Revelations: The Black Chalice (Revelations Series Book 1) Read online

  Revelations: The Black Chalice

  Lauretta Hignett

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  A note from the author

  Cover Reveal

  Of Demon Breed

  Published in 2019 by LP Publishing Pty Ltd

  Text copyright © Lauretta Hignett 2019

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the publisher.

  Chapter One

  Divine nonsense fills my head at night

  These leaf-fall dreams flicker and plunge

  Between darkness and light.

  C R Holmes

  In my dream, an angel and a demon are having dinner together in a fancy restaurant. I am watching them, but they don’t know I’m there.

  They’re arguing, but in a good-natured, friendly way, as if they’d had this disagreement many times before. It’s a familiar subject, and a passionate one. They both know exactly what the other is going to say. And in the end, they know they’re never going to agree.

  It’s dark in the restaurant, the atmosphere warm and comfortable, filled with soft, glowing candlelight. I move closer. The tablecloth is crisp, white, and laid with expensive cutlery and glinty crystal glasses. Quiet music and murmuring fills the air. It’s cozy, intimate, and sings of wealth and exclusivity.

  The angel and the demon are so very different. One is dark, with smoldering black eyes and a clean-shaven, chiseled chin. His beautiful, thick hair is cut very short at the sides and combed neatly into place. He has a soft smile on his full lips, and he listens to his friend patiently as he pours a glass of wine from an old, dusty bottle.

  But my eyes are drawn to the other one. He is blond, with long, thick, shaggy hair pulled off his perfect face, drawn neatly back in a topknot. He is not as clean-shaven as his friend, and his stubble highlights the beauty of his jawline. His icy-blue eyes glint like chips off a glacier. He’s talking louder now; he’s expressive and passionate, the thick muscles on his biceps bunch and spread as he waves his huge hands around. I’m transfixed by his spirit, by the strength of his conviction.

  The dark one is still and quiet, but I watch him smile widely now; the soft lines of his full lips curl up with genuine warmth. He’s humoring his friend, playing the peacekeeper.

  They’re never going to agree, not completely. But I can feel love between them. It’s so strange.

  I don’t know how I know they are angel and demon, but it seems obvious to me in my dream. They are both supernaturally gorgeous entities, their beauty indescribable. They are fire and ice, night and day.

  But they are the same.

  Chapter Two

  The woman’s face twisted. When she spoke again, a little bit of spittle flew out of her mouth and arced in the air toward me. “I’m telling you, my assistant packed the Chanel jacket. We brought it with us,” she spat. “I know it was in there. You’ll need to check the cameras again. Someone stole it—I know it.”

  I didn’t know where the spit landed. There’s no way in hell I could look down and check. I took a deep breath. But not too deep, in case she thought I was sighing. Giving sass to our guests was a sackable offense.

  “Mrs. Crocker, we don’t have cameras in the rooms. I wouldn’t be able to verify if one of the cleaning staff took your jacket.” I shook my head sadly, trying my best to make it as genuine as possible. “And I can vouch for their honesty,” I went on. “But I promise you, we will investigate thoroughly. We will get to the bottom of this,” I said, nodding vigorously.

  I didn’t mean it. I was only killing time while Martin got her assistant on the phone. The damned woman never brought that jacket with her. One of the maids had unpacked for her, and there definitely wasn’t a custom-made yellow raw silk Chanel jacket in her luggage.

  I was tired. I hadn’t slept well last night. And now this obscenely rich, overpuffed, bulging-spanxed nightmare of a woman was reaming me out for losing a jacket that she hadn’t even brought with her.

  But apparently, she was just getting started. “That jacket cost forty thousand pounds!” she screeched. “Hand-stitched by orphans! Baptized by Lagerfeld’s sweat himself!”

  I had to choke back a laugh. “I understand it would have been frighteningly expensive, ma’am,” I murmured. “Being custom-made, they would have had to use a lot of fabric.”

  A soft hand landed on my shoulder. Damn, I hadn’t heard Martin come up from behind me. I didn’t turn but kept my eyes straight on the guest in front of me.

  Mrs. Crocker’s eyebrows knitted together; she was processing the insult. Luckily, Martin spoke before it could really sink in.

  “I have great news, ma'am,” he said so softly, almost in a whisper. It was one of his little tricks. The raging guest would be compelled to quieten down in order to hear him.

  And it worked. Mrs. Crocker’s forehead ironed out, and she leaned closer. Martin smiled at her. “I just got off the phone with your assistant. She’s got the jacket safe and sound back at your condo in London.”

  God, he was good. Not a mention of the fact that she’d been mistaken. He’d even given her a ready-made excuse for her to have a tantrum.

  “Hmmmph,” Mrs. Crocker huffed. “I suppose she took possession of the jacket last night when she left.”

  “I’m sure she wanted it to remain safe and have everything in place for your return home,” Martin said smoothly. “Such a beautiful piece of art should be guarded by your most trusted assistant.”

  You could almost see the cogs turning in her head. I swear, Martin was some sort of hypnotist for rich idiots.

  The rest of her face unscrunched, and she nodded in what she probably thought was a regal manner. “Thank you for your hospitality, Murray.”

  Martin smiled at her winningly, as if she’d bestowed some huge favor on him, and bowed to her in a genial manner. His dark, perfectly styled hair bobbed gently, and when he brought his face back up to meet her gaze, his hazel eyes were gentle and admiring. “It’s always a pleasure, madam.”

  Mrs. Crocker’s lips curled up in a simpering smile. She turned her back and she ambled out the door, escorted by two bellboys and her silent security guard.

  Once she was safely out of earshot, Martin leaned closer to me. “Really, Eve? Fat-shaming?”

  I let out the sigh I’d been holding in and turned to my boss. “I'm sorry, Martin. I just couldn’t do it. She’d been yelling at me for a good ten minutes.”

  He rolled his eyes at me subtly. Everything about Martin was subtle and smooth. “Sweetheart, that’s not even a long time. What’s your record, forty minutes?”

  “Forty-eight. When that Omani princess wanted the weird soda we couldn’t get fo
r her.”

  “You see? You can do it! The pleasure of our guests is what we’re here for, Eve. And you know you’ve got the tools to turn that rich-rage around. You let that princess go on for far too long.”

  “Yes, Martin,” I sighed.

  “It’s what sets us apart, you know. Revelations is the most exclusive, luxurious resort in the southern hemisphere, but our service is unique. We’re not slaves to be ordered around, Eve. We’re gracious, willing hosts. And we make our guests feel like they’re staying with their most charming and interesting friends.”

  I squirmed. It was a speech I’d heard many times before. And I was starting to feel really bad about making a snarky comment at Mrs. Crocker about her weight. He was right—it was a low blow, and I felt ashamed I’d sunk that far considering she had so many other personality traits I could have targeted. “Ugh, I know!”

  Dale, my reception partner-in-crime, slipped back behind the desk, his eyes glinty with the scent of gossip. “What did I miss?”

  “Eve, here,” Martin gave a subtle thrust of his chin toward me, “almost sassed a guest.”

  Dale’s beautiful dark eyes widened. “Oooh, what did you say?”

  “That’s not important.” Martin’s soft voice scolded gently. “What is important is that we are not rude to our friends.”

  I met Dale’s eyes and mouthed at him: I’ll tell you later.

  “So, darling Eve, you need a time-out,” Martin continued. “Fifteen minutes. Take off your badge and head on out back.”

  “Yes, sir,” I sighed again, but with pleasure this time. Martin’s time-outs meant a quarter hour in the resort bar with a cocktail. If we had any semblance of an HR department here at Revelations, it would have had a heart attack and died a long time ago.

  I took off my name badge, placed it on the reception desk, and turned to Dale. “Clover’s out at the bungalows, sorting out a sheet issue,” I told him. “Hold the fort.”

  “Consider it held,” he replied, grinning widely. He had such a beautiful banana-split smile; it lit up his eyes and enveloped you like a warm hug. I could see why Martin hired him. The guests all felt like he was their precious childhood teddy bear, or their adorable little brother. With dark-honey skin and the warmest deep-brown eyes you ever saw, his mere presence made you feel relaxed and comforted. Barely any guests yelled at Dale. He was lucky that way.

  Martin, with his perfectly groomed hair, tanned skin, and soft hands, had a different effect on guests. He was all smooth charm and charisma, and instantly made you feel like a precious, gorgeous gem.

  I clearly had some work to do on the personality front.

  It was dark outside by the pool, almost midnight. But the air was still warm and felt like soft velvet against my skin. The air was always warm here; the only thing that changed was the amount of moisture in it. Here in Cairns, in tropical Far-North Queensland, Australia, there were only two seasons—the Wet, and the Dry. Both were always hot.

  I loved it. It was so far away from where I’d come from— a cold, wet place with lots of anger and a lot of pain.

  The tropical weather here seemed to melt all my tension away. It was like I’d escaped to another planet. There was so much green, and it was everywhere: Big, leafy palms and lush ferns; clinging vines dripping their fat, waxy leaves on every surface, crazy-bright birds and tiny lizards on the patio every morning, sunning themselves in the warm morning light. The summer storms lit up the sky with jagged flashes of lightning, and the boom of thunder shook the depths of your soul. It never got cold here. It was paradise.

  So there was a lot to love about the warmth and the absence of pain.

  I had been lucky to get this job. I’d only been at Revelations for under a year, and I’d never dreamed they’d accept me for the position when it opened up. I still didn’t fully understand why Martin hired me. I knew why he hired Dale and Clover: Dale, with his big, cuddly body, skin like glowing amber, and smile that warms your heart. And Clover, who only had two settings: cheerful and seductive.

  We were all young. Dale and Clover were both in their early twenties. And with Martin, a handsome middle-aged man in the lead, we resembled the gracious, charming family that would tend to your every need. We all carried unique talents that made for perfect reception staff.

  I just wasn’t sure I bought the explanation that Martin had given me when he hired me. He said I looked innocent and sweet, maybe like an adorable little sister. It was supposed to help soothe the guests.

  Actually, I was far from innocent. But I was hardly going to argue the point, especially when he’d handed me my dream job on a plate.

  The bartender gave me a wink as I ducked under the palm that blocked the path to the other side of the bar. I only flinched a little bit at his friendly gesture. I was getting better.

  “How bad were you this time, Eve?” He grinned at me. “Gin and tonic bad or margarita bad?”

  I scoffed. “Not even, Toby. Barely a mimosa bad.”

  “Coming right up.”

  I slid my butt up on the barstool and turned away slightly so no one could see my face.

  Like everything we did here at Revelations, even our punishments were designed for guest comfort. From the pool, where a few diamond-and-bikini-clad babes splashed in the cool water, I would look just like another guest, happily enjoying a drink on the other side of the bar. What they didn’t realize was that they couldn’t approach me. There was no clear path to this side of the bar—so, thank God, I didn’t have to worry about any over-amorous male guests. And I was facing away from the pool, so no one could catch my eye. If someone wanted to climb through the bushes to talk to me, I’d have ample time to slip off my stool and disappear around the other side of the bar.

  I hated that I had to think about such stuff—the escape routes, the polite rebuffs. But I always did.

  Toby placed a mimosa in front of me and immediately drifted away. If it were Clover, he would have stayed for a chat, but he knew what I was like. He immediately left me to laugh heartily at a joke an old guy at the bar was telling.

  Well, he looked like some old guy. But like many of our guests, he had a pretty impressive title before his name. A baron of some sort. It wasn’t unusual here at Revelations. We were unique that way.

  Revelations was a boutique resort, just over an hour out of Cairns, at the tip of Australia. We had several points of difference to the usual resort. The first was that we were situated right at the entrance to the Develians, a series of incredible cathedral-like crystal caves that had been discovered twenty years ago.

  Discovered by white men, that is. The local Yirrganydji people had known about the site for thousands of years, but for whatever reason, stayed well away from it. And ten years ago, a smooth, opportunistic developer named Bentleigh Savage had negotiated with the local councils and indigenous leaders to get permission to build Revelations and make access to the caves exclusive to guests of the resort. I’d met Bentleigh Savage twice when he’d come into reception. Both times he terrified me with his focus and overly charismatic nature. It didn’t surprise me that he’d managed to talk everyone into building this resort.

  Unfortunately, we saw a lot more of his daughter, Hannah, who was a nightmare. She’d inherited all of his arrogance and none of his charisma.

  The caves themselves were a short ten-minute walk right from this very spot and were very heavily guarded. While they were technically open to the public, there was no access to them from anywhere except through Revelations. You would either have to be a guest of the resort, or pay an access fee that ran to several thousand dollars in order to visit them.

  The hotel management kept the caves secret. They didn’t appear on tourist websites and travel blogs, as they were tied up in the mystery and exclusivity of Revelations as a whole. Even the most intrepid explorers didn’t bother. To the uninitiated, the Develians caves were just not interesting enough to wade through all that red tape, and pay all that money, to visit.

  The truth
was, the crystal caves were absolutely, overwhelmingly stunning, and Revelations had become something of a password for the most wealthy people on the planet. If you mentioned that you’d seen the caves, you were verified and rubber-stamped as one of society's elite.

  I’d gone down to the caves just once and came back up immediately, my heart pounding out of my chest. I didn’t even make it to the first crystal cavern before my anxiety got the better of me.

  Guess I just wasn’t made for the underground.

  Luckily for me, the hotel itself was also heavenly. As a hotel-slash-resort, we were tiny. Only fifty guests were permitted on-site, which enhanced the air of exclusivity. Additionally, the strange electromagnetic energy around the caves meant the air above was strictly a no-fly zone for aircraft. So no helicopters could buzz in, and no drones could fly over. That ensured complete discretion and privacy for our guests.

  Another bonus for the very rich was the fact that we were discreet. Revelations didn’t advertise, and our official website was the ultimate example of minimalism. You could only book in by calling our reservation desk. We stayed out of the tourism industry and avoided any media attention. Most ordinary people didn’t know Revelations existed.

  It wasn’t unusual for us to host a movie star post-scandal, or for the most secret government deals to go down inside these walls.

  Most of the staff lived on-site, including me. I’d go home every couple of weeks or so, back to see Aunt Margot. But I was happy here. My workmates looked after me; the guests mostly paid zero attention to me. I felt safe, closeted away from the world, in a bubble of glitz and glamour that didn’t spoil me. It was the happiest I’ve ever been in my short, miserable life.