1 minute to midnight, p.1
1 Minute to Midnight, page 1
1 Minute to Midnight
Midnight Trilogy Book 3
L.M. Hatchell
Contents
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
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Epilogue
Author Note
A Quick Thanks
1 Minute to Midnight
Midnight Trilogy Book 3
First published by ALX Publishing 2022
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Cover Design by CBC Designs
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Editing by Three Point Author Services
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Paperback ISBN: 9781916365124
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Copyright © 2022 by L.M. Hatchell
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
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This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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L.M. Hatchell asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
For Ian and Ali, who sacrificed many hours with me so that this series might come to life
1
Images flashed before Cassandra’s eyes. They were the same images that had haunted her for the past millennium: red hair like flames, unnaturally green eyes, death. This time it was different, however. This time there was more.
A heartbeat. The rhythmic sound of hope.
An impatient clearing of the throat broke through the fog that clouded her mind, and the visions blurred, mixing with reality. The leather chair was rough beneath her. The lights in the room, while dim, caused her to wince. Her body felt raw, as if it had been scraped repeatedly with a razor blade, and the light chiffon of her dress grazed against skin which was now oversensitive and painful even to the gentlest touch. Her mind struggled to remember where she was. When she was.
Five pairs of eyes regarded her warily from across a large oak boardroom table. No, wait … That wasn’t right. There were only four pairs of eyes now. The witch was no longer among them. It was only her essence that Cassandra saw, the memory of her.
Diana’s death hadn’t been a surprise. She’d foreseen the witch’s fate long before Diana had succumbed to her final breath, but Cassandra had borne the vision in silence. Even as the brutality of what she’d seen destroyed a little piece of her own soul, she’d known that it must come to pass. That was her curse: to see and to know.
Fate was often a cruel thing. Not by design, but out of necessity. One suffered so that others may live, and one lived so that many may suffer. Millions of threads weaving together. She’d learned long ago the cost of intervening in even the smallest of those threads. She’d learned to endure the visions in silence until, after more than two thousand years, she hardly knew what was real any longer.
Yet here she was, sitting in front of the Council once more. Because this was bigger than her, bigger than them all. The very existence of her people was at their mercy, and she could only pray that they’d make the right decisions.
“What have you seen?” Méabh sat back in her chair, shrewd gaze watching her closely. The cunning that lay behind those green eyes could easily have been overlooked in the shadow of the fae’s sultry pout and luscious curves, but Cassandra saw it. She saw everything.
“Two hearts beat as one.” The words left her mouth in a whisper, the rhythm of the heartbeat still thrumming through her. “From their love a new possibility is born.”
William slammed his palms on the table and stood. “What the hell does that even mean?”
The werewolf’s Scottish accent was thickened by his frustration, and tension rippled across his shoulders as he turned to pace the length of the boardroom. Cassandra knew that he, out of all the Council members, was the least likely to ever cause her harm, but still she shrank back, eyeing him like one might a wild animal.
“Cassandra.” Kam’s tone was soothing as he drew her attention to where he sat on the opposite side of the table. “Can you tell us exactly what you saw?”
She tilted her head and looked at the shifter with the kind eyes. His Asian features had always fascinated her. They brought to mind faraway lands and magical adventures. She never let herself dwell on such thoughts for long, however; they were not her adventures to have. And she never let herself be fooled by his kind eyes.
When her response wasn’t immediately forthcoming, there was another impatient clearing of the throat from Vlad at the furthest end of the table. The vampire’s face was fixed in a scowl, and though he was the picture of composure, she was almost certain his ridiculously shiny black shoe was tapping the floor impatiently beneath the table. Overcome by a sudden urge to stick her tongue out at him, Cassandra bit back the childish giggle that tried to slip past her lips. His scowl deepened.
“The girl has triggered the prophecy,” she said, after taking a moment to compose herself. “But she also holds the means to stop it.”
The images played before her eyes once more, and they, not the room she was in, became her reality. “A new life grows from their love. A chance to end the prophecy. The child must live. Or we all will die.”
The images shattered, and she came back to the present with a gasp.
Méabh leaned forward, her red-tipped nails clutching the table like claws. “The child? You’re saying the hybrid is pregnant?”
Cassandra stayed silent. She’d said too much already. Anything she said had the power to influence the future, and the balance was already precarious. She couldn’t risk saying more; not now. So, she fixed her gaze firmly on the frosted glass that covered one entire wall of the room and pinched her lips together.
William’s pacing ceased abruptly, and he glared at Vlad. “I guess it’s a bloody good thing we didn’t kill her then, isn’t it!”
“The child is no guarantee. The Seer said it herself.” Vlad waved a hand dismissively. “The hybrid’s death ensures our safety.”
“We gave our word to give them time.”
“We also gave our word to protect our people. Or have you forgotten that?”
William growled low in his throat and leaned over the table towards Vlad. “Don’t try to pretend it’s ‘our people’ that you’re worried about.”
Vlad pushed back his chair and stood.
“Enough,” Kam ordered quietly. Both wolf and vampire paused but didn’t take their eyes from each other. “This hybrid child, will it prevent the Horsemen from returning to our plane of existence?”
Cassandra looked at him once more, debating how much she could safely say. “If it survives, they will not be able to return in their true form.”
“Well then, we need to ensure it does.”
Kam turned to the figure sitting in the corner behind Cassandra, the one who had been observing their discussion in silence. She’d been aware of the man’s presence but had purposely avoided looking in his direction. Every instinct told her that the man was important, that his presence here would change everything. She hadn’t looked at him yet because there were some things even she didn’t want to see.
“Vicktor,” Kam addressed the man, “perhaps the Council Liaison Office may be able to act as a contact between the hybrid and the Council? It’s important that we assist her in whatever manner we can, but I fear, given recent events, that she may be less than amenable to dealing with us directly.”
The conversation faded into the background as Cassandra finally gave in to the compulsion that had been tugging at the deepest part of her mind. Slowly, she turned to look as the man in the neat grey suit stood and nodded.
An icy chill shot through her as the vision came. Flashes of red. Screams of agony. Fires hotter than the depths of hell. He would bring death to them all.
2
The nausea kicked in at the worst possible moment. Phoenix scrunched her eyes tight and tried to slo wly breathe through it. The small ball of light she held in her hands flickered and winked out.
“Dammit.” She bit back a scream of frustration. It had taken her half an hour to get that far. The makeshift target she’d been aiming for mocked her from where it stood, untouched, fifty feet away.
Her stomach lurched, and the image of a small boat on roiling seas came to mind. She hunkered down on the ground and let her head hang between her knees. Was this what it felt like to be hungover? Dammit, it would be easier if she just got sick already. But no, her body insisted on torturing her with relentless, unproductive nausea instead.
All around her the familiar sounds of fighting continued. The field that the Donegal pack used as their main training ground was huge. Thick, lush forests bordered it on all sides, and rich green grass covered the open space. Groups of werewolves dotted the field around her, some in their wolf shape, some in their human one. Cormac, their Alpha, yelled training drills at them, and they obeyed with lethal grace and efficiency.
To her left she could hear Sasha’s hearty laugh as Abi unexpectedly flipped her. While Nate had started Abi’s self-defence training, Ethan’s sister had taken it upon herself to help Phoenix’s very human, very breakable best friend up her game. She was adamant that given guidance, Abi could be every bit as skilled as the Supes she was surrounded by, and Abi had taken to the training with an enthusiasm that made Phoenix proud.
On the other side of her, by the forest treeline, Lucas and Shade were deep in discussion. Shade had been spending quite a bit of time with her father’s Sire ever since Lucas had arrived to save them all from almost certain death at the hands of the Council’s assassins. Of course, the Mists didn’t answer to the Council anymore, thanks to her. She wasn’t quite sure who they answered to now. They’d disappeared after striking a tenuous truce with her, but not before making the ominous promise to return when they were needed.
With the sun high in the midday sky, Lucas and Shade kept close to the shadows provided by the trees. Lucas was old enough to withstand the sun, but Shade was still severely weakened by it. Every few minutes, she would hear a sharp hiss from their direction as Shade stepped into its bright rays and gritted his teeth while Lucas counted, providing intermittent instructions and encouragement as Shade worked to build his resistance.
It was the sounds of training that she focused on now, the familiar routine that had become her life in the three weeks since the Mist attack. At first it had been strange not having someone try to kill her anymore. The Council had agreed to a stay of execution – temporarily at least. And Darius, well, he needed her alive in order for his stupid prophecy to be fulfilled. The gold-gilded note he’d sent to her with a single red rose had reminded her as much.
After the last few months, it all seemed almost anticlimactic, but she took the reprieve while she could because she knew it wouldn’t last.
A few slow breaths later, and the nausea subsided enough for her to rise to her feet. Ethan’s mother, Fia, had assured her this was normal in the early stages of pregnancy, even more so with the accelerated growth of Supes. If that was the case, Phoenix couldn’t help but wonder why women willingly signed themselves up for it.
A niggle of guilt immediately followed the thought, and she placed her hand on her still-flat stomach. “Sorry, munchkin, I don’t mean it, really.”
She sighed and straightened her shoulders, focusing her attention on the wooden target. Small ball of light, pinpoint control, she reminded herself yet again.
The heat resting in the centre of her chest was strengthened by the sun on her bare arms. It was warm for March, and the cloudless sky was a welcome reprieve from the recent crazy weather that had varied from sudden snowstorms to sun showers in a single day. Given that she was half vampire and the pregnancy had brought with it an inconvenient aversion to blood or any food heavy in iron, the elemental fae half of her genetics was having to do a lot of heavy lifting to make up for the shortfall in sustenance. The sunny day was a much needed chance to replenish her energy.
Focusing her thoughts, she directed the heat into her arms and down to her open palms, cupped together in front of her. The spark of light was hesitant at first, her power confused by the willing barrier she placed on it. Sure, she could blast the target with a huge ball of light in the blink of an eye, but that would only get her so far. She needed to start learning real control of her fae powers instead of just blowing shit up and blinding everyone around her.
Gently, Phoenix urged the spark of light to grow, mesmerised by the tiny ball of light that radiated the sun’s heat back up at her. It was getting easier to draw on the power of the sun, the connection as natural to her as breathing once she’d finally embraced it. She smiled. She could do this; she could be a force to be reckoned with, even if she had to stop to retch every once in a while.
She coaxed the light to grow until it was almost the size of a tennis ball. It began to emit a tremendous amount of heat as she focused the energy into the small space. She raised her eyes and zeroed in on her target.
Head? No, that was too adventurous to start with. A larger body part, maybe. The chest? That was doable, wasn’t it? She just … needed … to … concentrate …
The image of the ball striking the wooden figure dead centre held in her mind, she released the power. An ear-splitting BOOM sounded, and she was flung backwards, landing with a heavy thud on the ground.
The field around her grew completely silent. Phoenix shook her head in confusion and looked at the target. Only it wasn’t there. In its place was a muddy crater in the ground where the target had once been.
The front door flung open as Ethan stepped out of the kitchen and into the hallway, steaming cup of tea in hand. Phoenix stomped into his parents’ house, her vibrant red hair in disarray, dirt on her clothes, and her shoulders tense. He froze, gaping at her. “What –”
She cut off his question with a warning glare and stormed up the stairs without a word. A couple of leaves fell from her top as she went, and Ethan looked from the stairs to the front door and back again. What the hell had happened at training?
He moved to follow her but hesitated with his foot on the first step as he remembered the look on her face. Her mood had been rather unpredictable after training sessions recently. The battle with the Mists had taken a lot out of her, and for a time she’d worried that she had burned out her fae powers entirely. He’d tried pointing out that her body was under a lot of pressure, what with the pregnancy and all that, but his suggestion that she maybe take it easy for a while had been met with a snarl that would rival any wolf in his pack.
She hadn’t seemed injured. Maybe she wanted to be alone?
Before he could make a decision on whether or not to check on her, Nate appeared in the hallway, eyes glued to the tablet in his hand. “You got a minute?”
Ethan gave a final glance at the empty staircase and sighed, following Nate into the living room. A low fire simmered in the stone fireplace even with the sun streaming through the large picture windows that covered one wall of the room. He placed his cup of tea on one of the small oak side tables and settled into the oversized sofa facing the window and the view of the rolling hills that made up the pack lands.
