my God.

  m’selle (f), abbreviated spoken form of mademoiselle, Miss, young lady.

  m’sieu (m), abbreviated spoken form of monsieur, Mr., sir, gentleman.

  nephilim, the offspring resulting from Fallen and mortal unions.

  Nightbringer, a name/title given to Lucien De Noir.

  nightkind (s and pl), vampire; Dante’s term for vampires.

  nomad, name for the pagan, gypsy-style clans who ride across the land.

  numèro un, number one.

  oui, yes.

  oui sûr, Yeah, sure; yeah, right.

  padnat, partner, buddy, chum; close friend.

  pardonne-moi, forgive me.

  pas encore, not yet.

  pas ici, not here.

  pas possible, not possible.

  père (m), father; mon père, my father.

  père de sang (m), blood-father; male vampire who has turned another and become their “parent.”

  peut-être, maybe, perhaps.

  peut-être que oui, peut-être que non, maybe, maybe not.

  p’tit, mon (m); p’tite, ma (f), my little one (generally affectionate).

  puttana (Italian), bitch.

  quitte-moi tranquille, leave me alone.

  shuvano, a nomad healer and shaman.

  sì (Italian), yes.

  tais-toi, shut up.

  t’es sûr de sa? are you sure about that? t’es sûr? you sure?

  toujours, always.

  très, very.

  True Blood, born vampire, rare and powerful.

  tu sei un bastardo mentendo (Italian), you’re a lying bastard.

  vite-vite, fast, hurry, quickly, shoo.

  wybrcathl (OOEEBR-cathl), sky-song. Fallen/Elohim word.

  Caterina’s lullaby (traditional Italian lullaby in an old dialect): Fi la nana, e mi bel fiol/ Fi la nana, e mi bel fiol/ Fa si la nana/ Fa si la nana/ Dormi ben, e mi bel fiol/ Dormi ben, e mi bel fiol . . .

  Hush-a-bye, my lovely child/ Hush-a-bye, my lovely child/ Hush, hush and go to sleep/ Hush, hush and go to sleep/ Sleep well, my lovely child/ Sleep well, my lovely child . . .

  1

  DARK AND BITTER PEARLS

  SLIDELL, LOUISIANA

  JACK CHERAMIE’S HOUSE

  MARCH 30

  LUCIEN DE NOIR SAT beside the unconscious girl curled on the bed, box springs creaking beneath him. Mid-afternoon sunlight filtered through the golden, gauzy curtains covering the window, bathing the room in a tranquil glow. An illusion—no, worse, a lie—given the day’s dark, violent, and unimaginable events.

  My son has been shot and stolen and the mortal woman he loves, the woman who keeps his slipping sanity balanced, is missing.

  Lucien’s deltoid muscles flexed, restless, but he suppressed the urge to unfurl his wings and take to the sky in search of Dante and Heather; he feared that they had been spirited off in two very different directions. And he had no idea where to look, which path to follow, or even who was responsible.

  Not yet, anyway.

  Lucien focused his attention on Heather Wallace’s drugged sister. A light sheen of sweat glistened on Annie’s forehead. Tears wet the ends of her lashes. And her blood-speckled face looked light-years away from peaceful.

  Guessing why wasn’t difficult.

  The blood freckling her face and throat was Dante’s. Lucien knew by the scent alone—copper, a hint of adrenaline, a moonlight-silver tang—and had known from the moment he’d scooped her unconscious body up from the sidewalk in front of the club.

  She must’ve been standing beside Dante when he’d been shot. Or damned close, anyway. A muscle flexed in Lucien’s jaw. Shot repeatedly and without mercy. Dante’s blood had saturated the Oriental carpet in front of the bedroom he shared with Heather.

  So much blood when Dante should’ve healed. Too much blood. And the odd scent clinging to the shell casings Lucien had picked up from the hallway carpet had left him wondering. A troubling scent. Familiar.

  Lucien studied Annie’s pale face, pushed sweat-damp tendrils of her punk-style blue/purple/black hair back from her face. She shivered inside her fuzzy purple bathrobe as though it was woven from ice, instead of plush terry cloth.

  With a soft chirp, Heather’s orange tabby jumped up onto the bed and sniffed Annie for several moments before curling up beside her. Eerie blinked golden eyes at Lucien, then began licking the undersides of his paws, his tongue scraping delicately across the scorched pads.

  Like the cat, Lucien also smelled the drugs on Annie’s skin, in her sweat—a cold, chemical taint. He had no idea what drugs flowed through her veins, or how long she’d remain unconscious, but he had no intention of waiting for her to wake up. Not when answers rested like pearls in her mind. Not when he could play thief.

  Too much time had passed already. Hours lost to the police and their investigation of the shoot-out outside the club and the fire inside; a loss he’d finally cut short with a touch of a blue-sparked finger to the lead detective’s forehead and a whispered suggestion: You’ve already spoken to Dante. He saw nothing. Heard nothing. Knows nothing about the incident here or the fire that claimed his home four nights ago. You will write that down in your notebook.

  Blinking, the detective promptly put her pen to paper.

  Lucien sighed. A temporary solution at best; the suggestion would eventually fade. But a problem for another time. Closing his eyes, he drew in a long, deep breath—in through his nose, out through his mouth—then another, as he worked on centering himself before delving into Annie’s unshielded mind.

  “How she doing?” a Cajun-spiced voice asked from the doorway. “Looks like she ain’t moved an inch since I carried her in from the van.”

  Lucien’s calming breath morphed into a low, frustrated exhalation. He opened his eyes. Glanced over his shoulder.

  Dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt announcing LAFAYETTE MARQUIS, the interruption—better known as Black Bayou Jack Cheramie, Dante’s band mate in Inferno—leaned one muscled, tribal-inked shoulder against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest, a bloodstained washcloth balled-up in one hand. The drummer’s mane of cherry-red braids framed his face, his expression a tight-jawed mix of worried and angry.<
br />
  “She hasn’t,” Lucien confirmed. He nodded at the washcloth in Jack’s hand. “How are Von and Silver doing? Has the bleeding stopped? Are they healing?”

  “Oui, it’s stopped and they’re healing, for true, them. But given that they’re nightkind and all, it took longer than I expected. Thibodaux agrees with me,” Jack added, with a tilt of his head toward the kitchen where the fugitive SB agent sat at the table cleaning his Colt .45. “Said his partner always heals up beaucoup fast. But he also admitted that she ain’t never taken a bullet to the head before neither.”

  Lucien thought of the odd scent on the shell casings he’d found in the blood-spattered hall, wondering again just what they had contained. “I don’t think normal rounds were used.”

  “Dunno, padnat. They sure as hell look like normal rounds to me. Course there ain’t no telling what kind of load they-all contained.” Jack uncrossed his arms and held out his hand, revealing two skull-dented and compressed bullets cupped in his callused palm. “They just kinda worked their way outta the wounds. Ain’t never seen nightkind heal from bullets before. Weirdest goddamned sight.”

  “Let me have the bullets.”

  Jack stepped over to the bed and dumped them into Lucien’s waiting palm. A faint tree-sap, amber-like odor wafted from the small bits of mangled brass. Whatever the substance had been, it seemed to be capable of slowing, perhaps even halting, a vampire’s natural ability to heal. Even a True Blood’s.

  Remembering what he’d felt when he’d reached for Dante’s mind back at the club—a psionic flatline that had sheeted Lucien’s soul in black ice until he’d finally detected a low, ebbing life force absent of any healing spark—he once again felt the urgent desire to unsheathe his wings and vault into the sky.

  He needed to find Dante before it was too late. Before destiny twisted in on itself and became fate.

  “Tee-Tee? Heather?” Jack asked. “You think they were in the back of that van those assholes were trying to put Annie into?”

  Tee-Tee. Jack and the other mortal members of Inferno had tagged their nightkind frontman with the affectionate nickname because, at five-nine, Dante was shorter than the rest of the band. Petit. Little one. Tee-Tee. And with Dante also the youngest, at nearly twenty-four, the name pulled double duty.