Prologue for ROR series
As with all good romances, this starts with a man and a woman—or rather, two men and a woman…
Centuries ago, humans believed in things beyond their comprehension more readily. Supernaturals and their non-magical counterparts co-existed by using fairy tales, myths, and folklore to create a world where they interacted on specific terms that protected everyone. But as all species do, both sides of the coin evolved and dissension within their ranks and with one another caused internal wars, famine, and other tragedies.
The supernaturals evolved more quickly than humans, so the ancient bloodlines gathered together to form a governing body for all the non-human species. For a long time, this group made sure to curate history in a way that did not dishonor the gods or destiny, but kept humans from interfering in their business.
The stories of conflict, triumph, and regret from human history were often supernatural, but the truth was concealed. Eventually, humans turned their efforts towards science rather than spiritualism and the tales of things that go bump in thenight became legend. This allowed the Society to focus solely on their own and as time went on, they expanded across the globe.
Our love story begins with an ancient woman who drew the attention of two supes in the Society. A warlock and a vampire, brothers in spirit if not blood, ascended to their council seats to become the last survivors of their names. Their families were decimated in various conflicts over the years and these two men grew resentful of the Society’s leniency towards humans and lower tier supes alike. They were both in love with the ancient woman, though, and for a time after they mated with her, it settled their need for vengeance.
But evolution never ends and once humans advanced far enough to threaten supernaturals again, their thirst for revenge flared again. When they couldn’t convince the Society council to conquer the non-magical beings, the brothers left their positions to work as undercover agents within a growing organization of humans dedicated to fomenting crime and strife. The warlock climbed the ranks of leadership over many decades and the vampire dove into the scientific program; together, they conspired to control the human population through their own weapons and technology.
When their true aims were discovered by the Society and their mate, they got exiled. By then, the warlock was in full control of the global criminal organization that operated under many names in many countries. He and his brother pleaded with their mate to join them, and when she refused to alter the course of Fate, he performed a forbidden ritual to unmate them from her.
The consequences of his reckless, selfish decision echoed through the world like wildfire. Wars broke out, treaties soured, crops died, and disease raged across the lands. Society members around the world confiscated all the tomes containinginformation on revoking a mate bond to prevent another ripple of magic that powerful from being released.
Unfortunately, the anguish of being cut off from their magically intended partner affected the vampire and the warlock as well. Their organization was thriving in the chaos the revocation caused, but they could barely stand to be in the same room as one another. The time came when they argued so often that it threatened their mission and they split the organization in half.
Each took the half they preferred—the warlock keeping the criminal wing and the vampire taking the technological sector. They vowed to share resources when required, but their empires would remain separated for good.
As technology continued to advance, The Company branched out into mercenary pursuits and the vampire blended magic and science so well that he created a pocket dimension to hide his labs, agents, and their secrets within. He named it The Rift in honor of the divide between him and his brother and once it was fully operational, he retreated into a world far away from the humans he despised.
That seclusion kept him from knowing his brother and their former lover were briefly reunited during the sparkling days of disco. Despite the cadre of new mates the Fates provided the ancient one, she relented one last time and from that tragic mistake, a child was born.
In order to protect her from her heritage, the child was left at one of the hybrid enclaves created by the Society and eventually adopted. She lived an inauspicious life as a ‘lost one’ until one day, the small amount of magic she could access sparked and she ran from her life, including the Guardian watching from the shadows.
Only the Fates could have conspired for this child to find her way to the portal to The Rift and settle there without knowing what she’d discover on the other side.
Delilah Lenore O’Hara wasnevermeant to set foot in The Rift, but once she did, it started a cascade of events that cannot be prevented.
This time, the story begins with a a woman who has lots of men, but one who is changing her entire world.
The Artist Has No Options
RAFE
Istare up at the twilight sky, watching it bruise from blue to violet to the color of a livid wound. As I lie there, I wonder for the thousandth time how I could have managed, again and again, to blast my entire life to smithereens.
There is a kind of genius to it, honestly. Every single time, it’s me—I’m the black hole that swallows up light. I’m the rot at the root of every orchard. My primary would say I am the architect of my own exquisite hell. And yet, like a proper addict, I keep coming back, keep picking my way through the wreckage to find the next thing to love and destroy.
The worst part is that I’m only the catalyst; someone else does the actual destruction and takes me with it.
I always know when it’s coming. Other people call it intuition, but I have a more cynical name for it: inevitability. Maybe I should have figured out how to shut off my gut and blindly believe that things will work out. But that’s not me; I’m the one who walks into the fire grinning, expecting to get burned, and then acts surprised when my skin scorches and splits. It might be easier if I could blame the universe, or trauma, or fate, but Ihave always known that my greatest talent is not being enough to keep people from leaving.
Tonight, I am lying on the altar rock in the yard, a place that isn’t mine but became mine by proximity. The altar is enormous, rough-edged, and flat—a table for gods or beasts, depending on your mood. For the cat, it is her sanctum; for me, a slab where I splay out and let the ache in my body and soul have its way. Compared to this, even the worst hangover is a vacation. I lie there, eyes closed, and let the weight and sorrow sink through my bones and down into the granite, as if the earth might leach it away if I am still enough. Silence builds up in my ears until I hear my pulse thudding, a faint drumbeat of animal life refusing to surrender.
Once again, I will have to give up someone I love to make another happy despite their insistence that I would not.
In the near distance, I sense her moving through the woods. Not the cat, but her—my wife, the one who made me whole only to utterly annihilate me. Her ring bites into my finger, burning the skin beneath it with a weird, hot-cold energy. It hurts in a way that I almost enjoy—the pain translating into all the things I’ve lost yet still want. I feel her, a hybrid of rage and sorrow. I should answer, should rise from the rock and track her down, but the gravity of my failure pins me in place.
I tell myself I will not let myself be the villain in another person’s tragedy. Not after everything that happened with Wilde and Victor, not after what I did to Alistair and the other ex-mates whose names I cannot even utter without a sense of nausea. I’ve passed my lifetime quota of self-inflicted wounds, both literal and emotional.
Yet here I am contemplating the direst of solutions to a problem that continually presents itself.
The truth is, I don’t know if I have it in me to stop what I started here—not really. My shame is edged with a kind of pride. If I’m going to fuck up, I want to do it in a way that is final this time. I want people to gasp at the wreckage and say, ‘Maybe I was wrong. I shouldn’t have promised things I couldn’t deliver’. Because that’s what they’ve done over and over… made sweet promises that they could not keep with little care for those they would harm with that self-deception.
It starts, as these things always do, with a small, beautiful lie. Wilde, with his dumb, open-mouthed sincerity, made me believe that he truly did not worry about who his paramours were involved with because he was so egalitarian. Underneath it, though, he only meant thathecould do what and whom he wished. When I became intimate with Alistair, it was a matter of time before the pattern repeated: the triangulation, the jealousy, the guilt and then… the punishments. Letting go of Victor wasn’t enough; no, he had to take Alistair, too, and I let him.
