Against the Coming Dark: Beyond the Shadows, #3

By Shanna Robillard

Michael Hawkins and Cecelia "Celie" Moore are vampires in love. They've endured both attacks from demons and magic spells that split them apart. Now comes something new to wreak havoc in their lives.

 

Her name is Cressida, and she's an incredibly powerful vampire that has been playing the long game for decades, desperate to enact revenge. After all this time, she's grown tired of waiting, tired of letting others do her dirty work. She's ready to take the final steps to separate Michael and Celie for good. 

 

Now Celie is left fighting for her future, trying to reclaim Michael from Cressida and her vampire progeny.  

 

From the author of Beyond the Shadows and SpellCast from Darkness comes the third book in the Beyond the Shadows series. Experience the devastation as Celie fights against vampires, against Cressida, against fate. Witness her fight Against the Coming Dark.
 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shanna Robillard
• Release date: Mar 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201226336

Shanna Robillard

Wife to a northern man and mother to a four-legged beastie, Shanna C. Robillard is most at home when she's writing a book or crafting jewelry. She works full-time as a Program Management Analyst and enjoys 80s music, horror movies, a plethora of books, and the Golden Girls. Don't forget to get your copy of the first two books in the trilogy, Beyond the Shadows and SpellCast from Darkness.

Book preview

Prologue

Cressida Hawkins was a deeply troubled vampire. It was March the 23rd of 1792, and her sire hadn’t contacted her in at least two months. While it was reasonable to expect a break in communications here and there, it was not reasonable for it to be this long. A fortnight perhaps, but never this long. Something must have happened to Amelia.

Pacing in her room aboard the merchant ship, Stalwart, Cressida could think of little else. She tugged at the edges of her sleeves and walked back and forth across the planking, wobbling this way and that as the ship floated among the waves. She didn’t have far to pace, just a handful of steps. The room and its contents were small, with no light save for the candle she had lit. The sound of the ship’s creaking wood frame and men calling out above deck permeated her thoughts, preventing her from concentrating on possible reasons for Amelia’s silence. Irritated by the distractions, she picked up her book and threw it at the wall. The gray rat that had been watching her from the corner flinched where it sat.

Then it came - the sound of someone descending the steps and walking toward her cabin. She visibly perked up, temporarily flushing over the prospect having almost been caught in her little outburst. The rat scrambled back into the shadows as Cressida smoothed out her dress. Sure that it was proper, she stood up straight, with her hands clasped together in front of her, and waited.

After a moment, there was a knock at the cabin door.

Yes?

Hello, madam. May I come in? It was Captain Thomasson. He was a kind, older man, but he was clearly unaware of what he harbored aboard his ship.

You may.

The door opened, and the captain poked his head in first to ensure everything was acceptable. Quickly, he reached up and pulled his tricorne hat off his head as he opened the door wider. Stepping inside, his presence made the room immediately shrink to the size of a water closet. He cleared his throat and presented Cressida with a letter.

We just received this letter for you, madam.

A letter? Cressida took it with haste, probably less than ladylike, and ripped it open at the wax seal.

Unfolding it, she read it carefully. Again and again, she read it. She must have read it line for line, word for word, nearly a hundred times before she looked up at the captain.

Her eyes narrowed and grew dark, her voice low and menacing. Get out.

Madam?

Get out of my room.

Are you well? Is something the ma–

Get out!

The captain, startled to be shouted at by a strange woman, immediately tucked tail and left, slamming the door shut behind himself. The sound of his frantic footsteps thunking up the stairs resounded through the cabin.

Cressida screamed: long, loud, and violently. She unleashed the unholy devil in her scream, feeling depraved and deranged. There was nothing that could quiet her. Her heart poured out her throat, and she wailed like a newly born banshee, filled with fury and despair.

Turning again to the letter, she read it one last time. Once she was sure of its contents, she held it over her candle, watching it slowly catch fire and burn. She dropped it and took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of burning parchment.

Amelia was dead.

Dropping onto her tiny bed, Cressida fell apart. The tears came, and the rage. She gripped her bedding with both hands, wringing it tightly as if to murder it. Nothing could ease the hollow emptiness that now wrecked her from the inside out.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the rat again, and she blinked. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hands, she cleared her vision and reached out. Her hand held steady, she bid the rat come forward.

"Please. I won’t bite...you..."

The rat crept forward and sniffed her hand. Looking at her again, it leaned forward, then nuzzled her fingers. Taking a chance, she used a single finger to stroke the rat underneath its little gray chin. It rubbed against her fingertip, then came forward and climbed into her hand. Lifting her new friend up, she stared into its dark little eyes. They regarded each other for a moment.

How would you like to help me with something?

The rat seemed to understand her; it bobbed its head.

She set it down on her bed and stood up. Turning towards it, she asked, Do you have any friends?

Again, the rat nodded.

Good. Bring them along.

Cressida looked up, regarding the deck full of men above her. I’m hungry.

Chapter One

Cressida

The screams that echoed through the halls were boring.

Cressida Hawkins was tired of playing games. Her entire life had been spent playing one long, tiresome game. The endgame of all games, if you will. Her whims had been put aside to enact vengeance on behalf of her love. Now she was ready to see it to its fruition and devote her own life to living. Well, as much as a vampire could live, anyway.

Was that even possible?

Shrugging to herself, Cressida continued to pour through the old diary of Amelia Langston while some innocent was tortured elsewhere in the building. Their screams were piercing, their groans were deplorable, and all of it was simply annoying to her.

Slamming her hands on the white marble table in front of her, Cressida pushed her chair back and stood up. Striding over to the door, she angrily slammed it shut. The simplistic nature of the other more youthful vampires grated on her nerves. Their actions were like flies buzzing around a horse, and she wished to just swat them away. They would never know what it was like to have dedication to a higher cause. They were irritating and childish, but she was forced to rely on them for now.

Returning to her chair, she sat down and scooted in. The diary pages were dirty, worn, and full of memories. It was impossible for her to feel anything but longing for the old days when reading her sire’s words. Amelia had always been a leader, gifted in the ways of communication and discovery. She had surrounded herself with intelligent beings, manifesting stellar ideas, and creating new inventions that spurred on society - whether they knew it or not.

Angry at society’s lack of recognition of Amelia, she clenched her fists and pounded her left one on the table. Savages... She looked up at the ceiling. One day they’ll know. I promise you that.

Returning to the diary, Cressida found what she was looking for: the day she was made. Pushing strands of her straight, long chestnut brown hair behind her ear, she found herself leaning closer to the diary. The details were all from Amelia’s point of view, but she remembered it well: her death, her rebirth, the way Amelia had taken her in and shown her a world where she could be a righteous queen.

Amelia had also shown her a grand love. Prior to her death, Cressida had been a wife and mother, but her knowledge of love had been fledgling to say the least. Amelia had become her lover, showing her what it meant to experience a neverending connection of the soul, to be twin flames that moved as one. Together they had assailed wealthy vampire leaders in the name of making the world a better place. Amelia was desperate to teach the world that vampires were capable of more than bloodlust, and she was going to show it through business ventures and scientific invention rather than killing sprees. She chose Cressida to be by her side during all of it.

Yet, there was always Gilles de Rais lurking in the background.

Not literally, no. Literally, that vampire had been dead for many, many years. Centuries, even. However, his memory prowled around in Amelia’s mind, occupying the spaces that Cressida had wanted for herself, and Amelia had meant to see the ruin of so many because of it. He and Amelia had once been lovers, powerful and influential in wealthy circles. By day they cast their eyes on new ventures, and by night, they toasted with aristocracy. No matter what, they were at each other’s side, a fervent desire and lust to be together, the likes of which hadn’t been seen since Antony and Cleopatra.

However, the vampire community had used de Rais, allowing him to be a patsy on their behalf to appease the Church. It was this misuse that Amelia had sought revenge for. It was this abuse that had brought about the SpellCasters, a mysterious group of magical beings that hunted down vampires.

Cressida never liked them. How could she? Their kind was brought about solely to destroy other vampires. Why the SpellCasters never turned on Amelia or herself, she couldn’t say. Nevertheless, she had always held them at arm’s length. It was purely a protective instinct to keep them close, so she could watch them. As long as they were bound to Amelia, they were bound to her, too.

She was also using them to afford her endgame: the destruction of Michael Hawkins.

Cressida’s pale green eyes were suddenly the embodiment of a chemical fire: bright, blazing, and dangerous. They were searing hot as she thought about vengeance. It was true, Michael was her son. Not that she loved him. After all, he was nothing compared to Amelia, and while she had only had Amelia for those brief months, her bond to Amelia was stronger than even motherhood. Her love before Amelia had been infantile and small. Amelia’s love was as if her soul had taken flight and never came back to land.

Amelia may have been her sire, but she had also been infinitely more.

Over a century had passed before Cressida had discovered the cause of her sire’s death. She had assumed a vampire hunter had found Amelia and dispatched her; it was the most obvious of conclusions. When she learned that it was Michael, her own human flesh and blood, she had fallen into a rage and fury that even the gods would have shied away from.

Did it matter that Amelia had sired Michael? Of course it did, but it did so because it was both maddening and infuriating. He killed his own sire, the one he would have had a deep and binding relationship with. Somehow, he had turned on her, killed her, and left her remains there on that rooftop. No proper burial and no goodbyes; it was simply finality.

Lifting her hand, Cressida rested her cheek against her palm. She was tired. It had been so long since she had begun playing this game meant to rain vengeance down upon Michael’s head. First by luring Devlin Raines to that damned parking lot all those years ago, so he could witness the attack on Michael and fuel his desire for vampire power. Then by sending the SpellCasters after Michael and his lover.

Ooh, that truly angered her. How dare he have a lover? How dare Michael enjoy some semblance of happiness when she herself had none? The sheer thought alone was enough to make Cressida cackle and laugh, tears in her eyes as she experienced a moment of mania, her head tilting back and a loud cry escaping her raspberry lips. Wiping away the few drops of saltiness that escaped down her bright pink cheeks, she took a few deep breaths and refocused her energy.

She was here to get a job done, not to wallow in self-pity and grief.

Cressida flipped through the diary pages until she found the other passage she had come here for. Excellent. Using her laptop, she took notes, typing the information in every minute detail. Once she had everything she needed, she closed the diary and her computer. Pushing back from the table, she stood up again and took the diary with her, walking over to a safety deposit box in the wall. Using her key held on a chain around her neck, she unlocked it, opened it, and gingerly put the diary back inside. Then she carefully locked the box after herself and proceeded to clean up her items from the table.

Stuffing her laptop in her briefcase, she straightened out her navy blue pantsuit and headed for the door. Before she exited, she put her hand on the doorframe, steadying herself and reclaiming her assertiveness. Memories of Amelia always seemed to put her at odds with herself, and she needed to have a cool and collected head. Once she was in the right frame of mind, she opened the door.

Stepping through the doorway, she reached back and flicked off the overhead fluorescent light. Turning her attention back to the dank, gray hallway in front of her, she began walking down to the end, passing several black doors. At the end, the hallway split in two, and she took a right, focusing on her footsteps as the echo of dead screams lingered in the air. Poorly-wired fluorescent sconces flickered and whined as she passed them. Reaching the end of the second hall, she entered a stairwell and took the steps down to the first floor.

The stairs opened to a lobby with dark gray marble flooring. Several pale gray leather benches lined the black walls of the room, illuminated only by the bright daylight spilling through the glass front door. A tall, Latin male vampire stood guard, wearing an earpiece and a cheap black suit. He heard the sharp clack of her heels on the floor and opened the door, turning towards her and nodding in respect. Cressida nodded back as he held the door open for her to walk through.

Outside the door, her heels were quieted on the entryway carpet. She stopped as she was forced to squint in the sunlight, pulling a pair of sunglasses from her pantsuit jacket pocket. Putting them on, the dark lenses allowed her to search for her vehicle. There at the curb stood Francois, and as she made eye contact with him, he immediately opened the backdoor to her SUV. She approached him, heels clacking again on the concrete, and he also nodded at her, holding the door open as she climbed inside. Once the door was closed behind her, she looked up and saw Dimitri seated up front. He glanced at her in the rearview mirror and nodded.

Respect for Cressida Hawkins knew no bounds.

Francois climbed into the driver’s seat and started the SUV. The engine roared to life and then settled into a purr. The sound of Du Hast by Rammstein flowed through the speakers, and Dmitri immediately turned the volume down to a whisper. Rhythmic sounds emanated from the speakers behind Cressida’s head, and she smiled; she definitely didn’t mind this song. She tapped the shoulder of Dimitri’s seat, and he increased the volume to something tolerable.

Francois shifted gears and, seeing an opening, pulled the SUV out into traffic. Cressida barked some directions to him and then leaned back in her seat. Now that they were on their way, she could relax.

Cressida couldn’t remember the last time she had relaxed. Truly relaxed. Her life had been strategy and planning, risk-taking and deviousness all this time, and she was ready for something new. She was ready to pursue the things she had been working on with Amelia those many, many years ago.

Michael Hawkins was going to be the means to an end. His death would act as a second rebirth for her. Not only would she be able to avenge her love, but she would be released from this mission. She could only hope her sire would be proud of her once she saw it through.

Leaning against the backseat, she pulled out her cellphone and scanned through the apps until she found the photos. There was only one photograph she was interested in, only one that she ever kept on her phone. Opening the app, she stared into her lover’s eyes.

When she was still living and traveling abroad in Paris, Amelia had commemorated a portrait by Francois Boucher. Famous for his portraits and pastoral landscapes, they bonded over their mutual love of eroticism and mythology. All those years ago, he had captured her spirit in his art, and now Cressida held it in her hands on her phone. She stared lovingly at her sire, stroking her painted hair, and wishing she could hold her one more time.

Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, she pressed the phone’s off button and slammed it face down on the seat next to her. Overcome by emotion, tears pressed at her eyelids, desperate for release, but she willed them away. One thing she had vowed was to never let anyone see her tears. She was strong, resilient, and unwavering in her ambitions. No one would ever know about her dreams, so they could never hurt her with her nightmares.

Cressida looked up to see if either vampire had noticed, but they