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Title: Empower
Series: Embrace,
#5
Author: Jessica
Shirvington
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Fire
Expected Publication Date: May 6, 2014
Genres: YA,
Paranormal Romance
SUMMARY
It has been two years since Violet Eden walked
away from the city, her friends, her future and - most importantly - her
soulmate, Lincoln. Part angel, part human, Violet is determined to stand by the
promises she made to save the one she loves.
Living in the perpetual coldness of a broken soul she survives day to day as a Rogue Grigori in London.
But when an unexpected visitor shows up at her door, the news he bears about someone she swore to protect leaves Violet with no choice.
Even worse, she fears that this might all lead back to the night she tries hardest to forget. And what was taken without her permission.
Violet is going back to New York ... and she knows exactly who is going to be there.
With Phoenix in her dreams and Lincoln in her heart she knows it is only a matter of time before the final choice must be made.
Living in the perpetual coldness of a broken soul she survives day to day as a Rogue Grigori in London.
But when an unexpected visitor shows up at her door, the news he bears about someone she swore to protect leaves Violet with no choice.
Even worse, she fears that this might all lead back to the night she tries hardest to forget. And what was taken without her permission.
Violet is going back to New York ... and she knows exactly who is going to be there.
With Phoenix in her dreams and Lincoln in her heart she knows it is only a matter of time before the final choice must be made.
PRE-ORDER
TITLES in the EMBRACE SERIES
ABOUT the AUTHOR
Jessica Shirvington is the author of THE VIOLET
EDEN CHAPTERS also known as THE EMBRACE SERIES, and stand alone novel, BETWEEN
THE LIVES. An entrepreneur, author, and mother living in Sydney, Australia,
Jessica is also a 2011 finalist for Cosmopolitan’s annual Fun, Fearless Female
Award. She’s also one of the lucky few who met the love of her life at age
seventeen: Matt Shirvington, a former Olympian and current sports broadcaster
for FOXTEL and Sky News. Married for twleve years with two beautiful daughters,
Sienna and Winter, Jessica knows her early age romance and its longevity has
definitely contributed to how she tackles relationships in her YA novels.
AUTHOR LINKS
CHAPTER ONE
“But I have promises to keep, and miles to go
before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.”
Robert Frost
My sweater was coated in a layer of
mist—-again—-a by--product of life in London. I barely noticed the constant
drizzle anymore. It’s not as if the cold bothered me, not when I was the very
definition of cold.
What was bothering me
was the smell. There is something rank about a meat market at night—-especially
when you’re wedged into the eaves wondering what, over the years, has been
sprayed about and never cleaned away. I shuddered.
The Smithfield Market was currently in vogue,
but a gritty sense of history thickened the air, giving it a density that made
me sure this wasn’t the first time the site had been used for wicked intent.
And right now, it was hunting hour.
At least I was the hunter.
I watched quietly as the exiles came into the
center of the massive terminal--style space, vaguely interested to note that
there were six of them, instead of the four I’d expected. No bother, I suppose.
I still had the element of surprise on my side.
The past two years had taught me not to let
the everyday hiccups get to me. Sure, the additional muscle would hurt, but
only in the physical sense, and I could cope with that. Rolling with the
punches is necessary when you are a Grigori—-a human--angel hybrid—-a weapon
against the ever--increasing numbers of exiled angels on earth. For me even
more so, since they gave me such a colorful nickname. I’m the Keshet—-the
rainbow. I didn’t ask to be, but I made my choices and I stand by them.
So, there I was.
Although I was still trying to figure out exactly what being the rainbow meant,
mostly I found that the desire to know conflicted with my continuing need not
to think about it at all. One thing I did know was that somehow I could create
space with the angels—-an unknown place where we were able to take form and communicate.
My angel maker—-whose name I still didn’t know—-said it was a place of new
possibilities. For what, I was not sure.
But I know this is what I am. It is what I will be.
The final two exiles sauntered up to the four
already waiting. It used to be impossible for me to be this close to exiles
without them going into a frenzy, sensing my presence. But I’d learned many
lessons over the past year, the most useful of which had been how to keep my
guards up and locked so tight that even exiles couldn’t sense me when I was
truly concentrating.
Which—-judging by the
thin film of sweat on my forehead—-is now.
The exiles dumped the huge calico sack they
had been dragging along the floor and pulled it open, revealing three mutilated
bodies to join the two maimed ones already on display.
From my position it was difficult to tell how
old the corpses were, and if the smell was able to give a clue, I wouldn’t have
known, the stink of death and flesh being an overall theme of the place.
It was no wonder the exiles liked it so much.
Normally, exiles wouldn’t bother with the
cleanup—-leaving evidence was of no concern. Normally, the
exiles enjoyed the mess and despair they left behind. But not these exiles.
These dark exiles were working for someone else. They’d been following a plan,
using a hit list, and it was all too well constructed for any one of them to
mastermind. Our intel told us they’d been hired. Such behavior would usually be
considered beneath them, but apparently this group of exiles had decided the
job was thrilling enough to suffer the humiliation of working for the highest
bidder—-even if that was a human.
As for the billionaire businessman, well,
that’s not my department, but someone will pay him a visit. Right after all the
evidence of his wrongdoing—-minus the exile activity—-is handed over to the
authorities and his bank accounts are heavily siphoned to pay for the futures
of his victims’ families. And our fee, of course.
Which, thanks to
certain people, is exorbitant.
Two of the exiles were dressed impeccably:
one in a steel--gray suit and sporting villain--typical slicked--back hair; the
other wore a slim--collared black suit that hugged his tall figure and set off
his of--the--moment tousled, light brown hair. The remaining four were less
striking in casual wear, though nonetheless picture perfect. All six looked
over the bodies like fishermen comparing the size and quality of their haul. My
hand grazed my dagger, the blade that had been given to me after I first
embraced my powers and became a Grigori warrior three years ago. I was never
without it. I even had a sheath attached to my bed for a quick draw if needed.
I’d learned the hard way—-through the death
and suffering of people I loved and, strangely enough, through my own death and
suffering—-exiles stop at nothing. Their insanity and misguided missions know
no bounds, and they take pleasure in causing great pain and suffering to
humankind.
At least tonight I would only face exiles of
dark. A couple of years ago, the two opposing sides, light and dark, had called
a truce. Of course, I tried not to think back to that time.
I tried constantly.
The discovery of the scripture that could end
all Grigori had found its way into my hands. That in itself was part of the
reason the Assembly had rejected me. They blamed me for trading with the dark
exile, Phoenix. My decision had allowed him to resurrect Lilith—-his mother,
the first dark exile—-from the dead, and she had taken control of the Grigori
Scripture. But at the time, my choice had been a simple one. Phoenix had Steph,
my best friend, and I wasn’t about to take any chances with her life. I’ve
never regretted that choice.
Not like so many others I’ve made.
In the end, that made it easier to walk away
from a place in the Academy when Josephine decided to change her mind. Of
course, that was after I’d given my life, Lincoln’s soul had shattered, and
Phoenix had died—-proving that not only was he the son of Lilith, but he was
also the human son of the first man, Adam—-all so that I could kill Lilith. And
those reasons weren’t even the ones I tried not to think about.
But I can’t go there right now.
I caught myself. I was working and the last
thing I could afford to do was acknowledge that I was thinking about him.
The six exiles started to
shift the remains of the bodies toward the incinerator, tossing them with
supernatural strength and no care. I half expected them to try and mince the
meat and load it onto trays for sale tomorrow. I wouldn’t put anything past
them.
“Make sure you take the
index fingers,” one of the suited exiles instructed. “Mr. George is expecting
me to deliver them to him tonight.”
That’s a shame.
Though I’m sure Mr. George will receive a knock at his door nonetheless.
“I still don’t understand
why we don’t just kill him too,” another said.
“Are you challenging me?” The exile who had
spoken first stepped forward.
His questioner mirrored his actions.
Here we go.
“If I must.”
Exiles never back down. Their pride and
egotism combined with their unique brand of insanity is just too much to ignore.
Angels were not created to take corporeal forms on earth. Though they have
existed for eternity, in human bodies, they manifest emotions in ways their
innate nature can never process. It makes them unstable. And almost
unstoppable.
I wriggled into a better position and waited
patiently, knowing that this would work in my favor.
Sure enough, the exile who had spoken out
first also struck out first, engaging with the suited exile. It didn’t last
long. The suit, clearly the older of the two and a true fighter—-my guess was
he had once been either a Domination or a Power—-overpowered his opponent,
snapping his neck and making quick work of removing his heart.
We had our methods of ending their immortal
existence; they had theirs.
Happy days. I now have one less exile to take care of.
I checked the time and
sighed. If I didn’t get this show on the road, I’d lose my window. And fighting
alone was always my preference.
The drop to the ground
was at least two stories high, but I landed behind the group of exiles lightly,
thanks to my angelic enhancements.
Breathing calmly, I let go of the power I was
holding tightly within, just enough to lower my shields.
The exiles, who had been preoccupied with
their boasting, stiffened instantly and spun around to face the new threat. It
was almost comical, the look of surprise on their faces. I guess a Grigori had
never snuck up on them before.
Responding quickly, the suited exile stepped
forward, shoving two of them to the side, the five of them quickly forming a
semicircle around me.
So nice of them to stand in single file.
But the way he studied me—-with trademark
exile insanity and undisguised raw desire—-made me think that this one
recognized me. It happened from time to time.
I wanted to sit around and chew the fat. Really.
I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do with my time than hear about how
they intended to rip me limb from limb and how that would make them as great as
gods and me the most pathetic of humans. But when you’ve heard it all before
and always walked away—-or, at the very least, been carried—-while they were
returned for their ultimate judgment, it gets old. So, I cut to the chase.
“You have a choice. Make it or I will make it
for you,” I said, knowing that of all Grigori, I alone had the right to put it
like that. “Consider wisely,” I reinforced. After all, I could return them like
any other Grigori with one of our blades, but if I willed it, I could also
strip them of their angelic strengths and leave them human—-a fate exiles
considered worse than an eternity in the pits of Hell. As far as I was aware, I
was the only Grigori who could do this without requiring the exile in question
to first choose such a fate. Which, of course, never happened.
“You brought Lilith to her end,” the suit
said, his head tilted to the side, as if confused.
Yeah, that’s right,
little ol’ me.
And it only cost me everything that mattered.
I raised my eyebrows. “Time’s almost up,” I
said, refraining from closing my eyes briefly as I felt a surge of power
within, something that had been happening increasingly. I was getting stronger,
and exactly what that meant and how to harness it wasn’t the kind of knowledge
I was excited to discover.
I could strip them all, make their choice for
them, and be done with it, but I’d only done it twice. Onyx had been my first,
and I’d seen the pain it caused him. I didn’t like knowing I was the one who
took away his choice. Who was I to do such a thing? The second had been a
demonstration, and had resulted in the exile in question meeting a quick death.
I can’t say I regretted it—-he’d been one of the exiles so happy to see me
strapped to a crucifix and tortured for hours—-but still…
Anyway, tonight was more like training, and
I’d been taught to be thorough. So, when the suit threw the first exile at
me—-knowing he’d be nothing more than a momentary distraction while I took him
down and he lined up the next one—-I got to work.
I braced, grabbing my dagger and moving into
position. By the time the exile came within range, my dagger had sliced through
his heart and he was no longer there. Simply gone. Where did their physical
forms go? Beats me.
I was already spinning by the time the second
one was sent flying through the air toward me. My foot stopped his momentum and
threw him back. I was on him in an instant, my dagger going straight to his
heart. It didn’t need to be the heart to return them, just
a killing blow inflicted by a Grigori weapon. You could slice into exiles all
day long with your garden--variety knife or shoot them with a gun, but neither
option worked. I’d never seen a Grigori manage to rip out an exile’s heart
barehanded, and even though the trick worked for exiles taking out other
exiles, something told me that it did not alter our rules. Permanent results
for Grigori over exiles only came via the blades of angels.
Or my blood.
The third exile went much the same way, and
soon enough I was left being circled by the two suits. To my surprise, they
actually worked together—-exiles aren’t good at that—-boxing me into a corner.
The brown--haired exile in the black suit moved in on me when the other one
feigned a move to my right. I took a closed fist across the face and a foot to
the stomach.
I heard a crack—-broken rib—-but I didn’t
register the pain. That kind of pain was barely a tickle compared to the agony
I carried inside, every moment of every day.
My pause gave the other exile the chance to
take a swing. His foot collided with my hand so hard that my dagger went flying
across the room. I kept my eyes on my attackers but my ear on my weapon,
listening to the reverberations as it slid along the concrete floor and
eventually hit the far wall with a clang.
The exiles smiled.
I sighed.
Then I leapt into the air, gaining enough
height to grip the brown--haired exile’s throat between my knees. Twisting my
body as I fell through the air, I dragged the exile down with me, his neck
breaking with a loud crunch.
It wouldn’t keep him
down for good, but a broken neck buys time.
The exile in the gray suit grabbed me roughly
from behind and threw me into the wall.
I groaned as I slid down the metal piping my
back had hit. It was the opposite wall to my dagger.
Damn it.
It wasn’t an ideal
situation. And I wasn’t fool enough to delude myself into thinking I could make
it to my dagger. I was regretting my decision not to wear any other weapons
tonight, but my dagger was the only weapon that, when sheathed, was invisible
to human eyes.
Think, Vi.
I’d come down behind a wall of old crates. I
was considering how I could use them to my advantage when I spotted a piece of
the slim metal piping I’d broken in my fall. It lay by my foot.
I could hear the exiles moving toward me.
They were cackling.
“We should take her body with us to the
tournament tonight,” one said.
The other one laughed.
“That would definitely put dark in the lead.”
“And everyone would know
that we were the ones who killed her.”
Can anyone say “premature
victory”?
Without stopping to think, I pulled off the
bracelet from my left wrist, using the specially designed clasp to cut open the
flesh around my silver marking, currently swirling in the presence of exiles,
and let it spill onto the end of the metal bar.
It took just a few seconds, and as soon as I
palmed the pipe, the exiles started to throw the crates aside then came into
view, their smiles wide with anticipation.
I stood. I didn’t return their smiles. I
didn’t bother to do anything other than what needed to be done.
I lunged, raising my elbow into the face of
the black--haired exile as I spun, the metal pipe striking his companion
through the heart. He was gone. I turned back to the first exile and, hoping
that there was still enough of my blood on the pipe to do the trick and using
my supernatural speed for all it was worth, I jammed the pipe straight into his
neck.
His face wore an expression of pure surprise.
I’d seen that look before.
I sighed and my shoulders slumped forward,
unfulfilled. This was my job, one that I would do for as long as I existed,
which could be a significantly long time. But two years ago, I’d accepted that
there was no longer any satisfaction to be had in my world.
No fairytales.
Only the cold.
Turning toward where I thought my dagger had
landed, my surroundings suddenly changed.
I was no longer seeing
the warehouse. There were flashes of white, moving fast, pounding hooves.
Horses. Silver streaked through the air like a dance. Swords. Slashes of red
painted the sky. Something sharp and deadly ripping through flesh—-wet and
gruesome. Claws. Thousands and thousands of beings as far as I could see fought
ruthlessly, with no sign of tiring. In the center, two warriors battled beneath
a blinding light. I could not make out their faces.
I blinked hard.
The image was gone, and in its place Gray
stood against the wall of Lincoln’s warehouse, casually flipping my dagger in
the air. “Would you like me to applaud?” he asked.
Leaning against a metal support pole, he had
that midtwenties look I’d come to associate with the older Grigori—-though I
had no idea how old he really was—-and was dressed in his usual black jeans,
black T--shirt, and black leather jacket. Black really was the only color worth
investing in—-blood stains everything else. He sported about a week’s worth of
growth on his face, though his head was shaved, the scars that ran over the top
of his skull telling of a history both terrible and secret. Grigori did not
generally scar, so I knew that whatever had caused these had occurred before
Gray had turned seventeen.
I swallowed over the lump in my throat and
glanced around as I composed myself. The whole…hallucination…had lasted only a
couple of seconds. I clenched my jaw.
Christ. It was
nothing. I’m just imagining things.
I snapped my bracelet back in place over my
marking and shot him a dry look. “Should I be charging a spectator fee?”
My voice sounded normal but my ears felt like
they were still ringing with the echoes of battle.
“Not if the show is going to be over so fast,
princess.”
I glared at him for persisting with the
stupid nickname. “You know, you could’ve stepped in and given me a hand.”
“Sure,” he said with a solemn nod. “And you
could’ve waited until the meet time we’d all agreed on too.”
I looked away briefly. “So, why are you here early?” I asked, hoping to divert the conversation.
Gray tilted his head. “Because I know you.”
I shrugged off the veiled accusation, even
though it was true. To a degree.
“It was easier this way.”
He threw my dagger into the air, and I caught
it by the hilt and slipped it back into its sheath.
“Well you can explain that to the others,
since they just arrived.”
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