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Blood Ties Book Four: All Souls' Night
Jennifer Armintrout


Love Sookie Stackhouse and Bella Swan? It's time to meet newly turned-vampire Carrie Ames.I have reached my breaking point. And now I will not, cannot be stopped. With the Soul Eater on the verge of god status, it's time for me to take a final stand, even if it means losing everything I love. Even if it means losing my life. Again.I've got plenty of power on my side, and some I didn't know I could count on in the first place. But it's nothing compared to the army of the undead the Soul Eater is building up. And time is running out. They say that good always triumphs over evil. I hope that's true. Because the odds aren't in our favour, and the fate of the world is in our hands.









Blood Ties Book Four: All Souls’ Night

Jennifer Armintrout











www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk/)


JENNIFER ARMINTROUT was born in 1980. She has been obsessed with vampires ever since the age of four and her first crush was on Vincent Price. Raised in an enormous Roman Catholic family, Jennifer attributes her interest in the macabre to viewing too many funerals at a formative age. Jennifer lives in Michigan with her husband and children.


Also by

Jennifer Armintrout



BLOOD TIES BOOK ONE: THE TURNING



BLOOD TIES BOOK TWO: POSSESSION



BLOOD TIES BOOK THREE: ASHES TO ASHES



BLOOD TIES BOOK FOUR: ALL SOULS’ NIGHT


To everyone who has stuck with Carrie and co. to the bitter end.




Acknowledgments


This series would not have been possible without the people in my life who love me, support me and understand that while I might not be writing about something “important,” I am writing something worth reading.



And as always, big thanks are owed to the fast food and beer industries.



Also, the Fourth Coast Café in Kalamazoo, Michigan, where a large portion of this book was written and revised.




Prologue: Daymare


Some days, I dream of the time that I spent in Marianne’s soul. Or is that the time that she spent in me? In reality, it was horrible, but in the dreams, it feels wonderful. Powerful. Another soul gliding over mine like silk, whispering in my head.

I stand over Nathan. He’s still restrained, babbling, senseless with fear and the spell his sire had cast over him, bleeding from the wounds scored deep into his flesh by his own hand. Marianne leans tenderly over her husband, kisses his mouth, calms him. And then the power swells up inside me, and she screams for mercy in my head. All I know is blood and tearing flesh. Darkness and warmth with the copper-tinged smell of slowly ebbing life urging on my bloodlust.

I don’t even consciously drink. I don’t feel or taste the blood, and though I know, somehow, that I am dreaming, I find it unsettling, as if some understanding is just out of my reach. If only I could see the greater picture.

I consume without drinking, reach my fill without satisfaction. And when I raise my eyes to the evaporating darkness, I see the ballroom where Marianne met her fate. All around me are the bodies of people I know: Nathan, Max, Bella, even old friends long since dead, like Cyrus and Ziggy. Their blood is on my hands. Their life in my veins. Their tortured screams rolling through my head like the sweetest symphony I’ve ever heard.

And then Jacob Seymour is there, seated at the head of the massive dining table. He wears a crown of thorns and the blood that drips from his wounds is black tar, staining his white hair and shining golden robes. A huge, silver-domed platter covers the table, and I remember—in that dream memory that doesn’t quite see reality the way it happened, but still manages to catalog every horror you’ve ever known—what will come next. Clarence appears, as if from nowhere, his dark, regal face a mask disguising the hate he feels for the task, and removes the cover. On the platter, arranged in a way that is familiar, yet shocking, is Dahlia, her skin pale and mottled blue with death, a carpet of rose petals beneath her halo of red curls.

And then, with the voices still screaming in my brain, I laugh. Blood flows from my mouth, splashing to the tabletop, my hands, my lap that is suddenly and inexplicably dressed in a voluminous gown to match Jacob’s attire, and I laugh.

But when I wake, I’m screaming.




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