Fitz: Immortal Forsaken Series #3 (Paranormal Romance Novella) Read online

  Fitz

  Immortal Forsaken Series

  Verika Sloane

  Contents

  Dictionary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  The Centurias Newsletter

  Immortal Forsaken Series #4

  Rhemy

  About the Author

  Dictionary

  Ascend: verb. The act of a vampire’s soul rising from the earthly plane to a higher spiritual place.

  Avow: verb. The act of a non-fated couple to seal their bond before the gods. A show of protection and commitment.

  Before the Light: a phrase vampires utter in respect to the time when creatures of the night ruled before the sun and humans.

  Depths: noun. A purgatory where vampires are sent to receive punishment for crimes they committed in the true life.

  Ecca: noun. A beautiful place of light & dark that vampires spiritually rise to after their earthly death.

  Entyre Law: noun. Ancient scrolls. A code a vampire is commanded to live by according to the gods.

  Fated: noun. A male or female vampire that is bound to another by blood.

  Fateblood: noun. A vampire born to a fated couple.

  Gods: The 9 gods & goddesses vampires worship. Vampires refer to them simply as the gods, for short.

  Nine Group: noun. The 9 original families. The wealthiest, most prestigious, powerful, and influential vampires in history.

  Oria: noun. A spiritual counselor.

  Pürblood: noun. A vampire born to a non-fated parents, but is natural born.

  Pürist: noun. A male or female pürblood vampire that has been avowed to another.

  Remnant: noun. The binding scent a male will imprint on a female during the avowing ritual. Cannot be removed without approval from the gods.

  Sensa: noun. The energy a person gives off demonstrating emotion and desire. Vampires feed on and exchange this with humans and other beings for sustenance.

  Shadow: noun. A person born as a human who is turned into a vampire.

  Shiya: noun. A female wolf shifter.

  Shief: noun. A male wolf shifter.

  Vesser: noun. The oldest vampires living. Once the age of one thousand years, a vampire is designated a Vesser.

  One

  Fitz stealthily landed on the roof on one knee, his right hand splayed by his foot, head bent.

  He whipped his gaze over his shoulder, eyes narrowed, certain he was being followed…

  But no one was there.

  Assuming he was just being paranoid because of the upcoming meeting that night, he straightened his tall, statuesque frame and swiped the dirt from his palms.

  Meeting? More like setup. He continued to wrestle with his conscience to go through with it.

  But, that was hours from now. He looked toward the skyline. Staring at the medley of colorful lights and diversified rooftops, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, planted a foot on the ledge, and stepped up. The air at this height was just a little cleaner, breezier, and therapeutic, with a hint of rain on the way. It was agony to stay in such a toxic fog below without a reprieve.

  Above the scuffling bodies, chronic noise, and glutted traffic, there was a tranquility in the Big Apple at this elevation. Oftentimes, his kind met one another in such places. Most humans feared heights, and for that, vampires were appreciative. They convened in secret, or like him, sought true solitude outside their main dwellings.

  Which became less and less pacifying to his incessant restlessness lately.

  Now that his parents had ascended, he was free to do whatever he wanted, with whomever he chose, and yet, he was more alone than ever. He’d struggled to connect with any of his kind deeper than a posturing level, and had given up on ingratiating himself to a covenant that didn’t bore or disgust him.

  The McEvoy estate in Vermont was too isolated to comfortably reside in by himself, so he’d chosen to live in the Upper East Side loft where he slept, seduced, and sulked. Before ascending to Ecca, his father had stressed for his son to find purpose and uphold the McEvoy name. They had a dozen alliances and more money collectively than most fatebloods, and all Fitz had to do was maintain.

  Maintain was mundane.

  He sighed, looking down. So far, he hadn’t done much to endorse either of his father’s wishes…

  “Don’t do it.”

  He jerked his profile at the unexpected interruption. So much for solitude. Smoothly, he turned on the ledge on his toes and faced the source of the feminine voice that had spoken. A sweet, human scent drifted to him. Hm. Must’ve been very deep in thought not to have sensed her behind him. He lifted a brow. “Don’t do what?”

  “Jump,” she said, clutching the blanket around her. “Please don’t jump.” She stepped closer, the vague light of the moon catching one side of her face, a hospital ID bracelet on her wrist.

  Naturally, she assumed a man standing on the ledge of a building in the middle of the night had serious problems and was thinking of ending it all. Cocking his head, toying with her, he asked, “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Surely you have something to live for,” she entreated with such tender compassion in her voice, he almost wanted to keep her thinking he was suicidal. Not that a fall at this height would actually kill him.

  The night breeze caught strands of her light brown hair, haphazardly pinned up, and blew them across her face. His keen night-sight could see her features clearly, her eyes perfectly almond-shaped, a remarkable mix-match color of green and amber.

  “What are you doing up here?” he asked.

  “Come down from there and I’ll tell you.”

  His mouth twitched at her superb tactic. He lithely jumped down.

  She appeared vastly relieved and smiled as though she’d achieved something monumental.

  Gods, what a smile she has. One of those contagious grins that gave a cynical man pause. Even under the poor luminesce of the bare lightbulb hanging above her, she radiated with her full lips, a faint dent in her chin, as though her maker had barely pressed his thumb there, just to add an eternal stamp of adorability. He guessed she was in her late twenties. Hard to tell because it was more or less evident from her delicate condition she was on the ill side of health.

  “I’m Fitz,” he told her, perplexed at how drawn he was to her. “And you are…?”

  “Gaelen.”

  The name echoed in his head like a caress, filling him with wonder and an even deeper attraction. Foreign, unexpected warmth expanded in his chest, bewildering him. His reaction to her was irregular, yet it made her all the more fascinating. He stared into her eyes, daring her to run away. “Are you scared of me, Gaelen?”

  “Should I be, Fitz?”

  His mouth quirked. “Odd question to ask in return.”

  “Well, to answer it, I’m not afraid of much anymore,” she declared, turning around.

  Well, she should be at least wary of talking to strangers on rooftops. Intrigued, he followed her.

  She walked to the roof’s access door, placed her blanket on a set of pallets and hopped on top. The soft light of the yellowing bulb above casted a halo effect. “It’s a good night to be fearless.”

  “Fearless, are you? How about some company, then?” he asked, grabbing a discarded box crate and setting it next to her.

  “Sure. I might not be the most exciting companion, however.”

  “If I get bored, I’ll just leave.”
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  She found that amusing. “Deal.”

  Though, so far, he was too captivated to abandon her yet.

  They sat in silence for a short stretch, though he kept dragging his gaze back to her, questions swarming in his head. Curious why he felt compelled to draw out this acquaintance, he leaned back and studied her profile, setting an ankle on his knee. “How did you get access to the roof?”

  “One of the custodians. We chat every night about herbs and airplanes, two of his favorite subjects. I convinced him to let me up here. I tore off my hospital gown and found my way.”

  Good for her. Though he couldn’t imagine any man turning her down for whatever she requested. Not with a face of an angel and a voice to match. Her clothing was plain: pajama pants, a light blue scoop-neck tee and ballet flats, but, he noticed uncomfortably, they were unable to hide her enticing curves. Snapping out of it, he said, “I wasn’t contemplating jumping off, by the way. Just enjoying the view.”

  “Why so close to the edge, then?”

  “Nothing to fear except hitting the ground. What are you doing out here? It has to be against the rules for patients to venture to the roof unattended. Or at all.”

  She sighed. “I’m tired of the hospital. It has a smell to it. Like death. If death has a scent, the place is pumping it out of the vents around the clock.” Her tone turned wistful. “Or maybe I just think that way because it’s coming for me.”

  He instantly frowned, taken aback. “You’re—dying?”

  She nodded, pressing her lips together, and glanced at him. “Oh, don’t feel sorry for me. I was told a couple years ago. The doctors don’t even know what it is. A rare, almost unheard-of blood disease wearing out my organs, something like that. It’s like I’m aging ten times faster on the inside than I am on the outside.”

  Fucking human diseases. “How can they be so certain of your death if they don’t even know what’s killing you? You don’t look like you’re dying. You look…” Beautiful, he wanted to say, but held it in. “Like you’re healthy.” While she wasn’t a glowing example of salubrity, she wasn’t sickly-looking, gaunt, or invalid either. She could stand to gain a few pounds, though.

  Gaelen’s lips moved in a wry smile. “Only dying on the inside for now. I’m sure the rest of me will catch up soon enough.” She paused, changing the subject. “Is your full name Fitzhugh or Fitzgerald?”

  “Fitzgerald. So, do you know how long you have?” he asked, suddenly obsessed with the fact.

  “Hm. I love your name,” she mused, ignoring his question. “It’s so old-world and noble.”

  If only she was aware of how old-world he really was. “Then that makes one of us. I go by my nickname so I don’t sound like sycophantic snob.”

  “Well, you don’t look like a sycophantic snob, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “You know, your name is unique as well.”

  “I suppose. I was named after a character in a book. Some warrior princess with magical abilities. Silly, isn’t it?”

  “How long, Gaelen?” he insisted to know about her death sentence.

  She sighed with an air of annoyance that he’d redirected the subject, crossing her arms. “Not long. That’s why I’m here at Guardian. More tests. Specialists and needles and guesses and research. But anyway, why are you up here? Obviously you’re not a patient or an employee. Are you here to visit someone?”

  “No. I come up here sometimes to think. The view always draws me back.”

  “It is awesome—” She suddenly began to cough. It sounded coarse and harsh on the lungs and just when he was about to ask if she needed water or something, she took a deep, hollow breath and the coughing ceased. “Sorry. Don’t worry, it’s not contagious. So. Think about what exactly? Have a big decision to make?” At his pause, she added, “If you’re worried about telling me some deep, dark secret, don’t be. I’ll take it to my grave—soon enough.”

  He shook his head at her candor, smiling. Not many women would joke about their impending death. Either she’d known for so long that she’d gotten used to the idea, or it was a brave front to armor her despair. Either way, it revealed her strength and maturity. “I was thinking about choices. I’m supposed to do something tonight, but I’m not absolutely sure I should.”

  “Why not?”

  He scratched his chin with his thumb and shrugged. “It involves some dangerous people.”

  “Oh? Well you look like you can handle yourself. What does your gut say?”

  To do the right thing. Whatever the hell that is. And at my age, I should know. “It’s not talking.”

  “You’ll know when the moment comes. This might sound crazy to someone like you, but I’d like some danger in my life. Just a hint,” she emphasized when he regarded her with a skeptical glance. “Life is short, so they say, but I say it’s endless at the same time. There are so many things I won’t touch, taste, see, or hear…” The last few words came out raspy. She cleared her throat, shaking her head quickly. “Then again, I’ve experienced more than others, less than some. Pinch my arm if I start giving in to self-pity again, will you? I told myself no more of that shit.”

  “Deal.” He smiled at her, captivated by her spirit. That didn’t happen very often. A lot of women in his circles annoyed him with their superficiality and blasé attitudes. At least the ones in this city did. He hadn’t even fed from a human in months, disgusted at all the sewage running through their veins and poisoning their blood: recreational chemist drugs, an obscene amount of sugar and salt, and toxins galore from their perfumed lotions and strange injections. Good thing he didn’t have to rely on blood alone to survive.

  He gently licked his bottom lip, imagining. What would Gaelen taste like?

  As if she heard him, she sharply met his eyes. “What?”

  Did he say that out loud? “Nothing.” He faked clearing his throat. “Tell me, what do you want to touch, taste, see, and hear?”

  A blush bloomed on her cheeks. “You really want to know?”

  He nodded.

  “I’ll tell you if you tell me first.”

  “Everything always has to start with me, huh?”

  She nodded.

  He considered his answer for a moment. He’d been told what to do for so long, he’d never been asked what he wanted to do. A fateblood like him didn’t have choices; they were preset even before he’d been born. But of course, there were secret dreams every man had. “I want to touch a home I built with my own hands. See the world with new eyes, see it slow down instead of speeding up. And…I want to hear a child’s laughter. My child’s. Someday.” If he ever found his fated, that is. Gods, how he ached for her more and more every day, yet every fateblood woman he’d tasted hadn’t been her.

  He broke their gazes with a sheepish half-smile. Though it felt good to share his hopes, to hear himself profess them aloud was embarrassing. The human somehow brought out a sentimental side of him. “Your turn,” he encouraged, wanting the spotlight shifted.

  She hung her head back, gazing up at the stars. “Okay. Easy. I want to see something—amazing. That’ll blow my mind and make me forget I’m sick. Even if it’s just for a second. And taste? I want to taste…” She moved her fingers to her mouth. “Passion. Real passion. I’ve been kissed, but they were mostly forgettable. I know I’m missing out. As for what I want to hear…that is yet to be determined.”

  He swallowed the lump closing his throat. “And touch?”

  “I want to be touched. But, let’s face it, who would want to…” Her voice drifted. She was silent for a few moments, then jerked her gaze to his, as if she didn’t mean to say those things out loud. “I sound pathetic, don’t I?”

  In awe of her, he opened his mouth, but shook his head, gulping his reply.

  “This is a bizarre conversation. Why do I feel like I can be so candid with you?” she asked.

  Why did he feel like he could listen to her for hours? He shrugged. “The honesty between strangers, I suppose.”


  She drew a shy smile, fingers still at her mouth, gaze averted.

  It’d been that long since anyone kissed those lips? What a waste. From what he could tell, they were made for a thousand kisses, naturally tinted red and just the right volume of plump.

  So she longed to taste passion? Feel a man’s hands on her? Clearly—whether or not she’d admit it—Gaelen craved sex. And she was making him crave it, too. Something that hadn’t occurred in a long time. Like any man, he loved sex, but he didn’t pine for it. Until now. He restlessly tapped his foot, denying the desire growing inside, resisting it. He had to stop staring at her, first of all.

  “So what do you do for a living?” she asked, unaware of his intensifying need to feed off her sensa until she was moaning from the high, wet between her thighs, and under his spell.

  He gripped the edge of the crate, forcing back the urge. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Curious. You have a variable look about you. A bit broodish. Like an artist, maybe a painter? But you’re built like a quarterback so that doesn’t seem quite right. You carry yourself with a certain swagger, so I could also picture you doing something that requires confidence, like a motivational speaker.” She cocked her head, studying him. “Dark hair, green eyes, perfect teeth, the ideal height. Handsome. And your style. Designer leather jacket lined with a hooded sweatshirt. You’re a model, aren’t you?”

  He laughed at that one. “Definitely not.”

  “Am I even close?”

  “Prepared to be underwhelmed, Gaelen. I inherited a lot of money, and I’m smart with investments, so I don’t work in the traditional sense.” Since his father was gone, he was in charge of the finances, properties, and maintaining relationships with their many allies. It was exhausting, tedious, and boring as fuck.

  Her delicate brows rose. “Self-employed? Must be nice.”