Prologue
Carter ambled aimlessly across the rugged terrain of the frozen wasteland. He waited with bated breath and some measure of both heady anticipation and a fair amount of dread for the Grim Reaper to finally find him. He longed for the insanity that would eventually come and escort him to a shadowy world of lunacy. Drugging his mind so his body wouldn't feel death's final embrace. He begged for those days of blissful mindlessness yet to come to hurry the hell up and arrive so that he could at long last be done with it. The day had not yet arrived and he was still as sane as a vampire with a soul dark as his could be. He wandered and waited for the end to begin.
A question he couldn't bring himself to mutter was posed on his lips. Why?
Why was the angel of death so cruel? Why had the dark angel turned the comforting solace of his embrace away from him? Carter wondered what manner of creature he was that not even hell had a place for him? He was not a believer in the golden promise of redemption. The time where he believed in such things had long since come and gone. He thought at one time, perhaps, salvation was possible. He was mistaken. Heaven was a place reserved for the faithful and his faith had abandoned him long, long ago.
He had dealt death to others countless times over the ages. He'd delivered more souls than he cared to count into the Grim Reaper's skeletal grasp. And now, when he wanted death to snatch him up and carry him to some dark desolate corner of the afterlife. It seemed the bastard Reaper had turned his back on him.
In the rugged north, frozen in a perpetual winter, Carter made a meager existence out of the sparse offerings found in the endless tundra of snow and ice. This place was as close to hell as he could get and still be technically alive. He hunted when he could and drank enough to give him some measure of strength. Coward that he was, he consumed enough of a sampling of life to evade the hand of death for another day, another week, or perhaps, another month.
He was a coward in waiting for the end to find him. As much as he entertained himself with the idea of death, he truly deep in his heart of hearts did not want to die.
Perhaps, it was curiosity that kept him alive. Perhaps, some commitment that he had yet to see to its completion kept his feet moving south out of the frozen, lifeless wasteland of the Arctic Circle.
Perhaps, he wanted to be death's hapless victim and be free of the burden of choosing the time and place of his own demise. One could hardly blame him for that. How many of his victims at the final moment had begged him for a stay of execution? For just a few more days, hours, or even seconds in which to hang onto life a little longer? How many fervently whispered pleas had he heard escape the lips of the condemned as he drained the life out of them?
It made sense, in a twisted way. The irony of it was not lost on him. Justice had been served. When he most wanted death to take him as his victim. Death had, in return, played a cruel joke on him instead and he kept living and living, and living. He wondered if he was still alive because, when it came down to it, he didn't really have the balls to lie down and die.
Chapter 1
Drew held the tiny bundle close to his chest. He sucked in a breath and trapped it deep within his lungs. She was so tiny and fragile. Swaddled head to toe in pink blankets she stirred and then settled into the warmth of his arms. He was breathless, amazed, and more terrified, of her and because of her, than he'd ever been of anything in his life. It'd been a damn long time since he'd held a baby. Lifetimes had come and gone in an endless procession of days and nights since then. It hadn't changed any, but he sure as hell had.
His daughter blinked up at him and smacked her lips contentedly. Sung as a bug in a rug she fell fast asleep. Poor thing didn't even have a name yet. They'd been so busy in the planning for her arrival and so certain she would be a he. They hadn't considered the possibility of a baby girl. The nursery and everything in it was blue. The name they'd picked out had been for the boy they thought they were expecting. Agreeing on a name had been nothing short of a miracle. Tala had wanted a name with meaning and tradition and he'd wanted something timeless while at the same time, contemporary.
Chas, short for Chaska, which meant first son in the ancient tongue, was what they'd finally agreed upon. Chaska Lucien, in honor of the Sons fallen brother and one of Drew's closest friends, was a very good name, adaptable, contemporary and yet timeless and ancient at the same time. It seemed generic to Drew to name this beautiful, perfect baby girl in his arms Winona, or first daughter, although he supposed they could.
She deserved a special name with meaning. In all the world, there was no other one quite like her. She was unique, one of a kind, and very, very special. She was the answer to every prayer he'd ever dared to pray. A key to the future in ways he could not even begin to imagine. She was everything he'd hung his every hope and dream on. In all his years, despite the wonder this long life held for him, he'd never seen anything as amazing as the child asleep in his arms.