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Synopsis

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned in The Forbidden, the exciting fifth book in L. A. Banks's Vampire Huntress series.

After the destruction of all the topside master vampires and the death and resurrection of her council-level vampire lover, Damali is called before the Council of the Neterus to answer for her actions. It is there that she discovers there are consequences even she could not foresee.

She also learns that the consort of the Un-Named One, Lilith, has come up from the seventh level to set the affairs of the Dark Realms in order. However, Lilith has a hidden agenda of her own and it involves the unborn child Damali thought had been taken from her.

The news devastates Damali until a cold and deadly determination leads her to map out a plan for Lilith's destruction. An evil force beyond recognition, Damali's newest nemesis literally brings men to their knees. But Damali will not be stopped--not even by someone as dangerously powerful as Lilith. It is a battle that spills over into the streets and involves the people Damali has sworn to protect, leaving fewer standing before it's all over.

Excerpt

Chapter One

All was still on level seven. A clawed hand held embryonic life within it. Golden green glowing eyes misted over black as they looked up to the vast expanse of nothingness that mimicked a vaulted ceiling. Trembling with anticipation, a shaky finger extended a hooked talon that prodded at the bloody mass of dormant life... life that could be molded into its own image. A hissing coo filled with gentle adoration warmed the small cluster of cells, making them glow red and begin to pulse.

"Oh, soon, my son," a passionate voice whispered. "Very, very soon."

Sydney, Australia...

Dread tightened Damali's chest as she watched Carlos's eyes. Visceral emptiness filled her, making her clutch her lower belly. His once-serene gaze now darted to her face, then to the faces of her teammates and to his surrounding environment like a man displaced and confused. The sensation was so overwhelming that it threatened to choke her heart to a standstill. Her man, once confident, suave, and smooth as black silk, had come up out of the unknown looking crazed and wild in the eye.

Suddenly she felt a strange sensation that fluttered in her womb. She pressed her hand against her abdomen. What was that? But she had to shake off the weird feeling. Too many issues competed for her attention right now and the most immediate was Carlos.

The Light had brought him back, had actually reconstituted his form from the burnt vampire ash left by dawn, and now it seemed as though he didn't know where he was, how he'd gotten there, or whom he was with. Beyond all that they'd had to contend with, this was perhaps the most frightening experience of all: Carlos Rivera's mental state was in question--tears, screaming, ranting, fighting against the hold of friendly hands. Damali turned away for a moment and swallowed hard.

A head on a silver platter would be her bride price. Yeah. She and the chairman had unfinished business.

She reached out her hand to touch Carlos's face, and he jerked away from her, unsure if she were a mirage, a vampiric illusion, something evil and vile that would start his torture all over again. His fear rippled through her and rattled her bones. It sent a chill through her like a knife. It drew her mouth into a tight line as she fought not to scream. She saw what they had done. A head. The head of the bastard who'd done this, was the only acceptable answer to levy the debt paid in full.

Down in Hell they had a phrase: Fair exchange is no robbery. Then so be it. A head for a head, a mind for a mind... and an eye for an eye and a tooth for a fucking tooth--the chairman's fangs mounted on her wall mantel. This was war.

Damali could feel her eyes narrow to slits as her man tried to stand, and then tried to get away from her and her team. Oh, hell no. They'd raped his mind and stolen his dignity. And for that unforgivable offense, she'd blow the Vampire Council's doors off the damned hinges. In her mind's eye, she could see the pentagram-shaped table surrounded by dark thrones, and the chairman's smug expression. But Hell had no fury like a woman scorned. Her thoughts frayed and descended to the pit.

Fuck you, Mr. Chairman. This time, it's just me and you.

Carlos could feel his eyeballs roll backward beneath his lids as consciousness ebbed and flowed like a reluctant tide. One moment he had been sitting on the ground, naked, awed, and so profoundly moved that he couldn't speak, and in the next moment, he was being hurried away by many hands and clamoring voices all trying to get him into a vehicle and onto hallowed ground. Were it not for Damali's hand firmly holding his and her voice cutting through the mêlée, he would have tried to escape them all.

For the first time in his entire existence he truly feared he was losing his mind. Something was very wrong. He'd gone into the Light--more accurately, had been propelled into it, summoned by it, sucked toward a bright, indescribable iridescent wonder that had a pulse, a center, and held the heartbeat of the universe. Beings of unfathomable strength had hurled him forward, their silvery light sabers cutting at filaments of dark tendrils, holding him, burning him to ash. The heat was so intense that his bones had liquefied, his skin had blackened and crumbled away, his eyes had melted and had run down his cheeks like gory, oozing tears... but silver metallic wings with the texture of satin had shielded him from the furnace blast beneath him. What were they and who'd sent them?

Healing warmth had entered him, coating his burning insides with instant peace, quenching the sun's fury against his skin. One being had parted to become many with raised golden shields that seemed as though each held a living, moving orb of sunlight until he was encircled by them, each ball of molten, living, golden light fusing to become a ring around him. The ring had covered him, entered him.... All he could remember now was that they came and then in a fluttering cloud they'd dispersed, shooting away so quickly they'd left only a blinding blur of white light in their wake.

But perhaps the powers-that-be had messed up somehow. Maybe they didn't catch his soul in time, and how did a man-turned-vampire return to the sun?

He couldn't hear. Everything was coming at him in muffled tones. People spoke in indecipherable guttural fragments. Everyone seemed to move in slow motion. It was like moving through mud. His mind was a slurry of confusion. He was nearly blind, each friendly face blurred beyond recognition until it was breath-close to his face. His skin felt thick and dull, the sensation of hands soothing his shoulders, rubbing his back, bundling him into a coat, but all of it took seconds to register. Breathing was an effort that consumed his concentration. The most troubling aspect was the heaviness he felt in his limbs, as though his muscles were too weak to lift his own body.

What had the Light done to him?

Carlos leaned forward and covered his face with his hands. The sensory overload was too much--rather, the lack of sensation and the ability to perceive his surroundings was horrifying.

"I think he's going into shock," Damali said, drawing him closer against her body as the Jeep careened through the streets. "We have to get him inside, out of the sun."

"I'm gonna fry," Carlos croaked, becoming more disoriented as the vehicle barreled through desolate streets in a town he didn't know.

"We'll be at the church in just a few minutes, kiddo."

Carlos slowly removed his hands from his face, training his attention toward what he remembered to be Rider's voice. "To a church?" Instinct made Carlos begin struggling against Damali's hold. He could hear his voice rising with panic. "No! I'll burn!"

Many strong arms held him. In a distant part of his mind he heard Father Patrick call out to him.

"You've stayed with us on hallowed ground before, Carlos. We have to keep you safe. Remember the woods, the cabin? The dark side cannot know you've come back. You won't burn."

"No!"

More hands held him down as he grabbed at the door handle... but these were human hands, hands that shouldn't have had enough power to hold him, even in his weakened state. He needed to feed and find shelter!

"Stop fighting us, baby," Damali urged. "It'll make it worse. Please, Carlos, trust me."

"We're taking you someplace safe," an old man's voice said. It was a familiar voice.

In unsteady increments memory came back to him. Father Patrick... that's right. The monks. They had a prayer barrier that only he could cross. Yeah. He remembered. The safe house. Damali trusted them. This was her squad. All right.

Carlos stopped struggling and closed his eyes. He could feel Damali's cool hand stroke his brow, wiping away the sweat. He ran his tongue over his incisors to retract his fangs, lest he frighten his benefactors, and then froze. He touched his mouth, running his fingers over his upper canines. Tears sprang to his eyes so quickly he didn't even have time to blink them back. He glanced at Damali, then away, lowering his hands from his face, staring at his palms in disbelief. He'd been neutered. He wanted to vomit.

He curled his hands into fists. He shut his eyes tightly and hung his head. He could feel Damali's hand stroke his back and he jerked away from her touch. "Don't."

"It's Jose, man. Don't you remember?" A young, soothing voice cut into his consciousness. "You burned and came back. You said you saw angels, hombre. You sat there looking at the sun. You spoke to us, looked at us, sat quietly with D and said you were free."

Carlos shook his head with his eyes closed, pressing his fingers to his temples. "No. I don't remember. Shut up, you're confusing me!"

"Ease off, Jose," the voice he knew as Rider's said in almost a whisper. "Father Pat, Marlene, either of you guys got something for dude--something to help him bite the snake that bit him?"

He felt hysteria rising in him. Carlos chuckled, but he kept his eyes closed. The sound was hollow even to his own ears. Rider. That's right. Hombre was human and had brass balls... had been chained to the ground as bait while the harpies pulled out his guts. Crazy white dude yelling at Hell's worst nightmare, talking trash with no weapon in his hand, trying to divert the predators away to give him a chance...

Copyright © 2005 by L. A. Banks

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