Lost Hope

LOST HOPE

Frankie Rose

Copyright © 2014 Frankie Rose

Smashwords Edition

Books by Frankie Rose

SOVEREIGN HOPE (Book 1 in the Hope Series)

ETERNAL HOPE (Book 2 in the Hope Series)

HALO (Book 1 Blood & Fire Series)

COMING SOON

APRIL—Radicals (Book 2 in the Blood and Fire series)

Copyright © 2014 Frankie Rose

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at frankierose101@gmail.com

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places and characters are figments of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

ISBN: 9781311357847

Contents

Dedication

One—London 1881, Aldan

Two—London, 1891, Kayden

Three—London, Present Day, Farley

Four—London, 1909, Daniel

Five—London, Present Day, Kayden

Six—Manchester, 1945, Daniel

Seven—London, Present Day, Daniel

Eight—London, Present Day, Farley

Nine—London, 1896, Daniel

Ten—London, Present Day, Oliver

Eleven—London, 1945, Daniel

Twelve—London Present Day, Farley

Thirteen—London, 1945, Kayden

Fourteen—London, Present Day, Daniel

Fifteen—London, Present Day, Farley

Sixteen—London, Present Day, Daniel

Seventeen—London, 1946, Kayden

Eighteen—Paris, 1946, Kayden

Nineteen—London, Present Day, Daniel

Twenty—London, 1963, Daniel

Twenty-one—Location Unknown, 1963

Twenty-two—London, Present Day, Farley

Twenty-three—Montana, 1961, Kayden

Twenty-four—Montana, 1961, Kayden

Twenty-five—London, Present Day, Farley

Twenty-six—London, Present Day, Farley

Twenty-seven—London, Present Day, Daniel

Epilogue—Los Angeles, Six Months Ago, Daniel

Acknowledgements

About The Author

Time is the longest distance between two places.

―Tennessee Williams

1

An Unusual Beginning

London 1881

Aldan

Malt whiskey was one of the finer inventions of the last seven hundred years. I enjoyed the heat of it as it snaked its way down my throat, burning ever so slightly. That was the part I liked the most: the burn. On an emotional level, it took a lot to reach the deadened space in the center of my chest where my heart used to live, but the whiskey managed to reach it just fine. I pulled in the night air on the balcony overlooking Saville Row, savoring the pins and needles that prickled over my taste buds.

Returning to London had been a mistake. A grievous one that Daniel was probably never going to forgive me for. He still looked half terrified when he walked the streets of the Seven Dials. Most people did wear a horrified expression, admittedly, or the smart ones, anyway—the place was dangerous as sin—but Daniel wasn’t seeing the cold, murderous look in the eyes of the beggars as we passed them by. The ones willing to slit your throat for looking at them sideways. No, Daniel was seeing a different kind of nightmare entirely. Trapped inside his eight-year-old body, a much older Daniel was reliving his childhood when he walked those streets. A childhood that was as abuse-filled and terrifying to him as his time in the Four Quarters had been.

If circumstances had been different, I would have taken him somewhere else. Spain perhaps. Sweden. With his dark hair and shockingly green eyes, the little boy could literally have come from anywhere in Europe. But the only ship leaving New York the day we ran from my people had been headed directly for Liverpool. The next ships to leave port were headed for South America or Africa, and that would have meant a three-day wait at least. Liverpool was our only choice. And then to get to Europe, we had to go through London…

Hence why we were here. Hence why Daniel had fled our rooms and hadn’t been back in five hours. It was okay, though. I knew where he was. The British Museum had been a favorite haunt of his little brother, Jamie, before Daniel’s mother had drowned the little boy in the bathtub. Yes, it took a lot to touch me emotionally, but what she did to her boys definitely touched me. Some people were just not born to be mothers. They were born to be drunks, vile and deplorable in their acts. It broke my heart that I hadn’t been able to save Jamie alongside his brother. I’d told Daniel as much earlier in the day.

‘I’m glad you didn’t! I wouldn’t wish this kind of life on him, Aldan. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone at all!’

That’s why he’d stormed off to sulk somewhere without me. And I was betting the considerably valuable contents of my pockets that he was sitting on the steps of the British Museum now sulking over our little spat. And the problem with having a ward who looked the way Daniel looked was that quite often he needed to be escorted home by the Peelers, and that never ended well. For me, or for him.

Below on street level a whore paced the alleyway, touting her wares. When the street was empty, she whistled in an astonishingly high pitch, entertaining herself when there were no prospective clients to proposition. She didn’t have a clue that she had an audience.

Another draught of the whiskey, another slow burn. Damn, that was good. Another hour. I’d give him another hour before I went out looking for him. It wasn’t a case of Daniel not being able to take care of himself. The boy was quick on his feet and could out run, out climb, out think almost any pursuer on his very worst days. The problem remained, though—how was I supposed to play the role of distressed grandfather if I was seven sheets to the wind when the police showed up with a curmudgeonly Daniel in tow, should they so happen to capture him? I placed the cut-glass tumbler onto the stone balustrade of the balcony, my ears picking up with ease the gritty, grinding noise of the glass on the stonework.

"Even’n there, lovely. Where you headed on such a cold, dark night?"

Sounded like the woman below had found herself a prospective customer. I swirled the burnt amber liquid around in the bottom of the glass, losing myself in the swirling gold, honey, sunshine silkiness of the alcohol. The sound of shifting feet said the prospect was moving on. The whistling started up again.

God made an Island and he placed it in the sea,

His fingers traced the river beds to set

the water free, When the rain falls on the hilltops and

the snow melts the spring

He made the birds and crickets, and he

taught them how to sing.

Some say him nay, it happened not that way,

’Twas the wind of the ages, and the sun

upon the clay,

But who made the wind,

the earth and the sun?

And who made the ages

but the great and timeless—

The lilting Irish folk song cut off with a strangled gasp. A gurgling sound bubbled up from the courtyard below, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention. Something wasn't right. In all my years as a cold-blooded killer, I had honed my senses to a wickedly sharp point. I may have looked like an old man, and my grey hair and the worn lines on my face may have given me the air of someone in the twilight years of his life, but I was a predator. A killer. Innocent and not-so-innocent blood stained every pore of my skin. So I knew the signs of another predator, another member of my species, instantly.

I didn't bother looking over the balustrade. There was no point. The woman below, singing two seconds ago, was dead and the darkened street beneath me was empty. All that remained to be seen there was the prone body of an unfortunate victim, blood oozing out onto the cobblestones to create a grim, crimson halo of death. The architect of her demise had already entered the building.

Slowly uncurling my fingers from around the crystal glass, I left it sitting on the balustrade, my fingerprints still marking my presence on its cool surface. Pricking my ears, I listened. Listened for the sound of footsteps. Listened for the sound of impending violence. I couldn't hear it, but I knew it was coming. Coming for me. A brief flash of relief washed through me as I realized that Daniel wasn't going to have to witness this. I paced back into the rooms I had rented for myself and the boy, quickly collecting up the ruby-hilted dagger that I had carried with me for the last three hundred years, and I waited. Stared at the double French doors that gave entry to the apartment, which were three inches thick and sturdy—the very reason I had chosen this place.

We are who we choose to be, husband. There are eternities of misery to be lived by those who grasp at fortune and power. You have to know in your heart who you are. I do not believe that you are a bad man. Please, for me…don't live an eternity of misery.

I had been living an eternity of misery. Maya, the woman I had once called wife, had known the dark consequences of my actions all those thousands of years ago, knew that I would carry the burden of the people I've murdered around my neck like a yolk. Perhaps if the Immortals' men had come for me thirty years ago, I would have let them take me and have done with it. Put me out of my misery once and for all. But since Daniel had entered my life, I'd learnt once more what it was to care for another human being. And while the misery, that unbearable weight of guilt around my neck, hadn't gotten any lighter, I felt compelled to fight to protect him. I knew in the pit of my gut that as soon as I was dead, Daniel was as good as dead, too.

In the silence of the room, my slow, steady breathing punctuated the stillness. The dagger was heavy in my hand, reassuring. Its point was deadly, a singular, cruel claw that had saved me more than once before. I spun it over in my hand, readying myself. I turned it once, twice…

The doors, despite their thickness, burst open wide. Thin splinters of wood exploded in the air in a shower of debris, and for a heartbeat all was clouded in a great billowing fog of dust and smoke.

Aldan of Canaan! a voice bellowed. You have been summoned by the Judgement Seat. Through the dissipating smoke, I could make out the shape of a tall, lithe figure. Just one. I'd have thought the bastards would have sent more than just one Immundus to deal with me. Seemed I was wrong. But when the figure stepped forward, I saw that it wasn't one of the Reavers’ lackeys come to mete out their perverse sense of justice—it was Linus, himself. He was a bloodthirsty night terror that had plagued the Quarters for the better part of the last ninety years since he had undergone his rites. The man was a monster. Reavers could kill a person, drain them entirely without ever needing to draw blood. Linus didn’t cut his victims because he needed to. He did it because he liked to. Confronted with him now, I knew he would have jumped at the opportunity to come after us. The imperial, devilish look of delight on his face said that my surprise was showing.

Hello, great-grandfather. Such a joy to see you once more. Linus brushed pale, long fingers down the front of his exquisitely cut French suit, surveying the room as he entered, stepping over the shattered remnants of the door.

I'm not your great-grandfather, I snapped. My hand tightened around the dagger. If I were your great-grandfather, I would have taken more of an interest in your upbringing. You wouldn't have grown to be such a sadistic monster, I’d wager.

Linus raised his eyebrows, pale silver eyes traveling over me with obvious distaste. I don't have the time or the breath to repeat enough greats to give you your proper title, old man. But I’ll admit, sadism is something that intrigues me. Tracing an index finger over the polished mahogany dining table where Daniel and I discussed our plans for Europe each morning, Linus grimaced as though he sensed a bad smell in the air. You know, when I look at you I do find myself oddly repulsed. It's a disgrace that you were allowed to age so terribly before you took your rights. It's like I'm looking back in time, looking into a darker era when things were far more primitive. Far more… He flicked his hand dismissively, the corners of his mouth pulling down. "Unsophisticated."

I do come from a far more primitive time. Epochs have passed me by. Civilizations have risen and fallen. I've witnessed more with my two eyes than you will ever see—seeds of brilliance that have flourished and taken root, cultures deep and rich weaving themselves into the landscape of this earth. You've been walking its surface for a mere handful of years.

Linus allowed his gaze to wander as I spoke. He kept on pacing, circling, inching closer and closer, as though I wouldn't notice his slow approach. You know, old man, my handful of years on this earth have been spent wisely. I have been watching. He finally looked at me. "Watching everything. You are a part of our great history, a founding member of our culture, the only one that should truly be of any interest to you. And yet you have perverted our power by sharing it with an inferior. We have decided that we can no longer live with your betrayal and your deceit. I have been given orders to return you to the Quarters where you shall be held for yet another one of your epochs while we figure out how the hell to kill you."

I merely quirked my upper lip into a distorted smile. And what of my charge? What do you plan on doing with him?

Why, I'm going to drain every single last ounce of life from him, of course. He is in possession of energy that does not belong to him. It is my duty to relieve him of it. Shame that it's the only thing keeping him alive, I suppose. The cruel twist of his mouth and the exaggerated curve of his eyebrow declared he didn't think it was a shame at all. He was desperately looking forward to killing Daniel, it was clear. No doubt, just like his son, Jacob, he had been looking forward to killing him ever since I'd brought the small boy back to the Quarters, back when I was foolish enough to believe he would be safe there. I should have known better. There was no such thing as safe as far as the Reavers were concerned.

Linus continued stalking the room, bright eyes, impossibly cold, searching. Scouring. Where is he? The question was asked in such a conversational tone that it was almost as if the man hadn’t just said he was going to kill Daniel but instead wanted to take him out for afternoon tea.

Far from here, I replied. You'll never find him.

Oh, but I will. His smile was a wicked thing, carved in an elegant slash across his face. The lace ruffles around his wrists and choked around his neck like froth spoke of another time, probably the last time Linus had left the Quarters. The world had probably changed immensely since then, but the progress of the outside world undoubtedly wasn't something that concerned the grinning Reaver.

"I'm going to drain you, old man, and I'm going to prise my way into that dusty old head of yours and find the location of that obnoxious little brat. You'll be powerless to stop me, and unlike you I will be able to end his life once and for all."

The dagger was out of my hand before Linus could blink. And that was saying something for and Immortal. He had clearly forgotten about the time I had broken nearly every bone in Jacob’s body for harming Daniel. The blade quivered through the air, honing in on its target—Linus’ chest. It landed there with a sickening force that would have killed any other man.

Linus tipped his head to one side. Really? That is how you would like to move forward in these proceedings? He slowly wrapped his fingers one by one around the hilt of the knife, his eyes never leaving mine. The steel of the blade was slick and red when he drew it out. If you tell me where the boy is now, I will make sure to drain you quickly. He shrugged, placing the knife down on the dining table with a clatter. Or as painlessly as possible, anyway. I can't imagine you accumulated power exiting your body would be a particularly pleasant experience.

Of course Linus would think of it in those terms. He was just like every other Immortal; when he took a person's life force, he regarded their energy as simply that: energy. He refused the souls of his victims an existence within him, unlike me. I'd teetered on the brink of madness for a decade before I had managed to learn how to live side by side with the people I'd killed. You and I both know that's not the truth of how this will go down, Linus. And you also know I'm not going to tell you where he is. Not even if you do rifle through my memories. I'll hide him from you always.

Then you're a fool! Linus leapt forward, a brightly shining blade of his own now in his hand. His movements were quicker, faster than ever before. He shouldn't have been that quick. Not unless…

He had been given power. A vast quantity of it. It was the only thing that made any sense. The Immortals would never have sent him alone to face me otherwise, not after I had so publicly shamed Jacob back in the Quarters. The heat of vengeance shone like the fires of hell in Linus’ eyes. He dashed forwards, arm outstretched, and swung wildly with his weapon, the movement precise and well-practiced.

I dodged the blow, but not before realizing that defeating him wasn't going to be an easy task. The Immortal was nimble, fluid in his movements. For a drawn-out sixty seconds, one whole minute, Linus flew at me with his knife. His hands were blurs filled with silver metal. I blocked each blow as it came for me, each one designed to cause maximum damage. I couldn't hold off much longer, though. I needed my weapon back. Lunging to the right, I charged forward, diving for the ruby-hilted dagger that still lay on the table where Linus set it down.

Oh no, old man! I'm not so proud that I need you armed before I can defeat you with honor. Linus ducked around me and his body became long streaks of white, blue, and black—shirt, suit, hair—stretching past me. He reached the knife before me, tossing it over in his open palm. You may have noticed something new about me, perhaps? he asked, smirking.

You're even more devious and deplorable than the last time we encountered one another? I suggested.

Well, yes, he agreed. Probably, but I was referring specifically to the fact that I now possess an awful lot of power, myself. If you think you can defeat me this time, then I assure you that you are sadly mistaken.

The Reavers did that sometimes, shared their energy when they considered something or someone too large a threat. I had no idea how many of them had pooled their resources to strengthen Linus, but from the awing sense of power that rolled off him and the conceited look on his face, it had to have been a lot. The only problem with Linus’ plan was that he had no idea what he was dealing with.

When my father came for me, I thought he was an angel descended from heaven. He was so young, so breathtakingly perfect that for one moment I thought he had divine origins. Linus just looked at me, the angle of his body and the crooked hitch of his eyebrow displaying his bemusement. I was an old man when I met him for the first time. As soon as he explained his presence, I knew I'd been mistaken. He wasn't an angel at all. He was an agent of some darker power, the polar opposite to all that was good and light. He changed something in me that day. I was a good man all my life, but as soon as he arrived and put me through my rites, I became something terrible. I didn't bother trying to wrestle the knife from Linus. Instead I hooked my thumbs into the coin pockets of my waistcoat, narrowing my eyes at him. How many people do you think I killed before I realized that what I'd been doing was wrong?

Linus stroked the tip of his index finger across his eyebrow, his eyes alight with greed. They say it was a prodigious amount. I’d go so far as to say you reaped a thousand souls before your mind went soft. That's why I'm going to enjoy pulling your energy from you, old man. I will be the strongest Immortal of all of us.

A thousand? I grunted. "You’re a fool. You'd be trying to tap into a well that contains hundreds of thousands of souls. You honestly think to assume you can overcome me?"

Lies! Linus hissed. You can't frighten me. As we stand here together, I am stronger than you and you know it. You will fabricate anything to shake my resolve, but you shan't. He seemed to believe what he was saying—he thought I was lying to him. I was only too happy to disprove his theory.

The soles of my polished leather shoes hit the ground once apiece—left, right—and then I was flush with Linus’ face, staring the man down past his aquiline nose and overbearing arrogance. I slapped my hands on his shoulders and opened up a part of myself that had remained under strict lock and key for decades. A roar of power sang through my veins, but it didn’t belong to Linus. It was the power of the countless people living inside me, relaying around my body, screaming for blood. I'd hardly earned the forgiveness of the people I carried with me at all times, but we'd come to an understanding: I wasn't to hurt anybody, ever, unless they were a Reaver. In which case I had their full blessing. They were never likely to take issue with me harming a Reaver.

Kill him!

Make him suffer!

Do it! Do it! Do it!

One terrible, bone shuddering second later and I was doing it. Linus’ energy began to ebb from his body, a pale blue light speckled with white, glowing particles that pulsed and throbbed as it worked its way towards my hands and began to flow into me. The sensation was one I hadn't felt in so long—cold, overwhelming, heady and divine. The luxurious feeling of the power slid in a reverse tide back up my veins, lighting up every single blood vessel, capillary, cell as it went. By the time it reached my heart, I was shivering with the sheer pleasure of it.

Linus began tearing at my arms with desperate fingers, trying to free himself from my grasp. Let go! Let me go, you bastard!

There was no chance of him escaping now. I