Night Series Collection: Books 1 and 2
Read Night Series Collection: Books 1 and 2 Online
Authors: RS Black
The Night Series Collection
Crimson Night
Copyright 2013 © RS Black
All Hallows Night
Copyright 2014
©
RS Black
Cover Art by Damonza
Formatted by
Author’s HQ
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, RS Black, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in the context of reviews.
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The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patent Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2014 by RS Black, Honolulu, Hawaii, United States of America
Table of Contents
Welcome one and all to
Carnival Diabolique
- or what I affectionately like to call, the carnival of the damned. My name is Pandora, and though my face might not look familiar to you, you do know me. I'm a Nephilim. What does that mean? I'm half demon, what's my other name? Lust. I'm the dark craving that drives you mad, makes you want, makes you reckless and stupid. I'm the drug you'll do anything to get your hands on. But I'm not all bad. I fight for light, for goodness and truth. I love my job, killing vampires and werewolves, zombies, and freaks... it's what makes me happy. But people are starting to disappear and lately I've felt a dark presence lurking around me. I think it might be a death priest and that's really bad. There isn't much a demon like me fears, but I fear them. This should have been easy, me killing the fanged freaks, getting rid of my pesky priest problem, but I'm about to be betrayed by the one person I thought I could trust with my life and before the night is through I'll be covered in crimson...
To my critique partner who refused to let this one die…
A
ll accounts in this story are true. I don’t have much time to get it all down. They’re coming for me. I know this is a long shot, the hope that maybe someone might find this journal, might be able to warn the others…
My God, I can’t believe this has really happened. I fought so hard, I thought I had time…
we
had time. I thought we’d figured it all out. But we were fooled, right to the very end.
All I can say is I love him. I know why he did what he did and I forgive him, if you’re reading this, you have to tell them that. Tell them they have to forgive him. I know why now, I know everything.
My God, my God… I know it all. It’s so much worse than they think, the truth of it all… it’s so much worse.
I guess there’s only one place to start this story and that’s right at the very beginning, I wish I could go back there, wish I didn’t know what I know now… the truth is so much more horrible than fiction…
One year ago
T
he moon hung low, a bloody slash of color against the deepest ink of night. There were no stars to be seen. Clouds, thick and a shade lighter than the sky, moved at a lazy crawl, casting long malevolent shadows against the backdrop of the Black Hills Forest. Trees, their skeletal branches extended to the sky in prayerful worship, swayed from a strong breeze. The wind was chilly, nipping at my nose with a frost bitten kiss.
The only light for miles came off the neon pulse of carnival rides. The blues and yellows, red and greens, bled into the shadow, casting a sickly pallor on everything it touched.
I inhaled the night, taking the rich scents of pine, earth, and the grease soaked stench of carnival fare, deep into my lungs. I leaned against the metal fence, waiting, watching. The Ferris wheel I ran sat empty for the moment, but I knew it was a matter of time before I started seeing some action.
Guys thought they were so slick:
Hey, doll, let’s go ride the Ferris wheel. See I’m a sensitive kind of man. Isn’t the night pretty, oh what...I don’t know how my hand found your tit. But since it’s there, how ‘bout we make out?
So pathetic, it made me want to gag. Worst part of it was, night after night I saw each and every insipid girl fall for that tacky ploy. You’d think they’d have figured it out by now. Unfortunately I just ran the ride, too bad I couldn’t give the girls half a brain while I was at it. Humans disgusted me in so many ways. Or maybe I was too old and forgot what it was like to be young.
The cold seeped deep into my body, chilling my blood but doing nothing to bank the restless heat of Lust crowding my bones. I hadn’t sated the beast in over two nights, I needed to feed her. Luc—my boss—often told me I was too picky for my own good. Maybe he was right. But then again I was a creature of habit. I hadn’t suffered much more than the occasional headache and malaise from waiting for my perfect prey in over five thousand years. If it ain’t broke, why fix it?
The night rang with the cacophonous pitch of rides and the thrilling screams and laughter of riders. Some type of heavy metal played over the loudspeaker, too loud for me to tell who it was. Knowing Luc, it was probably something creepy and mood setting, a-la Black Sabbath.
I watched the scene with cold detachment, not paying much attention to the women or children. I wasn’t into that sorta thing. I preferred my prey young, muscular, and full of testosterone.
Crowds clamored, running from one ride to another. Lovers held hands, staring wordless into each other’s eyes, never suspecting or knowing that for some, this would be their final night.
This was
Carnival Diabolique
; the world’s greatest traveling show. People came in droves to see the hottest gig in town. We weren’t your typical carnies—greasy, fat, out of touch with the world. Our men were beautiful and the women so sweet, just looking at us gave you a toothache. This place was a Goth’s wet dream. We played dress up for the crowd and had a little bit of everything—from Cyber, to Trash, to Death Rocker.
I preferred the romanticism of Victorian myself. Black corset top, black elegant rider bustle skirt with red satin threading up the sides, vintage stockings and boots, right down to the Lolita style top hat. In this get-up I’d have made Marilyn Manson a very happy man indeed.
Diabolique
was Luc’s brainchild. Years ago, none of us could have imagined how popular and mainstream ‘dark’ would become. There’d been a time to admit you dabbled in darkness meant a swift and excruciating death. Dancing with the Devil was a strict no-no. Now, to be cool meant embracing every dark thought and deed and making it your own. Funny how things change.
Luc had pounced on this new subculture with a vengeance. There was nothing we missed. We were perfect. Against all odds we’d carved an exclusive niche for ourselves, each year growing in popularity.
This place was no theatrical display of talent, it was as genuine as it got. Not a surprise really, considering we
were
the monsters that went bump in the night.
Some people came because they liked to pretend they had a clue what it was like to live dark and bad. Seriously. I will never understand the appeal. I think if I’d had a choice I would have liked the ignorance and not the knowledge of knowing just how bad, bad really was.
Others came because they were curious. It wasn’t everyday that you found a carnival run by modelesque beauties that catered almost exclusively to a certain type of clientele. You wanted drink. It was here. Strippers? We had them too. Narcotics? The best money could buy.
How did we get away with all this?
Let’s just say we had our ways. After thousands of years, my kind had perfected the art of stealth. If we didn’t want you to know something, you wouldn’t.
I’m sure it’s obvious by now this carnival is a front. For some, this will be a night of fun, with no regrets and little memory of it. For others deemed worthy, well, they might wish they’d not been chosen for that dubious honor.
I was nice. I played with my pets, then sent them along their merry way. I didn’t kill if I didn’t have to. But some—I glanced at our Master of Ceremonies, Bubba, walking up to the big top platform—were not so nice.
“Two please.”
I turned and stared at a man trying to push two ticket stubs into my hands. He had his arm draped protectively around a petite little thing. With her big blue eyes and corn silk hair she reminded me oddly of a pixie. Fragile, too delicate to toy with, and a complete waste of my time. The man on the other hand was a different matter entirely.
I took the tickets and as my fingers grazed his, a jolt of electricity passed from him to me. That hot current shivered down my spine and made me burn, tightening things low in my belly. He jumped and I smiled. I knew he’d felt it too.
Mine
. Lust undulated through my body, coming alive like a caged lioness restless to be set loose. She paced back and forth, screaming, clawing for release.
Soon, I told her.
Her soul bristled inside me like a rattler coiled for the strike. She hated to wait. As demons often do, she craved instant gratification.
Within this shell, this body, beats one heart and two souls. Me—Pandora—and the demon—Lust. Desire, need, sex they feed her, make her stronger. The way I learned to control her was to feed her frequently, every two or three days usually kept her sated and contented.
I’d just had sex yesterday, but something about this man had Lust wiggling around like a girl with her first crush.
I let my gaze slide slowly up the long length of his muscled frame.