Ascension: Book 1

Ascension: Book 1

by Christy Christensen
Ascension: Book 1

Ascension: Book 1

by Christy Christensen

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Overview

A normal day of work for Yvonne Summer draws the attention of a supernatural admirer, Cyris. After a disconcerting introduction, she is swept into the dangerous and violent world of vampire politics. Cyris is strained trying to protect both her and Dominik, his closest friend. Dominik has recently been elected Prince, to lead the vampires of the city of Los Angeles, and appointed Cyris as his head of security. The loser of the election wants Dominik's head. Through multiple assassination attempts on his life, Dominik struggles to maintain control of his city. His chauffer just happens to be the son of his defeated rival. Is he a spy, an assassin, or merely a chauffer? If the political situation wasn't enough, Dominik has an angry, jealous ex-girlfriend trying to worm her way back into his life. While his love life is taking a downturn, Cyris has begun courting Yvonne. In the meantime, an unknown enemy hunts Cyris. Unable to keep his newfound romantic interest safe from these threats, he and Dominik have to work together for their survival

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781467069953
Publisher: AuthorHouse
Publication date: 12/13/2011
Pages: 304
Product dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.68(d)

Read an Excerpt

The Council of Lords: Ascension


By Christy Christensen

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 Christy Christensen
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4670-6995-3


Chapter One

Yvonne Summer was up entirely too late on a Tuesday night. She fiddled at the keyboard that she had never really learned to play, with the volume so low that the cats would have a trouble hearing it. She really should move it down into the common room, the kids would get more out of it then she did. She lived in a small room on the top floor of her building. She could use the extra space. Her room had probably been a maintenance apartment at one time. It had a large glass door that opened onto the roof. There as a tiny nook that could be called a kitchen. It had a little sink, a hot plate and a microwave. The room had its own bathroom. There was enough space for her bed, a small dresser, her desk and an easel. She usually took it outside to paint. At least she could spread out out there, and not have the fumes suffocating her. She overlooked the stairs to the roof and the fire escape. That made it very difficult for any of her kids to sneak out, an added amenity to her penthouse suite.

Downstairs, three stories down, her partner had a similar set up. Devon Wilson had the front door and kitchen exits in his line of sight. He took care of locking up for the night. It was small, and it lacked privacy, but it was a necessary sacrifice. At least they felt so. They ran a safe shelter for runaways. There was very little support for it, and no money in it. They owned the building because it had been donated to the cause. They employed counselors and tutors when donations and part time jobs made them enough money to have the extra help. It was needed. It was a labor of love, because they would see no other reward.

It had been a quiet day. There were 12 girls living with them currently, and 4 boys. It was so much harder to convince the boys that they could offer them help. The gangs tended to suck them up more then the girls. They offered them acceptance, support and a target for their budding testosterone. Violence and fast money were hard to compete with. She and Devon tried.

A quiet day. They didn't see those often. She should have taken it as an omen. There was a knock on her glass door. Yvonne crossed the small room to see what it was. Outside, just before the grill they used for cookouts and holidays, there was a small, bundled figure. A wraith of a girl slept soundly, wrapped in a coarse wool blanket. Yvonne searched around for the person that had knocked, because it was obviously not the girl. There was nothing. No one. Not a sound for blocks. It was eerie in the normally busy, central city location.

Yvonne gently nudged the girl. "Would you like to come inside?" she offered gently to the child that screamed with a start as she awoke. "It's alright. Relax."

"Who are you?!" she demanded in a panic, scooting back into the heavy grill.

"My name is Yvonne." she answered gently. "What's yours?"

"Amy." she replied timidly. The woman in front of her seemed normal, nonthreatening enough. She had uncombed, frizzy brown hair and wore a light pink nightgown with ruffles around the bottom.

"Well, it's nice to meet you Amy. How did you get up on my roof?" she asked, not expecting the girl would know.

"Roof?" Amy stood up, holding the blanket tight around her. "Shit." she replied, taking in her surroundings. They were in the city now. There were some inner city apartments near, a couple of businesses. She wasn't focusing enough to identify.

"How old are you Amy?" Yvonne asked cautiously.

"14." she corrected herself suddenly, "18."

Yvonne nodded. "What were you doing last night? Partying a little too much?" she asked gently.

It was the wrong question. Amy opened the blanket to look down at her torn, ratted cloths, then curled into a ball on the ground, crying. It hadn't been a bad dream. She had hoped it was all a bad trip.

So much for that quiet night ...

After a two day barrage of dealing with hospitals, police, investigators, social services, and missing persons, Yvonne finally returned to her home of wayward children and her frazzled partner, with the 14 year old runaway, Amy Bartlitz. It would be a long road back to home and a normal life for her newest charge, but at least she was on the right road, now.

In the days that followed Amy was reenrolled into school. She joined the other sixteen children in the daily chores, laundry and cooking. She was introduced to a daily drug and alcohol rehabilitation program along with daily counseling for her ordeal. It was much more like the army then a normal home. With seventeen children, it had to be.

There were frequent visits from Detective Mitchell. He had handled Amy's case from the beginning. The detective seemed sympathetic to her cause. All the physical and psychological signs were there supporting the truth of her story, even though parts of that tragic timeframe were missing or distorted. Usually he came to reverify a statement or description made by the girl. He was brief and nonobtrusive. He always kept at least one counselor present. He was always professional and he hated having to talk to Yvonne.

Almost three weeks after having Amy home, Detective Mitchell actively came to the shelter and sought Yvonne out. He found her running Wednesday's drug and alcohol rehab meeting. She ran Monday, Wednesday and Thursday meetings, Devon had Tuesday and Friday. Most of their wards had to attend. Wednesday's were uplifting. At the end of the meeting each child had to share an upbeat, triumphant story. The visitor sat quietly through them, waiting for her to dismiss, before approaching their leader.

"You know, Detective, you're giving me the impression that you want me to start setting a place at the table for you." she teased.

"I don't know if I'd manage to uphold the standards that you set for these kids." he replied.

"They have a long way to go." she shrugged, "Set 'em high and hope they make it in-between somewhere."

"Well, I brought some news." Detective Mitchell offered.

"What?" she prompted.

"I've finally located Amy's parents." he offered smugly.

Yvonne sighed, relaxing into a soft smile. She had her hair pulled back in her typical, no nonsense bun. She wore jeans and a button up blouse with no frills and absolutely no cleavage. The expression seemed to take the edge off of the whole prudish appearance. Detective Mitchell typically referred to her as the soup Nazi. The news had actually earned him an almost human expression.

"Well, I guess you're a better detective then I gave you credit for." she admitted, playfully.

He had to be careful or his jaw would hit the floor. "Mom was hysterical and wants to be on the first plane out here." he supplied, pulling out a little notebook and tearing out a page to hand to her.

"Now that's the best news you could have given me." she gave him a very genuine smile. The majority of her kids had now where and no one. This was their hope.

"She's 14. Her parents can insist on her return." he pointed out.

"I'll talk to them. If they'll leave me guardianship through her rehab, I think it would be best for her. She went through some pretty hard shit during her time out there." she replied.

"Just let me know. I'll file the papers downtown for you, or drive you to the airport." he volunteered. The girl had a tragic time and he had come to be very protective of her.

"Has there been anything on the three she said rescued her?" Yvonne asked.

"Nothing. They crawled back into the sewers with the alligators best as we can tell." he supplied. "Call me tomorrow." he added, "Maybe you can set my place then." He smirked and headed out.

Yvonne waved after him and shook her head. She had known Detective Gary Mitchell the entire time she'd worked in this city. He was a tall, almost portly, middle-aged man. His hair was thinning now and the once thick, handsome auburn was graying. He'd been thinner and much more muscular when they'd met. She was nineteen or twenty, she didn't remember. She had been doing a survey on pot smoking and teenagers for some statistics course. She had found him quite attractive. At twenty-four she had her first state job, working at the juvenile detention center. He had brought her her first wayward child.

The detective was very jaded by the world. He constantly shot holes in her ideas. He would tell her she was wasting her time and she wouldn't change a thing. Six years ago he had found her this building. It was stupid. He didn't see why she kept trying. He and Devon re-dry walled the entire second floor themselves, then painted the entire building, inside and out. "They were like wild animals, one day they would turn on their zookeeper." the detective had said. She had him helping pour and level the concrete for their basketball court. He was a very handy man to have around. It was too bad he didn't care. It was too bad he was certain the kids were hopeless.

Yvonne headed downstairs to be certain that the dinner crew had begun and that the homework/study room had enough help for everyone who may need it. The first floor. It contained the kitchen, the dining hall, restrooms, a common room, a library, a study room and Devon's room. The exit from the kitchen led out to the basketball court, an outside courtyard with a little bit of green and a six car parking lot. The second floor held two counselors rooms, six large boys rooms that could sleep four in each, a community restroom and showers with stalls for some privacy. The third floor was exactly the same as the second, except it was for the girls.

Currently there was one additional counselor for the boys, who worked at night and two for the girls, one during the day and one at night. There was one bus driver that took the children to and from the states school in the juvenile detention center. They were also taken to and from the outpatient psychiatric treatment center once a week, for those who had additional problems. Yvonne handled as many of them as she could. She was licensed in social services, drug and alcohol rehab, and counseling for both children and families. Any of them that required true psychiatric help or medications had to travel off site. She wanted to have a full time teacher dedicated solely to their facility, but that was still out of their budget.

Dinner was underway and homework was good. Danielle Warrik was her daytime girl's counselor and she seemed to have the afternoon well in order. Yvonne snuck off into her little office on the third floor. She called Amy's parents from there. That was where she spent the afternoon, convincing the poor girls mother that her child was safe, but her ordeal had been horrible. Horrible enough that her professional services were best completed before Amy went home. She also had to convince the frantic, ranting, joyful, hysterical parent that Amy had to contact her first.

She didn't have real statistics to back it up, but she had seen more success in sending a child home, if the child initiated the return. If the child felt it was their choice to return they were less likely to leave again. Yvonne also had to emphasize that Amy's parents had to be part of the rehab as well. Just getting her out of Los Angeles wasn't enough, there were drugs everywhere. The problem had to be addressed. Kids were much easier then parents.

Around 9:30 Devon brought her up dinner. She was still on the phone. He assured her silently that he took care of the nighttime activities and backed out of the room quietly. He was a good partner. She couldn't have asked for better. By midnight, she finally stood on the roof of her building in front of her own room. She let her hair down and ran her fingers through it, letting it catch in the breeze. It was a beautiful night. She could smell the rain in the air. The street lights hummed below and there was still light traffic on the highway. The streets were quiet. They were in the business district, only a couple blocks from the harried residential area that had spewed more then one of her clients. She had wanted the children as far from the craziness of the streets as she could get them without loosing sight of where they were from. She always wanted this to be a safe, open haven, one they didn't get shot at on a daily basis.

Yvonne thought that she heard a clank over by the fire escape. She shook her head and went to see who thought they were going to sneak out after curfew. The ladder had not been moved. "Humh." she muttered and headed back towards her room. Maybe it had been the wind.

* * *

A figure in black robes watched in complete silence as the beautiful young woman on the next building over let herself into her room. He felt compelled to observe her. She closed the doors curtain, as far as she knew, blocking the view to any late night office workers or cleaning people. He had come every night since he left the child. He watched the first few nights to be certain that he had found the right place among her people. But, there was this woman. She pulled at his heart in ways that he didn't believe anyone could.

She was long and exotic. The tone of her skin was a rich tan, one he could not pin an origin to. She had long, dark hair that seemed to curl with the humidity. He longed just to touch it, to learn if it was as soft and as silky as he had dreamed. She was a hard worker, up with the dawn, he often saw her as he headed in for the night. She worked regularly past dark, finally sleeping around eleven. She was late tonight. He watched intently as she unbuttoned her shirt. He knew he shouldn't. It was a sin. Desire was a sin. Didn't one need such attraction to take a wife? It was a moral dilemma. He would pray on it later. He would ask forgiveness, because he would continue to watch. She wore a simple, white, lacey bra. He wished she had a little more light in her room. She had ripe, ample breasts. He found himself biting at his own lip in anticipation as she removed the little garment. She massaged her breasts and he longed to be behind her, gently running his hands over them. She slid out of her jeans, leaving nothing but thin cotton panties. He had to turn away. When he'd regained his composure she was out of his sight, in her little restroom.

He sighed, sitting behind the buildings ledge, resting his head in his hands. It hurt to watch her. To see something so precious, so exquisite, and know she would never know he existed. He had not known loneliness such as when he gazed upon what he could not have. When he was once again himself, he turned to watch her until she gave into her nights sleep, resting peacefully.

He approached. He shouldn't. He left a single red rose on her little door mat and returned to his world for the night.

Chapter Two

"Let it be known that the quarterly council meeting of the Los Angeles district has been called to order, Prince Dominik Idriaic residing." Arik Yeusef announced for the closed meeting room.

"Thank you." The man spoken of answered graciously with a nod. The Lord of the city stood at the head of the large, solid, dark wood conference table. It was a sturdy and spacious, the kind that could be found in any companies meeting rooms. There were some that sat at this table that felt it was too modern. That their council deserved a carefully restored, hand crafted antique. The former prince had employed such a beautiful piece of furniture. Several of these council members detested change. Change of a regime that had stood for 200 years. His predecessor had returned to Europe. He needed to be closer to the old ways. They all understood the reason. The table illustrated it, more for some then others.

"Welcome, all of you, to my home. I want to start by reinforcing that. If you have any problems arise, you are welcome at any time. My service and position are an honor. Perhaps I haven't done it long enough to be bored or annoyed by it." he admitted with a charming smile. Dominik was a man of average height. He was easily smaller then half the men in the room. He had a fair complexion, with creamy white skin, pronounced by his jet black hair. He kept it pulled back and tucked beneath his blue Armani suit. He appeared the embodiment of the successful twenty- first century businessman. He possessed the aura of someone in charge, completely comfortable at the head of the table. He was an exquisitely handsome young man, seemingly in his late twenties, and probably too young for the position he held.

(Continues...)



Excerpted from The Council of Lords: Ascension by Christy Christensen Copyright © 2011 by Christy Christensen. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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