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  Vernal

  Copyright © 2016 by Randi Cooley Wilson

  All rights reserved. Thank you for purchasing an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without written permission of the author or publisher.

  Published by SECRET GARDEN PRODUCTIONS, LLC

  Content editing by:

  Kris Kendall at Final-Edits

  Copy editing by:

  Liz Ferry at Per Se Editing

  Cover design © Hang Le

  Interior Design & Formatting by:

  Christine Borgford at Perfectly Publishable

  VERNAL (A Royal Protector Academy Novel, Book One)

  Randi Cooley Wilson

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition June 2016

  ISBN-13: 978-1519394194

  ISBN-10: 1519394195

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.

  THE ROYAL PROTECTOR ACADEMY

  VERNAL

  AEQUUS

  NOX

  THE REVELATION SERIES

  REVELATION

  RESTRAINT

  REDEMPTION

  REVOLUTION

  RESTORATION

  DARK SOUL SERIES

  STOLAS

  VASSAGO

  LEVIATHAN

  Table of Contents

  VERNAL

  ALSO BY RANDI COOLEY WILSON

  PROLOGUE

  Chapter 1 ~ LOST IN THE RAIN

  Chapter 2~ BLACK AND WHITE

  Chapter 3 ~ DON’T TOUCH MY COOKIES

  Chapter 4 ~ WHO ARE YOU

  Chapter 5 ~ BLACK STAIN

  Chapter 6 ~ VERNAL PURPLE

  Chapter 7 ~ WELCOME HOME

  Chapter 8 ~ FIRST DEFEAT

  Chapter 9 ~ RECKLESS ABANDONMENT

  Chapter 10 ~ IT’S IN MY BLOOD

  Chapter 11 ~ SECRETS REVEALED

  Chapter 12 ~ PROMISES

  Chapter 13 ~ SAY SOMETHING

  Chapter 14 ~ THE WOODLAND REALM

  Chapter 15 ~ DRAGON SPIRIT

  Chapter 16 ~ MEANT TO BE

  Chapter 17 ~ SUN OF VERGINA

  Chapter 18 ~ BAITED BREATH

  Chapter 19 ~ TRACES IN THE NIGHT

  Chapter 20 ~ YOU AREN’T MINE

  Chapter 21 ~ ALL I LONG FOR

  Chapter 22 ~ ONE LAST TIME

  Chapter 23 ~ BURN FOREVER

  Chapter 24 ~ THE DIABLO FAIRIES

  Chapter 25 ~ NO REGRETS

  EXCERPT FROM AEQUUS

  REVELATION

  2 ENCOUNTERS

  TRANSLATIONS

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  For those who are lost in the rain.

  It is like the sun shining on the rain

  and the rain falling on the sunshine.

  Frances Hodgson Burnette

  The Secret Garden

  Serena

  WITH THE SPRING COME NEW BEGINNINGS.

  Twenty years ago, amid the serenity of a winter snowfall, I was born into the London clan—a royal family of gargoyle protectors that for centuries has devotedly safeguarded mankind against evil.

  There are many who would say it is a great honor and privilege to be Serena Elizabeth Vivian St. Michael, daughter of Abigail and Callan, princess and sole heir to the crown of the revered gargoyle protector race. My clan has fought darkness, overcome betrayals, restored balance, prevented a war, and solidified an honored place among the supernatural and divine worlds—all because the London clan of gargoyles carries a highly sought-after protector lineage: the dragon spirit.

  You see, in the seventh century, a dragon named La Gargouille lived near a town on the River Seine in France. Legend has it that he was so grotesque to look at, his appearance alone would ward off evil spirits. But instead of protecting the town, La Gargouille terrorized it, until the archbishop of Rouen, St. Romanus, killed it.

  Just before the beast was slain, the dragon sank his teeth into Romanus’s shoulder, a breath from piercing the archbishop’s heart. Unbeknownst to both, the violent action caused their bloods to mix—a tying feat that caused the dragon spirit and a divine soul to become bound together for eternity.

  At the time, no one knew that La Gargouille was a demon sent by the dark army. By attacking a man of God, Hell hoped to start another war. But in the end, they were unsuccessful.

  By tethering the dragon—a demon of darkness—and an archbishop—a soul of heavenly light—together, Heaven created a secondary army: the gargoyle race. It is a lineage designed for one purpose: to protect mankind against evil.

  Every descendent that has been produced from the archbishop’s line since has been eternally bound to the dragon, including my family, the London clan of gargoyles. We proudly carry the bloodline of Romanus and the dragon, our clan’s identifying mark. This in itself makes us the most powerful clan in existence. Yet my family’s legacy extends beyond the normal good-versus-evil saga.

  Before my birth, my uncle, Asher St. Michael, the king of our race, was assigned to protect a human named Eve Collins. She was created as a divine secret. The only one of her kind, Eve was born of a non-fallen angel and a human. To ensure her safety, the archangel Michael, her father, promised the Angelic Council that her continued existence would guarantee Heaven’s gates were safe from Hell’s dark army.

  As a precaution, Michael designed the divination of redemption, preordaining the souls of the daughter of light and the prince of dark to join together; their sacrifice—love. In the end, their love conquered all, preventing another war between Heaven and Hell, and solidifying the connection between the dragon and the divine spirit for centuries to come, thus guaranteeing our race’s existence.

  As romantic as my aunt and uncle’s tale may seem, growing up in the shadow of their epic fairy tale was never easy, and as the only child produced from any of the London clan’s three couples, I have been bestowed the great honor of being next in line to the throne—an obligation I’m not interested in fulfilling. Alas, my oaths of duty, honor, and protection bind me to heed my vocation. As a protector, free will doesn’t exist. Our lives are not our own. We were created only to protect.

  My world is not filled with happily ever after. It’s full of realism, treachery, and falsehoods.

  When I was a young child, my mother and father would say that I was their piece of serenity in an existence filled with turmoil. The expectations that come with being a gargoyle born into the royal St. Michael family, and the London clan, are a heavy burden to carry. Those expectations chain me to vows, which are impossible to ignore.

  But I am not them.

  Their legend is not my ending.

  This is my story. My beginning.

  I am the next chapter of the London clan protector legacy.

  My future was etched in stone until the day Tristan Gallagher swooped in, with his dark past and guarded secrets. The moment we met, I fell under his spell. It was a fatal mistake forcing us to choose between our hearts and bloodlines, trying to pull us apart with oaths and obligations.

  Our love will ignite an ancient war.

  Our pasts will collide with the present.

  And one lie will destroy it all.

  Welcome to the Royal Protector Academy.

  Serena

  MY EYELIDS SLIDE CLOSED AS THE tiny drops of water cascade from the darkened sky. The warm beads hit my face, trickling effortlessly across my cool skin. The sensation of being alive wraps around me, as my spirit connects to the energy the weather bestows. Strength bleeds into my b
ody, penetrating each layer until the energy drifts throughout my veins.

  I ignore the dull ache making its way into my neck, a result of tilting of my face skyward. Instead, I lift my arms and, without thought, twirl and embrace each tiny droplet of water as the rain soaks the crenulated coastline around me in a fierce assault.

  The elements heighten my supernatural powers, causing my core to hum with vitality. My lips form a small smile as I pirouette my way through the mist-shrouded, endless emerald hills. Each rise is crisscrossed by tumbledown ancient stone walls. My laughter floats in the wind. It’s the only other sound encircling me, aside from the rainfall.

  I loved doing this as a child. Spinning so fast I’d become dizzy and disoriented, until the earth around my feet would simply slip away, and breathlessly I would collapse onto the blades of grass. I miss the carefree days of my youth. There’s something freeing—liberating—about standing in an open field, with your arms extended, allowing the rain to wash away your inhibitions. Not that I have many hang-ups, but the ones I do—they wrap around my heart like chains, squeezing until the simple act of breathing becomes almost impossible.

  Another childish laugh escapes me as my body tumbles and collapses onto the soaked ground. I stretch my lean limbs and sink into the sponge-like soil, becoming one with the aged earth below my undressed body. My wet, auburn hair falls messily around my face and some of the long pieces stick to my dampened skin.

  I don’t care.

  For the first time in days, I feel alive again.

  Lying on the ground, I simply stare at the dark sky above, as the world spins around me. For a fleeting minute, the dizziness offers a brief reprieve from the musings that constantly cloud my head.

  My free-spirited revel ends abruptly at the sound of a throat being cleared. I release a half moan, half sigh, knowing my moment of serenity has come to an end.

  Rather than sitting up to face Rulf, the royal guard assigned to protect me, I pout like a child. My unhappiness overtakes the bliss I was feeling seconds ago.

  It’s not that I don’t enjoy Rulf’s company. It’s just that his presence reminds me of my royal bloodline, my duties, and my obligations.

  Knowing the gargoyle’s temperament, he’s probably standing with his arms crossed, aggravated by my lack of acknowledgment while he continues to get wet.

  “Go away, Rulf.”

  “You’re naked.”

  The statement comes from an unfamiliar, seductive, masculine voice, filled with an inherent confidence.

  Definitely. Not. Rulf.

  Unaware of who this stranger is, I remain still and strategize a plan of attack, should I need one. Though I’m without my weapons, I’m not concerned. Years of training with the best protectors have made me a skilled opponent. If all else fails, I always have my supernatural powers to help me kick this guy’s ass.

  I clear my throat and remain motionless.

  “Your ability to state the obvious is mind-blowing.”

  The stranger releases a dark chuckle, unnerving me. I shiver in response, and my slight grin falls. My lips press together in annoyance at my reaction to something as simple as his enthralling laughter. It’s like silk.

  Cool.

  Sensual.

  Designed to pull you in and entrance you.

  “I guess I missed the clothing optional portion of the Academy’s handbook,” he counters.

  My stomach clenches in response as his velvety voice drifts over my exposed skin, caressing it. I swallow, in an attempt to keep myself in check and my tone even.

  It is an epic failure.

  “Something to work on, then.” My voice is shaky.

  “What’s that?”

  “Reading.”

  “Reading?”

  “A prerequisite if you’ll be attending the Academy.”

  A beat of silence passes between us before he speaks.

  “Is nudity a habitual behavior of yours?” he questions, with an amused lilt to his tone.

  At the sound of his deep voice, I roll onto my stomach, lift my gaze, and meet his curious expression.

  He’s breathtaking, in a dark and unrefined manner, if you’re into that sort of thing. By the way my breathing has become erratic and my heart rate is spiraling out of control, I guess I’m into it.

  “Yes,” I reply.

  A knowing smirk appears on his full lips. “Nice ass,” he compliments, while his stare runs the length of me.

  I don’t shy away from his open perusal. I’m comfortable with my curves. Self-assurance comes with my title.

  His eyes roam across my body, leaving imprints everywhere they go. I blush uncharacteristically at his heated intensity. My poise cracks as raw desire slithers inside me, crawling into the crevices, choking me.

  Confused by the way my body is responding to him, I pinch my brows. He tilts his head to the side, watching my reaction. There’s something captivating about the way he’s looking at me. He’s drawn to me, but can’t figure out why.

  I notice his self-confidence start to fade. Taking advantage of the fact that he’s lost in his own thoughts, my focus shifts to his mouth, and I stare at a tiny, sexy scar on his upper lip. His breathing is smooth and soft.

  Unlike me, with my unsolicited need to have him whisper dirty things to me, he seems unaffected. Cool and calm. Eerily controlled.

  The stranger runs both of his large hands through his caramel hair, pushing the long pieces on top back in a sleek and sexy manner. The rain has soaked every perfect strand, and they keep attaching themselves to his sun-kissed face. It’s almost as if they never want to let go.

  I narrow my eyes at the wisps. They’re eliciting a pang of jealousy within me. For some unexplainable reason, I feel an overwhelming sense of ownership over him. It’s me who should be the one to touch his slightly scruffy, chiseled face—not those pieces of hair.

  Wait, that isn’t right. I don’t even know him.

  I scrutinize his thick eyebrows and attempt to compose myself. On most guys a brow piercing looks ridiculous. On him, it looks menacing and wild.

  And hot.

  So very, very hot.

  I drop my gaze to the silver and hematite rings adorning his fingers. Like mine, every finger with the exception of his pinky is covered with them. I blink away the idea that our hands match, and instead concentrate on his broad chest, hidden under a white thermal.

  The thin cotton is drenched, allowing me to take in his sculpted body. A pendant sits under his shirt, dangling from a black leather rope, which hangs from his neck.

  Annoyingly, I can’t make out what it is.

  I sigh internally as my eyes trail over his rolled-up sleeves. They’re pulled up to his elbows, showing off the leather-and-chain bracelets he’s wearing on each wrist. At the sight of the familiar adornments, all my internal alarms go off, and something inside of me sinks. I attempt to hide the awareness that has fallen across my expression, and instead fixate on his worn jeans and heavy boots, while planning my escape.

  This guy reeks of danger, and trouble. The air of cockiness he emanates is one I grew up with. It matches my father’s and uncles’.

  It all means this hot specimen is one hundred percent off-limits, and being near him is like being near a bullet that you never saw coming. It wounds you so quickly and deeply that you bleed out without even knowing you’ve been hit.

  I meet his powerful cognac glare and a shaky breath escapes me. I’m startled by the way he’s staring at me.

  Like I’m all he’s longed for.

  A light chill brushes through me. I’m not accustomed to someone looking at me and seeing just me, not my bloodline. I need to get a grip on my erratic emotions.

  Standing, I put my entire unclothed body on display, hoping to throw him off balance. Pushing some of my damp hair behind my ear, I lift a challenging eyebrow at him, daring him not to look at me.

  Unfazed, he holds my gaze with an unwavering stare. A silent pause beats between us.

  Who is t
his guy?

  “Are you done assessing me?” he asks.

  “You’re a protector?” I point to the shaded Celtic tattoo on his right forearm.

  The symbol binds him to the Spiritual Assembly of Protectors, allowing him to accept divine assignments.

  Of course he’s a protector—he’s here at the Academy.

  Why can’t I think clearly around him?

  The stranger’s expression falls, as if my accusation hurt him somehow. He doesn’t say anything, but dips his chin in response, confirming my theory.

  I take a step back, empathetic to the heavy burden protectors carry. Nervously, my fingers find and play with my own piece of protector jewelry. The silver bracelet sits on my left wrist and is intricately designed with flowers and vines around the band, hiding my smaller, identical Assembly tattoo.

  My aunt Eve gifted the bracelet to me for my eighteenth birthday. It was something her deceased mother Elizabeth, a jewelry designer, had made for her. Aunt Eve had the emeralds, my healing stone, added so they hang off the sides in a pretty and feminine manner. A small watch face was set on top in the hope that I would become more responsible about time management.

  Not one of my strong suits.

  Along with rules, motivation, education—anyway, you get the point.

  It’s crucial that all gargoyles wear something containing their healing stone.

  The mineral rejuvenates us, increases our powers, and heightens our restorative abilities.

  It’s a necessary evil in my book. I despise the leather bands my family wear. They feel more like handcuffs to me than required protector accessories.

  “Tristan,” he says, in a way that slices through me.

  Another unwelcome shiver crosses my skin at the sound of his voice.

  “Serena,” I reply thinly.

  Tristan’s pointed look drops and travels over my body in a palpable manner, as he becomes intimately acquainted once again with my every curve.

  “Are you always so . . . welcoming, Serena?”

  When his eyes finally meet mine, my brow arches.