Beneath the alabaster sp.., p.1
Beneath the Alabaster Spire, page 1
Copyright © 2022 by Allison Carr Waechter
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 979-8-9860604-2-2
Cover Image by Christin Engelberth
Book Design by Allison Carr Waechter
Editing by Kenna Kettrick
for the babes who know what it’s like to heal in public:
the road is long, the process is nonlinear, and you can do this.
Content Warnings
I make every attempt to be sensitive and judicious about the ways in which I include potentially triggering themes in my writing. Please be cautious about the following in this text:
Descriptions of child abuse
Descriptions of torture/punishment
Descriptions of gore/violence
Descriptions of structural oppression
Descriptions of trauma responses, mental health struggles, and mention of suicide
Descriptions of terrorist bombings, some targeted specifically at schools
One condemned fatphobic comment
Consensual biting between romantic partners
Allusions to non-consensual biting/vampiric actions
Swearing
As a reminder, all of my books are written for an adult audience. They include graphic descriptions of sexual encounters, violence and heavy adult themes.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Glossary
Author’s Note
Also By Allison Carr Waechter
Prologue
The chilled air flowing from the vent in the ceiling did nothing to stop the sheen of sweat on Connor McKay’s forehead from rolling down one cheek. It was unbearably hot and humid in Nuva Troi. He wiped the offending bodily fluid with his handkerchief and then returned to his phone and his pacing. The reports were infuriating, impossible. After over a thousand years of peace, everything was falling apart.
Pasiphae Velarius, arch-chancellor of the Illuminated Order, entered her office in a cloud of rich floral perfume, looking cool as an autumn day despite the oppressive heat outdoors. She offered him a mug of steaming coffee as she sipped from her own, but Connor shook his head.
“Too damn hot already,” he remarked, loosening his tie.
Connor regretted his staunch commitment to wearing a three-piece suit to the office every summer, and today was no different. He stared out over Nuva Troi, at Ambracia Bay. Pasiphae’s top floor office had a gorgeous view of their city and the ocean, and he never failed to admire it at their weekly breakfast. Boats filled the bay, full of recreating immortals and humans alike, but he didn’t feel a lick of resentment towards them. It was a sign that while everything fell apart overseas, at least it was doing so in secret.
He stopped pacing to allow himself a measure of composure, letting the sound of the enormous wall of falling water from Pasiphae’s ostentatious fountain soothe him. He’d thought it ridiculous when she’d had it installed a few years back, but now he saw its merits. The quiet sound of moving water was pleasant, and so few things in his life were. Perhaps he needed a fountain downstairs.
His own office was deep in the bowels of the building, a catacombed fortress guarding the hoard of information he’d collected in his over two thousand years on this planet. It was worth it, but he had to admit, he was jealous of this view. The sapphire expanse of water, the people going about their normal lives. It was all so different from what they’d left behind, the carnage of eons of war, the constant rebuilding, the pain of living the same day again and again. This, for all its imperfections, was better. Two thousand years later, he didn’t regret his choices. Not when it came to Okairos, anyway. His personal life was another matter entirely.
Pasiphae stood next to him, sipping her coffee in silence. He glanced at her sidelong, wishing to long-dead gods they’d fallen in love back in the beginning—that he’d chosen someone smart, ambitious, and shrewd like her, instead of Aislin.
But his bond-mate had been alluring, beautiful. One of the Emperor’s favored courtesans and supposedly an expert diplomat, Aislin had ostensibly been sent to aid the envoy in efficiently utilizing the people of Okairos for the empire’s endless wars. In reality, she had caused problems between the Emperor and his new wife. Connor had been fool enough to Claim her the first time they’d fucked and had gotten himself stuck. He supposed he should be grateful for Pasiphae’s friendship, their alliance in overseeing Okairos, but it was times like these, when she stood next to him quiet and patient, that he truly regretted his choice in partners.
“What are you getting so worked up over?” Pasiphae asked, her voice low, sonorous and seductive as it always was. “I can feel you thinking.”
Connor’s cock jumped in his pants. But she hadn’t a hint of arousal in her scent. She wasn’t attracted to him in the slightest, nor had she ever been, to his knowledge. He shook his head, shoving his phone into his jacket pocket. “The early readout on the Août security report detailing the riots in Falcyra.”
Pasiphae nodded. “They were handled swiftly, and we suppressed most of the news about them. They’re nothing but salacious rumors here.”
Connor turned from the view and sank into one of the leather chairs that sat opposite to Pasiphae’s enormous desk. She drifted to her plush velvet desk chair and wrote in her diary for a while, waiting for him to speak. The familiar sound of her pen on paper always calmed him, and she knew it. This was how it had always been with them: he handled the horrors of their rule, and she governed the public face of their endeavor to keep Okairos safe from the worlds beyond.
He sighed, covering his face with his hands. “So far, it’s nothing but rumors. The House of Sorath is out of control. Ducare let nests develop all over the country. We shouldn’t have allowed the Order of Night a governorship.”
Pasiphae shrugged. “They’re our closest allies. The shifters and witches will never align with us. Giving the vampires their own country made sense, and Falcyra is isolated. Worry about handling Ducare.”
Gerard Ducare had been a problem overseas for nearly a century—ever since the House of Sorath had defected from the House of Remiel’s rule. Giving them Falcyra had been an experiment to see if the vampires could handle their own territory. It had seemed safe enough when Ducare defected. After all, Falcyra was a beautiful country, but cold and nearly desolate. It was also far enough from Nytra to keep things under control in Okairos’ capital city—but it had all gone wrong at this point. It was only a matter of time before the truth of it reached Nytra, and when it did… Well, they weren’t prepared for that. Not yet anyway. He had to buy them some time.
“I sent a legion to Falcyra this morning to impose martial law for the rest of the summer. Does that handle things well enough for you?” Connor couldn’t help flashing Pasiphae a crooked grin. He’d meant to be flirtatious, but she didn’t even look up from her notes.
Bitch, he thought to himself.
Pasiphae still didn’t look at him, continuing to write in her diary. “Who did you send to fix things? Not Penemue, I assume. I saw her at the gym this morning.”
“Rakul,” Connor said, his voice quiet.
“Oh my.” Pasiphae finally looked up, a ferocious smile spreading over her face as her head tilted. She tossed her pen onto the leather blotter on her desk; her luminous brown eyes shone with mirth. “You are serious then.”
“This isn’t a joke,” Connor growled. “Everything we’ve worked for is on the line.”
Pasiphae’s eyes flashed with cold, furious power. “You think I don’t know that, Connor? I read the reports. Ducare was searching out Gene-I. We had the Night’s Own’s master records wiped clean a month ago—after the incident with the Eastons and your son.”
Mark Easton, Harlow Krane’s ex-lover and an incubus, had been killed in the House of Remiel’s basement on the night of the Solstice Gala. It had been a nightmare to clean up, and the boy’s father, Alain, was still on the loose. All evidence pointed to the fact that he too, had been turned into an incubus. Failure after failure had plagued Connor, ever since the Krane girl had re-entered his son’s life. She would serve her purpose soon enough, though, and then they could be rid of her once and for all.
Connor shook his head. “And yet, we still haven’t found Alain Easton, and there are riots in Falcyra. Sending Rakul was the right choice, and I’ll bring him back here to handle things if need be.”
One of Pasiphae’s eyebrows arched dangerously. She’d made her opinions on Rakul’s methods clear time and again: allowable for handling things in other countries, but not here, not in Nytra. This was their home. “You don’t get a say in that, Connor. I say what happens in Nytra.”
“Of course.” Connor gave in immediately. This separation of power was a vital part of their agreement. It kept the peace, and despite what people thought of him, that was the most important thing. No wars, no poverty—only blessed, peaceful order.
“I see on socials that your son and his betrothed have been making quite the splash in Nea Sterlis. Are they having trouble? Someone recorded them arguing at a cafe, didn’t they?”
Connor rolled his eyes. She was baiting him because her own son had bonded with the rather perfect Thea Krane. “They were arguing over what toppings to get on a pizza. I hardly think that means anything.”
Pasiphae’s eyebrows lifted. “You had someone parse out the audio?”
“Yes, of course. They’re still on track for our plan. It was just foreplay. They fucked twice afterward in a back alley.”
The sound of the waterfall was the only noise for a tense few moments. Then Pasiphae smiled. “Watch them carefully, Connor. We need that child if we hope to maintain our hold on Okairos.”
Connor’s skin crawled at Pasiphae’s tone. Hadn’t he been the one to come up with the plan to push the Krane girl and his son back together? Pasiphae had some nerve. If she were his, he’d punish her for that imperious little mouth. That line of thinking was unproductive though, so he grasped for a change in subject. “Why aren’t these humans grateful for all we’ve done for them? Do they have any idea what it’s like on other worlds?”
Pasiphae chuckled, and Connor’s ire raised a notch higher. “No, Connor, they do not. We’ve made sure of that, haven’t we?”
It was just like her to throw facts in his face. But it had worked—keeping the lower Orders at one another’s throats, the humans scrambling for prestige, and everyone but a precious few ignorant of what the cosmos beyond Okairos was really like—for centuries it had all worked. Now it was falling apart, and Connor was supremely annoyed. He kicked his feet up on Pasiphae’s desk because he knew she hated it.
Sure enough, she glared. “Have you ever considered that perhaps they are unhappy in captivity—that this was all inevitable?”
“They aren’t captive,” he sputtered. “They are free to do whatever the hells they please!”
Pasiphae raised her eyebrows. “Humans are free to make as much money as they please, Connor, but their lives are hardly their own. You and I made sure of that.”
He hated that she was right. “It’s never been ideal, but the alternative…”
“You don’t need to school me on the alternative,” Pasiphae bit out. “I was there. I remember the price we paid. Never forget that I saw it all—unlike your precious Aislin.”
Connor stood in frustration, unable to stay still any longer, and resumed his pacing. He had to get himself under control. Now was not the time for a power struggle with Pasiphae. She served her purpose, and he needed her—for now. “Perhaps we’ve given the Order of Night too much leeway. Too many privileges.”
“I’m certain Rakul’s presence in Falcyra will correct that,” Pasiphae mused. “Berith Sanvier will not be pleased.”
The business with Berith’s protégé, Olivia, had been messy, and beyond treasonous once she’d kidnapped Finbar. Finn was troublesome with all his nonsense about helping humans, but he was still Connor’s son. A foolish son, full of the idealistic vigor of youth, to be sure. But those ideals, Finn’s obvious penchant for leadership, and his love for the people of Okairos was exactly what Connor needed to keep the peace. He would be the monster so his son could be the shining hero; he’d always been willing to play that role, and now was no different.
Pasiphae cleared her throat. Had she asked him a question? “I said, Berith is already causing problems. There’s dissension in the House of Remiel. Some vampires reportedly think we aren’t fit to rule. They’re discussing it openly.”
Connor shook with grim laughter. “Berith won’t last the summer. I let him live so that your people could find out all they could about our incubus problem, but I won’t suffer a traitor in our midst.”
Pasiphae sighed, opening her planner and jotting down a few notes. “Fine. I’ll schedule a termination team. Athan as well?”
“End them all. Every single one that questioned the sanctity of our power,” Connor replied, releasing the tension that had been building in his chest all morning. Nothing calmed him quite so much as tying up loose ends. Pasiphae pushed his coffee towards him and he took a long sip. He’d finally cooled down.
Chapter One
The arched plaster ceiling blurred in Harlow’s vision, as the sound of waves filled her ears. Her skin beaded with sweat and her head lolled back on the impossibly soft pile of pillows beneath her. Août had been the hottest month of summer in Nea Sterlis yet, and she’d gotten a bit too much sun on her walk back from the Alabaster Citadel. Harlow had to admit she was ready for fall and missing Nuva Troi. Her sunburnt shoulders stung against the silky sheets.
Strong hands pushed her dress to her waist, cool fingers teasing her inner thighs open. “Want me to heal that sunburn?” Finn asked before pressing his lips to her calf. He could, of course. All Illuminated could heal minor injuries—cuts, bruises, and the like.
Her breath caught in her throat as he kissed his way up her left leg. “Sure,” she whimpered as one finger dragged across the thin fabric of her panties so lightly she wanted to scream.
Her shoulders stopped stinging immediately, a cool rush of relief, as her core heated beneath his touch. The contrast of hot and cold, relief and frustration, sent her into a frenzy of desire. Her head lifted to beg for more, and Finn’s eyes, the color of a stormy sea, met hers, sparkling with wicked resolve.
They were meant to be downstairs, in the Vault, training. She was supposed to be trying to turn into the avian creature, the Feriant, that she’d turned into the night of the Solstice Gala. Except nothing they’d tried for the entire summer had worked. No matter what they did, Harlow couldn’t shift into the Feriant again. She was supposed to be training her abilities with her shadows, too, but Harlow had come home frustrated. Nothing had turned up at the Citadel libraries today either, and she’d been to three different ones. They’d come to Nea Sterlis to get away from Nuva Troi, yes, but also for information, and so far all they’d done was fail.
They’d spent almost the entire summer in the same routine: Harlow attempted to research sorcière with abilities that were considered outliers to the usual talents, anomalous shifters, limenal magic, anything that might give her a clue how to turn into the Feriant, while Finn tried to find out more via the Knights of Serpens’ network. Nothing had turned up, and each passing day was more frustrating than the last in that regard.
She’d left that morning for the Citadel without waking him. He’d been out late, meeting with one of the city’s oldest vampires to talk about incubi lore—they were still trying to find out just how the House of Remiel had revived the infamous creatures—and she hadn’t wanted to disturb him. But she’d received a series of texts when she broke for lunch that promised this torture, and more, for leaving without so much as a kiss.
Now she closed her eyes, reveling in the way the light touch of his fingers on her inner thighs sent delicious chills up her spine. A drop of sweat rolled down the arch of her back as Finn dragged her panties aside, exposing her to the heat of his breath. The scent of her arousal filled the air, and he groaned as his mouth met her clit.
