Desired (Book #5 in the Vampire Journals) E-Book

Morgan Rice

• Herausgeber: Lukeman Literary Management
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: The Vampire Journals
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 356

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

"A book to rival TWILIGHT and VAMPIRE DIARIES, and one that will have you wanting to keep reading until the very last page! If you are into adventure, love and vampires this book is the one for you!"
--Vampirebooksite.com (Turned)DESIRED is Book #5 in the #1 Bestselling series THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS, which begins with TURNED (Book #1)! In DESIRED (Book #5 in the Vampire Journals), Caitlin Paine wakes to discover that she has once again traveled back in time. This time, she has landed in eighteenth century Paris, an age of great opulence, of kings and queens—but also of revolution. Reunited with her true love, Caleb, the two of them finally have the quiet, romantic time together that they never had. They spend idyllic time together in the city of Paris, visiting its most romantic sites, as their love grows ever deeper. Caitlin decides to give up the search for her father, so that she can savor this time and place, and spend her life with Caleb. Caleb takes her to his medieval castle, near the ocean, and Caitlin is happier than she ever dreamed. But their idyllic time together is not destined to last forever, and events intercede that force the two of them apart. Caitlin once again finds herself united with Aiden and his coven, with Polly and with new friends, as she focuses again on her training, and on her mission. She is introduced to the lavish world of Versailles, and encounters outfits and opulence beyond what she ever dreamed. With never ending feasts and parties and concerts, Versailles is a world of its own. She is happily reunited with her bother Sam, who is also back in time, and having dreams of their father, too. But all is not as well as it seems. Kyle has traveled back in time, too—this time, with his evil sidekick, Sergei—and he is more determined than ever to kill Caitlin. And Sam and Polly each fall ever deeper into toxic relationships, which just might threaten to destroy everything around them. As Caitlin becomes a true and hardened warrior, she comes closer than ever to finding her father, and the mythical Shield. The climactic, action-packed ending, takes Caitlin through a whirlwind of Paris' most important medieval locations, on a hunt for clues. But surviving this time will demand skills she never dreamed she had. And reuniting with Caleb will require her to make the hardest choices—and sacrifices—of her life.

Leseprobe

desired

(book #5 in the Vampire Journals)

acclaim for THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS

“Rice does a great job of pulling you into the story from the beginning, utilizing a great descriptive quality that transcends the mere painting of the setting….Nicely written and an extremely fast read.”

--Black Lagoon Reviews (regarding Turned)

“An ideal story for young readers. Morgan Rice did a good job spinning an interesting twist…Refreshing and unique. The series focuses around one girl…one extraordinary girl!...Easy to read but extremely fast-paced... Rated PG.”

--The Romance Reviews (regarding Turned)

“Grabbed my attention from the beginning and did not let go….This story is an amazing adventure that is fast paced and action packed from the very beginning. There is not a dull moment to be found.”

--Paranormal Romance Guild (regarding Turned)

“Jam packed with action, romance, adventure, and suspense. Get your hands on this one and fall in love all over again.”

--vampirebooksite.com (regarding Turned)

“A great plot, and this especially was the kind of book you will have trouble putting down at night. The ending was a cliffhanger that was so spectacular that you will immediately want to buy the next book, just to see what happens.”

--The Dallas Examiner (regarding Loved)

“A book to rival TWILIGHT and VAMPIRE DIARIES, and one that will have you wanting to keep reading until the very last page! If you are into adventure, love and vampires this book is the one for you!”

--Vampirebooksite.com (regarding Turned)

“Morgan Rice proves herself again to be an extremely talented storyteller….This would appeal to a wide range of audiences, including younger fans of the vampire/fantasy genre. It ended with an unexpected cliffhanger that leaves you shocked.”

--The Romance Reviews (regarding Loved)

About Morgan Rice

Morgan Rice is the #1 bestselling author of THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS, a young adult series comprising eleven books (and counting); the #1 bestselling series THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY, a post-apocalyptic thriller comprising two books (and counting); and the #1 bestselling epic fantasy series THE SORCERER’S RING, comprising thirteen books (and counting).

Morgan’s books are available in audio and print editions, and translations of the books are available in German, French, Italian, Spanish, Portugese, Japanese, Chinese, Swedish, Dutch, Turkish, Hungarian, Czech and Slovak (with more languages forthcoming).

Morgan loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.morganricebooks.com to join the email list, receive a free book, receive free giveaways, download the free app, get the latest exclusive news, connect on Facebook and Twitter, and stay in touch!

Books by Morgan Rice

THE SORCERER’S RINGA QUEST OF HEROES (Book #1)A MARCH OF KINGS (Book #2)

A FATE OF DRAGONS (Book #3)

A CRY OF HONOR (Book #4)

A VOW OF GLORY (Book #5)A CHARGE OF VALOR (Book #6)A RITE OF SWORDS (Book #7)

A GRANT OF ARMS (Book #8)A SKY OF SPELLS (Book #9)

A SEA OF SHIELDS (Book #10)A REIGN OF STEEL (Book #11)A LAND OF FIRE (Book #12)A RULE OF QUEENS (Book #13)

THE SURVIVAL TRILOGYARENA ONE: SLAVERSUNNERS (Book #1)ARENA TWO (Book #2)

THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS

TURNED (Book #1)

LOVED (Book #2)BETRAYED (Book #3)

DESTINED (Book #4)

DESIRED (Book #5)BETROTHED (Book #6)

VOWED (Book #7)

FOUND (Book #8)

RESURRECTED (Book #9)CRAVED (Book #10)FATED (Book #11)

Listen to THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS series in audio book format!

Now available on: 

Amazon

Audible

Copyright © 2012 by Morgan Rice

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

FACT:

Montmartre, Paris, is famous for its huge church, the Sacré-Cœur Basilica, built in the 19th century. But sitting beside it, high atop the hill, stands the little known Church of Saint Peter. This small, obscure church is much older than its neighbor, dating back to the 3rd century, and has an even greater importance: it was in this location that the vows were taken that led to the founding of the Society of Jesus.

FACT:

Sainte Chapelle, located a small island in the center of Paris (not far from the famous Notre Dame), was built in the 13th century, and for hundreds of years housed the most precious relics of Christendom, including the Crown of Thorns, the Holy Lance, and pieces of the cross upon which Jesus was crucified. The relics were stored in a large, ornate silver chest….

“Why art thou yet so fair? shall I believe

That unsubstantial death is amorous,

And that the lean abhorred monster keeps

Thee here in dark to be his paramour?

For fear of that, I still will stay with thee;

And never from this palace of dim night

Depart again…”

--William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

CHAPTER ONE

Paris, France

(July, 1789)

Caitlin Paine awoke to blackness.

The air was heavy, and she struggled to breathe as she tried to move. She was lying on her back, on a hard surface. It was cool and damp, and a tiny sliver of light came in at her as she looked up.

Her shoulders were squeezed together, but with an effort she just managed to reach up. She stretched out her palms and felt the surface above. Stone. She ran her hands along it, felt the dimensions, and realized she was boxed in. In a coffin.

Caitlin’s heart started to pound. She hated tight spaces, and she started breathing harder. She wondered if she were dreaming, stuck in some sort of horrible limbo, or if she had truly awakened in some other time, and some other place.

She reached up again, with both hands, and with all her might, pushed. It moved a fraction of an inch, just enough for her to slide a finger into the crack. She pushed again, with all her might, and the heavy stone lid moved further, with the sound of stone scraping against stone.

She squeezed more fingers into the widening crack, and with all her might, shoved. This time, the lid came off.

Caitlin sat up, breathing hard, looking all around. Her lungs gasped in the fresh air, and she braced herself at the light, raising her hands to her eyes. How long had she been in such darkness? she wondered.

As she sat there, Shielding her eyes, she listened, bracing herself for any noise, for any movement. She remembered how rough her graveyard awakening had been in Italy, and this time, she didn’t want to leave anything to chance. She was prepared for anything, ready to defend herself against whatever villagers, or vampires—or whatever else—might be nearby.

But this time, all was silence. She slowly pried open her eyes, and saw that she was, indeed, alone. As her eyes adjusted, she realized it wasn’t, actually, that bright in here. She was in a cavernous, stone room, with low, arched ceilings. It looked like the vault of a church. The room was lit only by the occasional burning candle. It must be night, she realized.

Now that her eyes adjusted, she looked around carefully. She had been right: she’d been lying in a stone sarcophagus, in the corner of a stone room, in what appeared to be the crypt of a church. The room was empty, except for a few stone statues, and several other sarcophagi.

Caitlin stepped out the sarcophagus. She stretched, testing all of her muscles. It felt good to stand again. She was grateful that she hadn’t awakened this time to a battle. At least she had a few quiet moments to collect herself.

But she was still so disoriented. Her mind felt heavy, like she had awoken from a thousand year sleep. She also, immediately, felt a hunger pang.

Where was she? she wondered again. What year was it?

And more importantly, where was Caleb?

She was crestfallen that he was not at her side.

Caitlin surveyed the room, looking for a sign of him anywhere. But there was nothing. The other sarcophagi were all open and empty, and there was nowhere else he could be hiding.

“Hello?” she called out. “Caleb?”

She took a few tentative steps into the room, and saw a low, arched doorway, the only way in or out. She went to it and tried the knob. Unlocked, the door swung open easily.

Before she left the room, she turned and surveyed her surroundings, making sure she hadn’t left anything she needed. She reached down and felt her necklace, still around her neck; she reached into her pockets, and was reassured to feel her journal, and the one, large key. It was all that she had left in the world, and it was all that she needed.

As Caitlin exited, she proceeded down a long, arched stone hallway. She could think only of finding Caleb. Surely, he had gone back with her this time. Hadn’t he?

And if he had, would he remember her this time? She could not possibly imagine having to go through all that again, having to search for him, and then having him not remember. No. She prayed that this time would be different. He was alive, she assured herself, and they had gone back together. They must have.

But as she hurried down the corridor, and up a small flight of stone steps, she felt her pace increasing, and felt that familiar sinking feeling in her chest that he had not come back with her. After all, he had not awakened at her side, holding her hand, he was not there to reassure her. Did that mean he had not made the trip back? The pit in her stomach grew bigger.

And what about Sam? He had been there, too. Why wasn’t there any sign of him?

Caitlin finally reached the top of the staircase, opened another door, and stood there, amazed at the sight. She was standing in the main chapel of an extraordinary church. She had never seen such high ceilings, so much stained-glass, such an enormous, elaborate altar. The rows of pews stretched forever, and it looked like this place could hold thousands of people.

Luckily, it was empty. Candles burned everywhere, but clearly, it was late. She was grateful for that: the last thing she wanted was to walk out into a crowd of thousands of people staring right at her.

Caitlin walked slowly, right down the center of the isle, heading towards the exit. She was on the lookout for Caleb, for Sam, or maybe even for a priest. Someone like that priest in Assisi, who might welcome her, explain things to her. Who might tell her where she was, and when, and why.

But there was no one. Caitlin seemed to be completely, utterly alone.

Caitlin reached the huge, double doors, and braced herself to face whatever might be outside.

As she opened them, she gasped. The night was lit up by street torches everywhere, and before her was a large crowd of people. They weren’t waiting to enter the church, but rather were milling around, in a large, open plaza. It was a busy, festive night scene, and as Caitlin felt the heat, she knew that it was summer. She was shocked by the sight of all these people, by their antiquated wardrobe, by their formality. Luckily, no one seemed to notice her. But she couldn’t take her eyes off of them.

There were hundreds of people, most dressed formally, all clearly from another century. Among them were horses, carriages, street peddlers, artists, singers. It was a crowded, summer night scene, and it was overwhelming. She wondered what year it could be, and what place she could have possibly landed in. More importantly, as she scanned all the strange and foreign faces, she wondered if Caleb could be waiting among them.

She scanned the crowd desperately, hoping, trying to convince herself that Caleb, or maybe Sam, could be among them. She looked every which way, but after several minutes, she realized they simply were not here.

Caitlin took several steps out, into the square, and then turned and faced the church, hoping that perhaps she would recognize its façade, and that it would give her a hint as to where she was.

It did. She was hardly an expert on architecture, or history, or churches, but some things she knew. Some places were so obvious, so etched into the public consciousness, that she was sure she could recognize them. And this was one of those.

She was standing before the Notre Dame.

She was in Paris.

It was a place she could not mistake for any other. Its three huge front doors, ornately carved; the dozens of small statues above them; its elaborate façade reaching hundreds of feet into the sky. It was one of the most recognizable places on earth. She had seen it online before, many times. She couldn’t believe it: she was really in Paris.

Caitlin had always wanted to go to Paris, had always begged her mother to take her. When she had a boyfriend once, in high school, she had always hoped he’d take her there. It was a place she had always dreamed of going, and it took her breath away that she was actually here. And in another century.

Caitlin felt herself get jostled in the thickening crowd, and she suddenly looked down and took stock of her clothes. She was mortified to see that she was still dressed in the simple prison garb that Kyle had given her in the Colosseum in Rome. She wore a canvas tunic, rough against her skin, crudely cut, way too big for her, tied over her torso and legs with a piece of rope. Her hair was matted, unwashed, in her face. She looked like an escaped prisoner, or a vagabond.

Feeling more anxious, Caitlin again looked for Caleb, for Sam, for anyone she recognized, anyone that could help her. She had never felt more alone, and she wanted nothing more than to lay her eyes on them, to know that she did not come back to this place by herself, to know that everything would be all right.

But she recognized no one.

Maybe I am the only one, she thought. Maybe I am really on my own again.

The thought of it pierced her stomach like a knife. She wanted to curl up, to crawl back and hide in the church, to be sent to some other time, to some other place—any place where she could wake up and see someone she knew.

But she toughened herself. She knew there was no retreat, no option but to move forward. She’d just have to be brave, to find her way in this time and place. There was simply no other choice.

*

Caitlin had to get away from the crowd. She needed to be alone, to rest, to feed, to think. She had to figure out where to go, where to look for Caleb, and if he was even here. Just as important, she had to figure out why she was in the city, and in this time. She didn’t even know what year it was.

A person brushed passed her, and Caitlin reached out and grabbed his arm, overwhelmed with a sudden desire to know.

He turned and looked at her, startled at being stopped so abruptly.

“I’m sorry,” she said, realizing how dry her throat was, and how ragged she must have appeared, as she uttered her first words, “but what year is it?”

She was embarrassed even as she asked it, realizing that she must have seemed crazy.

“Year?” the confused man asked back.

“Um…I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to…remember.”

The man looked her up and down, then slowly shook his head, as if deciding there was something wrong with her.

“It’s 1789, of course. And we’re not even close to New Year’s, so you really have no excuse,” he said, shaking his head derisively, and marching off.

1789. The reality of those numbers raced through Caitlin’s mind. She recalled that she had last been  in the year 1791. Two years. Not that far off.

Yet, she was in Paris now, an entirely different world than Venice. Why here? Why now?

She racked her brain, trying desperately to remember her history classes, to remember what had happened in France in 1789. She was embarrassed to realize that she couldn’t. She kicked herself once again for not paying closer attention in class. If she had known back in high school that she’d one day be traveling back in time, she’d have studied her history through the night, and would have made an effort to memorize everything.

It didn’t matter now, she realized. Now, she was a part of history. Now, she had a chance to change it, and to change herself. The past, she realized, could be changed. Just because certain events had happened in the history books, it didn’t mean that she, traveling back, couldn’t change them now. In a sense, she already had: her appearance here, in this time, would affect everything. That, in turn, could, in its own small way, change the course of history.

It made her feel the importance of her actions all the more. The past was hers to create again.

Taking in her elegant surroundings, Caitlin began to relax a bit, and even to feel a bit encouraged. At least she had landed in a beautiful place, in a beautiful city, and in a beautiful time. This was hardly the stone age, after all, and it was not like she had appeared in the middle of nowhere. Everything around her looked immaculate, and the people were all dressed so nicely, and the cobblestone streets shined in the torchlight. And the one thing she did remember about Paris in the 18th century was that it was a luxurious time for France, a time of great wealth, one in which kings and queens still ruled.

Caitlin realized that the Notre Dame was on a small island, and she felt the need to get off it. It was just too crowded here, and she needed some peace. She spotted several small foot bridges leading off it, and headed towards one. She allowed herself to hope that maybe Caleb’s presence was leading her in a particular direction.

As she walked over the river, she saw how beautiful the night was in Paris, lit by the torchlight all along the river, and by the full moon. She thought of Caleb, and wished he was by her side to enjoy the sight with her.

As she walked across the bridge, looking down at the water, memories overcame her. She thought of Pollepel, of the Hudson River at night, of the way the moon lit up the river. She had a sudden urge to leap off the bridge, to test her wings, to see if she could fly again, and to soar high above it.

But she felt weak, and hungry, and as she leaned back, she couldn’t even feel the presence of her wings at all. She worried if the trip back in time had affected her abilities, her powers. She didn’t feel nearly as strong as she once had. In fact, she felt nearly human. Frail. Vulnerable. She didn’t like the feeling.

After Caitlin crossed the river, she walked down side streets, wandering for hours, hopelessly lost. She walked through twisting, turning streets, further and further from the river, heading north. She was amazed by the city. In some respects, it felt similar to Venice and Florence in 1791. Like those cities, Paris was still the same, even to the way it appeared in the 21st century. She had never been here, but she had seen photos, and she was shocked to recognize so many buildings and monuments.

The streets here, too, were mostly cobblestone, filled with horse and carriages, or the occasional horse with a lone rider. People walked in elaborate costumes, strolling leisurely, with all the time in the world. Like those cities, there was no plumbing here either, and Caitlin couldn’t help noticing the waste in the streets, and recoiling at the awful stench in the summer heat. She wished she still had one of those small potpourri bags that Polly had given her in Venice.

But unlike those other cities, Paris was a world unto itself. The streets were wider here, the buildings were lower, and they were more beautifully designed. The city felt older, more precious, more beautiful. It was also less crowded: the further she went from the Notre Dame, the fewer people she saw. Maybe it was just because it was late at night, but the streets felt nearly empty.

She walked and walked, her legs and feet growing weary, searching around every corner for any sign of Caleb, any clue that might lead her in a special direction. There was nothing.

Every twenty blocks or so the neighborhood changed, and the feeling changed, too. As she headed further and further north, she found herself ascending a hill, in a new district, this one with narrow alleyways, and several bars. As she passed by a corner bar, she saw a man sprawled out, drunk, unconscious against the wall. The street was completely empty, and for a moment, Caitlin was overcome by the worst hunger pang. She felt like it was tearing her stomach in half.

She saw the man lying there, zoomed in on his neck, and saw the blood pulsing within it. At that moment, she wanted more than anything to descend on him, to feed. The feeling was beyond an urge—it was more like a command. Her body screamed at her to do it.

It took every last ounce of Caitlin’s will to look away. She would rather die of starvation than hurt another human.

She looked around and wondered if there were a forest near here, a place she could hunt. While she had seen some occasional dirt roads and parks in the city, she hadn’t seen anything like a forest.

At just that moment, the door to the bar burst open, and a man stumbled out of it—thrown out, actually—by one of the wait staff. He cursed and screamed at them, clearly drunk.

Then he turned and set his sights on Caitlin.

He was well built, and he looked at Caitlin with ill intent.

She felt herself tense up. She wondered again, desperately, whether any of her powers remained.

She turned and walked away, walking faster, but she sensed the man following her.

Before she could turn, a second later, he grabbed her from behind, in a bear hug. He was faster and stronger than she had imagined, and she could smell his awful breath over her shoulder.

But the man was also drunk. He stumbled, even as he held her, and Caitlin focused, remembered her training, and sidestepped and swept him, using one of the fighting techniques that Aiden had taught her on Pollepel. The man went flying, landing on his back.

Caitlin suddenly had a flashback to Rome, of the Colosseum, of fighting on the stadium floor while being charged by multiple fighters. It was so vivid, for a moment, she forgot where she was.

She snapped out of it just in time. The drunk man got up, stumbled, and charged her again. Caitlin waited to the last second, then sidestepped, and he went flying, falling flat on his own face.

He was dazed, and before he could get up again, Caitlin hurried to get away. She was glad she had got the best of him, but the incident shook her. It worried her that she was still having flashbacks of Rome. She also hadn’t felt her supernatural strength. She still felt as frail as a human. The thought of that, more than anything else, scared her. She was truly on her own now.

Caitlin looked all around, starting to feel frantic with worry about where to go, about what to do next. Her legs burned from the walking, and she began to feel a sense of despair.

That was when she saw it. She looked up, and saw before her a huge hill. On top of that, sat a large, medieval abbey. For some reason she couldn’t explain, she felt drawn to it. The hill was daunting, but she didn’t see what other choice she had.

Caitlin hiked up the entire hill, more tired than she’d just about ever been, and wishing she could fly.

She finally reached the front doors of the abbey, and looked up at the massive, oak doors. This place looked ancient. She marveled at the fact that, though it was 1789, this church had already been around for what looked like thousands of years.

She didn’t know why, but she felt drawn here. Seeing nowhere else to go, she got her courage up, and knocked softly.

There was no response.

Caitlin tried the knob and was surprised to find it open. She let herself in.

The ancient door creaked open slowly, and it took a moment for Caitlin’s eyes to adjust to the cavernous, dark church. As she surveyed it, she was impressed by the scope and solemnity of the place. It was still late at night, and this simple, austere, church, made entirely of stone, adorned in stained-glass windows, was lit by large candles, everywhere, burning low. At its far end sat a simple altar, around which were placed dozens more candles.

Otherwise, it seemed empty.

Caitlin wondered for a moment what she was doing here. Was there a special reason? Or had her mind just been playing tricks on her?

A side door suddenly opened, and Caitlin spun.

Walking towards her, Caitlin was surprised to see, was a nun—short, frail, dressed in flowing white robes, with a white hood. She walked slowly, and walked right up to Caitlin.

She pulled back her hood, looked up at her and smiled. She had large, shining blue eyes, and seemed too young to be a nun. As she smiled wide, Caitlin could feel the warmth coming off of her. She also sensed that she was one of hers: a vampire.

“Sister Paine,” the nun said softly. “It is an honor to have you.”

CHAPTER TWO

Her world felt surreal as the nun led Caitlin through the abbey, down a long corridor. It was a beautiful place, and it was clear that it was actively lived in, with nuns in white robes walking about, getting ready, it seemed, for the morning services. One of them swung a decanter as she went, spreading delicate incense, while others were chanting soft morning prayers.

After several minutes of walking in silence, Caitlin began to wonder where the nun was leading her. Finally, they stopped before a single door. The nun opened it, revealing a small, humble room, with a view overlooking Paris. It reminded Caitlin of the room she’d stayed in in that cloister in Siena.

“On the bed, you’ll find a change of clothing,” the nun said. “There is a well in which to bathe, in our courtyard,” she said. She pointed, “and that is for you.”

Caitlin followed her finger and saw a small, stone pedestal in the corner of the room, on which sat a silver goblet, filled with a white liquid. The nun smiled back.

“You have everything you need here for a fresh night’s sleep. After that, the choice is yours to make.”

“Choice?” Caitlin asked.

“I am told that you have one key already. You will need to find the other three. The choice, though, of whether to fulfill your mission and continue on your journey is always yours.”

“This is for you.”

She reached out and handed Caitlin a cylindrical, silver case, covered in jewels.

“It is a letter from your father. Just for you. We have been guarding it for centuries. It has never been opened.”

Caitlin took it in awe, feeling its weight in her hand.

“I do hope that you will continue with your mission,” she said softly. “We need you, Caitlin.”

The nun suddenly turned to go.

“Wait!” Caitlin yelled out.

She stopped.

“I’m in Paris, correct? In 1789?”

The woman smiled back. “That is correct.”

“But why? Why am I here? Why now? Why this place?”

“I’m afraid that is for you to find out. I am but a simple servant.”

“But why was I drawn to this church?”

“You are in the Abbey of Saint Peter. In Montmartre,” the woman said. “It has been here for thousands of years. It is a very sacred place.”

“Why?” Caitlin pressed.

“This was the place in which everyone met to take their vows for the founding of the Society of Jesus. It is in this place that Christianity was born.”

Caitlin stared back, speechless, and the nun finally smiled and said, “Welcome.”

And with that, she bowed slightly, and walked away, closing the door gently behind her.

Caitlin turned and surveyed the room. She was grateful for the hospitality, for the change of clothes, for the chance to bathe, for the comfortable bed that she saw lying in the corner. She didn’t think she could take one more step. In fact, she was so tired, she felt like she could sleep forever.

Holding the bejeweled case, she walked to the corner of the room, and set it down. The scroll could wait. But her hunger couldn’t.

She lifted the overflowing goblet and examined it. She could already sense what it contained: white blood.

She put it to her lips and drank. It was sweeter than red blood and went down more easily—and it ran through her veins faster. Within moments, she felt reborn, and stronger than she’d ever had. She could have drank forever.

Caitlin finally set down the empty goblet, and took the silver case with her to bed. She lay down, and realized how sore her legs were. It felt so good to just lay there.

She leaned back and rested her head against the small, simple pillow, and closed her eyes, just for a second. She was resolved to open them in just a moment, and read her father’s letter.

But the moment her eyes closed, an incredible exhaustion overcame her. She couldn’t open them again if she tried. Within seconds, she was fast asleep.

*

Caitlin stood on the floor of the Roman Colosseum, dressed in full battle gear, holding a sword. She was ready to challenge whoever attacked her—indeed, felt the urge to fight. But as she spun around, in every direction, she saw that the stadium was empty. She looked up at the rows of seats, and saw that the entire place was vacant.

Caitlin blinked, and when she opened her eyes, she was no longer in the Colosseum, but rather in the Vatican, in the Sistine Chapel. She still held her sword, but now was dressed in robes.

She looked about the room and saw hundreds of vampires, lined up neatly, dressed in white robes, with glowing blue eyes. They stood patiently along the wall, silent, at perfect attention.

Caitlin dropped her sword in the empty chamber, and it landed with a clink. She walked slowly towards the head priest, reached out, and took from him a huge silver goblet, filled with white blood. She drank, and the liquid overflowed and poured down her cheeks.

Suddenly, Caitlin found herself alone in the desert. She was walking barefoot on the baked dirt, the sun beating down her, and she held a gigantic key in her hand. But the key was so big—unnaturally big—and the weight of it was pulling her down.

She walked and walked, gasping for air in the heat, until finally, she came to a huge mountain. At the top of that mountain, she saw a man standing there, looking down, smiling.

She knew it was her father.

Caitlin broke into a sprint, running for all she was worth, trying to make it up the mountain, getting closer and closer to him. As she did, the sun grew higher, hotter in the sky, bearing down on her, seeming to come from right behind her father himself. It was as if he were the sun, and she were heading right into it.

Her ascent grew hotter, higher, and she gasped for breath as she got close. He stood with his arms are outstretched, waiting to embrace her.

But the hill became steeper and she was just too tired. She couldn’t go any further. She collapsed where she was.

Caitlin blinked, and when she opened her eyes, she saw her father standing over her, leaning down, a warm smile on his face.

“Caitlin,” he said. “My daughter. I’m so proud of you.”

She tried to reach out, to hold him, but the key was now on top of her, and it was too heavy, pinning her down.

She looked up at him, trying to talk, but her lips were cracked and her throat was too parched.

“Caitlin?”

“Caitlin?”

Caitlin opened her eyes with a start, disoriented.

She looked up, and saw a man sitting on her bedside, looking down at her, smiling.

He reached over, and gently brushed the hair out of her eyes.

Was this still a dream? She felt the cool sweat on her forehead, felt his touch on her wrist, and she prayed that it was not.

Because there before her, smiling down, was the love of her life.

Caleb.

CHAPTER THREE

Sam opened his eyes with a start. He was staring up at the sky, looking up the trunk of an enormous oak tree. He blinked several times, wondering where he was.

He felt something soft on his back, and it felt very comfortable, and he looked over and realized he was lying on a patch of moss on the forest floor. He looked back up, and saw dozens of trees high above him, swaying in the wind. He heard a gurgling sound, and looked over, and saw a stream trickling by, just a few feet from his head.

Sam sat up and looked around, glancing in every direction, taking it all in. He was deep in the woods, alone, the only light coming in through the tree branches. He checked himself and saw that he was fully dressed, in the same battle gear he had been wearing in the Colosseum. It was quiet here, the only sound being that of the stream, of the birds, and of some distant animals.

Sam realized, with relief, that the time travel had worked. He was clearly in some other place and time—although where and when that was, he had no idea.

Sam slowly checked his body, and realized he’d sustained no major injuries, and that he was all in one piece. He felt a terrible hunger gnawing at his stomach, but he could live with that. First, he had to figure out where he was.

He reached down, feeling to see if he had any weaponry on him.

Unfortunately, none of it had made the trip. He was on his own again, left to the devices of just his own bare hands.

He wondered if he still carried a vampire’s power. He could feel an unnatural strength still coursing through his veins, and it felt like he had. But then again, he couldn’t be sure until the time came.

And that time came sooner than he thought.

Sam heard the snap of a branch, and turned to see a large bear hulking towards him, slowly, aggressively. He froze. It glowered at him, raised its fangs, and snarled.

A second later, it broke into a sprint, charging right for him.

There was no time for Sam to run, and nowhere for him to run to. He had no choice, he realized, but to confront this animal.

But strangely enough, instead of being overcome by fear, Sam felt rage course through him. He was furious at the animal. He resented being attacked, especially before he even had a chance to get his bearings. So, without thinking, Sam charged, too, preparing to meet the bear in battle, the same way he would a human.

Sam and the bear met in the middle. The bear lunged for him, and Sam lunged right back. Sam felt the power coursing through his veins, felt it telling him that he was invincible.

As he met the bear in mid-air, he realized that he was right. He caught the bear by its shoulders, grabbed on, spun and threw it. The bear went flying backwards through the woods, dozens of feet, smashing hard into a tree.

Sam stood there and roared back at the bear, a fierce roar, even louder than the animal’s. He felt the muscles and veins bulging in him as he did.

The bear got to its feet slowly, wobbly, and looked at Sam with something like shock. It now hobbled as it walked, and after taking a few tentative steps, it suddenly lowered its head, turned, and ran away.

But Sam wasn’t going to let it get away so easy. He was mad now, and he felt like nothing in the world could abate his anger. And he was hungry. The bear would have to pay.

Sam broke into a sprint, and was pleased to find that he was faster than this animal. Within moments, he caught up to it and in a single leap, landed on its back. He leaned back, and sunk his fangs deep into its neck.

The bear howled in agony, bucking wildly, but Sam held on. He sunk his fangs deeper, and within moments, he felt the bear slumped to its knees beneath him. Finally, it stopped moving.

Sam lay on top of it, drinking, feeling its life force course through his veins.

Finally, Sam leaned back and licked his lips, dripping with blood. He’d never felt so refreshed. It was exactly the meal he’d needed.

Sam was just rising back to his feet, when he heard another twig snap.

He looked over, and standing there, in a clearing of the forest, was a young girl, maybe 17, dressed in a thin, all-white material. She stood there, holding a basket, and stared back at him, in shock. Her skin was translucent white, and her long, light brown hair framed large, blue eyes. She was beautiful.

She stared back at Sam, equally transfixed.

He realized that she must be afraid of him, afraid that maybe he would attack her; he realized that he must have looked like an awful sight, on top of a bear, blood in his mouth. He didn’t want to scare her.

So he jumped down from the animal, and took several steps towards her.

To his surprise, she didn’t flinch, or try to move away. Rather, she just continued to stare at him, unafraid.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She smiled. That surprised him. Not only was she beautiful, but she was truly unafraid. How could that be?

“Of course you’re not,” she said. “You’re one of mine.”

It was Sam’s turn to be shocked. The second she said it, he knew it to be true. He had sensed something when he’d first seen her, and now he knew. She was one of his. A vampire. That’s why she was unafraid.

“Nice takedown,” she said, gesturing at the bear. “A little messy, wouldn’t you say? Why not go for a deer?”

Sam smiled. Not only was she pretty—she was funny.

“Maybe next time I will,” he said back.

She smiled.

“Would you mind telling me what year it is?” he asked. “Or century, at least?”

She just smiled, and shook her head.

“I think I’ll leave that for you to find out for yourself. If I told you, it would ruin all the fun, wouldn’t it?”

Sam liked her. She was spunky. And he felt at ease around her, as if he’d known her forever.

She took a step forward, and reached out her hand. Sam took it, and loved the feel of her smooth, translucent skin.

“I’m Sam,” he said, shaking her hand, holding it for too long.

She smiled wider.

“I know,” she said.

Sam was baffled. How could she possibly know? Had he met her before? He couldn’t remember.

“I was sent for you,” she added.

She suddenly turned and began heading down a forest trail.

Sam hurried to catch up to her, presuming she meant for him to follow. Not looking carefully were he was going, he was embarrassed to find himself trip over a branch; he heard her giggling as he did.

“So?” he prodded. “Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

She giggled again.

“Well, I have a formal name, but I rarely go by it,” she said.

Then she turned and faced him, waiting for him to catch up.

“If you must know, everyone calls me Polly.”

CHAPTER FOUR