Haunting Echoes Read online

  HAUNTING ECHOES

  by Caethes Faron

  Copyright © 2014 Caethes Faron

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover by www.StreetlightGraphics.com

  Published by Branwen Press

  About Haunting Echoes

  Amaia was one of the most sought after courtesans in King James's London when she became a vampire. Together with her sire, Lawrence, she works to birth a new, more powerful race of vampires. She has everything she could want: wealth, prestige, and eternal life.

  She fears nothing. That is, until Michael, the first man she killed, walks into a tavern twenty-three years after she killed him. He has more reason than most to hate her; he's the man who gave her the engagement ring she still wears. She's convinced he's come back from the grave for one purpose: to destroy her.

  Michael’s gray eyes haunt Amaia until she surrenders and goes to him. If her clan finds out about her obsession, they’ll kill her and him. But if she stays away, she’ll go mad. Both paths lead to destruction, and it’s up to Amaia to find a way to keep herself and Michael alive, whether Michael still loves her or not.

  Get sneak peeks and stay up to date on new releases by signing up for the author’s newsletter at

  http://CaethesFaron.com/Newsletter

  Other books in the Haunting Echoes series:

  Fates Entwined

  Immortal Echoes

  Creative license has been taken with historical events, places, and people in the telling of Amaia’s story.

  Chapter One

  London, February 1623

  The skin offered little resistance to her teeth. A bit of pressure and the blood started to flow. Tangy, sweet warmth filled her mouth and coursed down her throat all the way to her stomach, comforting, soothing the fire in her veins. This was heaven. She was dead, and this her reward.

  Her racing mind calmed as she drank. Thoughts organized themselves. Killing should be harder. Less pleasurable. Every second she drank this man’s blood drained away his life. There was no question of stopping. She craved every drop. The boning of her stays pinched as she drank faster.

  The flow of blood thinned. The vein was running dry. The breathing beneath her slowed. A few more swallows and the life she held in her hands would be no more. A few more gulps and maybe her lust would be sated.

  His body hit the ground with a hollow thump.

  “Did you get your fill, my girl?”

  The blood made its way through her body, lulling her into contented drowsiness. Obscuring fog consumed her mind. She knew the man talking to her, but his name was just out of reach.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Of course. Anything for you.” His blue eyes scanned her face as if he expected to find something. She didn’t know what.

  The body at her feet laid askew before the crackling fire, limbs sprawled in unnatural positions. Gray eyes stared blankly ahead. The only life in them came from the reflected firelight dancing in their glassy depths. She felt a chill and looked away. “I think I want to sleep now. Just for a little while.”

  The blue-eyed man nodded, beaming. “Yes, my child. You must sleep.” In one swift movement, he lifted her into his arms. As he carried her out of the room, she couldn’t help staring over his shoulder at those eyes. Those gray, lifeless eyes that, only moments before, had gazed at her with the strangest expression.

  •••

  Images flashed before her dreaming eyes. At first, the visions came too quickly to decipher, but as the dream continued, pieces began to make sense. Lawrence, with his neatly trimmed gray goatee and moustache, bald head with feathery wisps of gray hair around the edges, and pockmarked cheeks, floated before her. He had been the one who had so gently tucked her into bed. She was safe with him.

  “I will give you eternal life,” his gravelly voice had assured her. He’d been the one to change her. “I’m a vampire.” The words sounded foreign on Lawrence’s familiar lips. Fragments of their conversation floated back to her. He would give her everything.

  But someone else had promised her everything.

  She’d felt a prick on her wrist, and then peace had settled over her as Lawrence sucked away her life. It had been so easy to give in to sleep, lounging on her couch, only to be awakened by bitterness sliding down her throat. Lawrence had held his wrist to her lips, squeezing blood from it.

  “I know it’s unpleasant, my dear. It’s the venom. It will give you life.” His low whisper urged her on. She continued to drink, feeling the venom ignite her veins with uncontrollable energy. Her mind raced as she scoured the room for something to eat. She didn’t feel particularly hungry, but all the energy coursing through her was directed toward one thing: feeding. Her eyes darted to the fireplace, the mantle, the silver candlesticks, the gold and amber music box, the worn carpet hiding a warped wooden floor. She couldn’t focus. She either needed to eat or run to a place where she could.

  A knock on the door reverberated through her head, piercing her buzz of energy.

  “Let me see who that is.” Lawrence left the room. When he returned, leading another man inside, there was a split-second echo of feeling in her chest. This person was familiar. He meant something to her. Soft brown locks framed gray eyes set in an angular face. At the moment though, all he meant was food. Every instinct in her body drove her to pierce through that sun-kissed skin for the blood beneath. She didn’t know how, only that she must.

  His soft gray eyes lit up as soon as they rested on her. The tenderness in them echoed the feeling in her chest. “Joc—”

  She didn’t hear him finish, or even know if he was able to. She was at his throat.

  •••

  How long she slept was a mystery. Both faces swam before her. One was old and comforting, the other young and exciting. There was something about the man she’d killed. While Lawrence was a steady presence in her life, this other man felt familiar in a different way, as if he’d been present for much less time. Something about him made her uneasy. He was dangerous. He would take her away, away from Lawrence, from her home.

  “Marry me,” he had said to her once. He wanted to possess her, but she couldn’t be had. She was a whore. Lawrence’s whore. Girls like her didn’t marry. Girls like her only got thrown away.

  Lawrence had taken her in, given her a profession, given her the means to take care of herself, and now this man wanted to take it all away.

  “Don’t be foolish…he’ll leave you eventually…you’re not the marrying type, my dear…it’s not love you feel…I’m a vampire…let me turn you…you’ll have eternal life…he can join us…if he loves you, he won’t begrudge you this…”

  Then there was the other man’s face. Michael. Her mind supplied his name, and she remembered it with fondness. He had been in her life for months. His face floated before her, eyes affectionate.

  Affection. That was the strange look that had filled his eyes moments before she had killed him. Slowly, the eyes morphed into the dead glass she remembered from the floor of her parlor.

  “Shh, everything will be fine.” Lawrence’s voice broke through her dream, as if he spoke directly to her mind. “You’re all right, Amaia. You can hear me now. That means it’s almost time to wake up. Sleep for just a little longer. Enjoy it. This is the last time you’ll ever sleep. I’ll explain everything when you wake.”

  The voice gave her something to hold to. In the hazy sea of her dreams, she tossed, confused. When Lawrence’s voice commanded her, she was safe and secure. Her confusion subsided. He would explain everything when she woke. For now, she only needed to sleep.

  Chapter Two

  London, February 1623

  Light filtered through her eyelids, sharp and pointed like a needle.

  “Yes, it’s
time to wake up now, my child. You’ve slept enough.”

  Lawrence’s voice resonated inside her head again.

  “Amaia, wake up.”

  The firm tone of his words forced her eyelids open. Quickly, she closed them again.

  “Go slowly. It will take time for you to adjust.”

  She tried again, and this time she saw Lawrence sitting next to her bed. Her eyes widened. Every pore on his face appeared magnified, every vein outlined. Each individual hair on his skin could be counted. The color of his skin was no longer white. It was much more complex, leaning toward a mishmash of gray, white, gold, and an undercurrent of red. It was unlike anything she had ever seen.

  “I see your new eyes are working well. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to them in time.”

  “How are you doing that?” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears. She heard every individual note.

  “It’s easy. You’ll learn.” This time, he spoke with his mouth. The voice was the same as it had been in her head: rough like gravel, but smooth like water. His words flowed almost like a brook, the clear water clashing against worn pebbles.

  The most delicious smell emanated from a cup on her nightstand. Her mouth watered, drawing attention to her dry throat.

  “Go on and drink. It’s for you.”

  Her hand lashed out to snatch the cup, succeeding only in nearly sending it tumbling to the ground. Lawrence’s hands were quicker, grabbing her wrist with one and the cup with the other. “You’ll grow accustomed to your new movement in time. Until then, think ‘slowly.’”

  This time, she tried to restrain her hand as she moved for the cup. She still went too fast, but it was better. Satisfying, lukewarm blood poured into her mouth, though it didn’t taste as good as she’d expected.

  While she drank, she looked around her room. Sunlight poured in through the window. She saw every individual beam of light. Every dust mote caught in the rays appeared as detailed as the cup in her hands. Everything was sharper, clearer, more vivid.

  She slammed the cup on the table without meaning to and then reached out to prevent it from tipping.

  “Feel better?”

  “It didn’t taste as good as I remembered.” Amaia screwed up her face.

  Lawrence laughed. “No, it wouldn’t have. It’s that way with your first kill. Besides, blood always tastes better from the source. You’ll feed properly later.”

  With her thirst satisfied, she had the urge to be up, to be doing, to explore this new world she had been born into. In an instant, she was on her feet, before she was even consciously aware of having ordered her legs to move.

  With the smell of blood gone, she concentrated on the other scents assaulting her nostrils. Instantly, she knew that the perfume on her nightgown was made of lilacs, orange zest, vanilla, and just a hint of cinnamon. She remembered buying it, but she couldn’t remember smelling it before. The memory lay hidden behind a hazy veil, and she experienced it as an observer. It was like trying to remember a dream. The memory was there, though it didn’t feel as if she had lived it.

  “How come I know what scent I’m wearing, and I can remember purchasing it, but I can’t remember actually smelling it?” She twirled to Lawrence, seeking answers.

  “All your knowledge is intact. The memories from your mortal life will seem dull to your sharpened senses. You are having a hard time remembering smelling it because you didn’t smell it as clearly in your mortal life. Human memories are also wrapped in emotion, which you experience differently now. It can be difficult to unwind the feeling from the memory.”

  “Am I immortal?”

  “Very nearly. A single human isn’t a threat. If you’re to die, it’ll likely be by the hand of another vampire.”

  “How?”

  “Decapitation, burning, or destruction of your heart.”

  Short list. Amaia picked up a porcelain figurine of an exotic bird, admiring how the light danced on its surface. “How many others are there?”

  “In the entire world? Thousands. But don’t worry yourself about them. Right now, we need to focus on you, Amaia.” Lawrence rose and placed his hands on her shoulders.

  Amaia set down the figurine. “You keep calling me that, but it’s not my name.”

  “Yes, it is. When you’re reborn, you’re given a new name. I have named you Amaia. It means the first.”

  “The first what?”

  “My first child.”

  Amaia shook her head. It was strange to hear his voice as if it were her internal thoughts. “Can any vampire get in my mind like that?”

  “Goodness, no.” Lawrence sat in the window seat. “I can only do it because I’m your sire. Vampires mind-speak with their makers and their mates, no others.”

  While Amaia could see the advantages to such an arrangement, it left her unsettled. “Can you hear all my thoughts?”

  “No, I can’t hear any of them. You have to want me to. It’s like speaking, only with your mind. You simply will me to hear what you’re thinking. You may give it a try if you like.” Lawrence’s expression was open and encouraging, just as it always had been when he taught her something new.

  Amaia gathered a thought in her mind and tried to push it to Lawrence. “You’ve always been like a father to me.”

  The smile on Lawrence’s face spoke to her success. “And you’ve always been like a daughter to me.”

  The bond Amaia felt to Lawrence seemed even stronger than the familial closeness they had shared when she was mortal. Fierce loyalty to him surged through her, a desire to please him. There was only one other person to whom she had felt so close.

  She ran downstairs to the parlor, forgetting to move slowly. The burst of energy that launched her deflated when she saw the room was as organized and tidy as it ever had been. The man she had been eager to see was nowhere to be found.

  “I burned the body along with your dress. It was too soiled to save. First kills are always a messy business. You don’t develop your fangs until your transformation sleep.”

  “He was someone to me.”

  “Michael? Yes, he was. A pity he was your first kill. When the venom takes hold, you can’t control yourself. It urges you to feed. If you fail to feed by the time it burns off, your transformation won’t be complete, and you’re easily killed. You’re not to blame for killing him. It’s all a case of bad timing on his part.”

  Amaia tried to remember. She reached into her dreams and realized that they hadn’t been dreams but flashes of memory.

  “I loved him.”

  “Yes.”

  “But I killed him.”

  “You did. I had hoped to wait until you were more accustomed to your condition to bring Michael to you. I had hoped you might ask him to join us.”

  Amaia’s mind swirled. Even through the veil shrouding her mortal memories, she knew she had loved Michael even more than she loved Lawrence. Or at least she’d thought so. Her mortal self would have never imagined she was capable of killing him, no matter what Lawrence said. That was just like him, trying to lessen the blow for her sake. Lawrence always watched out for her.

  “You’ll need to learn how to look more natural. You’re standing still as stone. Remember, humans don’t have perfect balance. It’ll take near constant thought at first to blend in, but it will eventually become instinct.”

  Amaia made note and tried to casually sway her arms. Instead of gentle curves, her arms made sharp, quick angles, resembling a marionette being jerked about by an impatient child.

  Lawrence’s laughter rang in her ears. “Don’t think so much. It’ll come. You’re less than an hour into your new life. Here, sit. Relax.”

  Lawrence’s wrinkled hand took her smooth one and led her to the same couch they had shared when he had bitten her. She had never noticed all the lines crossing Lawrence’s hands before. She would never age. For eternity, she would retain the skin of a twenty-two year old.

  “I told you you’d like it. You never have to worry about aging,
about losing the power your appearance gives you.”

  “I thought you couldn’t read my thoughts.” Amaia smirked up at him.

  “Not by any supernatural means, but I’ve raised you since you were eleven. I know how your mind works.”

  Amaia tried to grasp the memories lurking beneath the surface. “I was a whore. What am I to be now?”

  Lawrence chuckled. “No, my dear. You were a courtesan. One of the best. Certainly the best I ever trained. You were never merely a good fuck. It was your company men like the Marquess of Buckingham, Prince Charles, and King James wanted. You don’t think a common whore could afford to live in this house, do you?”

  Amaia took in the delicate tapestries on the walls, the intricate silver candlesticks, the mahogany table, and her own silk nightgown. These were not the trappings of a streetwalker, and they were all because of Lawrence. He had managed her affairs well.

  “Don’t worry about the future. I’ll take care of you, just as I always have.”

  Amaia fingered the engagement ring on her right forefinger. The memory of Michael offering it to her flashed before her. In quick succession, she saw images of them together. He had been willing to take care of her, that much seemed certain. Looking at the pearl centerpiece, she felt a slight discomfort, a wisp of the emotion she had felt upon receiving it. The pearl was a symbol of purity and evidence of Michael’s delusions. He had never accepted that she enjoyed her life as a courtesan. When given the chance, she had jumped at the opportunity to gain independence as a vampire. She had always despised girls who had been foolish enough to follow the siren’s call of love. Love was weak; it hadn’t been strong enough to keep her from killing the only man who’d ever devoted himself to her. Looking back, it seemed strange that she had been so close to abandoning her own credo. Still, the ring was a lovely piece. The rubies surrounding the pearl played with the light in ways she hadn’t noticed as a human. It was a ring worth keeping.