A Glamour of Blood, page 1
Table of Contents
Content Warning
Dedication
Author’s Note
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
About the Author
Discover more Entangled Teen books… Escaping Eleven
Hearts Forged in Dragon Fire
Stealing Infinity
The Liar’s Crown
Let’s be friends!
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by L.E. Sterling. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing
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Shrewsbury, PA 17361
rights@entangledpublishing.com
Entangled Teen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Molly Majumder and Lydia Sharp
Cover design by LJ Anderson/Mayhem Cover Creations
Cover photography by Grafissimo and beemore/Getty Images
ISBN 978-1-64937-526-1
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition August 2023
At Entangled, we want our readers to be well-informed. If you would like to know if this book contains any elements that might be of concern for you, please check the book’s webpage for details.
https://entangledpublishing.com/books/a-glamour-of-blood
For Orla,
For the arrow, and a thousand other kindnesses, thank you.
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
While no book project can be described as “typical,” the writing of A Glamour of Blood was a particularly unique experience. First, some backstory: A Glamour of Blood is set in Dominion City, the dystopian world first seen in the True Born Trilogy. The action in A Glamour begins where the True Born novels leave off, right at the moment when the Plague is coming to an end. Having said that, A Glamour can be read as a completely standalone novel. If I’ve done my job, you don’t at all need to be familiar with the Trilogy to enjoy this book.
The True Born novels were, in fact, originally conceived as a writing exercise to flesh out what would eventually become A Glamour of Blood. Serena Rogue, heroine of A Glamour of Blood, was the first character I developed in this world, followed by Carl Chiba and Nolan Storm. That the backstory ever saw the light of day as a series of books—even won an award!—never ceases to amaze me. But, once the trilogy was complete, I found myself compelled to return to the original story.
Life and world events soon got in my way. A few years back now, I was involved in an accident that injured my brain. Among other issues, my sight, which was never terrific to begin with (thanks to congenital eye failure in one eye), and specifically my ability to read was greatly impacted. With the help of physiotherapy and a period of significant struggle, I was able to retrain my brain and regain my life—and writing, which I worried I had lost forever. The irony of writing about a sight-impaired character while my own was damaged is never lost on me.
A note about Serena’s vision: this is a work of fantasy fiction and, as such, is not meant to be representative of the very real and ongoing challenges that people with vision impairment and loss face every day. In the “real” world, most people experiencing vision impairment have varying degrees of sight. Total vision loss is not typical. Regardless of the degree, it’s not easy to go through the world with this sense impaired. Serena’s supernatural abilities are, in some ways, a “wishful thinking” way of sneaking around the issue. Fantasy flourishes under challenging circumstances.
Speaking of which: I finished the novel in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, at a time when no one particularly wanted to read about dystopian Plague worlds. I hope the optimism portrayed in this novel—that all pandemics eventually fade—comes across vividly and gives anyone who may still be struggling out there hope. Fiction is one very valid route to surviving and healing from the sometimes seemingly insurmountable struggles of life. We all need escape, and I hope this fantasy provides that through a healthy dose of what I like to call “book comfort food.”
With all that in mind, I owe real debts to the people who supported me during the very difficult period that spans the writing of this novel. My friends and loved ones were—are—incredible. You know who you are. Just know how loved and appreciated you all are. Maxime, thank you for making me not one, but three different office spaces. Je t’aime, mon coeur. Thanks goes out to my crew of beta readers: Sylvain Boisclair, Sylvie Girard, Theresa Leitch, Orla Kipling, and Regan Tigno. A huge shoutout, hugs, and kisses go to Orla Kipling for providing me with the best writer’s retreat a girl could ask for, and Blair Scarlett for providing the coffee machine. Another round of cheers to Stephanie and Charlie for lending me their house (and Viktor the cat), as well.
I want to extend my gratitude to the incomparable Liz Pelletier, Entangled’s CEO and Pirate Queen, for continuing to take a chance on me and giving my work a home at Entangled despite the pandemic material. You are more inspiring than I have pages for, and your most throwaway comments teach me more than I could learn in years on my own. Thank you, Lydia Sharp, for the marvelous edit notes that enabled me to make huge leaps in seconds. Thank you also to Stacy Abrams, Entangled’s editorial director, and Molly Majumder, my other genius editor who asks all the right questions—both of whom stepped up to help bring this long chapter to a close. And as always, a big, never-ending thank-you to my agent, Robert Lecker of the Robert Lecker Agency, for reading my manuscripts so quickly, for providing such inspiring feedback, and for being my all-around champion. I am grateful for your support.
Finally, I want to give some love to all the readers out there. I sincerely hope this story captivates you, enthralls you, and leaves you wanting more. Don’t be a stranger. Get in touch. Tell me what you think: le-sterling.com.
Prologue
Dominion City, 2142 A.D.
The man who’s been hunting us has finally run us to ground.
Beside me, Carl Chiba growls low in his throat and tugs me deeper into the alley we’d been sheltering in. “See you on the other side, Ser. I’ll be the one in the furry orange pajamas. Let’s give him hell.”
It’s our little thing, what Carl and I say to each other when we’re in a hairy situation and we’re not sure one or both of us will make it out alive.
“I’ll be checking everyone out. See you there.” All puns intended, because in our versions of heaven and hell, I have my former vision restored. I turn, pulling on my game face. If I’m going to meet my death, I’ll do it head-on.
A beat later, a man strides out of the dark like a swarm of stars, overwhelming in his brilliance, pulling me forward as he erases the distance between us. Two orbs of light, bright and hypnotic, emerge in place of his eyes. It’s as shocking as the punch I felt the first time I saw him.
“Do you think you can run?” Carl says quietly. My wise-cracking best friend, the other half of our two-person operation, would do anything to protect me. Half man, half cat, all True Born, Carl doesn’t like rain, and he generally doesn’t like people—except me. If I run, he’ll die protecting me. That’s the bond between me and my familiar. But today, I need to protect him.
I shake my head. “We’re not running.”
Not from this man. We’d never make it, anyway. The man in question moves with the grace of a predator, his shoulders full and rounded, thighs bunched and corded with muscles. All that strength pales in comparison to his ridiculously beautiful face. Snaking chimeras of power pull across his chiseled jaw, setting off cheekbones sharp as knives. His silver-and-blue eyes light with an intensity that could snap me.
This is Nolan Storm, leader of the True Borns—quite possibly the most powerful man in the world. I thought we’d been friends once upon a time. Now, we face each other as enemies.
Storm halts a mere foot away from me, close enough to reach out and snap my neck. Too close. I throw out my arms in a gesture that screams, Here I am. Come get me.
His low-pitched voice cuts through the darkness like a blade. “It’s over, Serena.”
“I don’t think I like your tone, Storm,” I snark.
Storm throws Carl a withering glance before he tips his chin toward me. Above his head spreads a spectral tangle of light. No one sees the talismans curving up from Storm’s head into antler-like branches like I do. For
Nolan Storm shakes his head in disgust. “Before I go and end this thing, I want you to tell me to my face. Why did you turn on us?”
After all we did for him, helping Storm advance the True Borns’ cause, how could it be so easy for him to believe we would go and betray him?
Carl shows a nice, shiny row of pointy teeth. “Now wait just a damned minute.”
I lay a hand on Carl’s arm and throw a glare of my own. “You didn’t wait a nanosecond to get our side of the story, did you? We were trying to help.”
Carl and I worked for Storm not so long ago. For months, we gathered intelligence for him. We fought for him, bled for him. And when it was needed, I let myself be captured for him. Over a distinctly unpleasant stretch of days, Dominion City’s finest interrogated me, beat the hell out of me, and starved me. Then, when they thought they’d won, I gave those soldiers what they wanted to know: the location of Nolan Storm.
But not for the reasons Storm believes.
“I was there, Serena. You gave me up.”
“Do you really think I’m so weak? Did it never occur to you that Carl and I planned the whole thing?”
Storm growls, murder in his eyes. “That’s exactly what I believe. So I’ll ask again. Why?”
He should know exactly why. The Plague has been ravaging the population for years. And while the naturally Plague-immune True Borns are doing just fine, thank you, the human population is looking iffy. A few months back, we’d started hearing rumors that a Plague cure was in the works, something that could save lives the world over. Word on the street was that cure was about to be hijacked—only it wasn’t clear who was pulling the strings. All we knew was that it was someone at the very top of Dominion’s food chain…and that the brains behind the operation wanted Nolan Storm’s head on a platter.
I give Storm my best duh expression. “How else do you think we were going to get the bad guys to come out from the shadows?”
I was the bait. And it had worked.
But then, instead of asking me what happened, or maybe thanking me, Storm let Dominion’s soldiers know where to come looking for us. Carl and I have been hunted like dogs ever since—by the soldiers, and then by him. Who betrayed who, exactly?
“You’re a traitor to your kind.” The way Storm says it makes my legs shake.
“My kind?” I scoff. “You don’t know the first thing about my ‘kind,’ Nolan Storm.”
I’m telling the truth. He really doesn’t know about my ‘kind.’ I’m a Salvager—the only one alive, as far as I know. I’m unable to see anything except True Born DNA, known as True Born talismans. Save for a few exceptions, those talismans are only found in True Borns like Carl and Storm, whose bodies express the ancient DNA of a time long past when beasts and humans were one, threaded together through powerful magic. To my eyes, True Borns are lit from within by the special genetic material that makes them unique. Dominion City and its human inhabitants—the rich citizens of the Upper Circle, and the poor class known as Lasters—aren’t visible to me at all.
Still, Storm’s barb hits deep, shredding my sense of certainty that I’ve done the right thing, that things have turned out—if not all right in the end, then at least better than they might have.
“This isn’t a game, Serena. People’s lives are at stake.”
I let out a wild bark of a laugh. Carl tightens a claw on the flesh of my forearm, an angry purr rising from his throat. I pat his hand, a signal to stand down.
“I thought you were better than this, Storm. Now I see you’re just as bad as the rest of them. All those corrupt men in power who hear and see exactly what they want.”
And what Nolan Storm wants is my death. It’s me he blames for our so-called betrayal. Of our two-person crew, Storm knows that Carl is the muscle and I’m the brains.
The True Born leader stops to listen to something being relayed in his communications implant. “In two minutes, all hell is going to break loose. I just need to know if I should kill you where you stand or whether you’re going to try to make amends and work with us when this is over. Let me tell you, I’m really leaning toward killing you right now.”
A rumble shakes the street.
“What in tuna heaven is that?” Carl mumbles.
Storm lets his eyes blaze over Carl’s distinctive fur. “Tanks. The end game is playing out.”
I’m swept by a sudden bout of dizziness. Before I go and end this thing, he’d said earlier. When this is over. “You’re going to fight them. Aren’t you?”
Storm has the entire Dominion City army after him. But instead of running away like a sensible person, he’s gunning for them. As if in answer, the sound of a plane’s engine splutters nearby and then gallops to life. Shots ring out.
Carl presses my arm. “We really need to go, Ser.”
I nod but don’t dare take my eyes off the man before me. “Storm, whatever you think of me now, whatever team you decide I’m playing on tomorrow, I hope you will remember one thing. Everything I’ve ever done is to try to save Dominion.”
“Nothing in these last few weeks has shown me that’s true.” Storm leans forward, his body moving like smoke before my eyes. I read anger in those light-rimmed eyes, coming at me like crushing black holes. “But I believe in second chances. I’ll give you two weeks from tonight to prove it to me.”
Two weeks? That isn’t enough time.
“Prove it,” I echo woodenly. Storm inches closer, close enough that I can feel the hot tug of his breath. Electrified, either by fear or something else I dare not name, my body trembles. “And then what?”
“Then you’ll be brought to account for your actions.”
“You’ll be my judge, jury, and executioner, then?”
“No, Serena Rogue. I’ll be much, much more.”
Hair rises on the back of my neck. His words are a promise, and one that won’t end well for me.
Gunfire stutters in the distance, followed by the uncanny pop of an explosion. Storm steps back, and the air arranges itself around him anew, like water parting and folding. A moment later, the True Born stalks off toward the heavy clattering of tanks and guns. Carl and I stare after Storm’s tarry afterglow until he turns a corner, and it winks out. I feel suddenly parched for his light.
Carl whistles under his breath. “That wasn’t tense or anything.”
“Uhhhhm.” I sink against the nearest wall, relief washing through me that I’m still breathing and I have all my limbs.
“Uh. Not sure we’re out of the woods, Ser.” Carl puts a finger to his lips.
Then I hear it. The scrape of many feet on broken pavement. All at once I know what Carl is looking at. I can feel the bodies as they pass—silent wraiths, thin and broken and hungry. I smell illness. Lasters. Hundreds of the poor and ill citizens of Dominion, from the sounds, moving through the city streets. Following Nolan Storm to some unknown fate.
It was unthinkable not that long ago. In Dominion, the divisions between human and True Born run deep. The lower-class Lasters generally tolerate True Borns, fear them, but don’t interact. They certainly don’t fight alongside True Borns—or so I thought.
Carl and I use the crowd as cover, slipping away from them when the sounds of violence rise. We don’t stop until we hit the long bridge to the east of the city’s core. I lean against one of its iron pillars, feeling their solid weight behind me. I’m alive. We’re still alive.
“He’s going to kill us if we stay, Ser.” Carl’s furry cat face swarms into view.
“I know.”
A drop of rain hits my face, then another. Carl wipes my face and yowls. “What the hell is this? Are you bleeding?”
I look up. And then I see it. Where I shouldn’t see anything at all, I see rain. Each drop is a streaking comet, purplish white, light drenched, and wonderful.
“N-no. Carl,” I stammer, not sure whether to laugh or cry. “I’m not bleeding.” And then I do laugh, sinking to my knees. Because what’s raining from the sky isn’t water. It’s True Born talismans. Which I can see.
