Revelations

  Revelations

  The Belle Morte Series

  BELLE MORTE

  REVELATIONS

  HUNTED

  Winter 2024

  CHANGES

  Winter 2025

  Revelations

  Belle Morte Book Two

  Bella Higgin

  Contents

  Dedication

  Map of Belle Morte

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Hunted Sample Chapters

  For my mum, who never lost faith in me, even when I lost faith in myself.

  Chapter one

  Renie

  I drifted in darkness, blind and deaf to anything but the constant, gnawing ache in my stomach. Every so often a warm, sweet liquid slid down my throat and the hunger pangs faded, but never for long.

  That terrible hunger always surged back, like fire.

  Occasionally, there were snatches of awareness: the sensation of cool hands touching my face; the faint murmur of a male voice. At the back of my fevered brain, I was aware that I knew that voice, loved that voice. But then the hunger roared back and everything was lost.

  It could have been days, months, or even years before I finally cracked my eyes open. A corniced ceiling took shape above me, bright spots of light coalescing into a crystal chandelier.

  Pieces of memory filtered back into my battered brain.

  Bel e Morte.

  I was lying tangled in black satin covers in a huge four-poster bed, and the walls around me were indigo blue, much darker than the pale-gold bedroom I shared with Roux. Light from the chandelier winked off a pair of swords mounted on the wall.

  I knew this room—this was Edmond’s bedroom.

  And standing by that bed was Edmond Dantès himself, the vampire I’d fallen in love with. He looked like a dark angel, all coal-black hair and ivory skin, eyes glittering like diamonds, and the breath would have caught in my lungs at the sheer beauty of him . . . but I no longer needed to breathe.

  I touched my throat, then pressed my palm to my chest. No heartbeat.

  Memories rushed back, making me reel: June’s escape from the west wing, the attack on Belle Morte, my final attempt to help her, which had ended with her plunging a knife into my chest, and—

  “Etienne,” I gasped. My lungs felt rusty and my lips were dry.

  The vampire who had pretended to be my friend—who’d helped me find the truth about June only to reveal that he was the one who’d killed her and turned her into a monster.

  Edmond slid onto the bed next to me, as graceful and as fluid as a cat. “Hush, mon ange. Don’t worry about that now.”

  I recoiled from him instinctively, and Edmond went very still.

  Emotion roared in my head, making it hard to think.

  I was dead.

  I had died out there in the snow.

  All I’d wanted when I’d come to Belle Morte was to make sure that June was okay, and now I couldn’t even comprehend what the future held. I’d never grow older than eighteen. I’d never have a career. It would be years before I built up enough UV resistance to spend any real time in the sun. All the things I’d taken for granted as a human were lost to me now.

  The pain of all those lost maybes caught in my throat, making my eyes burn, but no tears fell.

  My palm was still pressed to my chest, vainly waiting to feel the thump of a heart that would never beat again. Probing my teeth with my tongue, I flinched when I felt the sharp points of fangs. When I’d first opened my eyes as a vampire, cradled in Edmond’s arms on the snowy grounds of Belle Morte, I’d been aware of these changes, but in an abstract sort of way.

  Now the reality hit me like a hammer to the brain.

  I was a vampire.

  For the rest of my life, I’d have to rely on human blood to survive.

  I’d become the very thing I’d once feared.

  “What have you done to me?” I whispered.

  A shadow of pain swept across Edmond’s perfect face.

  Nausea curdled inside me, and I clutched my stomach. The sweet liquid I remembered drinking when I was lost in the darkness, the only thing that had quelled the hunger pangs—that had been blood.

  I’d been drinking human blood.

  “I’m a monster,” I rasped.

  Still, Edmond didn’t move, didn’t speak, but the look in his eyes was devastated, like something inside him was breaking.

  I’d given him permission to turn me—I knew that, but I didn’t know how to cope with the monumental change that had come over my body and my life. I was scared and angry, and I had no idea what I was supposed to do with myself.

  An aching wave of hunger rolled over me and I groaned. My fangs pricked my lower lip, and my gums throbbed.

  Ignoring my harsh words, Edmond pulled me gently against his chest. “The hunger will pass. You’re almost there,” he murmured.

  His voice was like velvet, wrapping me in warmth and safety, and the room dimmed, blackness rushing to welcome me back. My last thought was that, despite what I’d said to him, I was glad that Edmond was here, holding me.

  Edmond

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Renie toss and turn in a restless sleep, Edmond wished there’d been another way to save her.

  He’d once told her that if he could go back in time, even if he knew all the terrible times that awaited him as a vampire, he’d still choose this life. But he wouldn’t have chosen it for her.

  Etienne’s treachery had given Edmond what he desperately wanted—for Renie to stay with him. Now she would never grow old and die while he watched helplessly. They had a chance to actually be together.

  But that meant nothing if Renie wasn’t happy with the choice she’d made.

  The door opened and Ysanne Moreau swept in, Ludovic following tentatively behind. The Lady of Belle Morte cast her eye over Renie’s sleeping form, but her cool expression didn’t change.

  “How is she doing?” she asked.

  “Better,” Edmond replied, stroking the tangled mess of Renie’s auburn hair, brighter than ever against her vampire-pale skin.

  Ysanne knew about his feelings for Renie now, but he’d first lied to her about them, and he knew Ysanne wouldn’t forget that. Their friendship had been forged through the ages, love and loss binding them together, and Edmond had hated to lie to the person who’d known him longer than anyone. But relationships between vampires and donors were strictly forbidden, and when Edmond realized that he couldn’t fight his feelings for Renie, he’d had to lie to his oldest friend.

  “Do you believe she’s through the worst of it?” Ysanne asked.

  “Because the Council will be coming soon, and you can’t be here when they arrive.”

  Edmond closed his eyes. Turning a human without permission from the Council—the collective rulers of the British and Irish Vampire Houses—was one of the most serious crimes a vampire could commit. Ysanne should have punished him immediately, but she’d stayed her hand so he could help Renie through the turn. It was not a reprieve that anyone else would have granted. But even Ysanne couldn’t hold off his punishment forever, especially when she herself was in serious trouble with the Council.

  Under her watch, June Mayfield had been killed and turned, but instead of waking up as a vampire, she had woken up rabid. Vampire law decreed that rabids were too dangerous to live, and Ysanne should have killed June the moment she’d found her. She hadn’t.

  Instead, she’d hidden June in the mansion’s west wing, and then she’d brought Renie to Belle Morte under the guise of being a donor, hoping that Renie might be able to help June recover her sanity.

  But Renie had failed. Rabids could not be saved, and by the time Ysanne realized that, it was too late—Etienne had turned June loose on the house just as Belle Morte had come under attack from enemy forces.

  The bodies of the people who’d died because of that had been removed, but the house still smelled of blood.

  Edmond’s illegal turning of Renie was just one of the many bleak shadows darkening Belle Morte.

  “Edmond?” Ysanne prompted, and he realized he hadn’t answered her question.

  He gazed down at Renie again, curled up in his bed where she’d been for the last three days, her hair spread over his pillow like a shower of autumn leaves. He could tell Ysanne that he needed more time with her, but it would be a lie. Renie was through the worst of the turn—the next time she awoke, it would be as a true vampire. Edmond had helped her as
much as he could, and he wouldn’t disrespect the time Ysanne had given him by asking for more. He wouldn’t lie to her again.

  “Yes,” he said, his heart feeling like a rock in his chest. He had no idea what punishment he had incurred by turning the girl he loved.

  Ysanne’s icy mask slipped for a fraction of a second. “Vieil ami, you know I have no choice.”

  Edmond climbed off the bed and approached her—the woman who’d first opened his eyes to the vampire world and who he’d once loved as a partner and still loved as a friend. “I would never blame you,” he said. “The choice was mine, and I’d make it again, regardless of the consequences.”

  Ysanne kissed his cheek, a soft brush of her lips, and then the cool mask was back in place.

  “It’s time to go,” she said.

  Edmond looked back at Renie, memorizing every line of her face, every strand of her hair. He remembered the way her lips curved when she smiled at him, the way her eyes could flash with anger or glitter with laughter. He committed every part of her to memory because he didn’t know when he’d see her again.

  Ysanne left the room and Edmond started to follow her, but stopped when Ludovic put a hand on his shoulder.

  “I’ll take care of her,” Ludovic said.

  Edmond laid his hand on Ludovic’s. “Thank you,” he said.

  Then, with one last look back at the girl who’d stolen his ancient heart, Edmond left to pay the price for saving her.

  Renie

  The next time I woke up, Edmond had gone. Ludovic and Isabeau stood close to the door, speaking in low voices. I was a vampire now, and could hear every word they said. Too bad I didn’t speak French.

  They both looked over as I slowly sat up, and Ludovic approached me. His face was unreadable. “How do you feel?”

  “I . . . okay.” The crippling hunger pangs had faded to a dull ache in the pit of my stomach.

  I climbed out of bed, expecting my legs to feel shaky, but they were strong. My whole body felt strong.

  This was it then. I really was a vampire.

  When I was first turned, I hadn’t had time to process the enormity of it; I’d literally just died, after all. In my conscious moments during the turn, I’d registered only the worst parts. Now I was calmer, more able to think about the decision I’d made.

  Yes, I was a vampire, and while I was technically no longer alive, I would still live. Possibly forever. I had never imagined something like this happening to me, and it would take some serious getting used to, but the knife that June had plunged into my chest had not ended everything.

  June . . .

  A sharp pain sliced through my heart, and I sucked in a breath that I didn’t need anymore.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “How much do you remember?” Isabeau asked, clasping her hands in front of her. Her thick hazelnut curls were pulled back in a low ponytail, and her expression was solemn.

  “I remember Etienne being the bastard who murdered my sister,”

  I said in a low, hard voice. “Where is he?”

  Ludovic and Isabeau exchanged a look.

  “We don’t know,” Isabeau said.

  “What?”

  Ludovic took over. “After June stabbed you, she and Etienne disappeared. By the time Edmond and I reached the gardens, they’d gone.

  We have no idea where they went.”

  “Roux? Jason?” I said.

  I hadn’t come to Belle Morte to make friends, but my roommate, Roux Hayes, and Jason Grant, another donor who’d arrived at the same time as us, had quickly found their way under my skin and into my heart. They were the best friends I’d never expected to have.

  “They’re fine,” Isabeau said, but something in her voice gave me pause.

  “How long have I been here?” I asked.

  “Three days.”

  “Where’s Edmond?”

  Another look passed between the older vampires, and Ludovic’s face darkened.

  “Renie, you must understand that Edmond did something very serious by turning you,” said Isabeau gently.

  My stomach turned to ice. Something was wrong.

  “Where is he?” I repeated.

  “Yesterday he was imprisoned for turning you without permission,” Ludovic said.

  His eyes were hard as he looked at me, and I wondered if he blamed me for what had happened. Edmond was his best friend, someone he’d survived the hell of war with, and Edmond wouldn’t be locked up if I hadn’t come to Belle Morte.

  Then the ice in my stomach turned to fire.

  No, Edmond wouldn’t be locked up if Etienne hadn’t murdered my sister.

  “Did Ysanne lock him up?” I demanded.

  I wanted Ludovic to say no, that it had been done by another member of the Council. Just days ago, Ysanne had had Edmond whipped with silver for defending me against another vampire; I couldn’t bear to think that she’d punish him again.

  “Yes, she did,” Ludovic said.

  I closed my eyes.

  There were bigger things going on here than just Edmond and me—I knew that—but the thought of him suffering, again, for my sake, was almost more than I could bear.

  Edmond no longer loved Ysanne romantically, but he still loved her as a friend. He still trusted and respected her. Did that count for nothing?

  “Can I see him?” I said.

  Isabeau shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

  This wasn’t fair. Edmond had only turned me to save my life. How could Ysanne punish him for that?

  “I need to see Ysanne,” I said.

  Isabeau’s expression was sympathetic but firm. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Rage suddenly blazed through me, faster than I could rein it in.

  “I don’t care what you think. Maybe you blindly support everything Ysanne does because you’re sleeping with her, or whatever you two are doing, but I’m not standing by while she does this to him. Not again.”

  Isabeau’s eyes flared red and her lips pulled back from her fangs.

  “Watch what you say,” she warned.

  “What’s Ysanne going to do—terminate my contract? I’m not a donor anymore.”

  As I spoke, I felt a strange swell of power—not physical power but something else. I was a vampire now, and Ysanne couldn’t brush me off the way she had when I was human.

  I stalked across the room and threw open the door so hard it left a dent in the fancy wallpaper.

  Isabeau strode after me. The red had faded from her eyes but her face was set in hard lines. “Don’t be foolish, Renie.”

  Her hand touched my shoulder but I shook her off. I spun to face her, my bare feet sinking into the thick carpet that lined Belle Morte’s many hallways. Rage blistered inside me, so hot and fierce it felt like I would combust on the spot. My gums ached as my fangs emerged, sliding to their full length.

  This wasn’t just about Edmond. It was about my sweet sister dying in this house and coming back as a blood-crazed monster at the hands of a man I had trusted. It was about that man escaping justice while Edmond was punished for saving my life.

  Isabeau regarded me, her face infuriatingly blank. If I’d hoped that becoming a vampire would mean I could better decipher what they might be thinking, I’d been wrong to.

  Ludovic stood a little behind her, his eyes fixed on me. When Edmond had leaped to my defense against Adrian, the vampire who’d groped me during a welcome party for visitors from House Nox, Ludovic had made sure no one else had bothered me while Edmond and Adrian were removed from the ballroom. He’d shielded me from Adrian when the other vampire returned, and then a few hours later he’d broken Belle Morte’s rules and smuggled me into the north wing, where the vampires slept and no donor was meant to go, so I could see Edmond after his beating. I wasn’t sure how Ludovic felt about me at this point, but I hoped he understood that the rage I felt was on Edmond’s behalf.

  Pieces of memory clicked together in my head, and I remembered what I’d said to Edmond the last time I’d woken up. Some of my rage died down, replaced by scalding shame. I’d called myself a monster—

  and by extension, him. I’d blamed Edmond because, however horrible and unfair it was, in that moment I needed to blame someone.

  It had been a while since I’d truly thought of vampires as monsters, but when I’d felt the prick of my fangs and realized I’d been drinking human blood, my old fears had resurfaced, and had spilled cruelly from my mouth.