Haven

Book 1: Lowtown

by Lindsay J. Pryor

Genres: Paranormal Romance; Paranormal

Synopsis

A spin-off from the bestselling Blackthorn series by Lindsay J. Pryor, set in Lowtown, the neighbouring district to Blackthorn. The product of a brutal class system, the dark, gritty world of Lowtown will grip you and never let you go.

Every few days the handsome stranger comes into the café in Lowtown for an hour a time. Most of the time he keeps himself to himself - one drink and he leaves. Sometimes people meet with him but about what remains elusive, the edge of mystery and danger adding to his allure.

Not that Ember is allowed to think about him. She's finally on the cusp of gaining her citizenship and escaping Lowtown for good, so she can't be seen to be involved with a vampire - evidence of one single bite would be the end of her prospects. But when those prospects are rocked by her links to the district's dark underbelly, the stranger she must avoid could be her absolution - and she could be his . . .

"An incredible voice for paranormal." Rhyannon Byrd

"Dark, disturbing, enthralling, breath taking." Passionate About Books

Release date: November 2, 2017

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 384

Sample

It was her chance to escape. Her one and only chance.

Ember stood on the far side of the room, its vastness exacerbated by the high ceiling. Thirty feet away, four panel members faced her from behind their lengthy table.

Whilst waiting outside, she’d convinced herself she’d look each of them in the eyes. Instead, her gaze fixated on the solitary, empty, plastic chair that was strategically placed ten feet away from them.

It had been less than ten minutes since the last applicant had been dragged out of there yelling and thrashing. Two security guards had come bounding up the polished corridor to join the two already forcing him out. Eventually they’d taken an arm and a leg each as his curses had continued to ricochet around the clinical, vacuous space, all the way to the exit.

‘You have no right to judge me!’ he’d yelled. ‘This system is beyond contempt! It’s the children that suffer. My children who are suffering. You’re condemning them. You’re condemning them all!’

To her shame, she’d lowered her head. The two other people who’d also been sat waiting for their turn outside had done exactly the same. There was no fighting the system. There was no escaping the societal prison that bound those who were bottom of the ladder, except by doing exactly what she was doing then: try to get out of Lowtown and start a better life across the border in Midtown.

‘Our next applicant is Ember Challice,’ one of the male panellists announced. Artificial light glinted off the delicate, silver-rimmed glasses that perched on the edge of his nose as he lowered his head to examine the paperwork neatly piled in front of him, paperwork he casually flicked through with his chubby fingers.

The other three panellists – two women and another man – remained silent, as Ember shifted under the weight of their unwavering scrutiny.

‘Take a seat, Ms Challice,’ the spectacled man said, indicating the empty chair without yet granting her the courtesy of eye contact.

Ember sat down, interlaced her fingers and rested her clasped hands in her lap. She kept her feet together and firmly on the floor, her thighs straining under the pressure of her attempt to stop them from trembling.

‘Thirty-one years of age,’ the spectacled man continued. ‘Single. No dependants. No family. She has secured sufficient finances to fund her rent for basic premises in Midtown for the minimum requirement of the twelve-month trial period. This has been acquired through savings from her full-time work as a waitress and deputy manager at a café in Lowtown, wherein she has performed consistently for the past fifteen years. Five sick days have been registered showing good overall health.

‘She will be actively seeking work in the service industry on arrival in Midtown but has also secured a provisional place at Midtown College having passed all necessary entry examinations and aptitude tests. In fact, she exceeded all entry examinations and aptitude tests,’ he added, his surprise evident in his tone. ‘She will fund the first year of her studies through the sale of a small apartment she owns in Lowtown, which has been in the family name for a considerable length of time. Beyond those twelve months, she’s planning to maintain part-time employment to continue to fund her studies.

‘Ms Challice passed all three detailed medical examinations as well as the mental health evaluations. There is only one outstanding query, which we will come to shortly.’

Ember’s heart skipped a beat. There was no way of them knowing. No way of anyone knowing her secret – and certainly not from any kind of medical examination. Unless there was something she didn’t know.

‘She has no criminal record or any marks against her regarding social disorder. She has no proven links to the third species community – vampire, lycan or any other kind of non-human.’ He flipped through a few more pages. ‘She was brought up by her aunt, the sole sister of her mother Rhona Challice, the latter having died from an accident when Ember was five years old.’

Ember clenched her interlaced hands at the use of the word ‘accident’.

‘Authority records report the accident occurred while Ms Challice senior was trying to prevent her son, Ember’s twin brother, from being snatched from their home,’ he continued. ‘He was never found. Records show her father had absconded before she was born. Her aunt, her last remaining relative, died three years ago. Terminal illness. Ember lived with her and cared for her up until that point.’

Ember remained focused on retaining her composure as they continued to clinically highlight the most personal aspects of her life as if she wasn’t there. But this was the process. This is what had to be done. Any indication of protest or indignation would lead to what she had witnessed less than twenty minutes before.

‘It is her aunt’s apartment, Ms Challice’s current home,’ he continued. ‘Which she’ll be selling to fund the first year of her studies.’

The panellist removed his glasses and placed them neatly on the paperwork in front of him before finally making eye contact. ‘Congratulations on getting this far in the process, Ms Challice. I’m sure you are aware that very few applicants make it to this point.’

She knew it only too well. It had taken her ten years. The first seven years had been about saving up enough money to meet the basic financial entry point. Most failed at that first hurdle.

Stage two had consisted of three years of aptitude tests, personality tests, morality tests, medical examinations, lie-detector tests, detailed explorations into both her work and social ethic and also her family background. If the conspiracy theories were to be believed, passing stage two was fraught with corruption. As such, many had either been rejected or had given up by now; the system was set up to make applicants fail. There was no appeal process.

For the very few who made it through, there was stage three. This stage.

‘I am,’ she said as calmly as she could, despite still balancing on a knife-edge as she awaited the query that could bring all her hopes crashing down around her. She couldn’t fail now. She’d made a promise. The very last promise she’d made her aunt.

‘You’re aware that this meeting constitutes the final stage of the process?’

‘Yes.’

‘And should you pass this final stage, your admittance into Midtown will rest solely on one final medical examination on the day of entry?’

‘Yes.’

He glanced at the other panel members, which was clearly their cue for questions.

‘I hear your plan is to work at The Facility once you qualify,’ one of the women said – a blonde woman with painfully invasive blue eyes.

‘Yes,’ Ember confirmed.

Based in Midtown, The Facility was the primary medical research centre globally. It had led pioneering research into the healing effects of vampire blood – more specifically, the purest of vampire blood, the blood of vampire royalty, or the Higher Order as they were known – on human conditions.

When the third species had outed themselves eighty years before, it had not been to instigate war but a symbiotic relationship: to offer their healing abilities in exchange for blood sharing.

The revelation had prevented an all-out war but, with the potential of tens of thousands of third species being revealed, global action had been taken. To safeguard humankind, society had been restructured and the divisions had begun – both physical and social. Cities, villages and towns no longer existed like they once had. Instead, areas were segregated into locales. Each locale had been sub-divided into four bordered districts expanding outwards from the core like ripples. With it, a new world order had begun.

What had been discovered during the ongoing research since, however, was that whilst Higher Order blood could indeed heal, the effects were temporary. Eight decades later, humans were still seeking a permanent cure in order to free themselves of the relationship that had necessitated their tolerance of the third species at all.

‘You have a particular interest in molecular biology and are hoping to work in the research department focused on finding the permanent cure,’ the woman added.

‘Like many others,’ Ember said, ‘I believe there is a way to bind vampiric blood to human blood, which will grant us the same advantages natural to their genetics. I would love to be a part of the team trying to discover what that bond could be.’

‘For what outcome?’ the second woman asked.

‘I would like to see the self-healing abilities, heightened immunity and prolonged life of the third species being used in a more widespread nature rather than being reserved only for the already fortunate.’

The blonde raised her eyebrows slightly. ‘By fortunate you mean residents of outer districts such as Midtown and Summerton? Those who have earned their place for improved medical care as well as every other privilege? Do you have issue with the Global Council’s system, Ms Challice?’

The system that had promised to be temporary but, instead, had been continually reinforced to benefit the elite. Subsequently, Midtown had increased in affluence like its neighbouring Summerton on the outskirts of the locale, whereas Lowtown – her district – had gradually become nothing more than an extension of Blackthorn: the impoverished core where the vast majority of the third species had been forced to reside.

Those third species were as much victims of the system as the humans who didn’t tick enough social, intellectual and medical boxes to corroborate their worth. Humans like her aunt. Like the rest of her family.

As a gaze laden with challenge and curiosity stared back at her, Ember refused to look anywhere but directly into the blonde woman’s eyes.

‘I fully understand that resources are limited,’ Ember said as part of the learned spiel she had used on more than one occasion during the painstaking process. ‘I fully appreciate that, currently, lines need to be drawn. There’s simply not enough to go around and that means tough decisions need to be made. I am not challenging the system. On the contrary, I am supporting the Global Council’s mission statement that they want to achieve equality one day. I want to be an active part of enabling that to happen.’

The woman’s eyes narrowed pensively.

But nice try, Ember said to herself as silence descended.

‘But we’ve already heard you lost your aunt to a terminal illness,’ the second woman said, recapturing Ember’s attention. ‘Your mental health evaluation has identified this as highly likely to be the primary motivation behind your career choice rather than selfless motivations. This is our one concern, Ms Challice.’

Her heart skipped a beat. Nothing to do with what she was. Nothing to do with her heritage.

‘An innate resentment of the system is inevitable considering your aunt may not have lost her life had she not been a Lowtown resident,’ the woman continued.

And the authorities couldn’t afford to have political unrest amongst the ranks in Midtown. Every resident’s vote counted and that meant every voter needed to be biased to the current system. That was what mattered to them.

What mattered to her was that there was not an iota of remorse from any of them that her aunt could very well still be alive if she hadn’t been born in Lowtown. Could have still been alive if she’d had a way out of the hopeless system that had not only existed but had been reinforced amidst the greed, selfishness and ignorance of those at the top.

Could have at least been spared some of the excruciating pain in those final months.

Her throat knotted but she held back her tears. She scrunched her hands together. ‘I have made no secret of the fact I am aware that my aunt didn’t get the treatment she needed because of her Lowtown residency. But I can choose to respond to that in anger and achieve nothing, or I can use it to fuel my determination to work for the Global Council and make the changes they want, improve the situation for all, and thus leave a more worthwhile legacy in the process. I know which of those would make my aunt proud.’

A lengthier silence descended as all four pairs of eyes scrutinised her.

‘You specified in your application that it was your aunt who had first encouraged you to begin the application process,’ the blonde finally interjected.

‘That’s right.’

‘So you’ve intended to move out of Lowtown for a long time.’

‘For as long as I can remember.’

‘Hence your impeccable record. Your faultless record, some would say.’

‘I have determination, focus and self-discipline. I would like to be able to prove to those who say this system is unfair and corrupt that it is possible to better yourself by having those skills. My success in this process would reinforce that. It would help diminish some of those rumours.’

It had been the response she’d been waiting for that very opportunity to give. She knew as well as they did that they had to let a certain number through. She knew her profile was flawless. She knew they’d be fools not to take a chance on her to fulfil their quota. She was entirely dependent on them not being fools.

In the few minutes that followed, conferring was executed behind shielded mouths.

‘Any further questions?’ the spectacled man finally asked out loud, readdressing the panel.

There was a shake of the head from each of the others.

It was over quicker than she’d anticipated.

Perspiration coated her palms, her breathing was shallow, the tightness in her chest intensifying as they scribbled on the paper in front of them.

The walls expanded and contracted around her. Black vignettes framed her vision as she awaited the decision these four strangers would make about her life from then on. The compulsion to further fight her corner became overwhelming as the spectacled man looked through each ballot paper, but he quickly tidied them into a neat pile.

‘I propose we set a transition date of the twenty-fourth,’ he said. ‘Ten days from now.’

Her heart leapt. The thrum of blood flooded her ears.

He slammed a stamp down on her file.

‘You will arrive here at the Midtown border at six a.m. on the twenty-fourth,’ he said, closing her file. ‘You will need to have all of your basic belongings with you. If you pass the final medical, your residency will be confirmed. During the trial twelve-month period, should you lose your job, your home, your college place, or run out of funds, you will be removed and no re-application will be permitted for a period of five years. Do you understand that?’

She could barely breathe, her throat constricting as she fought back tears of relief. ‘I do.’

She’d done it.

Ten years, and she’d finally done it.

‘Then the sincerest of congratulations, Ms Challice,’ the panellist said, as he removed his spectacles. He didn’t quite manage a smile. ‘We wish you luck with your transition.’

The other man and the second woman nodded, whilst the blonde sent her the sincerest wink of approval.







Ember tied her apron around her waist before knocking on the door.

‘Yeah?’ the gruff voice echoed from inside.

She stepped into the windowless office tucked at the back of the café.

Harry was drowning in paperwork under his lamp as he sat hunched over his desk, his thick-rimmed glasses masking his gaunt face, the magnification emphasising the bags under his eyes.

Ember closed the door behind herself in the cramped space before slipping sideways into the metal chair on the far side of his desk.

‘So?’ he asked, his eyes locked on hers.

‘I passed,’ she said, the first time she had uttered the words to another human being since she’d got back from the Lowtown–Midtown border two hours before.

His gaze dropped immediately. He tidied a few sheets of paperwork on his desk. He nodded. ‘Well done,’ he said, before finally making eye contact again, albeit fleetingly. But even in that brief moment the minor glossing in his eyes was visible, despite the shadows cast on his face.

She tried to remind herself this was just a job. At least that was how it had started. Fifteen years later, it had become far more than that. Harry had become far more than that. Harry Winslow had become the father she’d never known. He might have been a man of few words, and irritable most of the time, forever carrying the world on his shoulders, but he was always there for her.

‘You always were too good for this place, Ember.’

‘Too good for an honest day’s work?’

His smile was brief. ‘So when are you leaving me in the lurch?’

‘The twenty-fourth.’

‘Next week?’

‘I’ll work right up to the final hour.’

Harry nodded again. ‘Then you’d best go and tell Casey the news. That girl’s been pacing the last few hours.’

Ember stood. There were so many things she wanted to say as he reverted his attention back to his paperwork. Maybe too many things for that moment. So instead of saying anything at all, she turned her back on him, resolving to save it for another time.

‘She’ll miss you, you know,’ he said, just as she reached the handle.

Her grip tightened.

‘We all will,’ he added.

She wanted to look back over her shoulder. She wanted to meet his gaze. But she couldn’t for fear of him seeing the tears that smeared her vision. She couldn’t do it to him. And he’d understand that.

She stepped back out into the small passageway and closed the door behind her. Clearing her clogging throat, she headed down past the staff toilets, the lockers, the utility door on her left, and then the kitchen, before taking a right into the café.

From behind the counter, Ember clocked Casey to her left, stood with her back to her as she served a customer. To her right, Yvonne looked straight over. As Ember promptly signalled with a thumb up, Yvonne responded with a wink and a smile before turning her attention back to serving.

Grabbing her order pad and pen from under the counter, Ember tucked them in her apron.

It was quieter than usual. Away from the hustle and bustle of the more central establishments in Lowtown, Harry’s place was rarely overrun with customers. It was primarily used by those who liked to keep themselves to themselves, who liked to enjoy a quiet and uncomplicated drink or a simple meal without needing to constantly check over their shoulder. As such, it had never been a thriving business, barely keeping its head above water by relying mainly on the regulars. Regulars who, to the financial detriment of the place, never had money to burn.

The biggest profit limiter, though, was closing the doors at nine, shutting out the most lucrative hours. But it also kept his staff and his customers from having to contend with the night crowds.

Residents of Blackthorn – unless they were the tagged cons – were allowed to cross the border into Lowtown from dusk until an hour before sunrise. In the beginning, it had mostly been about acquiring produce or deals. Now one of the increasing reasons for Blackthorn residents to enter Lowtown was to gather feeders for vampire sires, offering humans locked in Lowtown’s dead-end system a better way of life either there or back in Blackthorn. In truth, they were no better than the human gang members now notorious for offering the exact same lies.

It was why she maintained a watchful eye on Casey, the lull most likely the reason why she was allowing herself time to chat or, as quickly became apparent, flirt. Casey was never short of attention, pretty girl that she was. She had good survival instincts though, so knew how to deflect to the best of her ability. But now she was being remiss, no doubt influenced by how good-looking the young guy was. Because that was how vampire sires operated: sending their most appealing gatherers out, primarily human in order to distract from obvious intentions.

Ember scanned the café again. Jasper, sat in in his usual seat in the furthest corner to her right, looked up from his book, and Ember offered him a wave. The old guy had been coming there almost the entire time she had worked there. Two coffees twice a week were all his limited budget would allow, but he knew how to make them last an entire morning or afternoon – and Ember knew how to sneak him an extra fill-up or two on the colder days, or when he looked like he needed the company. She referred to it as the loyal customer bonus scheme. And more than once, Harry had removed the money she’d placed in the till and shoved it back in her pocket.

That was how Harry ran his business. He could have played it differently, but he chose not to. And, thus far, he was one of the few lucky ones who hadn’t been involuntarily dragged into the seedy underworld by the human gangs whose tendrils had long been squeezing the lifeblood out of Lowtown. Instead, he refused to be sucked into the disillusionment and resentment of the system that had allowed the gangs to thrive, feeding off misfortune to better their own odds, dismissive of the irony of their oppression of those less powerful in their bid to rebel against the Global Council that did the exact same to them. A few – namely the Hordas clan and the Voys – dominated the various factions, the best jobs and opportunities reserved for those who were in with the right people as had become the norm.

Instead of working nineteen-hour days in that windowless cubbyhole to barely make ends meet, Harry could have earned more, but his life wouldn’t have been his own any longer. His two daughters wouldn’t have been his own. He’d forever be in debt, and could forever be called upon to repay by whatever means the debt collectors judged suitable.

Rather, he hoped his unblemished record would mean he’d one day be able to give his two girls the chance Ember was now taking – a chance she had now proved was possible. With Iona months away from becoming eighteen, she could have been the first, her sixteen-year-old sister only a couple of years behind.

Leaning back against the counter, Ember glanced back at Casey, who was still uncharacteristically oblivious to her presence, before turning her attention to the dusk-laden street beyond.

She’d tallied up five days since he’d last been in – the guy whose name she still didn’t know. In the six months he’d been coming there, he’d never introduced himself. Every time she’d served him, he’d barely even made eye contact let alone shown any interest beyond that. It piled on the evidence as to why even attributing thinking time to him was irrational, him no doubt more firmly rooted in her head than she was in his.

Nonetheless, he’d become her guilty pleasure, the potential of his presence always something to look forward to. Beyond that, there was reassurance in seeing him; knowing he’d survived another day. It felt absurd that someone who she’d barely spoken to had become such a significant part of her life – had consumed so many of her thoughts – but he had.

Worrying whenever he didn’t show up had taken her into new territory though. She knew she couldn’t afford to feel attached to him; she’d worked hard not to feel attached to him. Because the only thing she did know about her nameless stranger was the very reason she shouldn’t have been paying him any attention at all. Because despite not once ever having seen him smile, she had managed to catch a glimpse of those extra incisors characteristic of his kind. Incisors used to feed.

From the first time she’d seen them, she’d worked hard not to judge, especially as his frequenting the café as much during the day as early evening confirmed that he was a Lowtown resident and, as such, would have earned his place. For some people that was enough to lower their guard, but even if Ember hadn’t been on the cusp of leaving, she’d never lower her guard around a vampire. Ever.

So whatever it was that he did, whatever business he conducted in that café, it remained a mystery. A different person met with him every time. There was never the laughter and smiles of a casual meeting, just the firm shaking of hands at the beginning and at the end. Sometimes the meeting would last a few minutes, other times as long as a couple of hours. And that was it. Mr Mysterious, as Casey had nicknamed him, would, it seemed, now remain forever that.

Casey who finally turned around and, in doing so, yanked Ember back to the present. She instantly realised she’d been twisting her engagement ring around her forefinger again which she regularly did, according to Casey, when she was thinking about her stranger. The engagement ring she’d replaced the moment she’d got back to her apartment to prepare for work.

‘Well?’ Casey mouthed, her lips remaining parted in anticipation.

As reality sank in for the second time that night, Ember sent her a small nod and a smile.

Casey beamed, her eyes glinting with elation. She turned to say something to the customer she’d been flirting with and, seconds later, the friend she’d come to think of more as her little sister joined her behind the counter, her eyes wide with delight. ‘It’s a yes?’

‘Date set for the twenty-fourth. If I pass the final medical at the border, I’m in.’

Casey let out a squeal before wrapping her arms unceremoniously around her. ‘You did it! You actually did it!’

Glancing over Casey’s shoulder mid-hug, Ember’s stomach flipped, her gaze meeting his momentarily as he stepped through the door. Her heart pounded as he turned left towards one of the booths.

‘Let me finish this order and you can tell me all about it,’ Casey said, before pulling away towards the coffee machine.

As usual, her stranger flicked through his phone whilst waiting to be served, that permanent frown darkening his expression as he remained locked in concentration.

She removed her order pad, nervously but discreetly clicked the top of her pen a couple of times, hoping, being nearby, that Yvonne would get to him first. But Yvonne had only just started her next order.

With another couple of clicks of her pen, Ember conceded and forced herself away from the counter. As always, she was grateful he didn’t look up to watch her approach, her excessive awareness of her every movement making her feel awkward enough.

‘What can I get you?’ she asked.

As if she didn’t know: black coffee and a glass of tap water.

‘Black coffee, please,’ he said, meeting her gaze only fleetingly out of polite acknowledgement before reverting his attention back to his phone. ‘And a glass of tap water.’

She glanced down at his thumb that swiped the screen; at masculine hands with short, clean nails. No wedding ring. Nails that were as meticulously maintained as his stubble and closely cropped but full head of light-brown hair.

It was difficult to tell the age of vampires. They weren’t immortal like stories of old dictated. Instead, as soon as vampires, as with all third species, reached their peak, their aging drastically slowed down. In human years, he looked to be in his mid-to-late thirties, given away only by the subtle evidence of lines at the corners of his eyes. She guessed that was why he wore the facial hair – maybe to age him a little because his features were otherwise youthful, exacerbated by his large, soulful eyes. Intense, dark brown eyes in a constant state of pensive observation. Because whenever he did manage to look her in the eye, even though only fleetingly, she felt it somewhere deep, as if he was withdrawing information from her with just a glance.

But despite his attractiveness, despite the care he took over his appearance, he never came across as overly bothered by his looks. His clothes were always understate. . .