Reign Of Gods (Book #1 in 'Vampire God Trilogy') [COMPLETED]

Chapter 1

Eire, the region of Chiarrai 1128

There was a storm in him, as black and vicious as that which bullied its
way across the sea. It whipped inside his blood, outside in the air, battling
within and without as he stood on the rain-slickened rock.

The name of his storm was grief.
It was grief that flashed in his eyes, as bold and as blue as those lightning strikes. And the rage from it spit from his fingertips, jagged red that split the air with thunderclaps that echoed like a thousand cannon shots.

He thrust his staff high, shouted out the words of magic. The red bolts
of his rage and the bitter blue of the storm clashed overhead in a war that sent those who could see scurrying into cottage and cave, latching door and window, gathering their children close to quake and quail as they prayed to the gods of their choosing.
And in their raths, even the fairies trembled.

Rock rang, and the water of the sea went black as the mouth of hell,
and still he raged, and still he grieved. The rain that poured out of the
wounded sky fell red as blood-and sizzled, burning on land, on sea, so that the air smelled of its boiling.

It would be called, ever after, The Night of Sorrows, and those who
dared speak of it spoke of the sorcerer who stood tall on the high cliff, with
the bloody rain soaking his cloak, running down his lean face like death‟s tears as he dared both heaven and hell.

His name was Hoyt, and his family the Mac Cionaoith who were said
to be descended from Morrigan, faerie queen and goddess. His power was great, but still young as he was young. He wielded it now with a passion that gave no room to caution, to duty, to light. It was his sword and his lance.

What he called in that terrible storm was death.

While the wind shrieked, he turned, putting his back to the sea. What he had called stood on the high ground. She-for she had been a
woman once-smiled. Her beauty was impossible, and cold as winter. Her
eyes were tenderly blue, her lips pink as rose petals, her skin milk white.
When she spoke, her voice was music, a siren‟s who had already called
countless men to their doom.

"You‟re rash to seek me out. Are you impatient, Mac Cionaoith, for
my kiss?"

"You are what killed my brother?"

"Death is... " Heedless of the rain, she pushed back her hood.
"Complex. You are too young to understand its glories. What I gave him is a gift. Precious and powerful."

"You damned him."

"Oh." She flicked a hand in the air.

"Such a small price for eternity.
The world is his now, and he takes whatever he wants. He knows more than you can dream of. He‟s mine now, more than he was ever yours."

"Demon, his blood is on your hands, and by the goddess, I will destroy
you."

She laughed, gaily, like a child promised a particular treat. "On my
hands, in my throat. As mine is in his. He is like me now, a child of night and
shadow. Will you also seek to destroy your own brother? Your twin?"

The ground fog boiled black, folded away like silk as she waded
through it. "I smell your power, and your grief, and your wonder. Now, on
this place, I offer this gift to you. I will make you once more his twin, Hoyt
of the Mac Cionaoiths. I will give you the death that is unending life."

He lowered his staff, stared at her through the curtain of rain.

"Give me your name."

She glided over the fog now, her red cloak billowing back. He could
see the white swell of her breasts rounding ripely over the tightly laced
bodice of her gown. He felt a terrible arousal even as he scented the stench of her power.