All Together Stranger Read online

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  Praise for Lara Hayes

  Other Books by Lara Hayes

  Acknowledgments

  Epigraph

  Dedication

  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

  Bella Books

  Synopsis

  Elizabeth Dumas is under quarantine. As the newest Strigoi in Fane’s family, she must prove her loyalty and discretion before she can leave the freight tunnels they call home to hunt on the streets of Chicago. Publicly, she answers to Irina. The name Fane gave her. But how long can Elizabeth deceive the Moroi before he discovers her true allegiance lies with her Maker, Stela?

  Stela is in debt. When she killed a human associate to protect Elizabeth, she terminated a lucrative business endeavor. Now her fledgling Elizabeth is yet another Strigoi Fane must feed, clothe, and protect. And he will have his recompense.

  Together in blood, body and mind, Stela and Elizabeth must keep the truth of their bond and the depth of their love hidden from Fane and the rest of the family.

  After all, one Strigoi cannot belong to another.

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  Praise for Lara Hayes

  Terrible Praise

  The first in the Redamancy Series, Terrible Praise is a highly engrossing story. As noted by the author, the definition of redamancy—an obscure word well suited to Stela—is the act of loving in return. Themes of identity, fulfillment, loss, loyalty, love and redamancy are explored in complex, nuanced ways. The characters draw the reader into the story while the pacing keeps the reader engaged. Hayes’ writing is a pleasure to read and provides thoughtful and sensitive observations, especially when it comes to her characters.

  —Lambda Literary Review

  I LOVE a first person that is written well. A good first person can really pique my curiosity and keep me guessing, and Lara Hayes had me confused (is she really crazy?!) but never lost and always interested. The leading ladies are Stela and Elizabeth, I enjoyed the way they were written especially Elizabeth. Her actions were rational and logical which I can get behind. Stela has a mysterious air to her and I love that sort of thing…Two thumbs up.

  —The Lesbian Review

  This is another debut book that I never once considered that it was. While this may be the first published book, it’s clear that Hayes knows how to write. I’m happy to say I loved the ending and it gave me hope. This is going to be a series so it ends when new things are just beginning. I enjoy different and more cerebral reads on occasion. And I like where the series seems to be headed, so I will be reading more.

  — Lex’s Reviews, goodreads

  Other Bella Books by Lara Hayes

  The Redamancy Series

  Terrible Praise

  Copyright © 2020 by Lara Hayes

  Bella Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 10543

  Tallahassee, FL 32302

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  First Bella Books Edition 2020

  eBook released 2020

  Editor: Cath Walker

  Cover Designer: Judith Fellows

  ISBN: 978-1-64247-119-9

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Acknowledgments

  My deepest thanks to everyone at Bella Books for their work on this book and their continued support, especially Linda and Jessica Hill. Thank you to my amazing editor Cath Walker, it was a dream to work with you again.

  I would not have completed this second installment without the love and encouragement of my mother and brother. And there would be no sequel without the support of each and every person who purchased Terrible Praise.

  Thank you to Carolyn, my friend and pre-reader. Thank you to Dana, my friend, mentor, and fellow author. Thank you to my loves Megan and Jackie. Thank you to both Nicks, Robby, Mandy, Seth, Lizzy, Kelly, John, Lorelei, Stephen, and Catherine. Thank you to Veda, Jess, Natasha, and Sue.

  “It is very painful, I think, to be told: ‘You enchanted the world for me, you made me feel things I never knew I could, now please be normal at dinner.’”

  -Brian Phillips, Run to the Devil: On The Ghosts and the Grace of Nina Simone

  Redamancy (noun): The act of loving in return.

  For Meg.

  I

  Crepuscule

  I’m never tired anymore.

  My eyes open of their own accord at sunset, a phenomenon I sense in my marrow, but no longer witness. The sensation is not exhilarating, bearing some resemblance to vertigo.

  Falling asleep occurs without my knowledge or consent and is not prefaced by fatigue. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, at precisely five a.m. my vision tunnels, my ears ring and an impenetrable slumber sucks me into oblivion. I don’t hear the voices of those around me while incapacitated. I can’t discern light from dark and absolutely nothing wakes me until my body registers the descent of the sun.

  Stela is the only reason I was able to verify any of this. We tried everything I could think of to postpone my inevitable shutdown, but I will black out mid-sentence when sleep comes. Even standing in the middle of the room or walking. After two rather embarrassing attempts to prolong my coherence through physical exertion—during which I fell asleep on top of and underneath her—I gave up.

  The others tell me that they too rose and fell at dusk and dawn in the early years, but that after a time—months or years—they were able to delay this forced repose, though not by very much and not without considerable physical and mental discomfort. For beings with an astounding capacity to retain even the most mundane, the Strigoi have a curiously lax relationship with time. They’ve also urged me against comparing Stela’s sleeping habits and my own. She is unique in that respect, and by her own account she’s been largely in control of her sleep patterns for as far back as she can remember.

  Fane is another matter entirely. The only thing I know for certain about his chronobiology is that his tolerance for sunlight far exceeds Stela’s. In fact, I’m not sure whether he sleeps at all and any question is swiftly rebuffed by everyone, including Stela, who is being either intentionally evasive or honestly does not know.

  High overhead the projector switches on and washes the empty window panels in stark white nothing. The bedside lamp follows a f
ew seconds later, precipitated by the clunky tick of an automated timer. The ticking stops and in the gritty illumination that casts a spiderweb of shadows along the floor, her right arm tightens around my waist.

  Delicate fingers trace abstract patterns on my abdomen in silent salutation. The gesture has become something of a ritual for us, and I roll over on my back to find her smiling down at me warmly with her elbow propped on her pillow. Stela’s pale blond hair falls in a perfect swatch across her bare shoulder, and every time I wake to find her waiting for acknowledgment, I wonder whether I’m still dreaming.

  “Welcome back,” she says with a smile.

  “To the land of the living?” I smile back at her as her fingers trace the arches of my brows and run lightly across my bottom lip. I have asked her repeatedly not to greet me with “Good evening,” which she and the rest of her family use as a salutation at the start of each night, though I had difficulty articulating why it bothered me. Stela took the criticism in her stride, and like everything that concerns us, made the necessary adjustments. She’s been testing alternatives ever since, my favorite of which so far is “Good morrow.”

  Stela tilts her chin, feigning consternation. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose.” Her obsidian eyes shine jovially which delights and disappoints me at once. She’s a much better sport on nights when it is her turn to feed, a necessity I resent only because it means an evening without her.

  Her bare thigh presses between mine as she stretches above me, like a cat after a long nap. She is without doubt the greediest and most generous partner I’ve ever had, especially in the first few hours of wakening. Stela’s palms slide beneath my shoulder blades as she pulls my body directly beneath hers, placing me as she would have me. Not that I’m complaining. This preference for evenings is one of the most predictable things about Stela and ranks among her most endearing traits.

  Lips the color of turned strawberries ghost along my clavicle. They press lightly against the last scar I’ll ever receive, nestled in the crook of my neck. The scalloped muscles of her back tighten under my hands, but her resolve falters and then her affectionate ministrations cease.

  “You dreamed of me again,” she says.

  I find it more than a little bit irritating that she doesn’t even ask anymore. Her body relaxes and she lays both hands against my sternum to rest her chin atop them. Stela arches an expectant eyebrow when I’m less forthcoming than she would like. She quakes her hands gently, as though shaking me out of my silence. “Were you there?”

  “Elizabeth, you know that I was not.”

  “Then how do you know I dreamt of you?”

  Stela plants her forearms on the bed, the convivial gleam exchanged for something more serious. I run my fingers through her faultless hair, scouring her unobstructed gaze for deceit. She made a promise not to pry into my mind, an agreement that now goes both ways, though I’m still fighting to control that ability. Stela shifts her weight to her right side, pulls my hands from her hair to plant a kiss upon each palm, and then she folds my hands pointedly over my heart.

  “Your touch is desperate, my darling. Troubled.”

  “I’m not troubled.”

  An exasperated sigh threatens her otherwise tranquil expression. She leans forward and grazes my jaw with her teeth. I hadn’t realized I held my body clenched until it unfurls from her playful nip. She kisses my cheek and pulls her thumb down the cleft of my chin. “Tell me about your dream.”

  I twist toward her and place my palm on the small of her back, urging her to resume her place above me. She smothers a victorious grin which sharpens the corners of her mouth into two satisfied points and reclaims her perch.

  “It was the same dream,” I say.

  “Was it day or night?”

  “Night this time.”

  The time is the only variation I’ve noticed in the dream. The rest follows an eerily simplistic and specific track.

  I’m walking along a cliff and find Stela is standing at the edge. My heart soars with longing and my stomach clenches with dread at the sight of her motionless silhouette. I call her name, but she remains fixated on the moon’s reflection in the ocean below. I scream at her and still she doesn’t move, so I run. But I never reach her.

  “Does it frighten you when I leave to hunt?” she asks. “Are you afraid that I will not return?”

  I hook my calf around the back of her legs and pull her body against mine. “What worries me isn’t the thought of you leaving to hunt. It’s the way the dream feels.”

  “How does it feel?” she asks quietly.

  “Like a memory.”

  Stela says nothing. My arms lock around her neck and I tug her down into a kiss that is equal parts punishment she doesn’t deserve and the adoration she quietly craves. Her mouth remains open afterward, an unspoken invitation, our faces only an inch apart. I hesitantly pull the swell of her bottom lip between my teeth, appraising her reaction. A second set of incisors slide down over my human teeth. When I feel Stela’s lip pull taut in a taunting smile, I seize upon the offering in earnest and gouge the resilient flesh. The blood that mingles in our mouths causes my body to convulse as Stela cradles my face in her hands, a delighted hum crawling up her throat. I clench my fists so ferociously that every knuckle and both my wrists crack from the strain.

  When she pulls away Stela is the portrait of a sage tutor and I crane my neck to chase her mouth.

  “Very good, dear one.”

  She guides me back down against the bed, her palm pressed to my pounding heart. She closes her eyes, no doubt remembering the way my human heartbeat once raced against her fingertips at the slightest provocation. “Soon you will be fit for a hunt of your own.”

  Her eyes remain closed, fingers drumming against my sternum as the thirst takes hold. The few meager drops of blood I wrenched from Stela’s lip are just drops of gasoline to the flame of my persistent hunger. Every fleck of dust sharpens into a pinpoint of light, casting a shimmering cloak across the room. My pulse—normally twenty beats per minute—thunders behind my eyes, my fingers curl into talons gripping the edge of the mattress. My vertebrae shiver and then snap into alignment. My legs twitch and I expend my last vestige of control to wrench the first syllable of her name from between my clenched teeth.

  Stela needs no warning. Neither worried nor surprised, she blocks my involuntary attacks before pinning my wrists above my head in the tender fingers of one firm hand. The other hand she uses to muzzle my mouth, pressing gently down until my head rests once more on the pillow. Her bright laugh roils in my belly as every muscle rails against confinement. She whispers my name between breathy laughter, the pale curtain of her hair tickling my cheeks. My pulse slows, restoring me to myself.

  We can’t cry, but my body hasn’t forgotten the need. Stela stills, releasing my face and limbs as she rears back on her knees. She pulls me with her, holds my cheek to her chest.

  “No, my dearest,” she gently admonishes, “you are making remarkable strides.” She rocks us slowly back and forth.

  “Stela—”

  “I know.”

  I swallow another impotent whimper and scrub my face with my palm, which comes away clean and dry. The lack of tears only underscores the many unwelcome changes to my physiology. Frightened to face the monster I sense inside, I clasp her face despairingly. “I would never hurt you.”

  “Elizabeth.” She pulls my hands from her face and wraps my arms around her waist. She kisses me lightly and presses her forehead against mine.

  “You need to feed,” she says.

  “I’m fine for now.”

  Stela purses her lips, frowning. We’ve had this argument many times before. She leaves the safety of our bed in a rush, gathering her black silk robe from its haphazardly flung heap on the floor and my blood roars for her the moment she secures the belt around her waist.

  No amount of intimacy or proximity is ever enough to satiate this terrible magnetism. Sometimes she can feel it too, the gut-deep pull,
though I doubt her affections are as eclipsing as mine.

  Stela descends the three generous steps into the sitting area and selects an emerald-green forestscape for the window panels. I leave my own robe where it lies on the floor as I stand behind her.

  “I’ll eat soon. I promise.” I drag my nose along the side of her neck and she reclines into my waiting embrace. Her fingers dance across my knuckles, but her back is tense.

  “I wish you would stop this self-inflicted hunger strike. It changes nothing, Elizabeth. Over time the need for daily feedings will abate, but first you must indulge your body. Give yourself time to grow stronger.”

  I press my face between her shoulder blades. “I don’t like feeling this way.”

  Stela turns in my arms. “You do not have to be in control of everything all the time, dearest.” She splays her hand against my lower back, brushing her lips over mine. “Let go. Permit yourself to revel in the hunger when it possesses you.”

  “Stela, I literally just attacked you.”

  “If you wish to achieve restraint enough to enjoy me without the fear of harming me, you must accept what you are. You have to embrace these cravings to conquer them. I promise, my darling, if you do not, they will drive you mad. And I know you absolutely abhor the thought of being slave to anything.”

  She’s right. She knows she’s right and she knows she’s won but has the good sense not to gloat.

  “Come.” She takes my hand and pulls me back up the steps toward the bathroom. “A shower first. Then you must feed.”

  * * *

  I sit on the lip of the tub, wrapped in Stela’s robe, with a blood collection bag on my knees. At first, I was wary of them, unlabeled and possibly riddled with contagion. Stela laughed it off, assuring me that my constitution was such that any virus would find my body an inhospitable host.