The Unhallowed (Book Five in the Witch Hunter Saga) Read online

  The Unhallowed

  Book Five in The Witch Hunter Saga

  Nicole R. Taylor

  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

  Epilogue

  Other Books in The Witch Hunter Saga

  VIP Newsletter

  The Keeping Place

  About the Author

  The Unhallowed (Book Five in The Witch Hunter Saga)

  Copyright © 2013-16 by Nicole R. Taylor

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design © Nicole R. Taylor

  Prologue

  York, England 1603

  Nye Saer leaned against the fence outside of York Minster, watching the stream of nobles done up in their winter finery enter the church for Sunday mass. The cathedral spire towered into the mist, the tip vanishing into the dense fog, but it only reminded him of the specter he’d become.

  In the distance, he could see a group of peasants trudging through the mud, all of them making their way toward the smaller church on the edge of town past the green. York Minster was reserved for those with titles and wealth, no matter the doctrine of God.

  “My lord, the service starts soon.”

  He glanced up to see his faithful companion, Lewes, wringing his hands together nervously. He was only faithful because he made him that way. He had neither the time nor the inclination to win him over the right way, so he compelled the man to give him a friendly helping hand.

  “I care not,” he replied. “I don’t believe in your God, Lewes. He wasn’t around to save me when I needed saving.”

  He’d been a vampire for thirteen miserable years. A wretched thing that clung to shadows and preyed on the unwary. He’d been a slave to the night for a decade before he even found a witch who could help him feel the sun against his dead skin once more. A decade of darkness. Not that the light had made him fare any better. There was no God. Not in his world.

  For all the bad things he had been changed into, there were many good things. His body was perfect despite the scar marring his face. From the top of his right temple, across the bridge of his nose, and down his left cheek, a puckered gash severed his face, marking him as an undesirable. Unfortunate considering he’d gotten it fighting for the English Crown against the Spanish Armada some fifteen years before when he was still human. Despite his features, he was stronger than he’d ever been, faster and hardly tired at all. He was fueled by blood and soothed by alcohol.

  Casting his gaze over the fog-laden village square, he felt her coming before he even knew the direction. He’d hoped she would come today. Perhaps it was foolish considering his circumstance, but he wanted it, anyway.

  Finally, she emerged from the mist, her delicate form wrapped tight in a dark cloak, her skirts trailing in the slush of last night’s snowfall. He knew her name quite well. Eleanor. Eleanor, who wanted to love a vampire. She had chosen him but in her lust had neglected to tell him about her coven.

  “Lewes,” he said. “Go to church, and say your prayers. I will come and collect you when the sermon ends…if I am still alive to do so.”

  “But my lord—”

  “Be gone before I make you.”

  Knowing what was good for him, the man scuttled away, joining the line of nobles entering the Minster.

  Nye turned and watched Eleanor approach, her long, curly chestnut hair blowing in the icy wind that had picked up with her arrival. A few flakes of snow spiraled around the square, and he couldn’t help marveling at her beauty. Had he known she was a witch from the beginning, he wouldn’t have touched her, but by the time she revealed herself, it was too late. He’d already had a taste of her body and didn’t have the strength to turn her away.

  “Nye Saer,” she said, her voice sounding almost musical in the close air. “Vampires are not welcome here. You know this, yet here you remain.”

  “You weren’t complaining last week, Eleanor.”

  “Things change.” She traced her fingers along the edge of his cloak, her teeth tugging at her bottom lip. “You must leave or suffer the consequences.”

  “But you still want it,” he murmured, stepping closer. “I can hear your heart beating. No matter what they say, you still want me, Eleanor.”

  Her hand trailed up his collar, along his neck, into his hair, and she pulled him against her, crushing her lips with his. He had no control where she was concerned, and he kissed her back, taking her as deeply as he could in such a public place.

  “Come,” she whispered against his swollen mouth.

  Nye felt the crackle in the air that betrayed the power in her command, but he didn’t have it in him to deny her. Taking her hand, she led him from the square and through the streets until they reached the wood that bordered against the far edge of town.

  “What is this?” he asked, snow crunching underfoot.

  Eleanor dropped his hand and pushed him back against a tree, kissing him again. His body began to take over and he grasped her waist, spinning her around and pinning her against the trunk of the ancient oak. Something deep inside him said this was a trap. He should’ve known better considering in his last life he’d been a spy for the English Crown. He should’ve known they’d turn her against him. He didn’t want to be a vampire—he was cheated by a cruel twist of fate—but a part of him loved this witch, and that was his downfall

  He kissed her with all the passion he could muster, sliding his tongue against hers, showing her how much she meant to him…how much he cared for her. But it was never going to be enough. He felt the magic rising in her before he could pull away, and he knew he’d failed. She shoved him back, a look of malice etched into her beautiful features.

  Gagging, he stumbled, clutching at his throat. “What have you done?”

  “The Unhallowed will suffer your presence no longer.” She pushed him again, and he fell backward into the snow with a thud, his movements becoming sluggish.

  So they’d bade her to kill him, then. Strangely, he didn’t feel that alarmed considering he was well aware of what the witches were capable of.

  Eleanor straddled him, pulling out a blade and pressing it against his forehead. The sting of metal cut into him, and he hissed at her, but she ignored his pitiful wailing and continued carving his skin.

  “Such an unfortunate life,” she crooned, tracing his scar with the tip of her bloody blade. The stench of his own blood was overpowering, threatening to take his control, but there was nothing he could do about it.

  “So much pain,” she murmured. “I will take it away. I will deliver you, Nye. I promise.”

  She began to speak in the strange la
nguage of the witches, and the symbol she’d cut into his forehead began to sear with unbelievable agony. “Eleanor—”

  There was a gust of wind, and suddenly, she was gone. Immediately, the burning pain stopped, and he sat up, gasping for air. Nye’s gaze locked onto a tall man standing on the opposite side of the clearing, his hand curled into Eleanor’s hair. She let out a whimper as he twisted his hand, a sick look of satisfaction on his face.

  Nye knew the man was a vampire. He could see it in his eyes—the way the color swirled from white into black—and in the pallor of his skin.

  “You know what you need to do, brother,” he said, forcing Eleanor to her knees. With his other hand, he drew a sword from under his black cloak and held it out hilt first.

  Stumbling to his feet, Nye took the sword, somehow knowing it was in his best interests if he did. Hesitating, he looked down at Eleanor and saw that her eyes were full of fear. She had no issues with taking his life, but when it came to hers…

  “The love you feel is false,” the man said. “End her and you will end your misery.”

  Eleanor’s eyes began to darken, her mouth twisting into a devilish smile. The air began to thicken, and he knew he was dead if he didn’t do what the man bade him. They’d both die. As the words formed in her throat, he raised the sword and struck with all his supernatural strength. He hardly felt it when the blade severed flesh and bone, but he felt his heart break…or what was left of it.

  The stench of blood was almost immediate as it splattered over the white snow, a stark contrast if he ever saw one. Eleanor’s body dropped with a thud, the red of her life soaking into the earth. Propping himself up with the bloody sword, he covered his nose and mouth with a trembling hand to smother the scent of his dead lover.

  Finally looking up at the man who’d saved him, he asked, “Who are you?”

  The man smirked and dropped Eleanor’s head. It landed in the snow with a dull thud as he theatrically dusted off his hands.

  “I am Regulus, and I’ve been watching you, Nye Saer.”

  Chapter 1

  Nye Saer had been through a lot in the last few weeks.

  That was saying something considering all the things he’d experienced in his four hundred years as a vampire.

  He sat at the rear bar of The Good Mixer—a little pub just off High Street in Camden, London—nursing a pint of the swill they deigned to call beer. Things had been crazy, battling ancient covens of witches and three-thousand-year-old fairy-vampire hybrids, and now the London vampires were without a leader, and everyone thought he was the one who could take the crown. If only it were that simple.

  It was a month since his best mate, Zac Degaud, had left with the hybrid Aya to go to America, and after all they’d been through together, he was beginning to feel lonely. Ironic considering he was still stuck with Tristan, the thousand-year-old Irish vampire, and Gabby Cohen, who was one of the most powerful witches alive.

  Nye had forsaken all that he’d come to know to go against his master—the founding vampire, Regulus—to side with Zac, and now everything was in turmoil.

  Regulus was a tough act to follow. He’d ruled with fear, respect, and an iron fist. Crossing him was not an option, and those who did paid in blood. Being truly immortal and able to compel vampires had been a valuable asset, but Nye had neither skill. As the leader of the Six, he’d commanded much of the same respect and fear, but he had nothing else to fall back on.

  If he made a threat, he’d better be able to follow through.

  Playing with his phone, he saw a text message from Tristan saying Gabby was at the Hampstead house. He worried a lot about her lately. After Regulus had died, the founder left all his earthly belongings to her, including the mansion where he’d lived a vast majority of his recent life. Time was a hard thing to fathom when one was four hundred, let alone two thousand years.

  Gabby had taken Regulus’s death hard and hadn’t been herself since. Not that he knew her very well beforehand, but he could tell these things. A powerful witch who felt the loss of her one true love with nothing to occupy her time. It was either a recipe for disaster or nothing to worry about. He was still waiting to see which it would be.

  Anyway, how a witch could fall in love with a vampire like Regulus, he’d never know.

  “The Six have disbanded,” he heard someone say behind him.

  Straightening up slightly, Nye allowed his hearing to reach out and grasp the words of the heated conversation behind him.

  “The only one left around here is Nye, and I don’t know what happened to him,” a second male voice said.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “He changed sides, didn’t he?”

  “He helped that American vampire kill Regulus,” another said.

  “He’s a spineless traitor to his own kind.”

  Nye tightened his grip around his pint of beer, silently seething. How was he meant to command the whole city if this is what they thought of him? Gabby thought he could do it, and Tristan was prepared to back him up as his right-hand man, but what good was it if the others didn’t fall in line?

  He knew they wouldn’t respond to heartfelt speeches and bribery. Vampires like these would only listen to one thing. Violence.

  Nye had been born a good man but had become a bad vampire given enough time. Even when he was human, he’d learned to do bad things to make the world a better place. Sometimes, doing terrible deeds was the only way to get people’s attention, especially when you needed to get a point across in record time.

  Nye downed the last of his beer and slammed the glass onto the bar, his fingers itching at the promise of getting dirty. He tuned out the vampires as they became rowdier in their disrespect and took a deep breath. There was one seated directly behind him with the biggest mouth of the lot. He’d called his new master spineless. Well, something could be done about that.

  The moment he turned around was the moment they realized who was sitting directly behind them. There was no hiding the scar on his face—the scar that marked who he was. No, the moment he turned around was the moment he taught these insubordinates a lesson. There was a reason he became the leader of the Six, and it wasn’t because of his good looks.

  Luckily for him, the bar was almost empty, and since the staff was in the know about their orientation, the back was unattended. Flipping up the collar of his jacket, Nye was out of his seat. His hand curled into the vampire’s hair, and a split second later, his face was hitting the tabletop with a crash. Everyone scattered, and the men that had been seated around the one with the big mouth stumbled to their feet, eyes wide with shock.

  “Tell me the bit again where I’m a spineless traitor,” he snarled into the vampire’s ear.

  “I… I…” the vampire stammered.

  “Speak up,” Nye roared into his ear. “I can’t hear you.”

  “I’m sorry!”

  The way he trembled it was a wonder the asshole didn’t piss his pants. This one let fear overcome everything, which made him a liability.

  “Sorry isn’t good enough, mate,” Nye snarled, pulling the vampire to his feet while his friends stared on in silence. “Even your friends don’t give a crap about saving you, so why the fuck should I let you go? Vampires like you need to be made an example of.”

  “Please,” the vampire whimpered.

  Nye let him go and stepped back, letting his gaze run over the assembled vampires. They all stood in rigid silence, waiting to see what he would do. They wanted a show and something they could use against him, and he would give them neither.

  Darting forward, he grasped the smart-mouthed vampire’s head and twisted. His neck snapped with an audible crack, and he fell to the ground in a heap. He was dead for now, but the guy would wake up with one hell of a headache and hurt pride. Nye would’ve preferred tearing his heart out and severing his spinal cord, but what point would that make? He was aiming for fear, not carnage.

  Stepping over the unconscious vampire, Nye eyed the
men around him with a dark expression. Without another word, he pushed the door open and left.

  There was only one way he was going to continue leading this city and that was with the most powerful weapon there was. It was the same for vampires as it was humans. Fear drove men and beasts to do what they were told if it was wielded in the right manner. This was something Nye could do.

  If he was ruling this city…tonight was a damn fine start.

  Nye slammed the front door to Regulus’s Hampstead home—he should really say it was Gabby’s—and thundered up the stairs.

  The walk back to the mansion and the lingering scent of blood had only served to rile him up even further. What the hell was he thinking when he agreed to this stupid charade?

  Thundering up the stairs, he shoved into the study where Tristan was seated by the fireplace. The knight glanced up and eyed his stature with a raised eyebrow.

  “Where have you been? You stink,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

  “I stink?” Nye exclaimed, pointing to himself.

  “I can’t leave you two alone for five seconds,” Gabby said, walking into the room behind him.

  Turning, Nye cast his gaze over the witch. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, her matching eyes sparkling. She was in a mood, and he wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. She held a small leather-bound book in her hands that carried the stink of magic and age. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was Katrin’s grimoire.

  She sat in the chair opposite Tristan by the fireplace, leaving him leaning against the desk.

  “What are you doing with that?” Nye asked, nodding at the grimoire.

  “I’ve been studying it,” Gabby replied, opening the cover and running her fingers across the page.

  Tristan was still staring at him, and he didn’t like it when he stared. He had this thing where he didn’t blink for the longest time, and that wasn’t normal.

  “What?” Nye snapped when he’d had enough.