Sanctum Angels Shadow Havens Book 1. Edenmary Black
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to a windowless receiving room where old prayers and the sweet white smoke from incense burners hung in the air. Ilea was brought to the receiving room in a dark, simple gown that Iridea had chosen for her. Her lackluster eyes tracked the daemon healers who took her son from the receiving room to an elevated pyre just outside the doorway, where the dawn would destroy what the flames set below the pyre did not. She collapsed as the first tendrils of smoke began to rise through the soft white shrouding. Sebastien carried her back to her rooms and laid her on her bed again.
“You are beyond vile. I will hate you forever,” she’d whispered, before closing her eyes.
As that evening fell, hours later, Ilea woke, wrapped herself in a soft cloak the color of night and ventured from her rooms. She hurried through the halls of the Demesne, her gown and cloak billowing behind her like sails. Rain had fallen during the gray afternoon hours, which might make her work easier. It was a fact that pleased her, as she wished only to complete her task without seeing anyone. Entering the receiving room where she’d said a final goodbye to her Saan, Ilea pressed the heavy wooden doors open, breathing in the clear night. Overhead the moon’s radiance was a gift. The flashlight she’d brought would not be needed. Stepping down onto the ground, her soft leather boots sank into mud and the hems of her gown and cloak soon followed. At times, she envied Iridea’s comfort with jeans. Undaunted, she moved to the plot of earth where Saan’s body had been taken in flames. As she’d expected, his larger bones had not been rendered to dust and ash, as he’d only been half vampire. They met her eye like silvery spokes of a wheel broken in the mud. Bending quickly, she began pulling them free to put them into her sack.
Chapter One
Four years later…
Priana Grey’s hands and feet were freezing. Her arms felt like wood and a thin trail of blood was snaking its way down her palm from the fine wire binding her wrists. She wiggled her fingertips but couldn’t risk moving more. The man with his fist in her hair would only yank her backward again and the gun at the end of his other hand looked as long as a bowling alley. He would use it, she knew, but she tried to stay calm by telling herself that every breath was a blessing to take her closer to surviving. Even though she was only wearing a wine-colored slip and the guy with the gun kept yanking at her head, she struggled to ignore the knot twisting her gut. The fact that she had a fifty / fifty shot at dying in her underwear in front of total strangers meant nothing now.
Less than two hours earlier, Priana had come to the First Bank of Saint Rushton to make a deposit. Her only thought had been to go to the bank before the oppressive heat and humidity that often bakes southwestern Pennsylvania in early September took hold for the day. Five other people had been in the bank, including two tellers. As she had turned away from the tellers’ counter, a young man with unkempt blond hair had entered the bank, shoved a crowbar through the handles of the glass doors and pulled a gun from the back of his jeans, before ordering everyone to stand in front of the tellers’ counter.
In that instant, she had gone from bank customer to hostage. Priana’s heart had begun hammering in her chest. The guy was strung out and rough looking, in ragged jeans and an oversized plaid jacket. The bitter disgust and hatred in his eyes frightened Pria as much as the gun he kept waving around like some kind of baton. She drew a fast, deep breath and did a quick assessment of her companions. There were two older men, both of whom were very pale. The tellers, both middle-aged women, seemed to be holding themselves together, but a pretty, dark haired girl, who couldn’t be out of her teens, had a bad case of the shakes that caught her attention.
Pria turned her options over in her mind. As the child of a pureblood vampire and an angel who’d chosen to fall, she had skills to end the situation, but putting a human life at risk was unacceptable. Unless there was a direct threat to life, she would not take the life of even someone like the man with the gun. She could try to get close enough to the thief to pull a glamour, which wouldn’t kill him, but given his agitated state, it might not work. If she were close enough to even try a glamour, she could do much more, yet she was reluctant to compromise his life if all he wanted was money. Cursing inwardly, she decided to see where the situation went. Hopefully, he’d just take the money and leave.
The robber pulled two heavy laundry sacks from his long jacket, tossing them at the tellers, with orders to empty the bank’s cash into the bags. As the tellers took the sacks and the thief’s attention followed them, Pria grabbed at the man standing next to her and whispered, “Change places with me,” so she would be next to the young girl, who was almost panting. The girl looked at Pria, eyes wide with terror.
“Cooperate,” Pria whispered. “Keep breathing.”
The tellers didn’t speak to each other as they moved from cash drawer to cash drawer, as one held the sack and the other stuffed bills into the opening. Having worked together for many years, they didn’t need to speak as they both depressed small square buttons beneath the counter. After emptying the cash drawer, they took the sacks to the vault at the left of the tellers’ area.
At the Saint Rushton Police Department Dispatch Center, a light began blinking on the black console of a rookie dispatcher, who wasn’t too sure if he was right about what he thought the light meant. Although still learning the ropes, he knew he wasn’t supposed to leave his console unless someone else covered it. Standing, he looked around a bit frantically before his supervisor saw him from her glass-fronted office. He motioned to her with his arm. She had a kid the same age and she’d already taken a liking to him.
“Shit,” she said when she saw the square red light. “How long’s that been blinkin’? That’s the First Bank of Saint Rushton.”
“Just started,” the rookie answered, a little breathless and a little proud of himself for knowing the light meant that serious shit was going down at the First Bank of Saint Rushton.
“Well, let’s wake up SWAT,” she said looking at her watch. “Christ! It’s not even nine in the morning. Today should be a real kick in the ass, kid!”
By the time the tellers were dragging cash-filled sacks across the floor toward the thief, two SWAT teams, three snipers and two paramedic units were headed for the bank. One SWAT team and the snipers entered the bank through a rarely-used side entrance the thief knew nothing about. The shooters slipped further into interior areas of the bank, normally closed off from the public, including a small employee lounge to the thief’s left side.
When the tellers had dragged the cash-filled bags to the gunman’s feet, he motioned them back in line, yelling, “Now, everyone get your clothes off! Shoes off, too. Throw everything in a pile here,” he ordered, gesturing to the floor with the gun.
Pria heard a sharp intake of breath next to her that alarmed her more than removing her red dress, which was little more than a long tee shirt. She whipped the dress over her head and kicked her flip flops to the center of the floor. Down to her slip, she glanced at the girl, who was sliding a pair of cut offs down thin, tan legs. She wore a simple pink top with buttons and white cotton panties. Her fingers fluttered over the shirt’s buttons, unable to make herself undo them.
“Honey…” Pria whispered.
“I’m not wearing a bra,” the girl hissed, in a panicky voice.
“It’ll be okay. Keep the shirt on. Just don’t say a word, no matter what.”
In a moment, the thief’s eye came to rest on the girl, as the other hostages continued disrobing. He strode forward until he was inches of her face.
“Get your shirt off, bitch!” he screamed.
The girls squeezed her eyes closed as if to protect herself from his fury. She turned her head away, expecting to be hit.
Pria noted the thief’s hot breath and dirty, blond hair. His pale skin was specked with acne scarring. Spittle gathered at the corners of his thin lips.
Pria’s hand flew upward in front of the man’s face. “She won’t run,” she said firmly. “That’s why you want us to take our shoes and clothes off…so we won’t run for the door. She won’t