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  Immortal Soulless: Sanctuary

  Tanith Frost

  Copyright 2017 Tanith Frost

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced in whole or in part by any means existing without prior written permission from the author.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be distributed via the Internet or by any other means, electronic or print, without the permission of the publisher. For more information, visit www.tanithfrost.com

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Sanctuary/ Tanith Frost

  First edition, June 2017

  Created with Vellum

  For Shannon

  who’s been here since the beginning

  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

  Note from the author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Tanith Frost

  Chapter One

  This has to be the longest fucking drive ever.

  It wouldn’t be so bad if we could stop for a break, but Daniel and I are on a tight schedule. We’re not on the hunt tonight, but on the run. The sunrise is chasing us down from the east, and all we have to look forward to if we’re caught is agony as we burn, followed by the end of everything. Forever.

  It’s motivation to haul ass, certainly. Doesn’t help my frustration with being cooped up so soon after regaining my freedom, though.

  I stretch my legs out, knocking my blue backpack onto its side, and glance over at Daniel. He runs a hand through his messy brown hair and adjusts his anti-glare glasses. He probably thinks this drive is fantastic. He’s seen incredible advances in transportation technology since he died more than seventy years ago, and I’m sure the Challenger he’s driving now offers way more comfort and convenience than whatever he had when he was alive.

  He’s also accustomed to travelling. He’s done a lot of it over the past few months, chasing down the last of Katya’s pack of rogue vampires, while I—having nearly lost myself in my own pursuit of them—rested in the hospital, working though the aftereffects of killing a living human. I only saw Daniel on supervised visits in the common area at the hospital when he stopped in to check on me.

  We had no deep conversations. No interactions anyone watching us could misconstrue as affection or attachment. No touches. No kisses, badly as I wanted to cover him with them every time I looked at him. Still, he was there.

  I catch myself smiling at him. This vampire, my creator and former trainer, hard-ass extraordinaire and beautiful temptation, is the only reason I escaped the execution that should have been my punishment for killing. It’s not the first time he’s put himself and his reputation on the line for me, or the first time he’s ensured my continued existence in this world.

  I still have no idea what that means. I don’t think he understands it, either.

  He flashes me a curious look. “All right there, Aviva?”

  “Fine, thanks. You want to put some music on?”

  He quirks an eyebrow. “Your music?”

  “Never mind.”

  There’s a lot to like about Daniel. Not just physically, though his chiseled jaw and sculpted body are enough to have me shifting uncomfortably in my seat if I look at him for too long. It’s been ages since the first—and last—day we spent together in my bed, finding both exquisite pleasure and badly needed comfort in the midst of a dangerous assignment, releasing all of the pent-up tension we’d both been denying during my training. I’m trying not to think about how badly I want to have him again, to explore his body, to fight him and test him and see whether he still wants me as he did then, or thinks I’m too broken now.

  But there’s more to it than that, much as my body insists that the attraction is the most important thing tonight. He’s strong. He’s a good vampire, though as he frequently reminds me, the concepts of good and bad have nothing to do with us anymore. He’s loyal to our clan, Maelstrom, and his elders, always abiding by the rules that keep us and the stock we feed on safe. He’s been loyal to me, too, and has showed me more kindness in his rough, hard way than he’s ever seemed comfortable with, even as he’s shaped me into something capable of withstanding whatever the supernatural world throws at me.

  But he has his flaws, one of which is his taste in music. His preferences for cars and clothes may have evolved as the decades passed, but he’s got an old man mentality when it comes to music, and he thinks everything I listen to is crap.

  It’s not the biggest barrier between us. Not by a long shot. But tonight, it’s making for a long, mind-numbing drive with only the roar of the engine and the scraggly black spruce that line the Trans-Canada Highway to keep us company. Daniel’s not much for conversation if we’re not talking about work. Anything else that comes up between us seems to head all too quickly toward territory that’s not appropriate for vampires, and I guess chatting about the weather wears a little thin after almost a century of small talk.

  I turn to look out the window, but can still see his smile in the reflection. It’s a myth that we can’t see ourselves in mirrors, one I suspect arose when people thought you needed a soul to show up in one. Part of the theory isn’t wrong, at least. It’s true we have no souls. I felt the change in me as soon as I woke up as a vampire. The intense power within me, what we call the void—it was nothing like life. It still isn’t. For a while I tried to cling to my connection to what I once was, to hope I still had a scrap of the soul that made me human. But now I know that it’s gone.

  It’s a relief to have accepted that. I can’t say I’m entirely happy about what my new existence means for me—my need for blood, my newly discovered thirst for fear and death, my forced separation from everything and everyone that defined me when I lived—but acceptance is a step.

  And so is this new assignment. We’re on our way across the island, travelling from St. John’s to a spot near the eastern border of Gros Morne National Park, to the Newfoundland Werewolf Sanctuary. It’s not a place that’s noted on any map humans have access to. Nor is the nearby town, Bloody Bight, where we’ll be feeding when the need arises.

  Supervising the wolves is a shit job. I know that. Daniel used to threaten me and Trixie with demotion to the Department of Unnatural Resources when we got out of line during training. But it’s a chance for me to prove myself worthy of the elders’ trust, something I desperately need if I ever want to find my place in our clan.

  My stomach turns at the thought of Trixie, and I press my forehead against the cool glass of the window. I don’t let myself think about her much anymore. She made bad choices, fell in with rogues, and now she’s gone.

  Completely.

  There’s no going on to a better place when you’re a vampire. This is it. You get to keep your youth, your strength, your beauty, for as long as you can survive this world, and then it’s over.
One little decapitation, silver bullet to the head, or dose of the drug I’ve learned is referred to only as True Death, and you’re less than dust in the wind.

  I stare out the windshield and push Trixie from my mind. She’s gone. I’m here. And I have choices to make—choices that will define my path within Maelstrom for centuries to come, should I last that long.

  This shit assignment is an opportunity, a fact that Daniel has reminded me of in his subtle way on several occasions. Lie low, stay in line, prove my loyalty, get back on track. Maybe when I see the terrifying and beautiful Miranda again, she’ll be pleased with what I’m becoming.

  The thought of the high elder’s ancient eyes and overwhelming power makes me shudder. I fear her and the other mysterious elders of Maelstrom, yet they’re everything I’m supposed to strive for.

  This is what I am now. This is the world I need to operate in. I’m determined to make the best of it.

  I clasp my hands in my lap, willing my body to be still. I’m brimming with energy, and that’s half the problem. Daniel and I visited the Inferno before we hit the road.

  My feeding at the club tonight wasn’t as mind-blowing as killing would be, but it was more than satisfying compared to what I was getting in the hospital. And now the life that young woman shared with me has me ready to burst. I feel like I could jump out of the car and run to the sanctuary, leaping over moonlit ponds and darting through the forests, silent and powerful as the stars themselves. The car feels like a prison. Or maybe a straitjacket.

  My gaze falls on Daniel again, taking in the way his t-shirt rests against his body, the flex of his forearm as he grips the gearshift a little tighter when he feels my attention on him.

  “Didn’t you just feed?” he asks, smiling. “You still look hungry.”

  “Something like that.” It’s all I’ll offer. Things are too up in the air between us for me to expose my desires to him, and definitely too uncertain for me to let him know that I haven’t quite managed to let go of the deeper things I feel for him.

  He chuckles, faint and low. Bastard. Maybe he doesn’t feel these urges as strongly after being dead for so long. Or maybe his self-control is just better than mine.

  Daniel removes his hand from the gearshift and strokes his fingers up my thigh, gripping tight near my groin before releasing me, sending a teasing little bolt of desire through me.

  “Pull over or fuck off, Daniel.” I cross my legs tight and reach up to pull my hair into a braid, just to have something productive to do with my hands.

  “Don’t tempt me. We can’t afford a pit stop if we want to be indoors before sunrise.”

  At least he seems to feel some regret over that. August is a terrible time for this journey. Winter would have been better, with its long nights and ample time for distractions along the way.

  He’s still watching me. Asshole.

  “Eyes on the road,” I mutter, and reach for the backpack at my feet to look for something to keep my mind occupied.

  Most of my stuff is in the trunk, packed in two suitcases and three cardboard boxes. Books, mostly, plus clothes and anything else I’ll need over the next few months. I have no idea how long I’ll be assigned to the sanctuary, supervising the werewolves and making sure they’re not threatening to expose the supernatural world we vampires work so hard to keep secret. I’m told it’s pretty quiet up there, that they prefer to be left alone, so I plan to use the time to study.

  When I was in training, my education didn’t involve a lot of books. I was supposed to focus on adjusting to my new existence, learning to survive in the night, and opening myself to my enhanced sensory perceptions and whatever unique gifts I might possess. Then I got stuck in a hospital, and had some time to read about the society that Maelstrom and a string of associated clans around the world have set up.

  Honestly, it makes for pretty dry reading. I don’t have the kind of security clearance that would give me access to anything really juicy. But studying was better than staring at the hospital walls, and I think I’m getting closer to answers about why we’re here at all.

  The only book I have in my backpack is about the sanctuary. I’ve been through it already, but it never hurts to review.

  The book is beautiful, bound in leather and gorgeously typeset. I run my fingers over the thick paper and inhale the scent of old ink mingled with the notes and corrections made in the margins over the years since the book’s printing.

  There’s surprisingly little in this one about the history or biology of the werewolves themselves. Instead, it focuses on the time when the vampires decided the supernatural world needed to disappear from sight to protect them from humans. That time was long before mine, even before Daniel’s, back when the vampires were still forming their clans. Back when they realized the wolves were a threat to that secrecy.

  Most vampire clans chose to exterminate the werewolves outright. I was shocked when I first learned that, but the weres didn’t give them a lot of other choices. Werewolves spend most of their time in human form. They don’t want to hide, they want to live the lives they were raised for. To mingle with humans, breed with them, enjoy life with them, and then roam as wolves when they must. Worse, they’re not known for having good attitudes toward playing by non-pack rules. The werewolves of that time refused to hide away, continued killing livestock and even humans, drawing attention to themselves, letting myths and rumours spread. The vampires had to do something to control the threat, and they did.

  All of that is outlined in the book, as is the fact that Maelstrom, the clan responsible for much of eastern Canada, decided to allow the wolves to live if they agreed to travel to an isolated sanctuary for every change cycle, to sign in and out, to remain accountable to vampires for any slip-ups or sightings.

  From all I’ve heard, and judging by the apprehensive and occasionally sympathetic looks I’ve received from those who found out where I’m headed, it’s not an ideal set-up. The wolves are resentful, acting like we’ve imprisoned them even though they’re allowed complete freedom when they’re in human form. They’re rude, often uneducated, overconfident in their supernatural power, and defiant.

  And there’s this. A note scribbled in the margin that I’ve been puzzling over since I noticed it. Conflicting power? Big question mark, tiny writing, as though it’s an idea the note’s author wasn’t certain about.

  “Daniel, have you ever noticed anything weird about werewolves’ power?” I ask him.

  A sour expression flashes over his features, as it tends to do when we talk about them. He’ll have to get that under control. Or maybe not. Daniel’s assignment right now is just to escort me to the sanctuary, and then he’ll be gone as soon as they need him back in town. Their hunt isn’t over. There are only a few suspected members of Katya’s crew still at large, but Daniel won’t stop until they’re all in custody and his job is finished.

  Shame I don’t have a similar escape plan.

  “Not especially,” he says. “They don’t have the void in them, if that’s what you mean. It’s not connected to us.”

  “That makes sense.”

  I trace my finger over the words again. Werewolves are alive. We’re dead. That’s not necessarily a recipe for conflict between us, though. Humans are alive, and we’re quite happy to keep them around.

  But werewolves are also supernatural.

  “Probably best to just let it lie,” Daniel says. He’s leaned over to look at the note. “It is what it is. Whatever the reason we hate each other, it’s not going to change.” He gives me a hard look before returning his attention to the road, where a big truck is coming from the west. I close my eyes tight against the headlights.

  I understand what he’s not saying out loud. He knows me too well. Much as I like to think I’m on my way to becoming a proper vampire, I’m still myself. I still want everyone to get along. I crave connection. These are dangerous tendencies, and they make me suspect in the eyes of the elders who will judge my progress. They’ll want to s
ee me being a hard-ass, doing my job, keeping the wolves in line, making sure they’re staying in the sanctuary borders, demanding the respect owed to our species.

  And I will. No more Ms Nice Guy. No more caring what anyone outside of Maelstrom thinks of me.

  I turn the page in the book. Most of this section describes early incident reports about the wolves roaming or otherwise causing trouble. In another time or place, it might not be so strange for wolves to be about, even to be shot by the occasional farmer. Here, it’s a red flag to those who might be on the hunt for monsters. The werewolves resemble the Newfoundland wolf, Canis lupus beothucus, during their canine phase. They’re responsible for a lot of the sightings recorded in history books, especially after many werewolves fled Europe and settled here. But that species has been extinct since early in the twentieth century, and there are no other wolf species around. Should a hunter see one here and report it, we might have a difficult time suppressing a human investigation.

  Or worse. There are people out there with grudges against our world who would love to take a hunting party into a werewolf sanctuary, no matter how many vampires stand in the way or how strong and vicious the wolves might be.

  The drawings of the wolves in this book are lovely, if a little strange. The canine phase is perfect, even beautiful, though drawn with teeth bared and ears back. And the human phase is just that—human, if with something of a Neanderthal aspect that makes me wonder whether they really look like that or whether the artist might have let her own opinions of them influence the images. The guy on the page I’m looking at now looks like he’d beat you with a club sooner than he’d sit down and talk to you.