Broken Soul: A Jane Yellowrock Novel
Faith Hunter
To the Hubs, my Renaissance Man,
for everything you do and are, that makes my life a joy.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Mindy Mymudes for beta reading. For being a font of knowledge. For being a great friend.
Lee Williams Watts for being the best travel companion and assistant a girl can have!
Beast Claws! Street Team extraordinaire!
Jason Gilbert for introducing me to Michael Edgecomb with Summerwood Fencing Academy of Rock Hill, South Carolina.
Michael Edgecomb for the fencing lesson and introduction to the garb of fencing. (Which I changed some . . . But, hey, it’s for vamps.)
Mike Prater for all the little questions you answered.
My mom, Joyce H. Wright, and Lynn Hornsby for being my own personal fan club.
Let’s Talk Promotions at www.ltpromos.com, for getting me where I am today.
Lucienne Diver of the Knight Agency. There are not words enough to say in thanks for guiding my career, being an ear when I need advice, and working your fingers to the bone. Thank you so much for everything!
Isabel Farhi of Ace/Roc for keeping me on time through the copy edits.
Valle Hansen for wonderful help (and polite queries) on the CE of Broken Soul.
Cliff Nielsen for all the work and talent that goes into the covers. I have to say—this is the BEST one yet.
Jessica Wade of Penguin/Roc. The best editor I could have. You make me into a much better writer than I ever would have been alone. I don’t know how you keep the high quality up, book after book, especially now, with the Kicker kicking things around. Thank you.
CHAPTER 1
Half-Dressed Vamp Gave a Come-Hither, Toothy Smile
Visiting the Master of the City of New Orleans was always challenging, but it was worse when he was in a mood. Leo Pellissier’s Clan Home and personal residence had burned to the ground not so very long ago, and the rebuilding was taking longer than he thought he should have to wait. Combined with the accidental media release of the upcoming arrival of a delegation of the European Mithrans—fangheads of state to the rest of us—and making the arrangements to house and feed his unwanted guests according to their usual kingly standards, his patience was wearing thin. Any equanimity he might have feigned to was long gone.
His Regal Grumpiness had demanded my presence. Yeah. I had called him that—from a safe distance, on my official, military-grade, bullet-resistant cell phone. I’m brave and all, but I’m not stupid.