Forbidden Desires : The Immortals Book One

Prologue

The Immortals

Lycaon: Known as werewolves or Lycans; cursed to change into terrifying beasts during every full moon. Older beings can change at will. Have incredible super strength in either form, super speed, intense primal instincts. Can spiritually tie oneself to a lover—a mate--known as "claiming" with a bite, but these ties are not typically predestined. Governed by packs, pack leaders are referred to as monarchs in their respective countries. Can reproduce naturally, usually with a high fertility rate—or infect a human with a cursed bite. Werewolf bites are venomous to humans; survival rate is low. Can be killed by beheading, removal of the heart, and large quantities of silver, monkshood, and wolfsbane. Can prevent a change by consuming wolfsbane in small doses. Currently at war with the Vampire faction. Hostile towards Daemons of any kind.

Vampires: Undead beings who feed on human blood and are cursed to remain in darkness. Can access memories when feeding and have super strength and speed. Can teleport to different locations—known as waning—with heavy concentration (can deplete energy to dangerous levels if used too much in one sitting). Mostly solitary creatures but will form nests with close cohorts. Birth rate is low (due to being undead); new ones are made by turning a human, usually on the brink of death. Results may vary. Can be killed by beheading, removal of the heart, or exposure to sunlight. The sole ruler of this faction is Cain the Cursed, the King of all Vampires. At war with the Lycans and a ceasefire with the Daemons.

Daemons: Creatures that thrive on chaos. Separated into many castes (blood, fire, ice, water, and spirit) can be identified by their telltale horns that emit toxic venom. Can possess other beings with the other party's consent. Apt negotiators. Tied to one other being—their Fate—whom they spend their lives trying to find. Can wane to and fro like Vampires. Can be killed by beheading or starvation. Strong aversion to salt and silver. They gather in groups called legions. All daemons report to The Master—Lucifer—who controls Hellscape, their home realm. In an on-again/off-again alliance with Vampires; currently off. Regarded as hostile towards all parties except witches due to their magic.

Wiccae: Otherwise known as witches. Used as mercenaries for hire by all sides sought out for their spells and potions. Loyal to the highest bidder. Most are born mortal--only ascending to their full power on their 17th Samhain or after successfully traveling between the realm of life and death. Can be killed by burning. Separated into covens depending on specialty and skill. Currently neutral in the war, headed by Charli the Bold.

October 22nd, 1510

Battle of Tours

Le Mans, France

"We'd be doing him a favor if we just killed him now."

"We are not killing a child!"

A murder of crows circled overhead, unable to believe their luck. Last night's battle rang the breakfast bell—Piles of bodies scattered everywhere, vampire and Lycan alike. Soldiers in black armor wandered the battlefield, a dragon emblazoned on their breastplates; vampires, taking weapons from the dead and collecting their own for burial.

It didn't matter what faction; vampire, werewolf, daemon—Death always won the day.

"Children grow up to become men; men who die anyway." The man removed his helmet to let the air run over his face; killing Lycans was tough business. His ebony skin shone with sweat; his eyes matched the stormy sky that threatened another downpour if they didn't hurry. Cain the Cursed, Lord of the Undead was surveying the damage done, silently admiring his handiwork.

Last night's rain put out the blazing pyres. Thick black smoke wound up to merge with the clouds, and the acrid smell wafted down the battlefield, and made the soldiers work with their visors still on.

"I'm sure all of these men were boys once." Cain scrunched his nose up, studying the pup who'd just tried to attack him. "This boy is no different..."

His companion rolled her eyes. His callousness wasn't one of his best qualities, in fact she abhorred it. This war had gone on for far too long, so long that he'd become inured to suffering, to grief. Once one lost those, they lost their humanity.

She bent down to wipe mud off the unconscious boy's face with the hem of her dress. What the hell was he doing out here? He couldn't have been older than fifteen. She surveyed the field—no other survivors; just this...broken boy; a boy who would never look at the world the same again.

"I thought Henri Garou had two sons—oh well. Must you play the angel of mercy on every battlefield, my love?"

"Someone has to." The woman tilted her head upwards, examining the skies—Storm clouds hung heavy as dawn approached, the sun unable to shine through. "The map you found says they came from Tours? Back west?" she asked.

Exasperated at her impulsiveness Cain pulled her to her feet, his armor squeaking as he did so. "You better not be getting ready to do what I think you are." he warned.

She yanked free of his grasp, slinging the boy over the saddle with one arm as if tossing a book. "Will you stop me, Your Majesty?" she asked, mounting the horse behind him. She wrapped the reins around one of her gloved hands, using the other to stroke the horse's mane and calm the animal. Her long black braids ran down the back of her cloak. Her eyes were a deep hazel, two pieces of amber staring back at him.

"Well?"

Cain's jawline trembled and his lips remained in a hard straight line. Damn those eyes—they would get her into and out of trouble. He let out a huff as she grabbed the reins—when she put her mind to something...

"Get her a white standard!" he called behind him, keeping his eyes on her. Nefertari, always beautiful in her obstinance; her purple dress played little part in her regality. Her skin, the color of mahogany inlaid with bronze, was his source of warmth on such a cool morning. Her lips had a natural pout; even though she wasn't asking his permission. So determined—if only she showed that same determination towards their...he didn't even know what to call it now. They'd address it later—vampires had nothing but time.

A soldier tied the white flag to the horse, indicating peace. Cain nodded towards where their army was first sighted, off the main road.

"Go--before I change my mind."

Nefertari cracked the reins and set off towards Tours, the boy bouncing across the saddle as she rode. She stopped on the road to the city gates, not trusting they wouldn't fire on her even with the standard. She dismounted and prepared to give it a smack to keep riding when he groaned, trying to regain consciousness.

The boy tried to open his eyes, but the debris of the battlefield crusted them shut. An ache resounded in his chest as he tried to move, but the blood rushed to his head. His heart threatened to burst, and he groaned again at a soft hand on his face accompanied by an unmistakable smell—Mate. The one he was destined to protect, she was here. Someone wiped his eyes and his vision blurred as his head was lifted. "Ugh...hm?"

"Shh...you've been granted a second chance at life, child—use it wisely." a soft voice crooned.

He blinked once more, and Nefertari let out a soft gasp when his eyes caught hers—A shocking shade of emerald.

"You..." Before he could say more his eyes rolled into unconsciousness again, unable to fight the throbbing in his head and chest.

Steeling herself once more Nefertari smacked the horse and sent him straight to the city gates, watching as he got smaller in the distance. The gates were opened and the horse rode all the way up to the castle, not stopping until it reached the courtyard. An attendant managed to grab the reins and pull the horse to a stop while servants pulled the young man off the beast, careful to mind the nasty head wound he'd received.

As he was carried inside, heads were bowed in reverence. Thousands of soldiers had left the day before, and only one returned. The chants were soft at first, but soon they vibrated the walls: "Le roi est mort; vive les rois!"