Gates of Paradise (a Blue Bloods Novel)

I was on a different path.

I heard his voice, booming in the darkness. The voice of our friend and emperor. Gaius. The one they called Caligula. Addressing his people.

I turned the corner and I saw.

Their eyes glittered crimson and silver; their fangs outstretched. I saw their hunger and greed, and I knew all was lost. That Gaius was Lucifer, hidden among us, and that he had discovered the Paths of the Dead, and he would lead an army of the Fallen and demons to take this world.

So I ran.

I ran away, to tell you, to warn you, to warn us all about the betrayal that was in the Coven, that we had nursed and nurtured among us.

I ran.

And Lucifer followed me.





FORTYEIGHT


Mimi


ingsley’s sword was at her throat. “Why is this happening again?” he asked. “Why do we always seem to find ourselves here?”

“Destiny, I suppose,” Mimi said, finally breaking her silence; though she knew it probably wasn’t the time for joking around.

“You know I love you,” he said.

“Do you? You’re so in love with me you’ve been running around with half the girls in London?” she said with a raised eyebrow.

“They meant nothing—and I did nothing with them. I tried to forget you. God knows. I was mad. I tried to find something—anything—that would make me forget you. But no one could. I’ve been faithful, I swear. Appearances can be deceiving. You of all people should know that.”

Mimi continued to glare at him even as she felt a tremendous sense of relief.

Kingsley brushed his sword on her skin like a caress. “And I know you love me. You told me that you’d love me no matter what, and I should remember that. So why are you trying to get me to forget that now?”

“Because this is how it has to end,” she said.

“You know that’s not what I want,” he said, but Mimi could see doubt in his eyes. He didn’t understand why she was doing this, and that was good. She needed to confuse him, to convince him that she was hateful.

He was better off without her. He’d have a chance at happiness, at a better life. He could find someone else, someone who wasn’t so complicated, so difficult. Someone nice. That was a word no one would ever use to describe her.

Kingsley’s sword hovered at her neck, then slashed at the collar of her blouse.

“Hey!” she cried. “Careful! It’s Chanel!”

But his eyes were locked on the emerald stone sitting at the base of her throat.

“Is that what I think it is?” he said, horrified.

Lucifer’s Bane. The Star of Heaven. A treasure more precious than the stars themselves. Given by the Morningstar to his dearest love.

“I told you, I am with him now,” Mimi said. “He is my Dark Prince and master.”





FORTYNINE


Schuyler


n the shore of the river of gold, the victor’s city shall once again rise on the threshold of the Gate of Promise.

He had taken her to the gate, hidden deep underneath the oldest standing church in the city: St. John’s Chapel in the Tower of London. Down beneath the church, in the tunnel that led to the Paths of the Dead, and toward the stone altar in the middle of the passage.

The Gate of Promise was a slab with a circle cut out of the center, and paths had been carved into the stone surrounding it. Almost like one of those puzzles with a miniature pinball in it.

Jack laid her on the stone, and it felt cold upon her back. For the first time, she was truly afraid. She understood now what the grooves in the slab were for, and how the gate would be opened. A pathway of blood. Once again, the gate’s destruction would demand a sacrifice.

“Jack,” she cried as he leaned down toward her neck, his fangs outstretched, until she could feel their sharpness on her skin and a trickle of blood. His body lay heavily on hers, and she could feel their hearts beating in tandem. She had told him the truth—that he could take what he wanted from her—and when he sank his fangs into her neck, she felt the same shudder of ecstasy and pleasure that it had always brought her. Her blood mingling with his. She felt his spirit overwhelm her, and she opened herself to him. He was drinking from her so deeply, and she surrendered—if this was death, then she would welcome it. She wanted to be one with him, for all eternity. She could feel a change within him, a quickening, an excitement. He was cold no longer, but warm, so warm again. But he had never taken her like this before, and she felt dizzy and weak. He was taking too much from her, too much blood—and it fell upon the stone, and the etchings on its slab came alive, awakened, opened.…

And still he drank as he held her down, keeping her hands at her sides. His grip was like ice, shackles around her wrist. Pleasure and pain, life and death, blood and sacrifice.