Eve Langlais ~ New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of romance, fantasy and more.
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Tracking the Alpha

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Book Cover: Tracking the Alpha
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Part of the Project Therianthrope series:
  • Tracking the Alpha

A betrayal by those he trusted leads to one final mission.

Vengeance.

Captain Barrett Wilson never agreed to be experimented on by his superior officers, but he wasn’t given a choice. When he awakes in captivity, he wants nothing more than to escape, but it’s only when the beast within roars free that Barrett manages to flee his prison.

The nearby forest becomes his home and feeding ground, the primal urges raging through his body only satisfied by the blood of his enemies. But his murderous rampage ends when the huntress comes tracking.

Her scent? Unlike anything he’s ever encountered.

Want her.


Her stealth? A skill he can’t help but admire.


Claim her.

And when she discovers the secret to unlocking the man within the wolf…

Perhaps there’s still hope for Barrett, but only if he succeeds with his mission for vengeance. Those who changed him must die. To his surprise, when the huntress hears of his plan, she becomes his ally—and lover.

However, their happily ever after depends on them ridding themselves of the one obstacle in their way: The general in charge of Project Therianthrope.

Available on: 2025-09-18
Cover Artists:
Alex with Addictive Covers (Website)
Genres:
Action and Adventure, genetic experimention, killer hero, killer heroine, Paranormal Romance, Shapeshifter Romance, werewolf romance
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

Prologue

“General!” Major Stevens barged into General Walt Davidson’s tent, ruining his planned nap.

“You’d better have a good excuse for invading my tent without permission,” snarled Walt, his patience short given the many restless nights spent tossing and turning on his wretched cot.

“Sir, something’s happened and you’re needed in the medical tent right away,” huffed Stevens, his face flushed either from excitement or heat.

“Whatever’s occurred, I highly doubt it requires my presence,” drawled Walt. “Let the doctors handle it.”

“But, sir—”

Walt interrupted. “There are no buts. I’m a busy man who doesn’t have time for panic when there is clear protocol to follow. If someone died, fill out the paperwork and I’ll look it over when I’m back at my desk.”

“No one died, sir. It’s something else. Something never seen before.”

READ MORE

Not words any leader liked to hear and Walt eyed the short distance between him and the major. “If the medical team is dealing with a possible contagion, then they should be quarantining everyone that comes into contact with Patient Zero, which includes you, Major, if you were exposed. I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”

“It’s not a disease, sir. At least, we don’t think it is?” The statement ended on a lilting query. “It’s actually rather incredible. The higher-ups will want to hear about it.”

Dammit, despite himself, intrigue roused, and Walt pursed his lips. The major, not a man usually prone to panic or drama, appeared quite flustered. “What exactly is going on in medical?”

“I’d explain, but honestly, you have to see it to believe it.”

So much for his nap. “This better be good,” Walt grumbled as he buttoned his jacket, rendering himself presentable. Uniform standards could be annoying, especially in the dry desert heat of the Middle East where he’d been stationed. Six months since he’d arrived to run the peacekeeping mission a few hundred kilometers from Kandahar. Six months of dust in everything. Military food rations. Extreme heat that resulted in grumpy troops, a mood only worsened by the lack of action. The Canadian Armed Forces too often took turning the other cheek too far. Even when insurgents attacked their peaceful convoys meant to help the people in the area, they’d been ordered to not retaliate. What a joke. Why bother sending soldiers if they weren’t allowed to fight?

Walt exited the tent and, despite the dusty haze stretching across the sky, squinted to see. The sun blared, hot and bright. It rose without fail every fucking day. He never thought he’d miss the gloomy cold days of winter back in Canada.

As Walt followed Major Stevens through the camp of tents and crates, soldiers lounging about snapped to attention, heels clacking together, hands angled and hitting their foreheads in a salute.

Walt acknowledged no one. One didn’t achieve and maintain a fierce reputation by being friendly with the lower ranks.

The medical tent, clearly marked with a giant red cross, had a half-dozen armed soldiers surrounding it, raising his brow. “Is there a threat inside? You assured me there was no contagion.”

“It’s a precaution,” the major answered. “While the soldier being treated has the potential to cause injury, I was more concerned about ensuring he couldn’t escape.”

More and more mysterious. So this was about someone under his command.

As Walt stepped past the stiff guards, he pulled aside the flap covering the doorway. “Well, let’s see what’s got you in such a—” The next words died on his tongue. As Walt’s eyes narrowed, he muttered, “How did a wolf get inside our medical tent?”

“That’s not a wolf, sir. You’re looking at Corporal Mato Nakai,” Major Stevens announced.

The tall wolf stood between a pair of medical gurneys with its hackles raised, growling at the soldiers pointing guns at it. Dr. Levy stood behind them, looking pale.

“Explain, Major.”

“Not much to tell, sir. Corporal Nakai was out with his section delivering supplies to one of the rural villages. Upon their return to camp, they were attacked. The vehicle they were in flipped and rolled. Two soldiers died instantly. Nakai and Philips were severely injured and brought back to camp for treatment.”

“We were attacked and this the first I’m hearing of it?” Walt snapped.

“You told me to not bother you unless it was a real emergency,” the major reminded. “I was preparing a report to present later when the doctor on duty had me fetched to show me what happened to Corporal Nakai.”

“And what is the doctor claiming happened?” Walt crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well, apparently when Dr. Levy started cleaning the corporal’s wounds, Nakai went into convulsions and transformed from a man to this.” The major swept a hand in the direction of the wolf.

“Do you take me for an idiot?” Walt didn’t fall for the elaborate prank. Bored soldiers sometimes thought they could pull a fast one on their commanding officer. They’d soon find out he didn’t brook that kind of frivolous nonsense.

“Sir?”

“These kinds of stunts are not amusing and have no place in a military operation,” Walt barked. “I want to know who was involved with bringing a filthy wild animal into a sterile environment. You do realize that, because of this ill-thought caper, everything in here will have to be either tossed or scrubbed clean?”

“I assure you, General, this is no joke. That really is Corporal Nakai,” Dr. Levy ventured from behind a soldier to exclaim. “As unbelievable as it sounds, I saw it happen.”

“Bullshit.” The expletive exploded from his lips. “People do not turn into wolves. I don’t care how many werewolf movies Hollywood puts out. It’s impossible. Now, you, and whoever else was involved, will present yourselves in the command tent at fifteen hundred hours for punishment detail.”

“Sir, it’s the truth,” Dr. Levy interjected.

“It’s a medical miracle that needs to be studied,” the major added.

“Stop with the lying. The prank failed.” Walt pulled his sidearm and took aim at the wolf, which stopped baring its teeth and, with a lowered head, stared at him steadily. Blame the major’s insistence for Walt imagining he saw intelligence in the gaze.

Bang.

The wild creature lifted its shaggy head fast enough the bullet missed the spot between the eyes where he’d been aiming and struck it in the chest. The wolf didn’t yelp or try to flee despite the fact blood poured from the hole in its hairy chest. It also never took its gaze from the general’s, even when its entire body began to shake and spasm in the throes of death.

Walt went to pivot and leave, but Dr. Levy, in a breach that would result in extra punishment, lurched in his direction and grabbed him by the arm. “Don’t turn away. Watch. I think it’s happening again.”

As Walt’s mouth opened to reprimand, the words remained unspoken for the wolf lay on the floor of the medical tent shivering so hard its limb straightened. Hair receded. Paws melted into hands and feet. A muzzle shrank inwards to become a mouth with a nose in the middle of a human face.

By the time the shivering ceased, the wolf was gone. In its place, a man. A naked man with jet-black hair and the same unwavering, intent stare.

“Holy fuck.” The only thing the general could say that fit the moment.

“I told you it was true,” the major crowed in relief.

Walt took a step forward. “State your name.”

The naked man rose to his feet—flesh unmarked by any wounds—and, in spite of the incongruity of the situation, saluted. “Corporal Nakai, sir.”

“I need you to explain what just happened, Corporal.”

The man’s face twisted. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

At the refusal, Walt’s brow lifted. “I gave you an order.

“I realize that, sir. However, I swore an oath I can’t break.”

“You know I can’t ignore what just happened here.”

Nakai’s lips pinched. “I wish you would, sir.”

Ignore what might be the single greatest discovery of his career? Like fuck.

The general pointed. “Major, take the corporal into custody.”

Nakai foolishly thought he could run. He snared a scalpel and dove for the side of the tent. The blade tore through the canvas, and Nakai slipped through the gap, but the major had planned well by placing soldiers just outside.

The corporal still tried to plow through them and failed. A captured Nakai found himself in restraints and placed under guard in the tent used as a jail for misbehaving soldiers. Usually, it held those who’d disgraced their uniform in some fashion like getting stupid drunk or harassing the locals. This time, it held a man who was also somehow a wolf.

A man who steadfastly refused to answer questions until the major applied the right kind of pressure. Unfortunately, Nakai didn’t survive the interrogation. However, his preserved body got shipped to a lab back in Canada, and by the time Walt returned, Nakai’s extended family—which consisted of an uncle and sister—had been taken into custody. To everyone’s surprise and delight, it turned out they, too, could shift shapes like the corporal, something the government took great interest in.

And thus was Project Therianthrope born.

Chapter 1

Several years later…

 

The march from the barracks to headquarters didn’t take long, a good thing since it had begun to rain and Barrett really didn’t want to spend another hour spit-shining his boots when he could be having beers and winning money playing billiards.

Their entire section, under Captain Barrett Wilson’s command, had received the order to present themselves to General Davidson, but they’d not been told why, which led to the soldiers throwing out theories.

“Think we’re finally going to get deployed?” asked Slater, breaking the silence permeating the room where they’d been told to wait.

“I already told you, I have no idea,” growled Barrett for the umpteenth time. He’d not known the first time he’d been asked as he barked at them all to tuck in their shirts and be ready to move out. Nor had he known the fourth time when jogging up the stairs. Nor the seventh as they’d been told to wait until the general was ready to see them. A clueless Barrett really wished he had an answer because this kind of summons didn’t usually occur without a hint. Were they in trouble? About to be commended? Getting bad news?

“Think this meeting has to do with the intense medical screening they put us through?” questioned Freya. The most petite member of their section had been the only one to cheerfully submit to the battery of tests. Bloodwork, tissue samples, measurements of every kind known to medical science that went beyond, height, weight, and blood pressure.

“Must be for something special,” drawled Radley. “I mean, why else make us fill out that questionnaire that wanted to know everything about our personal lives?”

Another oddity. It wanted them to indicate every medical ailment and procedure they’d ever undergone. Had them list every member of their immediate and extended family, whether dead or alive, and then also asked their medical history. Barrett’s didn’t take long. Orphaned at a young age by drug-addicted parents who died of overdoses. No family to take him in. As for his own history, the only time he ever ended up in the hospital had been for a broken arm skateboarding. He'd always been healthy.

“As if anyone can remember every single time they got sick,” Slater remarked.

“I just put from age six to twelve,” Gage added with a laugh. He joked about his heart issue as if it were nothing, and yet Barrett knew it had been a tense time, as he’d almost died several times until the operation that fixed his irregular heartbeat. Gage had only barely managed to get accepted into the military. Blame the loosening of certain regulations given the low sign-up numbers.

“At least you guys didn’t have to do the entire section on periods,” complained Zendaya, her full lips pursing in annoyance.

“I ran out of room when it asked me to list sexual encounters,” bragged Phoenix, the section’s Casanova and lieutenant.

“Bet you needed an extra page to list treated diseases too,” muttered Idris, the most serious member of their section, who rarely engaged in banter but when he did...

“Hey, I’ll have you know I always wear a rubber!” exclaimed Phoenix.

“Says the guy who panicked just last month when that chick you hooked up with claimed she was pregnant,” retorted Slater.

“Which turned out to be a scam,” Phoenix reminded. “She was already prego when we did the tango. She was just looking for someone to pay for the kid.”

Barrett pinched the bridge of his nose as the discussion devolved. “Enough. We’re supposed to be patiently waiting. Next person to speak is gonna drop and give me fifty.”

And what did those assholes do?

Everyone but Idris hit the floor and began pumping them out so they could continue to rag on each other. Barrett really needed to find a more effective discipline measure.

The thick wooden door opened, and Major Stevens poked his head out, sending the section scrambling to their feet to stand at attention. There was rustling as everyone saluted, including Barrett.

The major’s lips pursed. “The general will see you now.”

Barrett marched first into the room, set up boardroom style with a long table flanked by chairs on one side only. He stopped a few feet from it and snapped a salute. His section fell into line behind him, and the click of heels let him know they followed formal military protocol even though most of the people in the room appeared civilian.

Not that it mattered, seeing as how the stony-faced general sat amidst the men and women wearing white coats.

Major Stevens shut the door and took up a position to the left of it. Silence fell as those seated eyed Barrett and his section.

General Davidson—with a reputation for being a hardass and a bit of an asshole—barked, “At ease.”

As his feet spread shoulder width, Barrett dropped his hands behind his back, adopting a more relaxed pose, which belied the tension he couldn’t shake. Why did the general want to meet with them? And why were so many doctors present? Had they picked up a bug on their last mission? It seemed unlikely, seeing as how they’d been at the Petawawa base now for more than a month.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’ve been summoned,” General Davidson said. “And I will get to that in a moment. First off, it goes without saying that nothing we speak of today leaves this room. To ensure that isn’t an issue there will be no outside communication at all.”

“None?” blurted Takhi, the shyest in their group. “But my mother—”

“Will be notified that you are currently unavailable, which I will remind is normal given your line of work,” the general snapped, interrupting Takhi.

Barrett didn’t need to see her face to know it would be stiff and fighting tears. Takhi had learned her mother was in hospice with stage-four cancer, and she’d just submitted her compassionate leave request so she could be with her mother for her final days.

The general drummed his fingers on the table. “I will graciously forgive the outburst, but understand right now, I will brook no other interruption. As it is, count yourself lucky that amongst all the sections tested, yours proved the most promising. A blend of the sexes as well as racial backgrounds that will give us just the right amount of variety.”

At the strange choice of words, Barrett fought to keep his brow from creasing in a frown. Since when did variety matter on a mission?

“You won’t have heard, given the top-secret classification, but I’ve been put in charge of a special project. One that will revolutionize armies, not just in Canada but around the world. As part of the development and testing, I’ve been given leeway to recruit whomever I want for it. Congratulations. Your section won.” The smile sent a shiver down Barrett’s spine.

“Once we’re done with this meeting, you will be leaving directly for the facility, and before you ask, no, you may not pack a bag or call anyone.”

The order led to Takhi ignoring the general’s earlier warning. “Sir, I’m sorry, but I must ask to be excused on compassionate grounds. My mother’s been placed in hospice and—”

The general didn’t let Takhi finish. “This isn’t something any of you can decline.”

“But—”

“Continue to argue, corporal, and you will be placed under arrest for disobeying a senior officer and dereliction of duty.”

That sealed Takhi’s mouth, and Barrett’s unease grew. Usually, in cases such as Takhi’s, where a close family member was gravely ill, concessions were made. Why would the general not simply replace Takhi? Or remove her entirely, given her distraction would be detrimental to the outcome of this secret project?

“As I was saying, your section was chosen only after very careful consideration to participate in this project. There will be no exceptions. Once you leave this room, you will be immediately transported to our North Bay facility to begin undergoing treatments.”

This time, Barrett couldn’t contain himself. “Treatments, sir? As in, medical procedures?”

“Yes. And before you ask, they are experimental in nature.” The general’s expression turned sly. “But you needn’t worry much. We’ve managed to eliminate most of the risks associated with it.”

Really not the most reassuring thing to say and Phoenix took exception. “Excuse me, General, but my contract with the military does not give you permission to use me as a guinea pig.”

“It doesn’t. However, given the nature of this project, special rights have been assigned to me, and that includes recruiting whomever I like,” the general replied with a smug smile.

“I’m pretty sure my lawyer will have something to say about that,” Phoenix replied.

“I’m sure many people would protest what I’m doing if they knew about it. But they won’t ever find out because you won’t have a chance to tattle.” A flat statement that came with a cold stare.

“You can’t conduct experiments on people,” blurted Freya. “It’s against the Nuremberg Code.”

“Can’t isn’t a word that applies to me and my mandate. The moment you walked into this room, you lost all rights and are now military assets to be used as I need, but there is good news. The treatments you’ll be undergoing will turn you into better soldiers. Stronger. Most resistant to injury. Sharper in both acuity and agility. You should be thanking me, as you’ll be getting it for free.”

“This is bullshit,” Phoenix huffed. “I am not agreeing to be a part of this.”

“You don’t have a choice,” snapped Davidson.

“Yeah, I do. Go ahead and court martial my ass. I’ll take defending my actions in front of a panel over being some kind of lab rat. I’m out of here.”

Despite his military training that told him not to let distraction turn his head, Barrett couldn’t help but watch as Phoenix headed for the door, flanked by a pair of military police. They blocked the exit, and Phoenix growled, “Either arrest me or move out of the way.”

The MPs didn’t move, but Major Stevens did, hastening to Phoenix’s side.

Only when Phoenix exclaimed, “What the fuck did you just jab me with?” did Barrett notice the needle in the major’s hand.

What the fuck?

Phoenix immediately slumped to the floor, and Barrett’s stomach tightened into a ball. Something was gravely wrong here. This kind of shit didn’t happen. He whirled to face the civilians watching and, with his jaw tight, growled, “The general is out of line, and you all know it. When his superiors find out what he’s done—”

“They’ll applaud me because, you see, my orders and funding for this project come from the highest levels of government with approval from the prime minister herself. You see, with declining enrollment numbers and the constantly changing challenges facing the world today, from new technology to bio-based weapons and ever more clever terrorists, we need something to help us get an edge on those who see us as weak. It’s time we forced the respect of other countries, who, for too long, have seen the Canadian Military as a joke. They won’t be laughing at us once they see what our new troops can do. On the contrary, they’ll be clamoring for our secret.” The general’s lips pulled into a taut smile. “And we might just sell it to them for the right price.”

Barrett had heard enough. Despite having seen what happened to Phoenix, he couldn’t let the soldiers under his command be subjected to this madness. The major might be able to stop one soldier, but not the remaining eight of them at once.

“Soldiers, with me,” Barrett shouted as he pivoted into motion. He had no real plan other than to rush the door. Once past it, they only needed to escape the anteroom before they entered an area with people. People that wouldn’t stay quiet if they saw military personnel being attacked and drugged into submission.

The MPs by the door stepped aside, seeing Barrett and the seven remaining members of the section rushing them. Barrett didn’t need to say a word for Idris to bend and grab Phoenix, slinging him over his burly shoulder.

Leave no man—or woman—behind.

They made it to the antechamber without anyone being jabbed with a sedative. Barrett aimed for the exit to the hallway, only to find it locked. He pulled and turned at the knob with no success.

“What now, Captain?” huffed Gage.

“We kick it down.” Barrett took a step back and lifted his boot to smash.

Bang. He hit the panel solidly, and it didn’t budge.

“Captain, they appear to have locked us in,” Zendaya reported as she yanked the knob for the door they’d just passed through.

Penned like rats.

“They’ll have to open it at one point,” Barrett growled. “Be ready.”

No one mentioned the fact they might be facing armed military police with their bare hands. By now, they all realized they had no choice but to fight lest they become pawns in a medical experiment peppered with red flags. Surely the prime minister hadn’t approved illegal testing on soldiers? The general must have gone rogue. The outcry once his actions were revealed would be what saved Barrett and the others from being jailed and possibly dishonorably discharged. Of course, that scenario required them escaping first.

“Does anyone else hear hissing?” Slater inquired.

A swivel of Barrett’s head pinpointed the source. The vents in the ceiling, one in each corner, emitted a pale gas.

While knowing it would be useless, he still barked a command. “Cover your mouth and nose. Avoid breathing.”

The soldiers did their best to avoid inhaling the spreading fumes. However, without a properly fitted gas mask, once their lungs grew too tight, they couldn’t avoid taking a breath.

Soon as Barrett sucked in, lethargy spread rapidly through his limbs, stealing his strength. As his knees buckled, he noticed his section falling to the floor one by one. His eyelids grew heavy. Thoughts muddled. His tongue too thick to speak.

Thunk. He lost consciousness before he face-planted, but he sure as hell felt the broken nose and bruising when he woke.

Woke in a concrete chamber wearing only a thin hospital-type gown, alone but for the general’s mocking voice. “Welcome to Project Therianthrope, Patient 73.”

COLLAPSE
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The Grae Sisters (Books 1 – 3)

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Book Cover: The Grae Sisters (Books 1 - 3)
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Part of the The Grae Sisters series:
  • The Grae Sisters (Books 1 – 3)
  • Warden and the Assassin
  • Professor and the Seer
  • Gentleman and the Witch
An urban fantasy in three parts  featuring very unique triplets.
The Grae Sisters is a three book collection of the following previously release titles.
• Warden and the Assassin ~ I’m the sister you don’t want to meet in a dark alley. Probably why a warden named Bane hires me to protect him from an upcoming arcane event. The odds are stacked against me, but I’m determined to win this fight and Bane’s love.
• Professor and the Seer ~ I’ve been cursed with seeing the future including one where the professor I’ve fallen in love with dies at my feet. There has to be a way to change what’s to come, but what if my choices bring about the apocalypse?
• Gentleman and the Witch ~ The ex-god who demands my aid is no gentleman, but then again, this witch is no lady. Together we will hunt beyond the Earthly dimension in search of our common enemy.  An enemy who miscalculated. Never threaten this witch because I will do anything, even end the world, to avenge those I love.
A blend of urban fantasy and romance that will keep you reading well past your bedtime.
Published: 2024-11-21
Genres:
anthology/boxset/collection, dark humor, god romance, killer hero, killer heroine, magic and sorcery, Paranormal Romance, psychic romance, Shapeshifter Romance, Supernatural Mystery, Urban Fantasy, Witch Romance, wizard romance
Tags:
english
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Book Cover: Earth's Magic : Collection Two (Books 4- 6)
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Part of the Earth's Magic series:
  • Earth’s Magic : Collection One (Books 1-3)
  • Earth’s Magic : Collection Two (Books 4- 6)
  • Earth’s Daughter
  • Earth’s Lair
  • Earth’s Elf
  • Earth’s Paladin
  • Earth’s Secret
  • Earth’s Triangle

A dryad on a mission, a witch with a secret, and two hounds ready to howl for love, So much to love in this paranormal romance bundle.

The Earth’s Magic Collection Two contains previously released titles:

• Earth’s Paladin ~ The world might not be ready for Mother Earth’s slightly murderous champion. Too bad, because she’s about to fertilize gardens the old-fashioned way; with the blood of her enemies. Will love temper her need for vengeance?
• Earth’s Secret ~ This Cryptid Authority agent—and witch—has been tasked with investigating a string of arsons. To her surprise, she uncovers a link to her past and now must scramble to survive with the help of her famous—and handsome—partner.
• Earth’s Triangle  ~ These hounds have orders from their goddess to protect a human. Not the most exciting job until they meet her face to face. Adeline’s charm gets their hearts and back paws thumping, but there is a problem: Why are zombies attracted to her?

Lighthearted, paranormal fun in a world where anything can happen, and love always prevails.
Published: 2024-10-31
Genres:
anthology/boxset/collection, curse romance, dark humor, dryad romance, killer hero, killer heroine, magic and sorcery, Menage/Polyamory, Paranormal Romance, Romantic Comedy, second chance romance, Shapeshifter Romance, Supernatural Mystery, werewolf romance, Witch Romance
Tags:
english
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Blood Pack Beginning

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Book Cover: Blood Pack Beginning
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Part of the Pack series:
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Pack Law doesn’t apply to vampires, but Sasha is still determined to take three wolves as her mates.

Sasha lives in the shadows, emerging only to fight at the behest of her sire. But her latest assignment hits a snag in the form of a few Lycans. They aren’t the rogues she was looking for but might be the men she needs—if she can get them to heel. When they’re not howling and shedding, they’re barking at each other, trying to establish who will be her lover.

There’s big and burly Amir, who gave up everything for his family but wants to do something meaningful with his life.

Cyrus, the cynical skeptic who is leery of the tenuous alliance between vampires and Lycans.

The playful Diego who is ready to do whatever it takes to impress Sasha.

Three delectable Lycans means Sasha has some choices to make. Invest in a dog food company? Buy some flea collars? Maybe take them as her mates, so long as they understand there can only be one alpha…

Her.

However, seduction isn’t the most pressing issue at hand. The death of the trouble making Morpheus has revealed a mysterious and even more dangerous player. Lycans, even dormants, are being culled by this mysterious master and, as if she didn’t have enough on her plate, there’s reports of monsters attacking humans. Fighting ghouls is easy compared to stopping a traitor who would have their kind exposed to humanity.

Can Sasha and her Lycan allies—and lovers—stop the coming conflict before it’s too late?

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Published: 2025-03-06
Cover Artists:
Glowing Moon Designs
Genres:
dark romance, fated mates, killer hero, killer heroine, Menage/Polyamory, Paranormal Romance, reverse harem, Shapeshifter Romance, vampire romance, werewolf romance
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

Prologue

Fingers dragged across the surface of the vertical glass tank, the liquid within the deep burgundy of a finely aged wine. However, this fluid would never be found in a corked bottle. A pity, since only the finest vintage of blood had been used. Only the best would do.

A hint of movement within the enclosed capsule gave hope and led to a whispered, “Soon, my love. Soon we shall be together.”

Regeneration took time, especially with grievous wounds. However, there were ways of speeding up the process. Hence the need for only the most rare and delicious of blood.

A whisper in the mind hinted of hunger, indicating a need to refresh the contents of the tank.

“Patience. A fresh supply shall be arriving momentarily.” Acquiring subjects who would donate to the tank had become slightly more challenging, as those being hunted now took more precautions.

READ MORE

The brief moment of connection faded. At least they’d been happening more often of late.

Long strides brought them from the vault protecting the tank. It clanged shut behind and hissed as it sealed. No chances would be taken, for death had already come much too close to the one cherished above all.

The many barriers, installed to protect, opened and shut behind with but a thought. No key existed for these portals by design. Only those accompanied and with permission could enter. The servants used to perform maintenance didn’t retain any memories of their chores. None could know, not until the time was ripe.

Rising to a level above brought them to the preparation area where they collected the precious and necessary blood. Or would have collected, if not for the empty cages. The last of the subjects had been drained. Soon, though, new donors would fill those spots. They’d sacrifice the ripest among them to the tank, while those who lacked the right kind of richness to their blood would be put to other use.

Past the blood collection chamber, they entered the transformation wing, also sitting empty, the last of the latent Lycans either transformed or dead. The process to change them had proven tricky. The torture protocol hadn’t been difficult to conduct. Even better, the enjoyment found in making the subjects scream and plead for a mercy that wouldn’t be forthcoming. It was the other element of the transformation recipe that had been more elusive. The transformation required pain, that of the body and soul, as well as a true mating to activate a latent’s dormant wolf. Many dormants failed to make the transition, not because they didn’t scream in agony but more because the true mates of the latents proved difficult to find.

Hence why, unlike Morpheus, they expanded their scope. While dormants would still be acquired, it was time for the Lycans to also do their part. Already some thralls, their minds initially captured by Morpheus and Roderick, remained nestled amongst some of the packs. Working from within, their subtle treachery moving the plan forward.

Those that didn’t feed the tank would grow the army that would soon be unleashed upon the world, starting a war neither Lycan nor humanity suspected—or could stop.

The time for living in the shadows had passed, even as many on the vampire council refused to accept this new truth. Fools. It would seem in the centuries they’d spent buried in their dark prison they’d learned nothing. The explosion of social media and cameras capturing every event of people’s lives made keeping the secret of vampires and Lycans next to impossible, so might as well force the revelation and get it over and done with.

If all went according to plan, though, there would be no repeat of the era where pitchfork and torch-wielding peons hunted nonhumans almost to extinction. The mundane that multiplied like roaches might have access to weaponry and greater numbers, but it would take only a few key players in government to hamstring any attempt at defense.

A scuffing approach had them whirling. Shadows gathered as a cloak to cover them head to toe.

The young man who entered sniffed and looked around before calling out. “Master?”

The shadows were released to reveal their presence. “What do you want?”

The groveling dog, barely more than a pup, threw themselves prostrate at their feet and, with face pressed to the floor, reported, “The hunters have reached the town of Moon Dew.”

As planned but obviously something had gone amiss. “What is the issue?”

“One of them is questioning your orders.”

That raised a brow. It would seem one of the conscripted Lycans pushed against the command planted in their mind. “And what do we do with a disobedient dog?”

The boy shuddered before whispering, “They will be handled.”

A crouch brought them close to the quivering pup. “Do you have an issue with my order?”

“No, Master.”

“Good. Now, run along and ensure my command is carried out. I expect to see the cages full by morning.”

“Yes, Master.” The young rogue scampered off. Obedient and eager to please. The young were always so much easier to turn. Mature men, often set in their stubborn ways, fought hardest against the vampire control placed upon them. Their ability to resist, though, made them still necessary. Children, while much more malleable, lacked the strength and skill of their elders. Not to mention, the youngest and most trainable were still needed by the beloved.

Such a shame they’d been harder to acquire of late, as the dog packs rallied and closed ranks. While they didn’t understand the true nature of their foe, they grasped the threat, unlike the dormants. That ostracized and banished group had no warning. No pack to protect them. Even better, some of latents had chosen to gather into their own communities, such as the one in Moon Dew. How kind of them to cluster in one place for the culling that was about to come.

It wouldn’t be long before humans and Lycans alike began to realize something was amiss, but by then, it would be too late. Once darkness consumed the world, there would be only two choices left.

Serve, or die.

Chapter 1

The small town of Moon Dew slept. The houses and few businesses displayed dark windows with the only illumination coming from glowing streetlamps. The dogs—the kind people owned, and not the version that shifted on full moons—didn’t bark. The roads loomed empty without a single set of headlights or purr of a motor. All appeared calm.

Too calm. Sasha didn’t trust it, and with reason. After all, she’d followed a rogue Lycan here. A lone and rabid wolf that, left unchecked, could end up controlled by their enemy.

They’d found the fucker thanks to old-fashioned tracking, a little bit of magic, and the small amount of Roderick’s ashes she’d ingested after Thaddeus tasked her with rounding up the stray Lycans who’d been influenced by Roderick.

For the unknowing, Roderick used to be a monstrous blend of werewolf and vampire, an impossibility somehow brought into being by the late vampire queen—a queen later murdered by her own creation. But Roderick didn’t stop there. As an alpha, he had the power to subvert and control Lycans, turning them into murderers. Despite Roderick’s eventual demise, those thralls continued to cause trouble.

With Roderick dead, his thralls were leaderless and dangerous. She knew immediately that her target was Lycan, due to his scent, and previously touched by Roderick, due to the red spark in his eyes when their gazes met and the curl of his lip.

Sasha intended to take him into custody and question whether there were more in the area. However, a gaggle of humans had passed between her and the dog, giving him a chance to jump in a car and speed off—but not before she’d memorized the license plate.

A search through databases not accessible by the public revealed the car to be a rental, paid for in cash, with the only paperwork useless, as they’d used a fake driver’s license. A good thing she knew a hacker. Her friend and fellow flock member, Pierrot, managed to forge a link between the vehicle’s onboard navigation and an app he’d installed on her phone. Hence how they followed the car with the mind-poisoned rogue.

Of course, following would have been easier if an accident hadn’t occurred literally right in front of them, forcing them to sit in traffic and allowing the rogue to acquire an annoying lead. How she wished she’d stuck with her Mustang, but Pierrot had insisted on switching out to one of the flock’s standard SUVs for safety and space in case they took rogues in for questioning. In truth, Pierrot hated how fast she drove in the convertible, but at least that speed would have helped them make up for time. As it was, the rogue’s vehicle had been stopped in Moon Dew for more than an hour by the time they caught up.

The other flock members assigned by Thaddeus had pulled up mere moments before she did. She parked behind their SUV on the outskirts of town, and Tim, Anabel, and Jorge exited to greet her and Pierrot then hold a brief discussion.

“Do you think this is where Roderick’s remaining thralls are hiding out?” Tim asked. The freckled vampire peered around as if he could spot their lair.

“Doubtful,” Sasha replied.

“The car is not parked outside a house or building,” Pierrot added. The rogue had left it on the shoulder of the road by a gas station closed for the night.

“Maybe he’s inside the garage,” she murmured, stalking over for a sniff. The stench of gasoline overpowered, and she caught nothing.

“Something’s wrong,” Anabel murmured, sidling close.

Sasha glanced around. “Agreed.” It took her a moment to figure out what bothered. “It’s too quiet.”

Jorge joined them, hands shoved in his pockets. “Probably because it’s like one in the morning.”

True, but she couldn’t shake the sense of something amiss. “Spread out,” Sasha ordered.

Pierrot and Tim headed off to the left, while Anabel and Jorge flitted right. As for Sasha, she strode straight up the middle of the road, head constantly swiveling, seeking any sign of movement, following the fresh scent of Lycans on foot.

Four, if her nose wasn’t wrong.

As she walked, the uncanny silence pressed down. Yes, it was late, and people would be abed, but her skin prickled with suspicion.

The trail she followed diverged from the road and led her to the front door of a bungalow with light blue siding and a tidy front yard. It didn’t look like a rogue lair and yet, at the same time, would be the perfect cover.

She lifted her hand and waited while her companions quietly joined her. She held up four fingers and inclined her head toward the house. They got the hint. Anabel and Jorge infiltrated the backyard, covering the rear, while Pierrot and Tim split up to watch the east and west sides of the house in case the rogues chose to escape via a window.

As for Sasha, she would use the front door. She expected to have to force her way inside, only a turn of the knob showed it unlocked. The moment it opened a scent wafted out. A familiar one.

Death.

She quickly entered—because, unlike certain movies and books, she didn’t need an invitation—and checked through the home before she emerged and uttered a piercing whistle that drew her companions.

“What happened to sneaking up on the rogues?” Jorge questioned as he came into sight.

“They’re long gone.” Her grim reply.

“How can you be sure? Their car is still here,” Anabel pointed out.

“They either had a second vehicle or stole one, because the bodies inside have been dead at least an hour.” The congealed blood told the time. “Looks like the adult female, human, was gutted by a knife. The infant, a human male, was torn apart by something with claws.”

“Since when do the rogues slaughter humans?” Anabel questioned.

“I don’t know, but it appears as if they didn’t kill them all, going by the family photos and personal effects that suggest the house also had a male occupant and a second child who are missing.”

“Perhaps they weren’t home,” Pierrot murmured.

“Do you really believe that?” Sasha scoffed. More likely they were taken to feed Morpheus, a high-ranking vampire who had long been a thorn in the side of her boss, Thaddeus.

“I wonder if they hit other homes.” Tim glanced at the other dark abodes.

Without a word, they split up and began entering them, finding the same scenario played out over and over. Slaughtered families, young and old, all human but for one: they discovered a single Lycan male butchered outside one home. An innocent or one of the rogues? If going by smell alone, then Sasha leaned toward the latter, but it didn’t seem like he was killed by one of the residents in self-defense. There was nothing to suggest a scuffle. He’d clearly been ambushed. So why, then, did they kill one of their own? Could it be he’d balked at the slaughter?

Most of the houses they’d searched showed indications some folks had been taken, without rhyme or reason. Young, old, male and female. What set them apart? Thaddeus probably could have answered, but the boss tended to keep things close until he felt it necessary to divulge

Another interesting fact? The rogue she’d been tracking had been joined by others. By Sasha’s reckoning of the various scents, a dozen converged on the small town, and she had to wonder why this particular place.

“Seems to me the rogues who did this are gone,” Pierrot remarked as the flock converged in the middle of the street.

“And left behind the rental we followed, meaning we have nothing to track,” Tim added.

What no one said, but all understood? The mission was a total bust.

Or so Sasha thought until a hint of sound distracted. She froze in place and closed her eyes to concentrate, sifting scents, analyzing sounds. A whisper of movement sent her running, sprinting across a yard, vaulting a bush. The other vamps joined her, if more slowly. While Sasha’s mental powers of persuasion might not be the strongest, she didn’t lack for strength and agility.

She quickly outpaced her brethren and caught sight of four fleeing figures, their legs pumping almost as fast as hers, the scent wafting in their wake most definitely canine.

Had the rogues left some of their number behind?

The boss would be pleased if she could capture them alive for questioning. She put on a burst of speed and closed the gap between her and the fleeing group. They headed for a structure on the edge of the town, the cross jutting from the roof indicating a church.

The four dogs barreled through the thick wooden doors and slammed them shut. Sasha’s pace slowed as she heard the thumps and bumps of furniture being moved as they barricaded the entrance.

As if that would stop her.

She stood in front of the door, hands planted on her hips waiting for her brethren to reach her.

“I take it they went inside,” Jorge huffed. The thicker-set vampire wasn’t used to having to chase. While most of their kind enjoyed greater stamina and speed, overindulgence and a lack of exercise made a difference.

“Yeah, they’re in there,” Sasha drawled. The rogues probably mistakenly believed themselves safe. After all, some folks trusted that a church was some kind of holy sanctuary that none would dare attack. Wrong.

Even if those cowering had no clue what Sasha was, it should be noted that no religion on earth could stop a vampire in its tracks. As a matter of fact, only a few things could actually kill a vampire. Direct and prolonged sunlight. The removal of the heart—because a stake injury could be healed, especially with the more seasoned vampires. Beheading was also popular, as few things could survive without a noggin, but again, that depended on the age and what was done to the head and body afterwards. Vampires weren’t easy to kill. A good thing, since pretty much everyone and everything hated them. Not that she cared how her dinners felt.

Sasha waved a hand. “Spread out and cover all the entrances. Windows, too, just in case. I’ll see if I can convince them to come out.” Doubtful, because without direct eye contact or touch, she’d have difficulty mesmerizing. However, chatting up her prey would give her team a chance to get in position before they slammed their way in.

Once her companions moved off, Sasha sauntered to the door with a nonchalance her once-human self would have envied. She’d been a street rat before Thaddeus found her. Living off the discards of others. Stealing what she needed to survive. A pathetic young girl who’d run away from the abuse at home, only to find out the world could be just as cruel. But she stopped being a victim when Thaddeus turned her into a vampire.

With hands planted on her hips, Sasha called out to those cowering inside the church. “I know you’re in there.”

No reply.

“Are you going to open the door and cooperate like good little dogs, or am I going to have to drag your asses out?”

“Fuck off.”

Not an unexpected response.

“You know,” she commented casually, “in the story, it’s supposed to be the wolf outside the building, threatening to huff and puff if the little pigs don’t come out.”

“I prefer the one where the wolf eats the annoying girl,” replied the same deep voice.

“You’d have to open the door to even try,” Sasha’s riposte.

“We’re not fucking stupid. We saw what you did to the people in town.”

Her brow arched. They thought Sasha and her companions responsible? Nice try. She wouldn’t fall for their deflection tactic; however, for shits and giggles, she would play along. “That wasn’t me or my friends.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s the truth.” She found it highly improbable they weren’t involved. Not surprising? That they claimed innocence. “We came across this town tracking some rogues but arrived a touch too late. Or not. After all, it appears you were left behind.”

“We didn’t kill no one,” a reedy voice exclaimed, leading to grumbling from the others inside. “I will not shut up,” huffed the same guy. “We didn’t do nuthin’.”

“If you’re so innocent, then why hide?” Sasha countered.

“Because we’re not going to end up as some newspaper headline,” snarled the guy with the deep timber.

“You can’t hide in there forever.”

“Just long enough for the authorities to arrive,” exclaimed the high-pitched one, which led to more hushed arguing as his friends tried to shut him up.

Had they truly called for help? If yes, then Sasha’s team had little time before they needed to vacate.

“You know you sound rather coherent for murdering psychopaths,” she remarked, eyeing the door and its hinges, seeking out a weak spot. “Thralls are usually less interested in meaningful conversation and more intent on killing.”

“We’re not murderers,” growled Mr. Deep.

“As if you’d admit to it. Tell me, did you enjoy killing the weak in this town? Slaughtering innocent babes and their parents? Such tough doggies.”

“We didn’t kill anyone!” retorted the man.

“Says the wolf.” Her chuckled reply. “Or are you going to tell me you’ve never killed?”

“Only wild animals. Can you say the same?”

“Nope.” She popped the P. “And I’ll be killing again before the night is over. The question is, which of you will die first?” No point in letting them know she planned to capture them. Fear could work wonders when other methods of persuasion failed.

“If you didn’t murder the folks in town, then who did?” A new voice entered the chat.

“Your fellow rogues. Duh.” She rolled her eyes.

“For the last time, we’re not in league with whoever did this,” snapped the deepest voice. “Not to mention, why would we kill family?”

Hold on. Did these four wolves have ties to this town? Could it be these males had somehow escaped the rogues that swept through? Were they some of the ones who were missing from the houses?

“If they’re your family, then why didn’t you stop the murders?” she asked.

“We arrived too late,” a soft, disgruntled reply.

“Arrived from where? It’s an odd time to be out and about.” Unless you were nocturnally inclined, like a vampire.

“We got a call from—”

Someone cut off the one spilling. “Shut the fuck up, Omar.”

“Actually, let him speak,” she interjected. “Your reply might very well decide your fate.”

“You already said you planned to kill us,” Mr. Deep reminded.

“That was when I assumed you were some of the murderers. If you’re innocent—”

“We are! As if I’d kill my aunt,” exclaimed one of them, the last part of the statement cracking.

“As I was saying, if you’re innocent, then you have nothing to fear from me. But I will require you come with me and answer some questions.” The more they spoke, the less they seemed like mindless thralls. Perhaps they were telling the truth.

“The answer is still fuck off.”

“I get better results when I fuck on. Preferably on top.” She liked to control the ride. “Now, be nice doggies and open the door.”

“Not happening.” A low rumbled denial.

“You’ve got until the count of three. One.”

Sudden yells from inside indicated her brethren had breached the church.

She crossed her arms and waited on the other side of the door, as there were thumps and yells but no blood-curdling death cries. Good. She needed them for questioning.

In short order, the tussling ceased and the door swung open. Sasha took in the sight of the sulking doggies, four of them in total, their clothing, unstained by blood, adding credence to their claim that they weren’t part of the murders.

Hair mussed. Lips swelling from blows. Eyes glaring.

Handsome lot. Late twenties to early thirties. Thick heads of hair, fit bodies. Even the wimpiest of them would probably taste delicious.

“Don’t you even think of tasting me,” hissed the one with the deep voice, a burly fellow with a glare that gave her tingles.

Oops, she’d said the last part aloud. Her lips curved. “I promise you’d enjoy it.”

“I’d rather die.”

“That can also be arranged. For the moment, though, you will come with us.”

“As if we have a choice,” a bitter reply from the skinniest of the group.

“You’re right. You don’t have a choice, and I suggest you behave during transport, or I, and my friends, might decide one of you is expendable as a snack.”

Mr. Deep’s jaw stiffened. “You’re not Lycan.”

“No shit, Puppy Chow.” Sasha smirked. “Can you take a guess as to what I really am?” While some Lycans knew of vampires, the revelation was recent and not common knowledge.

“You smell…” Mr. Deep pursed his lips as his nostrils flared. “Not human.”

“Correct.” She nodded toward her fellows. “Pierrot, why don’t you smile for the wolf?”

Her companion flashed his pointed fangs, and Omar recoiled at the sight of them, unlike his buds, who only gaped in shock.

Mr. Deep sounded incredulous as he said, “You’re vampires?”

To which Sasha replied, “Someone give the smart puppy a bone.”

COLLAPSE
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Magic and Kings Collection One (Books 1 – 3)

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Book Cover: Magic and Kings Collection One (Books 1 - 3)
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Part of the Magic and Kings series:
  • The Barbarian King’s Assassin
  • The Desert King’s Spy
  • The Pirate Queen’s Captive
  • The Warlord’s Lady
  • Magic and Kings Collection One (Books 1 – 3)
Enter a world where sorcery and monsters exist. This romantasy bundle will please those who love an intricate fantasy world where romance blossoms between royals and their foes.
This collection includes previously released titles:
• The Barbarian King’s Assassin ~ Rather than kill the King, an assassin finds herself working for him. Their unexpected alliance unravels secrets from their past, but also forges a path to love.
• The Desert King’s Spy ~ When Asharee is asked spy on the king, she discovers more than expected. For one, Daksh sees right through her deception - and still wants her.
• The Pirate Queen’s Captive ~ Zora is a Queen without an island to rule. Cast adrift, she turns to pirating to feed her people and as luck would have it, has captured her biggest prize. The man she never forgave for breaking her heart.
Immerse yourself in these action-packed adventures where danger lurks around every corner, but love prevails.

 

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Published: 2024-08-01
Cover Artists:
SLM Creations
Genres:
anthology/boxset/collection, epic fantasy, Fantasy Romance, killer hero, killer heroine, magic and sorcery, pirate romance, Romantasy, royalty romance
Tags:
english
If you like Magic and Kings Collection One (Books 1 - 3), you might be interested in:
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The Warlord’s Lady

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Book Cover: The Warlord's Lady
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Part of the Magic and Kings series:
  • The Barbarian King’s Assassin
  • The Desert King’s Spy
  • The Pirate Queen’s Captive
  • The Warlord’s Lady
  • Magic and Kings Collection One (Books 1 – 3)

This warlord doesn’t believe in magic - or love - until he meets a very special lady.

Something evil is lurking in the mountains and Kormac doesn’t know how to fight an enemy that can’t be seen or touched.

While a warlord hates asking for aid, he can’t allow his pride to get in the way. He requests assistance from the witch queen—in secret, of course, because magic isn’t real. Or wasn’t in his corner of the world, until now.

Fionna, the witch who arrives to evaluate the situation, is unlike anyone he’s ever met. Bold. Fearless. Beautiful…

He didn’t count on how much she would test his patience—and his control.

As they work to squash the danger spreading from the mountains, and she impresses him with her skill and courage, he starts to wonder if she’s the lady he’s been waiting for. His mother certainly doesn’t think so, but Kormac didn’t become warlord by allowing others to make decisions for him.

However, taking her as his wife will depend on them surviving the machinations of the evil entity that’s returned to take its vengeance.

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Published: 2024-09-26
Cover Artists:
Alex with Addictive Covers (Website)
Genres:
epic fantasy, Fantasy Romance, forbidden love, killer hero, killer heroine, magic and sorcery, Romantasy, royalty romance, Witch Romance
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

Prologue

Fionna splashed in the puddle by her house. Mama had told her to stay inside while she ran errands, but the sunshine beckoned, as did the hollow in the yard, full of water from the rain.

Splash.

The stomp of her foot shot up water that soaked her tunic, but she didn’t shiver in the warm fall sunshine. Her little feet stamped, and she wondered why Mama had forbidden her to be outdoors. She’d tucked Fionna away ever since those men on big horses had ridden past their home the day before.

Speaking of which, one trotted into view. A large male with a full beard riding a brown horse with white spots.

“Hello there,” he said with a smile that showed yellow teeth.

“Hi.” Mama had told her to not talk to strangers, but she’d also taught her to not be rude.

READ MORE

“Are your parent’s home?” he asked, glancing at the hut where she lived with Mama. Papa had been put in the earth in the spring, taken by a fever that also claimed her younger brother.

She shook her head.

“Well then, I should keep you company,” he stated, sliding off his horse.

At his wide grin, a frisson of unease went through Fionna, and she took a step back. “I don’t need company. Mama will be back soon.”

“Then we best be quick.” He lunged and she shrieked, darting out of his reach, racing for the hut. Her fast little legs got her inside and she slammed the door shut but couldn’t get the bar across in the hooks. The door was kicked open and the big man stood in the doorway, his smile no longer friendly.

Fionna retreated, but there was nowhere to flee in the small space.

“Be a good girl now. Don’t make me hurt you,” he cajoled.

“Get out of my house!” Mama’s shriek from outside relieved Fionna who didn’t understand what the man wanted.

The big fellow whirled. “Mind your business.”

“Excuse me? This is my home, and you have no right to enter it.”

“And who’s going to stop me?” The man stepped out of the doorway and Fionna crept forward to watch.

Mama stood a few paces from the man, her market basket hanging from her arm, looking fierce, but also frightened. “The Duke won’t—”

“Won’t know a damned thing because you’ll keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.”

“Leave and I won’t have to say anything.” Mama’s chin tilted.

“I’ll leave when I’ve done my business.”

“You have no business here,” Mama insisted.

“Will you shut up for a coin?” The man held out his hand and Mama recoiled.

“What kind of demon are you? Trying to buy a child?” Mama screeched. “Wait until the Duke hears.”

“Oh no he won’t,” growled the man. “Nattering nag.” The man lunged for Mama, who swung her basket. It connected with the man but didn’t stop him from grabbing her by the neck and lifting her.

Mama’s eyes bulged. Fear filled them and she gasped, “Run, Fionna.”

Fear froze Fionna in place.

Crack.

Mama went limp and the man dropped her and then turned to face Fionna. “Where were we?” The expression on his face terrified.

Once more, Fionna went running, her little legs pumping, and she might have made it to the woods if she hadn’t tripped.

The man fell on her, grabbing at her tunic with one hand, grunting as his other fumbled at the rope holding up his britches. Sheer terror had Fionna trembling, but also fighting like a feral cat. She clawed and thrashed, but he was stronger. As he held her down and tore at her clothing, he told her what he would do.

Awful things.

Cruel things.

Fionna felt her emotions boiling, hot and cold as fear, anger, and desperation churned.

And exploded.

Literally.

The man turned into chunks of bloody meat.

A shocked Fionna lay on the ground, wide-eyed. It took her a moment to realize the threat was gone. She raced back to her mother’s body, but the unseeing eyes brought a wail to her lips.

Mama was dead.

A passing neighbor found her sitting on the ground, holding her mother’s lifeless head. They also saw the remains of the man who’d killed her.

“Come with me girl,” he muttered.

Fionna went in silence with Horatio who brought her to the town magistrate. When questioned, she told them what happened, about the man who’d killed her Mama, and how he’d tried to hurt her but exploded.

“How did he explode?” asked the magistrate.

Fionna shrugged. “Perhaps it was Mama’s ghost protecting me.” What else could it be?

They placed her in a room used for the storage of linens and kept the door locked. She saw no one except the magistrate’s wife, who brought her meals but didn’t speak. She’d open the door, slide in a bowl, and shut it quickly.

Five sleeps later, the door opened, and a woman strode in, her skin the rich brown of the trees in the forest, her hair a lustrous black. Her eyes were a startlingly beautiful shade of green that matched her cloak.

“Hello, Fionna,” the woman greeted her softly.

“Ma’am.” She gave a curtsy to the fine-looking lady.

“I hear you ran into some trouble.”

Fionna bit her lip. “A man killed my Mama.”

“And what happened to the man?” asked the woman.

“He exploded.”

“So I hear. Do you recall how you felt when it happened?”

She shrugged. “Scared. Angry.”

“Has that kind of thing ever occurred before?”

She shook her head.

“May I hold your hand?”

Fionna hesitated only a moment before sliding her small fingers into the woman’s palm. Heat emanated from the woman, a tingle that felt good and brought a smile to her lips. Colors danced before Fionna’s eyes, wispy tendrils that she wanted to pluck.

“That tickles,” she giggled.

“Aren’t you a lovely surprise,” the woman murmured. “Tell me, would you like to leave this room and come with me to a place where you won’t have to be afraid?”

“Is it far?”

“Yes, but we shall ride a horse.”

“I’ve never ridden a horse,” Fionna admitted, wondering if the lady would change her mind.

“Then you shall learn. The place we shall go to has teachers.”

“A school?” Her eyes widened. She’d heard of them. Places of learning for those who could afford it.

“Of sorts. We teach more than just your letters and numbers, though. In addition to lessons, you will have your own room. Proper meals. And fine clothing to wear. What do you think?”

It sounded like a dream. She nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Fionna left with the woman, whom she noticed everyone kept a wary distance from. The horse was huge in her eyes, but the woman had no problem lifting Fionna to sit before her on the saddle.

The journey was wondrous, and she learned much. Such as the woman’s name—Amelia—and the fact she was a witch who sought out children with the gift of magic like Fionna. They travelled to Mystic Keep, the home of the reclusive witches in the Acca marshes, a stone fortress with many hidden passages and secrets.

What began as a tragedy turned out to be the best thing for Fionna. She became a novice who caught on to her lessons quickly. As a teen, Amelia took her as an apprentice. By the time she’d turned twenty-one, she’d become a full-fledged witch with a strong gift in all of the elements. When Amelia ascended to the throne, Fionna was by her side, glad to serve the woman who’d changed her life for the better.

She would have most likely never left the Keep if evil hadn’t emerged to plague the world. A world that suddenly had a use for witches.

Chapter 1

Decades later…

 

The soldier arrived in Kormac’s war room dusty and exhausted. According to a whispering Lomar—Kormac’s general who had eyes and ears everywhere—the soldier’s steed collapsed the moment the man slid from its back. Judging by the marks at its mouth and the cold sweat sheening its body, the horse had been ridden hard.

The soldier, unshaven and smelly even from a distance, staggered in Kormac’s direction. The guards he passed did not offer any aid. To do so would be an insult.

Sitting on his throne carved from a single piece of obsidian, Kormac studied the weary man and wondered what had befallen him. He didn’t recognize the fellow, but that didn’t surprise. His horde numbered in the thousands.

“Warlord.” The man dropped to a knee and thumped his chest while dipping his head in respect.

“Your name?” Kormac asked while wondering why his forearms tingled where his long sleeves hid the bracers he wore tight to the skin. An odd sensation that he’d never experienced before.

“I am Ioan, formerly of Greenhead Valley, Warlord. I come bearing grave news from the garrison at the Risead Pass.” A pass to the far east of Kormac’s territory, eternally guarded despite the lack of civilization past it. The Andeir mountain range separated them from the valley of mist beyond it.

Many didn’t understand why the warlords—not just Kormac, but those who came before him, as well—kept sending soldiers to the Risead Pass to stand watch. It seemed pointless and yet “Guard the Risead Pass” was part of his oath when he took command. That was it. No reason given as to why, but out of respect for his ancestors, he still did it to this day.

Kormac’s brow arched. “A long journey. You’d best have a good reason for abandoning your post.”

“Not abandoned, Warlord. Sent by Lieutenant Khaal, the garrison commander, due to an emergency.”

“An emergency that merited you travelling leagues and days rather than sending a message by bird.” The fort at Risead kept a coop of kalmais, birds trained to fly back and forth between the Wexkord, the capital of Srayth, and whatever garrison they were assigned. Using the birds avoided delays in imparting important developments.

“The kalmais are dead, Warlord. Everyone is,” Ioan blurted.

The news rocked Kormac, and it took him a second to control his reaction. His nearby general didn’t hide his expression of shock.

“Everyone?” Lomar asked in a low tone.

The soldier nodded.

Disturbing news, and not something that should be common knowledge until Kormac knew more.

“Lomar, clear the room,” Kormac ordered his second as he eyed the guards at the far end of the room manning the doors. Far enough they shouldn’t have heard, and even if they had, they knew better than to talk. Still, best to not test them. He’d hate to have to make an example because of loose lips.

Lomar shooed the guards from the room and barred the doors to avoid interruption. As this occurred, Kormac stared at the soldier who’d left his post to bring this dire news in person. Stared long enough the man fidgeted. He should, after claiming to be the sole survivor of a garrison a hundred men strong.

Once Lomar reached his side, Kormac growled, “Explain.”

“The troubles started with Peol. He was the first to go missing. Went on patrol in the Pass and never returned. We assumed one of the maakath got him.” Aggressive creatures that were part bear, part feline, and lived in the higher elevations.

“You didn’t find a body?” Lomar clarified.

Ioan shook his head. “Haag and Wexl went looking for him and never reported back. Neither did the next pair of trackers. which led to Lieutenant Khaal doubling up the patrols from two to four men.”

Kormac said nothing and waited for the man to take a breath.

The soldier’s voice dipped. “Even with four men, it didn’t stop the disappearances. We lost two more groups before Lieutenant Khaal suspended the patrols.”

“Suspended the patrols? The whole point of the garrison is to watch over the Pass,” Kormac remarked. Never mind the fact nothing but maakath and other high-altitude beasts had ever been seen in that cold and barren gash through the mountain.

“The lieutenant knew you’d be displeased but he didn’t want to lose more men. He decided to set baited traps at the entrance to the Pass and around the garrison. Freshly slaughtered lamb along with live ones. Whatever took out the missing soldiers didn’t take the meat. Rather, it toyed with us by tossing the bait aside and replacing it with those who went to check in the traps.”

Lomar interjected, “Replaced? That kind of action doesn’t sound like an animal.”

“And yet, what was done…” Ioan swallowed hard. “I saw the bodies. They’d been strung in the snares, heads cracked open, innards pulled from their stomachs.”

Savage, but most definitely not the actions of an animal. Hungry beasts ate what they hunted.

Kormac tapped his fingers on the armrest of his throne. “So many dead and yet I never heard anything? Your tale seems unlikely.”

“Up to this point, Khaal still assumed we dealt with a maakath or another beast gone rabid. The display made of those men forced the lieutenant to realize we might be dealing with something more. He wrote a missive to you.” The man fumbled at his jerkin, leading Lomar to put his hand on the hilt of his sword. “However, he couldn’t send it. When he went to the aerie, not only were the birds all gone, Unwe—their keeper—was dead, too.”

“Something infiltrated the garrison.” A quiet statement.

“That’s what we all assumed even as we couldn’t figure out how. There’s only one door to get in, and it was never left unguarded. The lieutenant doubled the garrison perimeter guards. Ensured the entrance was secured. It didn’t help. Every night after, we lost several men.”

“Several?” Lomar burst out. “And you’re telling us you found no culprit? Bullshit.”

“It’s the truth,” Ioan insisted. “It was eerie as none of those killed screamed or even struggled. The next morning we’d just find them, some killed in their bunks, others left eviscerated on the parapets.”

“Always killed in the same fashion?” Kormac asked to clarify.

“Mostly. Slices to the gut were the most common. Some got it across the neck, too. A few had their heads caved in.” Ioan paused and took a breath before continuing. “After the third night of losses, and down more than thirty soldiers, Khaal ordered us to saddle up and ride out.”

“Abandoning his post rather than digging out the root of the problem.” Kormac’s lip curled. He had no patience for cowardice.

Ioan tried to defend his lieutenant’s actions. “What else could he do? We couldn’t figure out how and who was killing us.”

“So, you deserted and what? Knowing of their disgrace the rest of the garrison fled, leaving you to be the only messenger. Brave of you to volunteer.” Kormac’s smile had the soldier quaking.

“No, it wasn’t like that. We were supposed to leave together. The night before our departure, whatever hunted us went after the horses. We woke to find them slaughtered in the barn. The soldiers guarding them, more than a half dozen, left in pieces.”

“And yet you arrived on a horse?” Lomar pointed out.

“By chance. A mare running a fever had been housed separately in case she proved to be contagious. With only one steed left, and no birds, Khaal entrusted me with his messages explaining what happened and told me to bring them directly to you.”

“You said earlier everyone died. How would you know that if you left?” Kormac questioned, clenching his fists. His arms still tingled, and he wondered why but couldn’t exactly pull up his sleeves in the middle of an audience for a peek.

“I don’t know for sure.” Ioan’s lips turned down. “Khaal was supposed to have those remaining barricade themselves in the watchtower. He promised to light the signal every night at dusk. On my third night of travel, it failed to appear.”

Dire news if true. What could have killed an entire garrison of soldiers? And how could it have been unseen?

Kormac stared at Ioan before asking, “What do you think attacked them?”

“The puuka.” The fabled ghosts that lived in the land of mist beyond the mountains, not real, and yet some believed in their existence. Blame the stories passed down through generations, speaking of monsters and magic, neither of which existed.

Ioan’s reply led to Lomar blustering, “That is superstitious nonsense. Most likely either a stealthy invader or a wild animal.”

“Animals that can open locked doors without leaving a trace? Animals that can sneak up on a man and kill him without a single scream escaping?” Ioan became agitated.

“Probably asleep at their posts.” A denigrating reply from Lomar, but in his defense, those sent to the garrison were the weakest of the horde. The slovenly, the poorer fighters, the disgraced. A posting to the Risead Pass was the ultimate insult to a soldier as it meant they were deemed not good enough to defend the citadel or their borders.

“Who else have you told about this?” Kormac asked.

“No one, Warlord. I rode straight and hard here to give you the news.”

“Where are the other missives Khaal entrusted with you?”

The man dug in his tunic and pulled out a parchment, rolled and bound with wax. Kormac gripped it but didn’t open it to read. First, he had to deal with the soldier.

“Lomar, have Ioan escorted to a cell. One away from the others. He is to speak to no one.”

“You’re punishing me?” The man seemed shocked.

“As if I’m going to believe your wild tale without confirmation. Lomar is right. It is implausible that an entire garrison would be wiped out without a single sign of the enemy.”

“But it’s the truth,” Ioan exclaimed.

“Then you won’t mind sojourning in a cell while I verify it.” He glanced to Lomar. “Ensure no one is allowed near him. I don’t need him spreading rumors and panicking the populace.”

“As you command, Warlord.” Lomar stepped forward to grab Ioan by the arm.

Ioan didn’t go quietly. “You have to listen to me. There is a grave danger brewing in the Pass. My great-grandmother lived her whole life in Greenhead Valley only a day’s ride from the garrison and she used to tell stories of a monster that lurked within the caves of Andeir.”

“There are no caves and stories are just that, stories.” As a young man, Kormac’s father had taken him to their eastern mountain and shown him the Pass saying, “We don’t know why the oath insists we guard Risead Pass but our ancestors must have had their reason and so we honor their wishes.”

“What if it’s true? What if that’s why the garrison is there, to protect against monsters?” Ioan shouted as Lomar dragged him away.

“Then you failed, and you know what the punishment for that is.” There was no mercy for deserters.

“And you’ll fail too,” Ioan snapped. “It’s easy for you to judge. You weren’t there.”

Kormac’s lips pinched at the insult. Lomar took it even worse. He knocked the pommel of his sword against Ioan’s temple and the man collapsed.

“Mouthy coward,” the warlord’s second muttered.

“All the more reason to keep him separate. Make sure you tell no one,” Kormac advised unnecessarily.

“No shit,” Lomar muttered. “Imagine thinking ghosts and monsters are real.”

“They aren’t, but I’ll still want you to head out and make sense of the situation.”

“Aye, Warlord. I’ll leave for the garrison in the morning.”

“Excellent.”

Lomar left with a limp Ioan slung over his shoulder. Once the door shut, the odd sensation in his arms disappeared. Kormac still pulled up his sleeve but there was nothing to see. Just the dull metal of his bracers, intricate in appearance, inherited from the last warlord, their version of a crown.

He pushed the fabric back over his arms before opening the first missive Khaal supposedly meant to send. It held a brief recap of what Ioan told him.

Warlord. This is Lieutenant Khaal of Risead Pass informing you we’ve lost some soldiers in the line of duty. I’ve included the names so you can compensate the families. Most likely a maakath is to blame. They’ve been nosing around the garrison of late instead of staying in the mountains. I’ve assembled a hunting team. Expect some skins if successful.

Maakath fur made great winter cloaks.

The first note seemed normal, advising him of the deaths so the families could be notified. The second, though, seemed as if written by a different person. Khaal’s usually tight and concise writing, a shaky scrawl. It began with an apology.

Sorry Warlord, I have failed you. The garrison is just about lost to an enemy we cannot detect. If you receive this, then Ioan will have told you of the deaths. Or should I say, the slaughtering of the soldiers in my care. I should have sent you notice with the first kill, but I thought I could handle it. Whatever hunts us is wily. It leaves no trace. No tracks. It can enter rooms with closed doors. Awake or asleep, it does not seem to matter. We have locked ourselves in the tower and will take turns keeping watch. I still have hope we can stop whatever is killing us. If we fail, tell my family I love them.

There had to be an explanation. Something that vicious and wily didn’t suddenly start murdering. Whatever the case, Lomar would sniff it out and when they found out who dared to attack Srayth, he’d bring the horde down on their head and make them regret ever being born.

Chapter 2

Dinner time passed normally, the snippets of conversation Kormac overheard—and those Lomar spied upon—made no mention of the soldier from the Pass. Despite the flirting from several of the women in attendance, Kormac was not in the mood for company and ended up going to bed alone.

Perturbed by the day’s events, he found himself wondering what could have happened to the garrison. If Ioan could be believed, then it seemed unlikely a wild animal had killed all those soldiers. So what did that leave?

Most likely a new enemy. Many envied his territory, rich in metals mined in their numerous mountains, and an exporter of the best horses in the world. But it had been more than two decades since anyone last raided one of the outer villages in the north. While some tried to sneak in via the northern bluffs hundreds of feet above an angry sea, most vessels sank before any managed the long climb. Those that did attempt the treacherous ascent were easily picked off by Sraythians who guarded their northern coast.

To the south, Srayth’s relationship with Ulkruuba had been good for more than a century and their trading strong.

West lay Acca, the land of the supposed witches who’d spent centuries keeping to themselves, most likely because their kind were executed until recently, as Srayth took a hard line against charlatans who pretended to do magic.

That left the east, past the Andeir mountains, which he would have thought impossible. The mists beyond that range were known to swallow people and never spit them out.

No likely scenarios. Still, a complacent warlord wasn’t a long-lived one.

Given the decimation of the force watching the Pass, he’d have to replenish the garrison, perhaps with a better cadre of soldiers, until they’d assessed the threat.

The severity of the situation meant Lomar would be taking some soldiers with him. Perhaps Kormac would visit as well. It had been a while since he’d been to the Pass. His duties kept him tied to the citadel more than he liked. He missed the freedom of being his father’s heir and second, riding out to inspect garrisons, quelling disputes, conducting drills close to the border to remind their flanking neighbors not to tangle with them.

The more he thought of it, the more a trip sounded like a fine plan. His mother would most likely argue. His father, who’d retired from the warlord position, would understand, though. Sometimes a leader had to act in person instead of via an intermediary.

With that decided, Kormac fell asleep, a dreamless state that should have taken him to morning, only he woke suddenly. That never happened without reason.

He noticed the tingling in his arms had returned. Could that have been what woke him?

A still Kormac pretended sleep, keeping his breathing even, and listened, not just with his ears but with instincts honed by years of his father’s lessons, some of which included nighttime attacks. Nothing like being suddenly roused in the night at a tender age and expected to fight off a man twice his size. But his father never did anything without reason, and those lessons paid off.

Move. Now!

He rolled almost too late. The dagger swiped down and plunged into the pillow where the indent of his head still showed in the strange purple glow emanating from his bracers. Odd, they’d never illuminated before. But forget his ornamental armor. An assassin, how exciting. It had been ages since anyone tried to kill him in person.

Kormac bounded out of bed, his hand wrapped around the hilt of the blade he slept with. Without pause, he swung.

There was no sound as his sword slashed the assassin across the torso, a killing blow, the only kind anyone should ever use in a fight. His father always said, “Dead men can’t stab you in the back.” Good advice, except for the part where they couldn’t answer questions after.

As the figure slumped to the floor, Kormac leaned over and struck the flint attached to the lantern kept by his bedside. The oil within ignited, illuminating the glass. He saw the identity of the assassin: none other than the garrison soldier, a man who should have still been locked in a cell. Someone must have released Ioan since those cells were escape-proof. In the decades they’d been using them, no one had ever broken free, meaning the citadel had a traitor. Kormac would enjoy seeking them out and making an example of them.

He wiped his blade on the body and readied to call someone to remove it when the limbs twitched.

Probably death throes. It happened sometimes. What didn’t usually occur with corpses? The mouth opening to whisper, “This is not the end, descendent of Airiok the Destroyer.”

The sibilant words almost brought a shiver because dead men didn’t talk, and Ioan was most certainly deceased. Between the gaping wound across the torso that exposed the guts, and the copious bleeding that left a huge puddle around the body, there should have been no way Ioan could speak.

Tell that to the dead man whose lips remained parted but didn’t move as it murmured in a raspy voice, “You cannot kill me. My imprisonment is about to end. My spirit set free—”

Smash. The pommel of his sword crushed the skull and silenced the eerie voice. A chill breeze swept past him, bringing goose pimples to his flesh before warmth returned. The bracers on his arms also stopped tingling and glowing.

Hmm. Could they be linked? His bracers had never reacted in such a fashion before. Nor had his father ever mentioned it when he passed them on along with the warlord title. It should be noted, his father had only done so after Kormac proved himself worthy, fighting in the competitions that helped them choose their strongest leader. It just so happened he, like his father and his father before him, was the worthiest. Some claimed Kormac’s family inherited their strength from their ancient ancestor, Airiok, a man who’d supposedly fought monsters and vanquished a great evil. Or so the storytellers told the children. Strange how the dead man had spoken his name.

Kormac stared at the body, which now lay unmoving and unspeaking, but he didn’t trust it and sliced off its head for good measure.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The pounding at his door led to him bark, “Come in.”

A grim Lomar burst into his room, sword out, exclaiming, “The prisoner escaped.”

Kormac nudged the body with his foot. “I found him.”

“Son of a whore,” Lomar swore. “He came after you?”

“With a knife, and he might have killed me, too, if I’d not woken.”

“I wonder if assassination was his intent all along.” Lomar scowled but not as mightily as Kormac.

“Someone let him loose. I want them found.”

“It’s hard to imagine anyone helped him,” Lomar stated with a shake of his head. “The guard who had the key to the cell is dead. I found him in the cell after Melody woke me in hysterics.”

“Melody?” Kormac questioned.

“Kitchen maid. She was bringing the night guards their meal and came across the carnage. It seems Ioan left a string of bodies on his way out of the dungeon. Every single guard in Ioan’s path is dead.”

“All of them?” Kormac couldn’t help his surprise. Ioan hadn’t seemed like the most adept of fighters.

“Yeah. Hence why Melody came screeching to find me. The moment I saw what happened, I came to find you.”

Kormac debated mentioning the voice but decided to keep that information to himself. Dead men didn’t talk.

“Given what the traitor attempted, I’m now more curious than ever as to what really happened at the garrison.” Kormac headed for his wardrobe to change from his nightclothes.

“You think Ioan lied?”

“I think the traitor found a convenient excuse to get inside the citadel.” Already bare-chested, Kormac slid on a shirt, the sleeve catching on the bracers wrapped around his forearms. While ornamental in appearance, they also offered protection when used to block a blow and apparently now occasionally glowed. Why? What about Ioan triggered them?

“I can leave now instead of dawn,” Lomar offered.

“Dawn is soon enough since I’m coming with you,” Kormac stated, ditching his breechcloth for britches.

“Is that wise? We don’t know what we’ll find.”

“Which is why we’ll bring a battalion with us. I want fifty men ready to go by first light.”

They actually set out earlier, the selected soldiers eager to ride, especially since they might get a chance to fight. Peaceful times led to bored soldiers.

Kormac led the battalion with Lomar keeping watch at the rear as they galloped on their war horses, fully outfitted in battle gear. Everyone came armed to the teeth: swords, daggers, bows, axes. Better to be prepared than caught off guard.

It took them several days of hard riding before they came in sight of the mountain named Andeir that stretched as far as the eye could see, impassable due to its height and sheerness but for a single pass. The fort sat on a gravel road a few hundred yards from the passage through the high peaks, the building made of stone blocks, sturdy and old. Very old. Also, highly defensible with only narrow window slits, perfect for firing arrows. A single massive gate at the front led inside to a courtyard and even if someone breached that, the fort itself had a portcullis that could be dropped over its entrance, making it virtually impenetrable. The walls had a slight lean outward, making them difficult to scale. From the base of the path going up, they could see the peaked roof of the watchtower which faced the Pass.

“Leave the horses here,” Kormac ordered, not liking the treacherous look of the road slicked with ice.

Five men were left behind to watch their steeds. The rest of the battalion, led by Lomar and Kormac, set out on foot. The mid-afternoon sun provided a bit of warmth, and yet they’d neither seen nor heard any signs of wildlife. No scampering squirrels or birds. Not even a breeze to rustle the branches. The eerie stillness had them all on edge, the soldiers finding reassurance in gripping their weapons.

Kormac, though, pursed his lips as he glanced around. No sign of anyone or anything.

As they plodded slowly up the road to the gate, Lomar pointed to the ground. The light dusting of snow was undisturbed. “No tracks,” he remarked.

“If it fell overnight that’s not surprising,” Kormac murmured. As they neared the garrison, he noticed the lack of soldiers manning the ramparts. Heard not a single challenge to their approach. To his disquiet, the gate had been left slightly ajar.

Before Kormac could say or do anything, Lomar bolted past, axe in hand. His second wasn’t about to let his warlord walk into an ambush. At least that would be his claim. More likely he wanted first shot at any threat.

Kormac followed more cautiously. His tread crunched in the snow that had crystalized in the sun.

“Seems deserted,” a disappointed Lomar stated as he reappeared.

“Could be they’re hiding.” A glance at the parapet didn’t show any arrow tips or movement but that didn’t mean no one watched. His nape prickled in warning.

“I’ll grab some men and do a sweep,” Lomar stated.

“Take half. I want the rest to do a perimeter sweep,” Kormac commanded as he strode through the gate.

The stench of death hit him immediately and he glanced at Lomar. “When you said deserted…”

“I meant I found no signs of anyone living.” Lomar pointed. “The smell appears to be coming from the stable which would match Ioan’s claim the horses were slaughtered.”

“And left to rot?” Kormac’s brow rose.

“So it seems.”

“Disrespectful,” Kormac grumbled. His people had long valued the stallions and mares that they caught running in the wild and tamed. They were their greatest pride—and their most expensive export. To have them not only slaughtered but then left to rot? Khaal had much to answer for.

Kormac strode into the barn and the smell turned his stomach. Not that he gagged. A warlord couldn’t show weakness.

He glanced inside the stalls to see the remains of the once fine steeds lying where they’d died, their flesh ribboned. Why hadn’t Khaal had them removed?

The courtyard held no bodies. Neither did the main chamber once he entered the fort. The long tables, flanked by benches, held dishes, the food on them moldy. Further investigation resulted in them finding some bodies in the barracks, the soldiers murdered in their beds, the blood long dried, the bodies rigid.

Kormac’s lips tightened at the sight.

Lomar leaned close to murmur, “Think Ioan did this?”

“I don’t know what to think.” Ioan hadn’t seemed strong enough to be able to cause such carnage, but he only had to remember the dungeon to wonder if they’d underestimated the man.

Kormac pointed to some of his soldiers. “Clear the dead.” By clear he meant remove and burn. In his culture, they didn’t bury those who passed. Burying trapped the soul. Only fire could release it from its fleshy prison. The morning they’d left, Ioan’s body had been put on a pyre—a small one made up of trash and not the fine wood used for the soldiers—because even a traitor didn’t deserve to slowly decay.

“Only one place left to check,” Lomar murmured.

The watchtower where Ioan claimed Khaal had barricaded those who’d survived. He didn’t hold much hope for those men, not with the deep silence they’d encountered thus far.

The watchtower sat at the rear of the garrison, facing the pass it guarded. It went a full two stories higher than the fort and had a large window-like opening at the top where not only could someone watch, but a fire could be burned to provide a signal. At least, that was the original intent. The watchtower three days ride away that would have seen it had collapsed during a tremor more than thirty years ago and never been rebuilt. Why bother when they had the birds to communicate? In retrospect, not too smart since whatever enemy they dealt with had eradicated them early on. If not for Ioan, it might have been months before they noticed a problem with the garrison.

The door at the base of the tower, the only entrance, appeared barricaded from the inside. The exterior of the portal was untouched, no scratches on its surface, also no reply to their pounding.

Kormac glanced at Lomar with his massive axe. “Take it down.”

“If I must.” Lomar grimaced. “My poor blade.” He complained but he swung.

Thunk, thunk. His strong strokes splintered the seasoned wood. The thick panel took some time to penetrate and the moment Lomar created a small hole, they could smell it.

Death.

COLLAPSE
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Book Cover: My Girlfriend is a Werewolf
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Part of the A Moonstruck Mating series:
  • My Girlfriend is a Werewolf
  • My Boyfriend Marks Trees
  • My Boyfriend Bites
  • A Moonstruck Mating Books 1 – 3

I’ve licked him. He’s mine.

Running into a strange white wolf isn’t an everyday occurrence in Derek’s life. Neither is finding a naked—and beautiful—woman alone in the park. Had the wolf been an omen of what was yet to come? Because since meeting Athena, Derek’s life’s been upended.

Chased by thugs and with a ransom on her head, Athena isn’t divulging why she’s a wanted woman. Derek helps her anyway since he’s a gentleman and she keeps his curiosity—and other things—piqued. Besides, he’ll be damned if some greedy doctor is going to kidnap and experiment on innocent people in his own backyard.

But he can’t help but notice Athena’s great sense of smell, or her proclivity for chasing rabbits, or the way she disappears every full moon…

Turns out his Athena’s got a hairy secret.

A howling whopper of one.

Guess he’d better stock up on flea collars and kibble because My Girlfriend is a Werewolf.

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Published: 2024-10-17
Cover Artists:
Atra Luna's Book Cover and Logo Art
Genres:
dark humor, killer heroine, Paranormal Romance, Romantic Comedy, Shapeshifter Romance, werewolf romance
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

Chapter 1

The full moon would be rising after dinner, which meant no more screwing around. Athena needed out of her prison before anyone confirmed her secret. She’d done well holding tight, not giving into the anger when they spent hours hosing her down with frigid water. She’d not barked once when they forced her to spend time with cats or someone delivered something to her cell. The sirens they played had her tempted to howl, but she bit her tongue.

Pretending to be a normal human being took its toll, but she’d managed thus far. However, Athena couldn’t do anything about the blood and tissue samples the various technicians took. At least she could be comforted with the fact a few weird chromosomes didn’t mean shit without proof of what that special twist in her DNA meant.

But she wouldn’t be able to hide her secret tonight.

READ MORE

A week of flirting with her afternoon guard would hopefully pay off. She needed to escape before they trotted her outside and exposed her to moonlight—the one thing she couldn’t resist.

Simon, the guy on shift, arrived with her meal tray, and Athena offered him a simpering smile as he brought it into her cell. He no longer gave her the daily warning to stand in the far corner. Her ploy to fool him into thinking her harmless appeared to be working.

As Simon set down her dinner, she murmured, “Thanks. You take such good care of me.” Athena batted her lashes so hard they almost took flight.

“Just doing my job.” Simon hitched his pants by the loops and puffed his barrel chest. A thick fellow, but she’d tussled with bigger.

“Guess after tonight we won’t see each other anymore once they realize I’m not what they think I am.” Her lips turned down in feigned sadness.

“You could call me when you’re released,” he offered. “We could go to dinner and stuff.”

“If only that were possible. Given what I know about this facility, I fear what they’ll do to me.” She ducked her head as she played the melodramatic damsel.

“I’m sure Dr. Rogers won’t do anything drastic. Mistakes happen.”

Of course, Simon would defend the doctor who’d been the one to trap her and organize the tests. Everyone in this installation worshipped Dr. Rogers, the man who’d caught the first Sasquatch. The guy who’d proved the existence of Ogopogo while also disproving Nessie using some kind of deep sonar tech. And now Dr. Rogers planned to out lycanthropes.

She still had no idea how he’d sniffed out her existence. Athena always took great care to never be seen when she ran on four feet.

“I hope you’re right and this is all a big misunderstanding, but what if this is my last moment on Earth?” She clutched her chest. “What if my last kiss was that slobbery one by that drunk in a bar? If only I had a nicer memory to take with me.”

Simon blinked, and it took his pea-sized brain a second to figure out what she hinted at.

“Uh, er…” He glanced at the camera in the cell with its red blinking light.

Someone always watched and listened. It took everything in her to be as boring as possible. Lying on her cot counting the dots in the ceiling tile. Staring off blankly into space. When she couldn’t stand to be sedentary, she’d do push-ups or jumping jacks but not so many as to seem suspicious.

They must be wondering by now if they’d assumed wrong since she’d not once peed in a corner nor wagged her butt in excitement when her dinner came with dessert.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even asked. I’m just so scared! It’s so unfair. I didn’t do anything,” she exclaimed and grabbed the pudding—chocolate, her favorite—and threw it. Her aim proved good, as it hit the camera and gooey goodness smothered the lens, ruining their eyes and hopefully muffling their ears. She wouldn’t have long.

“Oh shit,” Simon muttered, eyeing the mess.

She grabbed him by the shirt. “Quick, kiss me before they come.”

“Uh…”

What a meathead. Would she have to do everything?

A mash of her mouth to Simon’s distracted as she divested him of the notepad in his back pocket, where she knew he kept the door codes written because Simon couldn’t remember the many-numbered sequences. She’d been carefully scouting which of the guards she could use in her escape, and Simple Simon won hands-down.

As Simon began to moan, she suddenly shoved him in the direction of the cot. The backs of his legs hit it, and he fell hard. Bemused, he didn’t immediately clue in that she’d exited to the hall, but he started yelling when she slammed the cell door shut.

Step one, get out of her room. Done.

She ran up the hall, bare feet slapping the cold tile. The next door had a keypad. She flipped open the notebook and could have cursed at the sloppy writing. Simon had several entries; Main, Pretty Girl, Ugly Dude. Hall 1, Hall 2, Stairs, Yard.

Which one to use? When Hall 1 didn’t work, she cursed and quickly punched Hall 2. As the door clicked and she yanked it open, an alarm went off.

Things were about to get dicey. Usually her favorite kind.

The next hall held a woman in a lab coat carrying a tablet. Dr. Lanier, the psychologist who’d been trying to trick Athena into admitting her furry side.

As if. Athena had been taught from a young age to never ever say a thing. Daddy might be gone now, but his lessons remained.

“What are you doing out of your cell?” Dr. Lanier squeaked.

“Blowing this joint. I’d say nice knowing you, but that would be a lie,” Athena grumbled as she barreled for the woman. Lanier did nothing to stop her, unless screeching, “Help!” counted.

The shoulder Athena used to ram the doctor aside proved satisfying. Not as satisfying as, say, biting her, but Athena didn’t have time for revenge. Plotting retaliation would come later.

If she escaped.

The next keypad unlocked the door the moment she punched in the code for the stairs. It opened onto a staircase and elevator. Since the numbers showed it coming down, she fled up the steps and ran into a pair of soldiers descending. Her momentum let her drive into their legs and send them tumbling. She continued her bolt upwards, only to stop in surprise at the first-floor landing.

Dr. Rogers stood there waiting for the elevator. A pair of armed guards flanked the tall man with his wire-rimmed glasses, bowtie, and customary white coat. The guards aimed their revolvers at Athena.

Dr. Rogers yelled, “Don’t shoot to kill. We need her alive.”

A fellow with an impressive mustache said, “So aim for a leg or an arm?”

Their hesitation gave Athena the chance she needed. She roundhouse-kicked the gun out of one hand and followed with an uppercut to the second guy. As they reeled in surprise, a left hook plus a right cross laid another two other guards flat out. Thank you, Daddy, for the lessons and increased strength. Athena might not look it, but she could pack a punch.

The doctor didn’t look impressed she’d taken out his security. “There is no escape. Even if you make it out of the facility, I will find you.”

“You’re assuming I won’t find you first,” she chirped. “I’ll be seeing you…” She waved as she slammed through the door that led to the lobby. A lobby full of armed guards who eyed her in shock.

As guns left holsters, the doctor saved her again. “Don’t you dare use those weapons. Someone fetch the tranquilizer guns.”

Since the lobby area had too many even for her to slam through, Athena ran the other way, heading for the door that led to the yard. Dr. Rogers had been having her escorted to it nightly as the moon got fatter and fatter.

‘Yard’ proved to be a bit of a misnomer. It was a concrete space surrounded by barbed-wire fencing. Beyond it, a line of trees thick enough to prevent casual passersby from spying. Wouldn’t the folks in Ottawa be surprised to know the Experimental Farm wasn’t just about testing crops? Their basement level hosted a lab for other things.

The fencing with its sharp tines would hurt, but Athena preferred a bit of pain to being incarcerated and outed. However, to give herself the best chance, the shirt came off, and as she ran, she tore the thin fabric of the scrub top to wrap around her hands. The barbed metal still bit her flesh, but she gritted her teeth and climbed, even as she could hear the commotion at her back.

Despite expecting to be shot—probably in the ass with her luck—she kept ascending.

“Shoot the darts!” Dr. Rogers screamed. “Quick. She’s about to escape.”

Indeed, she was. Freedom beckoned, but she’d be cutting it close. Blame Simon for arriving later than usual. Twilight would shortly descend, and that meant the pull of the moon was strong as it began to rise in the coming night sky.

Athena hit the ground on the other side of the fence with a grunt and a bend of the knees. A good thing she’d ducked as a dart whizzed over her head, the soldier having gotten lucky and shot it through the diamond-shaped holes in the fence.

Her bare feet pounded the ground as she took off running, immediately heading for the woods where she could use the shadows and branches to make it harder for them to aim.

As she sprinted, her skin began tingling in warning. She gritted her teeth against it. Not yet. She needed to be out of sight, not only of human eyes but electronic ones.

As she burst from the tree line, moonlight hit, and she couldn’t fight it anymore. No lycanthrope could. The change came quickly, not a magical transition from human to wolf, but also not the violent tearing that Netflix portrayed in Hemlock Grove. More like seconds of joint popping, skin shivering, and senses muffled before she hit the ground on four paws.

Athena ran. Ran faster than the shouting soldiers chasing her.

The problem then became, where to go?

Home was out of the question, as was hitting up her friends or family. She had no money for a motel. So what did that leave?

Hours later, she still had no clue, until she saw the jogger being accosted and joined the fight.

Chapter 2

Derek browsed his local Reddit for news as he waited for the elevator in his apartment building. Mostly the same old thing.

Why are people so rude these days?

OMG rent is outrageous.

And then a new one…

White wolf sighted along Rideau Canal. And within the last hour, too.

He snorted. More likely a large dog or a coyote. Ontario had wolves, but they tended to stay far from big cities like Ottawa.

As the bell dinged and the elevator door slid open, he tucked his phone into the armband he wore for jogging. He probably should have taken the stairs down, but the last time, someone had pissed in the stairwell, and he’d stepped in it. Those shoes got tossed. It was one thing to piss on his own shoes because he was drunk and lacked aim, another to slosh around in someone else’s urine.

As Derek exited his building, he broke into a light jog. Fall, his favorite time of year. The evenings got dark early, the air crisp instead of redolent like in summer with the festering garbage. Even better, fewer people on the trails running along the river so he could jog without having to play dodge the pedestrian. Then again, not many people out and about this time of night. He’d worked a graveyard shift, getting off at four instead of one since someone failed to show, home by five because transit sucked. Despite the hour, he liked to indulge in a quick jog then be in bed by dawn so he could get up early afternoon to do it again. Not ideal, but rent needed to be paid.

He might not have minded his dull life so much if he at least had a girlfriend. His last one hadn’t worked out. Apparently, after six months of dating, him saying “We should move in together” was controlling. According to Stacy, “You’re stifling me. I need my space.” It should be noted they saw each other maybe once a week, given their alternating schedules. The whole let’s-live-together thing had been his way of spending more time with her since she’d also complained, “I never see you.”

At thirty-three, Derek could safely say he didn’t understand women, but that didn’t deter him. As his grams always said, “There’s a bitch out there somewhere, you little bastard. So chin up, make sure to wash your bits, and whatever you do, don’t tell them you like pineapple on pizza.” Because, according to his grandma, women would run screaming if they knew.

Grams tended to tell things straight with many cuss words. It made school concerts growing up entertaining because Grandma had no problem hollering, “Sit your ass down. Some of us want to see something other than your talentless jizz.” Also amusing? Her ranting as the refs tossed her out of his hockey games for taunting the opposing team. Then there was the grilling of Derek’s potential GF’s with questions like, “Can you cook, or is your idea of fine dining opening a can?” “You going to be true to my grandson, or am I gonna have to take you out to the woodshed for a chat?” His favorite… “So what prepping have you done for the apocalypse?” For some reason, that question sent a few running. Good. Derek didn’t need someone who would question his stockpile of water, Ramen noodles, and his bug-out bag for when shit hit the fan.

He'd yet to meet a woman who passed the Grams test, although a few, after meeting her, did think they could demand he cut her out of his life. Like fuck. Love me, love my family.

Heavy metal blasted in his air pods, the heavy beat the perfect accompaniment for the slap of his sneakers on pavement. The lights along the canal lit the path well until a section by a bench overlooking the water. Burnt out or vandalized? Probably the latter. Since the pandemic, crime had gotten worse.

Speaking of which, as he entered the dark section, three dudes wearing face masks, bulky hoodies, and oozing attitude stepped into his path.

Derek slowed his jog and drawled, “Morning, fellas.” Because with dawn about to burst, it was no longer night.

“Give us your stuff.” The skinniest one held out his hand.

Derek arched a brow. “I’d rather not. I hate setting up new phones.”

“Hand it over or else,” a second dude ordered, whipping out a switchblade.

It led to Derek eyeballing guy number three. “Let’s hear it. Don’t let your buddies get all the threatening glory.”

“Uh…” Guy number three apparently didn’t have a catch phrase of his own.

“Okay boys, let’s get this done.” It should be noted, Grams didn’t just teach him how to swear more mightily than a trucker—and she could get quite creative when it came to cussing at drivers that should get out of her fucking way. Grams had been in her fair share of bar fights because she did so love her whiskey, but if she mixed it with beer… watch out.

To those who might be appalled he’d taken pugilistic lessons from a little old lady, one, his grandma wasn’t little, and two, she’d never lost a fight—something Gramps took pride in. Gramps liked to sit back and watch, even wager, and had won more than a few tidy sums that way.

“Guess we’re doing this the hard way.” The guy with the knife took one step forward, and Derek almost rolled his eyes.

“Dude, did no one ever teach you how to use that thing?” Derek reached out, chopped the wrist, and grabbed the falling blade. “Let’s get rid of this before you cut yourself.” He pulled back his arm and tossed the flimsy weapon into the flowing water.

Three sets of surprised eyes ogled him before guy number one barked, “Get him!”

Three against one. Looked like he’d be getting a full cardio workout tonight.

Sweet!

Derek ducked under a clumsy blow and nailed the guy in the diaphragm, bending him over double. He then spun and thumped the dumb one, clocking him in the face and sending him reeling.

Number three would have turned and run, only a giant white dog stood in their way, growling softly, hackles raised. Must be the wolf they were talking about on Reddit.

Derek ignored the pup as he grabbed the men he’d smacked and tossed them into the canal. Let the water wash away their sins. Or drown them. Either way, a win for society.

Guy number three apparently had a knife of his own, and he pulled it to threaten the big floof.

“Out of my way, mutt.” Thief number three feinted with his blade, and the big dog looked unimpressed.

Derek, however, took exception. “Animal abuse is not cool, dude. Pick on someone human.”

The guy half turned to snarl, “Fuck off, or I’ll stab you too.”

“Have you learned nothing in the last two minutes?” With that, Derek kicked the back of buddy’s knee and, before the guy could recover, chopped the hand with the knife. Plop. The weapon went for a swim and drowned.

“What the fuck, man?” whined the dude.

“Listen up because I am about to give you some really good life advice. One, stop robbing hard-working folk. I don’t bust my ass forty-plus hours a week for some lazy pukes to steal my shit. Get a fucking job. Two, three against one? Not cool, dude. If you wanna have a go at someone, then it’s one-on-one. And ditch the knife. If you’re gonna fight, then do so like a man. Three, if you’re going to play tough guy, then can you at least take some lessons? This was pathetic. I didn’t even break a sweat.”

Derek would have sworn the dog appeared amused as it cocked its head. The wannabe thief was more confused than anything.

“Are you a cop?”

Derek actually shuddered. “Fuck no. Just a regular Joe who isn’t fucking about to let three punks bully him. Now, I’ll give you a choice. Jump or get tossed.”

“What?”

“Jesus you’re stupid. I blame our public education system.” Derek reached over and grabbed the guy, hauling him off his feet before heaving him over the railing to join his friends, who clung to the concrete side of the canal blubbering about it being cold. He leaned over the rail to give them one final piece of advice. “Don’t let me see you again.”

With that, he turned to the dog. “Hey, puppers. You lost? Hungry?” He didn’t see a collar.

The dog, a good size, with a fluffy coat of white fur, glanced to the sky, which began to lighten, before yipping and running off. Probably had to get home before its owner realized it had gone missing.

Derek pressed play on his phone and resumed his jog, only to pause about a hundred yards later when a naked woman jumped out from behind a tree.

Startled, he just about fell over. He also had to tuck his tongue into his mouth because holy hot babe.

Platinum hair that was almost silvery white, honey-colored skin, peach-sized boobs, narrow waist, and, damn, the carpet matched the drapes.

He gaped, at a rare loss for words.

Her lips moved, but it took him a second to flip off his music and mutter, “Say that again?”

“I need help. I’ve been robbed.”

So not a drug addict in the midst of an episode. Had to watch for those. Nothing worse than being accosted by a naked woman wielding a knife who screamed she collected dicks. And, yes, it had happened. Grams gave him shit when she found out he fled. “Why didn’t you take her down?” “Because I wasn’t about to have a sexual assault charge on my permanent record.” These days instigators somehow got away with being victims.

“You need me to call the cops and an ambulance?” Derek asked the woman. He went to dial 911, and she exclaimed, “Oh fuck no. I don’t need to answer a zillion questions or have some paramedics groping me. I’m fine. Just naked.”

A reminder that had him stripping his long-sleeve Henley. “Here take this. Sorry, it’s a bit sweaty from my jog.”

She didn’t seem to care as she slid it over her head, covering those luscious curves.

Mmm-hmm.

And what the fuck was wrong with him? This woman had been attacked. He shouldn’t be looking at her lustily at all. If Grams were here, she’d have cuffed him for sure.

“Thanks,” the beautiful woman murmured.

“Can I call someone for you?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Need a ride? I can call a cab and get them to drop you off at your place.”

Her teeth worried her lower lip before she admitted, “I don’t remember where I live.”

“You have amnesia?” He couldn’t help sounding incredulous.

“Seems so.” She shrugged.

“You really should go to a hospital if you got smacked in the head.”

“No doctors,” she scowled. “I’m more hungry than hurt.”

Not the reply he expected. “Do you need me to buy you some food?”

“Depends, know any places doing steak this time of day?” A fleeting smile curved her perfect lips.

“Not around here.”

“Pity. A good steak, barely singed, always fixes everything.”

A woman after his own heart. “Well, guess I should get going, that is unless you’ve changed your mind about me calling a cab.”

“Can’t I just go home with you? I just need a place to crash for a day or two.”

And here came the grift. Derek pursed his lips. “Listen, lady, I don’t do scams, and before you deny it, I know how this works. I take you to my place. Next thing I know, some gorilla shows up claiming to be your boyfriend. He beats the crap out of me, and you rob me blind.”

Her lips parted. “Does that actually happen?”

“Not to me, but I read about it on Reddit.”

“So that’s a no on a place to crash for a few days?”

“Guess you’ll have to amnesia-scam someone else.”

She sighed. “Bloody hell. As you might have guessed, I don’t have amnesia, but I can’t go home. It’s not safe.”

“Then why not say that in the first place?” Derek crossed his arms and gave her a stern look.

“Because I’m not looking for a hero. Just somewhere to hang while I figure shit out.”

“There are shelters you know.”

“The second place they’ll look,” she muttered.

“What’s the first?”

“My apartment.”

Her answers had him frowning. “Who’s looking for you?”

“Some bad folks. I need to lie low for a while until I know it’s safe, and before you ask, I don’t have money for a motel. I can’t contact my family or friends, not if I want to keep them safe. What a fucking clusterfuck.”

Look at her using Grams’ favorite word. While Derek got the impression the naked lady wasn’t telling the whole truth, he didn’t get a danger vibe from her. On the contrary, he found himself intrigued, and it wasn’t as if he couldn’t take care of himself. If a goon showed up, he’d show him a lesson about what happened to scum who preyed on good Samaritans.

“You know what, you can come stay for a few days, but I warn you—I’ve got only one bed, and it’s mine.” Because his chivalry only went so far. “You’re welcome to the couch, though.”

“Couch is fine. I’ve slept on worse.”

“Follow me, then.”

As they began to walk, he asked, “What’s your name?”

“Athena.”

“As in the goddess?”

“Yeah. My mom loved the Greek gods. I’m Athena, and I have a brother called Ares, and a sister named Selene.”

“I’m Derek, after my gramps.” Idle chitchat, kind of incongruous given he walked with an almost naked hottie. He noticed her bare feet. “Do you need me to carry you?”

“Whatever for? My legs work.”

“Because you have no shoes and I don’t want you cutting your feet or something.”

She glanced at her toes. “Bah. I’ll be fine.”

Tough chick. Most broads would have been in hysterics after being robbed. Or… “Wait, were you actually robbed?”

“Not exactly. More like kidnapped and held prisoner.”

“By who?”

“Some very annoying people,” she grumbled. “When my chance came to escape, I didn’t have time to get dressed. Guess I’m lucky the first person I came across wasn’t a rapist.”

“Fuck those pervs. Grams says the only way to cure a rapist is to cut off his dick and choke him with it.”

A short laugh emerged from her. “I like your grandma already.”

“You’d be one of a few,” he admitted ruefully. “She scares off most folks.”

“Not you?” she questioned.

“Nah. She’s awesome. I hope to be half as tough as her one day.”

They reached his apartment building, an ugly thing built back in the seventies. Red brick with no character. He unlocked and held open the door for her to enter the vestibule. She angled her head and sniffed before saying, “Is there a building in this city that doesn’t have pee in the stairwells?”

She could smell it in the lobby? Might be time to ask the superintendent to bleach the stairs again. “Yeah, it’s getting to be bad in a lot of places. At least the rent isn’t horrendous.”

“Oh don’t apologize. Just pointing out a fact. My place had the same problem for a bit.”

“How did you solve it?”

“The pisser had an unfortunate tumble down the stairs and landed face first in it.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “By unfortunate, do you mean pushed?”

“Why, Derek, do I look like the type of girl who would sully her hands?” Athena drawled then winked.

He kept chuckling as they entered the elevator. “Kind of refreshing to meet someone who doesn’t put up with bullshit. Although I gotta wonder, how did you get involved in a bad scene?”

“By not being careful.” She leaned against the elevator wall as it rose. “And before you ask, I’d never met the folks who snagged me. All I know is apparently I met some kind of criteria.”

Given her looks, he could only come to one conclusion. Sex trafficked. Damn. Meaning no flirting by him, no leering, no nothing. Derek wasn’t about to make her trauma greater.

“Think they’ll come looking for you?”

“Probably.” She hesitated before adding, “Don’t worry. I’ll be gone before they figure out where I am.”

She kept saying “they.” As in, more than one person.

“Even if they do show up, I’m not afraid,” he quickly stated. “More just wondering if I need to be more on guard than usual.”

“You should be fine. It’s me they’re after.”

“Any way I can help you get them off your back?” he offered, because his grandma raised him to be a gentleman who helped people in need. And he hated scum. If vigilante justice wasn’t punished more severely than actual criminals, he’d have long ago started cleaning up the city.

“You’ve already done enough by giving me a place to crash for a few days. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

With that, they arrived at his place. She declared the couch perfect, and then, despite his earlier claim, Derek tried to insist she take the bed because he suddenly felt bad about putting her on that lumpy thing. She refused.

He might have fought longer, but he needed sleep before his shift tonight. He pulled out some leftovers in the fridge, a bucket of fried chicken and another of hot wings which they devoured in silence—unless her staring meant something. After their meal, he said goodnight and hoped he wouldn’t wake to an apartment stripped of all his valuables. He’d be pissed if she took his collector edition Xbox.

COLLAPSE
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Gentleman and the Witch

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Book Cover: Gentleman and the Witch
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Part of the The Grae Sisters series:
  • The Grae Sisters (Books 1 – 3)
  • Warden and the Assassin
  • Professor and the Seer
  • Gentleman and the Witch

He promised me immortality, but first I must survive a dangerous quest.

Becoming a witch at sixteen started me on my path to greatness. A little hex here. A little spell there. My foes never knew what hit them. That magic became lucrative later on when I started my own business, but surely I am destined to do more than make skincare products for those trying to hold on to their youth.

When a gentleman who claims he used to be a god demands my help, I laugh him off. As if I’m going to put myself in harm’s way for him. However, when my home is destroyed, I decide to join him on his quest for revenge. After all, it turns out we have a common enemy.

What I didn’t expect? To end up fighting for my life on another world. Nor did I think I’d fall in love.

An affair short-lived.

Evildoers might want to use me to advance their cause, but they might end up surprised because I’m not a good witch. I will do anything, even end the world, to avenge those I love.

 

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Published: 2024-06-06
Cover Artists:
Alex with Addictive Covers (Website)
Genres:
dark humor, Fantasy Romance, god romance, killer hero, killer heroine, magic and sorcery, Paranormal Romance, Urban Fantasy, Witch Romance
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

***May contain spoilers.

Chapter One

The phone rang, and given I had caller ID, I answered, “What do you want, French fry? Shouldn’t you be banging your new husband right about now?”

Frieda, my sister—who hated the nickname French fry—had chosen to take up residence in Britain, of all places, putting her about six hours ahead.

“One, we make love. Two, it’s only nine o’clock. And three, you might want to stay inside today.”

I glanced out the window to see sunny skies. “It’s a gorgeous day, and Jinx needs a walk.” Jinx being the love of my life, a temperamental Pomeranian who only loved me—which I was totally fine with.

“If you leave, you are going to become embroiled in something life-altering,” my sister warned.

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“Really?” Well, that might be a nice change. Ever since I’d returned from my trip abroad, I’d been bored. More so than usual. What was the point of having inherited all kinds of magic only to have nowhere to use it?

“I see danger ahead for you,” Frieda added.

“Sweet.”

“You sound just like Enyo when I try to caution her about her choices,” Frieda complained.

My sister could see the future and often used it to nag us. You’d think after almost four decades of knowing each other, she’d have learned we didn’t like the easiest road. I wanted a challenge, whether it be in business or pleasure.

“Excuse me for craving some action.”

“That action might get you killed,” she grumbled.

“Now you’re talking. Is this the kind of danger I can blast to bits?” I’d been practicing my aim, seeing as how I’d recently had reason to invoke combat magic. I dared anyone to tell me it wasn’t awesome that I could shoot lightning from my fingertips.

“I swear, I don’t know why I bother.” Frieda sighed.

“Admit it, you called because you miss me.”

“Miss what? You bullying me to leave the apartment? Mocking my clothes? Telling me a dozen times a day to get laid?”

“You whine, and yet look at you now. Living in a different country, getting railed on a daily basis. The only thing you still need to work on is your wardrobe.” How I had a sister who thought it was okay to match flowered leggings with a striped shirt was beyond me.

“I see you’re going to be contrary, so I’m going to hang up now, but with just one more caution for you to ignore. Keep in mind that evil sorceresses who try to rule the world often end up dead.”

“Do you think I could be evil?” I asked, perusing myself in the mirror by my main door. I wore a cute jogging outfit—not that I jogged—in a light pink with “Juicy” spelled out in glittery letters across my butt.

“Aren’t you already?” was her sour reply.

My lips curved. “No, but I could be.”

“I don’t know why I bother. Bye. Oh, and say hi for me.”

Before I could ask “Say hi to who?” she’d severed the connection, but I didn’t mind. According to her, today was about to get interesting.

“Jinx!” I called my dog, who, of course, didn’t deign to reply. She really hated it when I treated her like a dog. Apparently, she thought herself above not only her own kind but humans too.

I found her in my bedroom, lying atop my pillow, shedding hair on it. Every night I changed the casing for it lest I choke on a strand. It had happened before, usually at three a.m.

My dog didn’t look at me, the human who dared interrupt her nap.

I crooned, “Does baby want to go for a walk?”

Boing. My dog sprang to her feet, her poufy body hiding her short legs. Her tail wagged frantically as she smiled. Yes, smiled. Jinx did love her walks.

“Let’s put a harness dress on. What do you think, polka dots or flowers today?” I had several drawers in the front hall dedicated to outfits for my dog, from adorable frothy dresses to a rubber-ducky-covered raincoat with matching booties. Jinx eschewed my suggestion of a very bright red halter dress with matching leash and chose instead a pink vest studded with rhinestones. Despite the sun, the fall weather had arrived with a sharp wind, so I wore a warm sherpa coat and ankle-high black boots. Like I said, I don’t jog.

We exited the apartment building to bright sunshine, my sudden squint making me wish I’d brought my sunglasses. I breathed in the fresh air of the outdoors, marred by the distinctive reek of cigar smoke. Rare nowadays, given most people had moved to vaping.

A glance showed a figure in a pea coat over slacks, with neatly coiffed hair and a freshly shaven jaw. The gentleman cut a rather elegant figure, though, and had to be new to the neighborhood since we’d never met. Yes, I was nosy enough to want to know who lived on my block. Annoying people were subtly encouraged to move, like that shrill priss who used to live across the street and thought she could lecture me on the joys of veganism. She crossed a line when she started in on my beloved Jinx, claiming some bullshit about pet ownership was akin to slavery and should be abolished. She even dared to unclip the leash and tell my dog to run free.

At the time, a less-than-impressed Jinx glanced at me, and I’d shrugged and said, “Your choice, baby.” Baby chose to chase the annoying twat before returning to me with a smirk. Slave my ass. If anyone held the upper hand in our relationship, it was my dog.

Given that neighbor didn’t learn her lesson and kept haranguing, a few minor spells led to her breaking her lease early. I wondered if it was the roaches or the food constantly rotting in her fridge that led to her snapping.

The gentleman standing at the bottom of my stoop smiled in my direction and my tummy fluttered. What a handsome specimen. He had a matching sexy, deep voice too. “Lovely afternoon, isn’t it?”

The weather. The inane conversation starter used by people around the world. “We don’t have many left before winter.”

“Indeed, we don’t, Ms. Grae.”

I stiffened. “Excuse me? How do you know my name? Who are you?” My suspicious side immediately wanted to know because this was obviously no chance encounter.

“Not going to guess?”

“I don’t play games.”

“No, you’re usually very direct. A commendable trait.”

“You speak as if you know me.”

“Because I do. You and I are closely linked.”

At that claim, I snorted. “What kind of lame line is that? I don’t know you.”

“True, and yet that doesn’t negate the fact you and I are bound. As are your sisters.”

The mention of my siblings had me narrowing my gaze. “Is this your way of saying you’re my daddy?” I eyed him up and down. “Damn, you must have been a toddler when you impregnated Mom.”

His brows rose. “I am not your father.”

“Is what Luke wishes Vader had said,” I mumbled.

“What? Who is this Luke?”

The way he spoke niggled at me. Like, who didn’t know the infamous Luke and that line from the movie? Somebody who’d not been exposed to any kind of media. Which was impossible if you lived anywhere on Earth these days, unless… “Are you going to keep playing word games, or are you going to tell me who you are?”

“Can’t you guess?”

I crossed my arms.

“I’m the god of monsters, but you may call me Typhon, seeing how you are going to help me retrieve my magic.”

I blinked at him then took my time sizing him up. Tall, well over six feet I realized. I stood on the stoop and still wasn’t eye-to-eye with him. Broad of shoulder, clean-shaven, impeccably dressed. Had to admit, he cleaned up nice. The last time I’d seen Typhon we were in Ariadne’s throne room, and he wore a billowing cloak that covered him head to toe, concealing his face.

“You don’t look like the god of monsters. Aren’t you supposed to have several heads?”

“I can take a monstrous shape if needed, but given humans are easily frightened, this form tends to cause fewer problems.”

I cocked my head. “How do I know you are who you say you are?”

He arched a brow. “Do you often have men introducing themselves as gods?”

“Yes,” I pertly replied. Then I added, “Usually, they’re claiming to be a god in the bedroom.”

“In my day, people didn’t pretend lest a true god smite them,” he grumbled.

“Welcome to the modern age.”

I went to step past him, and he growled. “Where are you going?”

“To walk my dog.” A dog who’d not barked at him, as she normally did with strangers. On the contrary, Jinx acted like a little lady, standing by my side, looking aloof and adorable.

“I’m not done speaking with you.”

“Then make an appointment. I’m busy.”

“I’d hardly call walking a mongrel busy.”

“Excuse me, I’ll have you know Jinx is a pure-bred Pomeranian. Her parents were show dogs. She’s got an impeccable pedigree.”

His lip curled. “She’s barely snack sized.”

“Talk about eating my dog one more time and I won’t be responsible for what happens,” I snapped. I didn’t tolerate insults about me or my sweet dog.

“Exactly what do you think you can do? I’m a god.”

“Former god. Given you haven’t regained the power Ariadne stole from you, you’re barely a step above human.”

That brought a mighty glower to his handsome face. “You are trying my patience.”

“And you’re wasting my time,” was my sassy reply. I wiggled my fingers, meaning to teach him a lesson, but rather than giving him a super wedgie, I found my thong riding up my ass crack. Ouch.

My lips parted. “What just happened?”

He smirked. “Have you already forgotten whose blessing you carry?”

My lips pinched, mostly because I didn’t want to admit it had slipped my mind that, technically, my magic came from him. It could be confusing, seeing how my mother filched my and my sisters’ power from Ariadne, who, in turn, had stolen her magic from the monster god.

What I’d not known until now was my magic couldn’t be used against him. “Is this your way of saying you’re immune to me?”

“Is that a problem?” he asked in that deep voice of his.

I wanted to say yes, but in actuality, this was kind of interesting. A man I couldn’t punish or magic into obeying. But the fact he could fuck with my powers did leave me with an interesting question. “If I can’t use your own blessing against you, then does that mean Ariadne can’t either?” Ariadne being the twatwaffle I’d recently gone up against with my sisters. She’d escaped into some portal to another world rather than give back what she stole.

“Correct. So long as I’m stuck with this”—he pulled loose his tie and undid the top button of his shirt to show me a metal collar around his neck—“she has access to my powers, but can’t use my magic against me.”

The ugly thing gave me a chill. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be cut off from my source of power. To have someone siphon it from me, making me weak.

“Well, at least you don’t have to worry about her anymore. She’s gone.”

“For now. She will return to finish what she began, unless we find her first.” His ominous prediction was a reminder that Ariadne planned to kill the monster god and permanently take his power.

“Sounds like a you problem.”

“Don’t be so sure of that. We are bound, you and I.”

I laughed. “No, we’re not. And I can prove it.” With my chin lifted, I walked away, because if there was one thing self-important people hated, it was being ignored.

Chapter Two – Typhon

The disrespect boggled the mind. Here was a woman who’d been gifted part of his magic, who bore his mark—making her his to order around—and yet she ignored him. She sauntered off, her heart-shaped buttocks swinging, with that ridiculous poof ball she called a dog.

Walked away from a god.

He scowled before taking long strides to catch up. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To the park. Jinx needs her walk, don’t you, baby?” She offered a sweet smile to the hairy rat on a leash.

“We were in the midst of a conversation.”

“Which I ended because it bored me. Now run along.”

She should count herself lucky he lacked his powers or, in that moment, he would have smote her. “We are not done. Far from it. You will assist me in dealing with Ariadne.”

“I already did. Ariadne is gone from this world. Yay. And you’re welcome.”

“She took my power with her,” he reminded her.

“Which I already said is a you problem,” she countered.

“She will return which is why it’s imperative we find and stop her.”

That made the witch pause, and she cast him a sidelong glance. “Will she come back? I mean, she fled because my sisters and I were about to whoop her ass.”

“Ariadne will want revenge.”

“Ooh, sounds exciting.”

He stared at her wondering about her sanity, liking her attitude while hating it at the same time.

She smiled. “What? I’m bored. Who knew fighting an evil twat would be so energizing? I kind of hope she comes back so I can really fuck her up.”

“You might have taken Ariadne off guard, but she won’t be so easy to defeat the next time,” he warned.

“Again, assuming she returns. Could be the place she fled to is nice.”

“Doubtful. The pleasant worlds would never allow someone like her to stay.”

“But you have no way of knowing for sure. Could be she’s stuck like you were.”

A reminder that he’d been imprisoned in a barren dimension, a victim of betrayal, until recently.

“I highly doubt she went somewhere she can’t escape.”

“Says the guy who was stuck for… how long?”

“Only because she cursed the only exit.” He felt a need to defend himself.

“Whatever. I don’t know why you’d assume she went somewhere shitty.”

“Because there are few dimensions closely aligned to ours that are easy to slip in out and out of.”

“How many is a few?” she asked.

“Maybe five or six. But most of them she’d have ignored. Like Tartarus—”

“The prison for gods,” she interrupted.

“Actually, it is the home of the titans, who happen to be the only ones who are any good at keeping gods incarcerated. I can’t see her going there. Nor would she have gone to Elfenland.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It used to be the home of the fae.”

“Why used to be?”

“The fae played with things best left alone, leading to their near extinction. The only ones that remain alive were those who fled.”

“Okay, so she didn’t go to Elfenland. You said there were a few. Surely not all of them are shit?”

“I doubt she went to Hades.”

“Wait, there’s an actual Hell?”

He snorted. “Yes, but it’s not a place where souls go when they die but rather a hot cesspool for demons.”

“Does this mean there’s a Heaven too?”

“Heaven is a place of endless skies and clouds, with the only solid place being the Garden of Eden, a dangerous locale where even the most beautiful flower is deadly. Not a place Ariadne would go, just like Nullarcana, a dimension that hates magic and hunts those who have it. They’re the ones who created this collar.” He tapped it.

“Doesn’t sound like she’d be staying in any of those places. But from the sounds of it, there are more.”

“There are two planes similar to Earth, but they are very proactive about preventing intruders, so she’d have avoided those.”

“Assuming she knew where she went.”

“Oh, she knew,” was his dark response. “She most likely planned her escape well in advance.”

“I wonder if she knows what world she dumped my mom in.”

“Most likely yes, since she can’t just open a portal to nowhere,” he remarked. He’d been there when Ariadne tried to thin those fighting against her by opening a doorway and shoving the triplets’ mother through.

“What are the chances she sent my mom somewhere nice?”

“Doubtful, but I wouldn’t worry about Apate,” he murmured. Apate, the triplets’ mother, being the goddess of deceit and powerful in her own right.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that your mother is very resourceful.”

“You speak as if you know her.”

“Before my incarceration, we were acquainted.”

Deino’s lip curled. “Oh gross, you slept together.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “No. We are friends, nothing more.”

“Seems like more than friends. After all, she had triplets for you and even had the balls to steal some of your magic from Ariadne to give to us.”

“This is more a case of like sticking together. We are both gods. Ariadne is not. She is a thief. A pretender. She can’t be allowed to succeed.”

“I hate to break it to you, but hasn’t she already? I mean you were imprisoned how long?”

His lips pressed flat. “I am aware of the shame. My weakness is no excuse.”

“How much of your power does Ariadne have?”

“A good portion of it. But not all. I still have dribbles. You and your sisters have some too.”

She eyed him before saying, “If we’re carrying your magic, why haven’t you taken it back to strengthen yourself?”

He put a hand to the collar at his throat. “So long as I wear this, Ariadne will just take anything you give me.”

“Are you sure you don’t want Frieda to try and remove it? Heck, I’ll give it a shot if you want.”

He gave a violent shake of his head. “No. Given Ariadne is no longer on this world, I don’t know what will happen. Could be it severs my power permanently, kills me, or the snap of it could cause an explosion.”

“Or is that what she wants you to think so you don’t try to remove it?” she countered.

“This parasite metal isn’t from this world. I don’t know how it will react and, as such, would prefer to not take a chance. I didn’t survive my incarceration to die from being rash.” He noticed during their conversation and stroll they’d reached a park. The dog didn’t seem impressed by the other canines or the grass.

“So you want to find Ariadne to sever the contact between you hopefully without rebound.”

He inclined his head. “When your sister released Bacchus from his collar, he didn’t seem to suffer ill effect, so I am hopeful.” Bacchus being Ariadne’s husband, a god who’d also had his power stolen.

“I still can’t believe he jumped into that portal after my mom.” Her nose wrinkled.

“They were lovers before he met Ariadne.”

“Frieda says you banged Ariadne too.” Deino glanced at him from under lashes.

He winced. “Not one of my finer moments. Blame a weakness of the flesh.”

“Fair enough. I get it.” She crouched to talk with her dog in the stupidest voice. “Okay, little sweet baby, you go do a tinkle, and if you do a number two, I’ve got a treat for you.”

“What are you doing?” he asked with a hint of incredulity.

“Cheering on my favorite girl so she’ll do her business outside instead of on my shag.” She continued singing in that strange, high-pitched voice.

“You let your dog rule you.” His mouth rounded. “A thing not even the size of your head.”

“Excuse me? My head is not that big.”

He glared at the dog. “You.” He pointed. “Defecate.”

The fluffy creature stared at him.

He stared back.

This was embarrassing. The god of monsters shouldn’t be losing a battle of wills with a dog.

“We are wasting time. We need to find Ariadne,” he growled.

“What’s with this ‘we’ shit?” she grumbled.

“You’re going to help.”

“Pretty sure I’m not.”

“Your mother owes me.”

“And? That’s her. Not me, or my sisters.”

“She had you for that express purpose.”

Her expression tightened, and a hard glint entered her gaze. “I am aware Mother didn’t have us out of some maternal instinct. I don’t need you shoving it in my face. And it also changes nothing. I don’t owe you shit.”

Frustration built inside him. There was a time when no one dared speak to him so disrespectfully. The witch saw him as weak. Less than a man. She wouldn’t help without the right motivation.

He couldn’t think of many things that would get her to change her mind. Threatening her sisters would be the quickest but could also backfire, as she was the type to plot vengeance. So what else might sway her?

“Help me and I will give you even more power.”

She eyed him. “I already have quite a bit.”

“But not enough to be immortal.”

He knew he’d surprised her by the slight stiffening of her body. She was careful not to show too much interest. “Immortality won’t help if I’m dead before I get it.”

“But if you succeed…” he teased.

“What are the odds of that?”

“I don’t know. However, the fact Ariadne fled rather than fought indicates she’s fearful we’ll manage to defeat her.”

“Or she’s gone somewhere she can shore up her defense and pick us off if we come for her.”

“The quest will be dangerous.” He wouldn’t lie about that.

“Not exactly a selling point.”

“If Ariadne returns before we find her, she will want vengeance on those who thwarted her,” he warned.

“Meaning me and my sisters.” She looked away before asking, “How are we supposed to handle her if you don’t know where she went?”

“There are ways of finding out.”

“Let’s say we do find her. She still has your magic, and while she might not be able to blast you to kingdom come, she won’t have a problem eradicating me.”

“If we can separate her from the armband that is linked to my collar—”

“Oh, just that?” she sarcastically retorted. “Easy peasy. Let me get right on that.”

“It won’t be simple, but your sister achieved it with ease for Bacchus.”

“Then why aren’t you asking her for help?”

“Alas, the journey we must embark upon is better suited for someone of your skills.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Who says I want to travel? Not to mention, you’re assuming I can replicate what Frieda did. Need I remind you that my sister acted in a moment of panic with no clue what she was doing?”

“A good thing you are the levelheaded sister who will practice ahead of time.”

She stared at him. “Practice how? You told me I couldn’t take off your collar.”

“There are other objects of magic you can attempt to drain.” The armband his collar controlled could only be removed by siphoning the magic holding it in place.

“You’ve got an answer for everything.”

“Of course, I do. I am a god after all.”

Her laughter rang out bright and cheerful and oddly pleasant despite the situation.

She shook her head. “You are something, Typhon. Let’s say I agree, how do I know you won’t go back on your word once you’re the monster god again? Who’s to stop you from killing me instead of paying up?”

At times he wished he had that kind of dishonor. “I can only give my word.”

“Trust isn’t something I give to just anyone.”

“Understandable, but I will mention, as someone who was betrayed, I would not ever do the same. If I want you dead, I will tell you so.”

“Gonna warn me before the smiting?”

His lips twitched. Surely, he wasn’t amused by this witch. “I always warn because the chase is part of the fun.”

Once more her laughter rang out. “Better be careful, or I might start liking you.”

“Does this mean you’ll help?”

Deino crouched to grab her dog and tuck it under her arm. “I’ll get back to you about it. I want to talk to Frieda about my future first.”

“She might not be able to see it if it requires you to travel to another dimension.”

“Perhaps not, but she can tell if I’ll come back.”

“When will you have an answer?” he asked as she once more dared to walk away.

She cast him a coy glance over her shoulder. “I’ll call you.”

Should he point out he didn’t have a phone? In his day, prayer was enough to get his attention. In his day, she would have never refused.

And even more disrespectfully, she made him wait.

COLLAPSE
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If you like Gentleman and the Witch, you might be interested in:
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Reaping Demons

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Book Cover: Reaping Demons
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Part of the Scythe & Souls series:
  • Reaping Demons
  • Reaper Witch
  • Soul Reaper
  • Scythe & Souls Collection (Books One to Three)

Turns out there are monsters in the world, and I am not talking about the kind that eat pizza with a knife and fork.

For over 40 years, I had no clue about the demons that lurked among us. One foggy night, everything changed as I witnessed strange creatures emerge from a sewer to attack. Horrible monsters that only I could see.

As if almost dying weren’t traumatizing enough, I became a target, not just of the sexy scythe-wielding man who took out the abominations, nor the cute detective who questioned me as a witness to the carnage. For some reason, the demons are after my middle-aged ass!

Why would they care about an average woman who works as a clerk, rides the bus, and lives in an apartment alone? I’m told it’s because I’m special. Because there is a latent magic in me I never knew about. I disagree but that hasn’t stopped folks from expecting me to join the resistance.

I’d rather go back to my quiet life, however, now that the demons have found me, they won’t rest until they have me in their clawed clutches. Like hell am I going down without a fight. I never asked to be a heroine, but apparently, I’ve been chosen and now I must reap what fate has bestowed before chaos is sown.

 

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Published: 2024-02-22
Cover Artists:
Joolz & Jarling
Genres:
dark humor, killer hero, killer heroine, magic and sorcery, older heroine, paranormal women's fiction, pwf, Urban Fantasy
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

Chapter One

Sometimes I swear the world has it out for me.

The pouring rain came out of nowhere, meaning I was soaked the moment I stepped outside. Once more, the incorrect weather forecast proved that nature would do whatever the fuck it wanted. The prediction of 0% chance of precipitation meant I didn’t have my umbrella. The bus shelter couldn’t provide any respite, as a homeless man had taken it over, papering the glass and hanging a torn sheet from the door, making it clear he didn’t want to share his space. I wasn’t about to fight him for it, so I stood outside with cold droplets rolling past the neckline of my jacket and down my spine.

Miserable and wet, I waited for the bus that seemed to follow its own schedule. It never came on time. Ever. Either it arrived a few minutes early and I missed it, or it showed really late. Either way, I’d gotten used to standing.

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It was only seven o’clock and already dark on the streets of Toronto as we marched into autumn. The streetlights did little to illuminate, given a few appeared to be malfunctioning again. I’d heard it said that the solar panels powering them had issues charging during the day because the birds loved to shit on them. Whatever the excuse, it resulted in gloomy streets, especially since the shops lining the street were closed and darkened, and the few apartments above the stores had their blinds drawn.

The pounding downpour hit the pavement and rolled for the curb. The sewer intake on the opposite side of the road gulped water as fast as it could, which made it odd that the grate rattled and lifted against the current.

Something had to be pushing it from below. I’d wager a rat. A big one, grown fat on city scraps. I’d seen my fair share down on the subway platforms, feeding off the garbage that people left behind. Mostly harmless, so long as you didn’t try to steal the half-eaten sandwich they scrounged. Luckily, my shitty job still paid enough I didn’t have to dumpster dive for dinner.

Whatever shoved from inside the sewer managed to push the grate to the side and slide out, slick and hairless, misshapen as well. I frowned as I squinted in the pouring rain, trying to make sense of the strange shape. The thing stood, and I gaped as I realized it wasn’t a rat at all but a child. A bald and naked one, its ass cheeks scrawny like its body.

I might not have a single maternal bone in my body, but I did have some compassion. I took a few steps into the road and approached slowly so as to not startle. “Hey there. Are you okay? Do you need help? Are you in danger?” Dumb questions. Obviously they were not okay given they’d just crawled naked from a sewer.

The child whirled, and I gasped at its wizened face, wrinkled and spotted, the pale flesh gleaming with moisture. Its eyes glowed a strange yellow, but more frightening was the gleam of its sharp teeth.

Ever seen Lord of the Rings? Remember that nutty fucker Gollum? I was looking at his cousin. Had to be a costume or a trick of the light.

It stared at me for a second, and I held still until it turned away. I fled back to the relative safety of the sidewalk but kept an eye on the thing as it crouched by the sewer. A second form slithered out from the opening then a third. By the fourth, I wondered if I should walk to the next bus stop.

The four sewer creatures stood in a cluster, scrawny in size, about waist high or a little bit taller. Their eyes all had that strange yellow glow, and as they crossed the street with hitched gaits and dangling arms, their gazes locked on me.

And what did I do? What everyone who had social media would do. I took out my phone and started filming, all the while hoping the rain didn’t ruin my cell since I couldn’t afford another. Worth the risk, because, honestly, who would believe me if I didn’t have video proof? If I died, I wanted them to know it was alien sewer monsters and not rats that had torn me apart. I couldn’t have said why it made a difference.

Now some might ask, why not run? Firstly, I’d just worked ten hours on my feet—I was the only employee other than the owner of Crack Kitchen Housewares—and the thought of the exertion made me want to barf. Second, the pavement gleamed slickly, and my clumsy ass would most likely do a spectacular face plant. And thirdly, I’d rather face a threat, sobbing in fear, than have it tackle me from behind. Assuming these things meant me harm. For all I knew, I’d been chosen for some elaborate prank that someone filmed. It took everything in me not to babble and scream and sob. Only the thought of becoming an eternal meme held my tongue.

A car’s bright headlights illuminated the foursome and their indistinct appearance became even worse. Their gray skin looked papery thin and wrinkled. Their teeth were definitely filed into sharp points, and their hisses as they shielded their eyes against the bright glare sent a shiver down my spine.

The driver laid on the horn and braked to avoid hitting them. A useless gesture, as the monsters didn’t budge from the road. On the contrary, one of them leaped to land with a thud on the hood.

The driver jumped out and hollered, “Get off my car, you cosplaying freak!”

The last thing he said as the thing—for lack of a better word—launched itself at the man and tackled him to the ground. The car blocked what happened next, but it involved much shrieking and then abrupt silence. The other three sewer aliens leaped upon the vehicle and appeared to be having a grand ol’ time jumping up and down on it, denting the hood and roof.

The one that took down the driver popped up to join them, and it took me a second to realize what it held.

A head. A fucking severed head.

Run, Sadie. Run, you fucking idiot. My brain tried to kick-start my self-preservation, but I remained frozen in horror. What if moving triggered them?

New headlights shone from up the road, higher and more powerful. My bus, fifteen minutes late.

The sewer aliens paused in their stomping of the car to stare at the bus, which slid to a stop by the shelter.

Bad move.

The creatures flung themselves at the windshield, but the flat front didn’t offer much purchase. Although one did manage to grab hold of a wiper and go for a ride, back and forth. It might have been funny if in a movie on a television. In person? Fucking terrifying.

The other three sewer aliens found different handholds on the bus. A pair hung from the mirrors on either side, while the last did its best to wedge open the folding door and hissed when it refused to budge.

From the back of the bus, a passenger emerged—a big burly dude in construction yellows—and yelled, “Listen, you fucking punks. It’s late, and I want to get home. Pull your fucking shit elsewhere.”

The way that two of the sewer aliens suddenly stopped dangling from the mirrors and hit the ground to lope on hands and feet was something straight out of a horror movie. The bulky man stood courageously—dumb—and even beckoned them. “Think you can take me, you little fucks? Let’s go. Time you got the spanking your parents neglected to give.”

Brave last words. Wait, not his last. I heard, “What the fuck are—” and then the sewer aliens were on him. Poor construction dude didn’t even have time to scream.

I stopped filming at that point and shoved my phone into my pocket with trembling hands.

Hide. I had to hide. The stores up and down the road were locked up this time of night, but I did have a key to my place of work less than twenty feet away. My feet finally decided to do something smart, and I hightailed it away from the carnage, huffing and convinced that at any second, one of the creatures would tackle me from behind. My hands shook as I tried to slot my key, breathing so fast I keened. The lock clicked, and as I opened the door, the bell tinkled, making me almost sob. I didn’t want those things to come running for dinner.

I threw myself inside and slammed the door shut, locking it right away. Beep. Beep. The alarm system gave warning, and I wheezed as I punched in my code twice because the first time my fingers shook so hard I messed up.

Alarm disarmed, I then glanced around for a weapon. I had a few options, starting with the knife set by the register. They were sharp but would require stabbing, which I wasn’t sure I could manage with how quickly those weird little alien freaks moved. The frying pan, on the other hand… Even I could swing that.

With a sweaty grip on the handle, I dropped down to below the door’s window and did my best to calm my breathing. Not that anything would have likely heard me over the blaring of the bus horn. Then again, who knew? Sewer aliens weren’t supposed to exist in the first place, so, for all I knew, they could have super-duper hearing.

Help. We needed help. Since I didn’t have a number for sewer alien exterminators, I called 911 and got put on hold with some shitty prerecorded message about what constituted an actual emergency.

When the line clicked to transfer me, I mentally practiced what I’d say. Hi, there’s some sewer aliens killing people. Send someone with a flamethrower. The line rang three times and disconnected me.

Fucking hell!

The horn stopped blaring, and things got quiet.

Too quiet.

Despite knowing it might be stupid, I inched up enough to peek out the window. The one-inch crack between the closed sign and the door frame was enough for me to see the sewer aliens still trying to get into the bus.

Three of them, at least. One on top. One plastered to the windshield, looking like it was licking it, and the third banging on the folding door.

What of the fourth?

It came flying from out of the bus shelter as if punted and slid on the damp pavement. The homeless dude emerged from his makeshift home, wild-haired and waving his arms. “Go find your own shelter. This one is mine!”

The sewer alien hissed and flipped to its hands and feet before racing back to confront the guy refusing him entry.

I looked away before impact and sank to the floor, wondering if maybe I was dreaming because this couldn’t be real. Most likely sewer gases making me hallucinate.

Yup. Only explanation.

I sat with my head pressed to my bent knees and took deep breaths. This isn’t happening.

To prove it, I peeked again.

Wrong. So wrong. The screaming started just as I looked. The windshield of the bus had been splintered. I saw no sign of the sewer aliens, most likely because they’d boarded the quickly emptying public transport.

Bet they didn’t pay a fare. My hysterical mind thought it a good time to joke, but it was better than sobbing and rocking on the floor. I wished I had the guts to help, to do something for those people who thought it safe to exit the bus from the rear door, pushing and shoving to get out. As if there was any escape. A creature suddenly dropped from the roof of the bus and clung to a lady like a hat. She ran screaming. All of the passengers did, bolting in different directions in their panic.

One man tripped over the corpse of the homeless dude in the street. That was the last thing he ever did. I sank back down and tried calling 911 again, only to get a busy signal.

A strange shiver went through me, as if a cold breeze had entered the shop. Outside, no more screams, but I did hear a deep male voice say, “All right, you pesky fuckers, time to go back to Hell.”

With that kind of statement, you’re damned right I had to see what the fuck was happening. I glanced and, at first, didn’t see him, the man’s long duster somehow making him almost invisible. What caught my eye? The gleam of a blade.

Not just any blade. A scythe.

What the heck? I stood and pressed my face against the window for a better look. There was a dude out there, a tall one, wearing all black, including an Indiana-Jones-style hat with a brim that sluiced the rain away from his head and partially masked his features in shadow.

He wielded his farm implement with two hands, whirling it like a drum major with a baton. Although, in this case, instead of guiding the marching band, he lopped limbs off of the sewer aliens. An arm went flying, a head. The blade was sharp enough it went right through a torso, the top half sliding off slowly and hitting the ground with a thud.

Holy shit.

In no time, the four murdering creatures were oozing in the street.

And then the Grim Reaper whirled and stared right at me!

Chapter Two

I ducked so fucking fast I almost quacked.

Don’t make a sound.

I slapped a hand over my mouth to prevent any noise. Possibly overkill. I mean, a fellow who showed up to kill monsters probably wasn’t the bad guy, but at the same time, PEOPLE WITH SCYTHES DON’T SHOW UP TO KILL THINGS!

Like seriously. This wasn’t a horror flick or a book. In the real world, this kind of shit didn’t happen. The Grim Reaper didn’t exist.

Tell that to the big dude outside.

A shadow suddenly blocked what little streetlight seeped in through the window, and I held my breath. As if that mattered when my heart pounded so loud it might as well have invited the looming specter in.

The door handle rattled, and I almost peed my pants. I sweated so hard I almost lost my grip on the frying pan.

The shadow of the scythe man moved away, and I waited. Waited a good thirty seconds before I couldn’t stand it and I crept upwards for a peek.

And got caught!

The man in the duster stood staring at the store’s front door and caught my gaze.

I gaped. Did I look upon my killer? At least he wasn’t ugly. Despite the low brim of his hat, he had a square jaw, sexy stubble, and surprisingly tempting lips set in a frown.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice muffled but still distinct enough to hear through the glass.

“No one,” I squeaked, putting a second hand on my weapon in case he burst in and I had to swing.

“What did you see?”

“Nothing,” I lied. “I just finished work.”

“Open the door.”

“I don’t fucking think so,” I huffed.

“I mean you no harm.”

“Says the dude with a giant scythe,” I muttered under my breath.

His head swiveled as sirens wailed in the distance, their strident woo-ooo getting louder as they neared. He glanced back at me. “You might want to keep quiet about what you saw.”

“What did I see?” Because I still struggled with it all.

“Nothing. If anyone asks, it was dark, and you didn’t see shit.”

With that warning, the guy whirled, his long coat swinging with him. He tapped his scythe on the ground, and it shrank. Don’t ask me how, but it got small enough he could tuck it into his pocket. He strode off, and my whole body slumped in relief.

He’d not killed me.

The sewer aliens were dead.

But so were a bunch of people. Or so I assumed? Maybe they were just injured and in need of some pressure to stop the bleeding. If so, I really should render some aid.

I rearmed the store and locked the door once I emerged. I wasn’t the only one standing in shock on the sidewalk. People in apartments had heard the commotion and, now that red and white lights blocked the street on both ends, they’d found the courage to step outside.

I hugged myself as I surveyed the carnage. Bodies lay all over. None moving. My gorge rose as I saw the head of the first driver just sitting in the street.

Some of the slickness on the sidewalk and asphalt had to be blood. Hard to tell for sure with the darkness and the pouring rain. Oddly, I didn’t see any sewer alien parts. Despite the scythe dude having diced them mere paces from the shop, not a trace of them remained.

Odd. I’d not see the Grim Reaper taking the bodies with him.

Police officers came running with guns out, shouting, “Hands up! No sudden moves.”

Despite knowing I wasn’t a criminal, I shot those babies in the air.

A man in a suit came striding through the people in blue uniforms aiming their weapons at those of us looking shell-shocked on the sidewalk. The rugged-looking suit ignored the fact the rain soaked his jacket and plastered his hair as he planted hands on his hips and stared at the bodies.

It took him a second before he bellowed, “What the fuck happened here? Anyone see?”

Someone across the street in her housecoat yelled, “It was racoons! I knew there was something shifty about them.”

Yet another person hollered, “Probably the Nazis.” The go-to excuse for any depraved crime that people couldn’t fathom.

The detective—had to be, given the way he waved officers to question those who’d offered answers—crouched by the body of the homeless guy just as a female in uniform approached me. “Who are you? Why are you here?” she barked.

“I’m Sadie. Sadie Butler. I work here.” I inclined my head to the store at my back with its sign, Crack Kitchen Housewares. According to my boss, Enzo, people couldn’t resist weird and unique kitchen gadgets, hence the crack part.

“Are you armed?”

“No.”

Officer Perez, according to her badge, eyed me suspiciously before saying, “You can put your hands down. Mind if I ask you some questions?” Before I could answer, she continued. “Did you see anything?”

The reaper’s warning about not talking about what happened ran through my head. It made sense, because the story sounded crazy; however, it was the cops asking. They arrested people for lying. I blurted out, “Sewer aliens.”

Officer Perez blinked at me. “Er, what?”

Rather than repeat myself, I mumbled, “The things that attacked those people came from the sewer.” I pointed to the hole across the street. The grate still sat to the side of it.

“Rats did this?” she asked as if to clarify.

I wished I could say yes. Instead, I had to mutter, “I don’t know what they were. They were hairless and could walk on two legs.”

Her brows lifted. “Oh. I see.”

“It’s true,” I hastened to add, seeing as how she didn’t believe me. “I got a video of it.” I reached for the phone in my pocket.

She jerked back a step, put a hand on the butt of her gun, and barked, “Hands where I can see them.”

“I was just going to grab my phone so I can show you.” I withdrew my hand, holding my cell.

“Let’s see.” She didn’t move her fingers from her gun as I entered my passcode and then poked at my folder for media, the first thing on there being the video. I tapped it, and as it began to play, I flipped it around for her to see.

As she leaned in for a look, the screen did a weird flash with bright colored lines before it died.

“No.” I snatched it close and shook it as if that would fix it. My lips turned down. “I think it got too wet.”

“Forget the video for now. You saw the attack?” Perez questioned.

I nodded.

“We’ll need you to come to the precinct to answer some questions.”

“Must I?” I grimaced. “I mean I don’t know what those things were that attacked those people, other than they weren’t human.”

“And you’re sure they weren’t rats?”

“Very sure.” I’d have nightmares about those savage freaks.

“Racoons?”

“I told you. They were two-legged and hairless. Also naked.” I grimaced.

“Male? Female?”

“Don’t know. I wasn’t looking between their legs on account their faces freaked me out. They had their teeth filed like sharks!”

“Mm-hm. Where did they go?” Perez asked next, and I could see by her expression she didn’t believe me. Hell, I had a hard time believing myself, and yet I couldn’t walk back my admission at this point.

“Not sure where their bodies went, but I do know they died. Some dude with a scythe came along and killed them. Maybe he took them their remains with him.” Yeah, I threw the Grim Reaper under the bus. Anything to deflect attention from me.

It only made things worse, as Perez raised a brow and drawled, “So you’re saying a male with a scythe killed the perpetrators.”

I nodded.

“And where is that person now?”

“Dunno. He took off when he heard your sirens. But he can’t be hard to find. He’s like really tall and wore a long duster, all in black. Had a hat with a brim.”

“And a scythe,” she added with a smirk. “Should be easy to find.”

“Actually, the scythe shrank, and he tucked it in his pocket.” My voice got smaller and smaller as my brain finally woke up and pointed out just how crazy I sounded. Never mind the fact it happened. I could see the cop didn’t believe it. Heck, I still had a hard time processing the events.

“You know what, on second thought, I don’t think you’ll need to come to the station. I’m sure we’ve got what we need.”

Perez dismissed me, making me home free, so why did my dumb ass blurt out, “I’m telling the truth.”

“Ma’am, this is a serious crime scene, and we don’t have time for your fanciful stories about creatures from the sewer and a man with a scythe who killed them.”

My lips parted, but I held in the words, I’m not lying. It was obvious she didn’t believe me. Hell, at this point, I began to second-guess myself. “Does this mean I can go home?”

“Yes, but just in case we need to follow up, I need your name, phone number, and address.”

The officer held out a pad of paper that got wet, and she frowned. “Let me find someone with a tablet who can take down your info.” She wandered off, and I glanced around, noting the growing crowd, as well as the arrival of more flashing lights as paramedics arrived to render aid. Not that anyone appeared to need any. Not a single body twitched or moaned.

A shiver went through me. I could have been one of those corpses given I’d stupidly stood there watching.

Perez didn’t return. I assumed she’d been distracted, and since the rain wasn’t getting any lighter I decided, fuck this. I walked away.

I headed away from the mess of lights and people, my feet squelching in my shoes. I usually avoided the subway at night, but I didn’t think they’d be sending another bus anytime soon, so it was my only option.

When it came time to head down to the station, I eyed the stairs and felt a moment of trepidation. Dumb, really. The sewer aliens literally crawled out of a sewer, and that system didn’t open up into the subway. Besides, if they were in the tunnels, people wouldn’t be calmly walking up the steps but sprinting while screaming. Or there’d be no foot traffic at all.

My prepaid Presto card let me through the turnstile, and I skipped down more steps to the platform itself. It wasn’t crowded this time of night, but there were enough people to make me if not relaxed at least not twitching. So long as I stayed behind a few, I’d get a head start if more of those sewer aliens decided to attack. I kept watch, staring left and right at the dark tunnels extending past the well-lit areas.

The train arrived in a rush of air that made my teeth clack as I finally reacted to the cold. My sodden clothes hung heavy as I embarked with everyone else, choosing a seat away from a door, where I could tuck against the window. Usually, I’d be reading or playing games on my phone, but tonight I just stared at the fast-moving concrete walls as we sped along. As it slowed for the next station, strange motion outside the window had me blinking and straightening.

Nothing there. Probably a shifting reflection in the glass.

When we neared the next stop, I stood and held the overhead bar as the train slowed. The doors whooshed open and I looked first before slipping out with the other folks onto the platform, a herd of us walking quickly for the exit. As I waited my turn to board the escalator, I glanced behind to watch the train leave and gaped, because riding atop the last car?

A bald, gray figure!

Gone in a flash, and so was I. I eschewed the moving stairs for the immobile version and pounded up them so fast I huffed, and my heart pounded against my rib cage trying to escape the cruel body making it exercise. A stitch in my side begged me to slow down and take a rest. Not happening. My fast-paced stride gave me shin splints but got me to my apartment building in three minutes instead of my usual lazy strolling five. Only once the security door latched behind me did I heave a sigh of relief.

My paranoid ass checked the elevator before getting inside just like I eyed the hall before stepping out onto my floor. I practically ran to my door, my jingling keys noisy, but at this point, I didn’t care. I just wanted my apartment.

I got in and quickly slammed the door shut. Locked it. Chained it. And then because it didn’t seem like enough, I wedged a chair under the knob.

Only then did my shoulders drop. Home, sweet, safe home. Just me and my plastic plants because I didn’t do well with other living things. Plants died, so did fish. I’d thought of getting a cat, but the idea of scooping a litter box icked me out.

As the adrenaline wore off, a chill hit me. I shivered so hard my fingers had a hard time stripping my soaked garments. My teeth clacked as I dropped all my stuff in the laundry basket.

A glance in the bathroom mirror showed me looking wretched. Eyes slightly bloodshot. My hair a ratty, sodden mess. My lips a purple-blue.

While a hot bath would have been nice, my compact apartment only had a shower, and the water emerged lukewarm. A cozy pair of fleece jammies did the trick, warming me up, as would a cup of hot cocoa with marshmallows. While I prepped the warm milk for it, I dunked my phone in a container of rice. Please god, let it dry out and work. I really didn’t want to downgrade to a cheap flip phone. I’d only finished paying for my current smart one three months ago and would prefer to not lose the extra grocery money, given inflation made everything more expensive these days.

My couch cradled my ass nicely, and my thick blanket cuddled me further as I balanced my laptop on my thighs. Despite having been a front-row spectator, I found myself curious as to what the news and social media were reporting about the murder scene by my work. Not much, as it turned out.

Internet searches of various keywords—massacre, bus attack, Bulberry, the street it happened on—didn’t pull up shit. Could be the search engine had not indexed anything yet. After all, it had only been an hour since it happened.

I went to Reddit, my local source for neighborhood drama, and finally got a hit.

WTF happened to Bus 678? A friend who lives on its route says it’s stopped in front of Moe’s Dry Cleaning and has its windshield smashed and its roof dented. Claims there’s bodies in the road. Anyone got the deets?

A bunch of replies followed, and the more I read, the more my brow creased. The stories and theories were all over the place. The most common hypothesis being a drug addict had an episode and turned mass murderer. The most ridiculous one mentioned a thick fog that killed people just like in that Stephen King story, The Mist. Even more oddly, no one spoke of the man with the scythe.

How could anyone who claimed to have seen the incident have not noticed either? I mean, yes, it was dark and rainy. However, part of the events had been illuminated by the headlights on the bus and car. Could it be I was the only up-close witness? I hoped not, because the lady cop had acted as if I were having a drug-induced episode, her entire attitude dismissive of my claims. In her defense, it sounded pretty far-fetched. Even in retrospect, I second-guessed what I’d seen.

A yawn cracked my jaw, and I noticed the time. Late. And I was supposed to be opening the store in the morning. I rose and shuffled to my kitchen to deposit my mug in the sink. As I headed for my bed, I glanced out the window. My view of the alley and the backside of a warehouse was the reason why my rent was fifty dollars cheaper a month than apartments overlooking the road.

A hint of movement by a dumpster had my lips pursing. Probably a racoon or an actual rat. Still…

I yanked the blinds closed, and then, because I was suddenly nervous in my own place, shut my bedroom door—not something I ever did—and slid my dresser in front of it. As for the window? I moved my nightstand under it and placed some knickknacks on top.

Wasn’t nobody getting in without waking me.

For the first time in my life, I also slept with my hand around the butcher knife I usually kept in my nightstand.

The next morning—after cursing out the phone that still glitched after I pulled it from the rice—I’d nearly convinced myself I’d overreacted.

Until I left for work. As I went to lock my place, I saw claw marks on the outside of my apartment door.

COLLAPSE
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Earth’s Paladin

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Book Cover: Earth's Paladin
Find a StoreGooglePlayKoboAmazon/KindleApple BooksBarnes and Noble
Part of the Earth's Magic series:
  • Earth’s Magic : Collection One (Books 1-3)
  • Earth’s Magic : Collection Two (Books 4- 6)
  • Earth’s Daughter
  • Earth’s Lair
  • Earth’s Elf
  • Earth’s Paladin
  • Earth’s Secret
  • Earth’s Triangle

The world might not be ready for Mother Earth’s slightly murderous champion. Too bad because she’s about to fertilize gardens the old-fashioned way - with the blood of her enemies.

A long-ago curse left Daphne trapped inside a tree for centuries. When she’s finally freed, she’s eager to resume her duty as Earth’s paladin, the Mother’s champion, a stave against all who commit evil. There are those who have trespassed against nature, and it’s up to Daphne to ensure their rot won’t spread.

Usually she fights alone, but in this new world she requires a guide. Even an unwilling werewolf with a god complex.

Baptiste committed an inexcusable act and the werewolf is adamant he doesn’t deserve kindness or forgiveness. Daphne doesn’t grant him either. The abrasive dryad won’t let him wallow and insists he accompany her as she goes on a quest.

A dangerous one.

Maybe he’ll get the punishment he so rightly deserves so he can resist the intriguing Daphne. He’d rather lick his own balls than admit he cares for her.

When peril strikes, the wolfman will do anything to save her, even if it means his life.

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Published: 2024-03-14
Cover Artists:
Alex with Addictive Covers (Website)
Genres:
curse romance, dark humor, dryad romance, god romance, killer heroine, magic and sorcery, Paranormal Romance, Shapeshifter Romance, werewolf romance
Tags:
english
Excerpt:

WARNING! This book takes place after the events in the Earth's Nexus Series so if you haven't read it, be aware of spoilers ahead.

Prologue

Decades before the events that took place in Earth’s Nexus and Earth’s Magic, just outside of town, in a forest that’s been around longer than anyone can remember...

 

“Annie!” Mindy bellowed for her best friend whose idea it had been to come to the forest at night. A spooky forest replete with creepy noises and moving shadows that made her wish she’d slashed the tire on her bike so she could have bailed and not gone along.

“What?”

The sudden reply from behind Mindy had her uttering a screech that probably woke every sleeping animal in a several-mile radius. She whirled and glared at Annie. “Don’t scare me!”

READ MORE

Her best friend, wearing red overalls and a shirt plastered in yellow rubber ducks, grinned showing off her new braces. “If I was going to scare you, I would have stayed hidden, rattling branches and making the occasional grunting sound.”

“Not funny.” Mindy pouted. “You know I hate being outside after dark.” Blame her vivid imagination.

“Don’t be a pussy,” Annie retorted. “We need to be out here at this hour if we’re going to pick a blooming moonflower.”

“There were some in Mrs. Kilpatrick’s garden.”

“You want us to steal?” Annie slapped a hand to her chest. “I am shocked! Shocked I tell you. And proud.” She grinned mischievously. “I really am a bad influence.”

She was, which was why Mindy had adored her BFF since kindergarten. Who wouldn’t love a girl brave enough to come to school wearing red galoshes, green shorts, and a t-shirt that read, Pie Eating Champ? Annie hadn’t personally earned that title, but not for a lack of trying.

“Wish my mom would let me plant a garden,” Mindy grouched. “But no. The whole yard is a giant patio now, with no plants because of her allergies.” The unfairness of it! As a witch with an affinity towards the earth and all things growing, it was ironic her mother couldn’t handle pollen.

“Sorry the goats mowed down the one at my place.” Annie offered an apology. She lived on a farm and had acres of places for stuff to grow. Alas, she also coexisted with animals who ate all those things.

“How much farther do we need to go?” Mindy asked. The headlamp she wore still shone bright, but she’d been binge-watching horror movies of late. She knew it could go out at any time, and once it did… They’d probably die horribly. Strung up in a tree with their intestines yanked. Dragged into a burrow to feed horrible monster babies. Spun into a cocoon for a spider snack.

“I don’t know exactly how far. When I was here last week looking for Figus—” the horse that decided to go wandering—“I found them growing by the base of this enormous tree!” She held out her arms wide.

“There’s a lot of big trees,” Mindy pointed out. Her Earth based magic connected her to all living foliage, and though she loved them—each and every one—that love didn’t mean they weren’t spooky at night.

“You know, you could try asking your green, leafy friends for directions.”

At the reminder, Mindy could have slapped herself. “Duh. I guess so.” She placed her palm on the nearest trunk and closed her eyes to concentrate. Hello, Ash. It’s Mindy. I don’t suppose you know where I can find some moonflowers? I hear there’s a patch by a really big tree.

The reply came in the rubbing of branches and the creak of bark shifting.

Mindy frowned. “That’s odd.”

“What is?”

“Ash said we shouldn’t go near the flowers because they’re by a certain tree.”

“What’s wrong with the tree?”

“Supposedly it’s bad.” Her nose wrinkled.

“As in evil?” Annie clapped her hands. “Epic.”

“More likely it meant it’s rotted, and Ash is worried it will fall on us.”

Annie snorted. “Fall on us how? There isn’t even a lick of wind tonight. We’ll be fine. Do you know where it is?”

“It didn’t say. But I have an idea.” Mindy crouched and placed her hand to the ground. An old tree would most likely have roots that had spread far and wide. Maybe she could trace one back. Easy in concept, but it turned out this forest had a mess of roots. Too many for her to sort.

She leaned back and blew out a breath. “It’s not working.”

“You barely tried,” Annie remarked.

“Because it’s impossible. Like that time your cat got hold of your mom’s yarn. Remember the tangle?” It zigzagged all around the house.

“Guess we’re pooched.” Annie sighed in dejection.

“Hold on, let me try something else.” Mindy dug her fingers into the soil and did her meditation thing where she breathed in and out, nice and slow. With lots of help from witch forums and books from the library, Mindy had been learning how to access her power and commune with her goddess. Her mind emptied and the soil warmed as she reached out to Mother Earth.

She felt a tingle and murmured, “Hello, goddess.”

Magic flooded into her body, letting her know she’d connected.

“Sorry to bother you, but I’m trying to find an old tree with some moonflowers. Do you know where it is?”

This way, daughter. The Mother spoke inside her head. A startled Mindy fell on her butt.

“Dude!” Annie’s favorite new word. “What in the clumsy is going on?”

“Um, I think my goddess spoke to me.” A first.

“Really? Lucky duck. Wish I had powers,” Annie grumbled.

Mindy popped to her feet to give her a hug. “You do have a power. Super BFF. Always prepared and ready to help when there’s a crisis, whether it be for math homework or a smelly boy.”

“You’d do the same.” Annie scoffed.

“We both know I would have never thought to bring holy water and a stake.” Mindy indicated the backpack Annie carried.

“Always be prepared. I’ve got rope, a knife, and matches too. I’d hate for us to get dropped in a pit with the undead and not have a way out.”

Her forward-thinking awed. Never mind the undead didn’t actually exist. If it ever did happen, Annie would be ready.

“The goddess told me to go that way.” Mindy pointed and without question, Annie struck off, fearless and determined.

Wishing she were home baking cookies, Mindy followed. She didn’t know if her goddess guided them or they simply got lucky, but they entered a clearing with an epically large and gnarly tree. Even from where she stood, she could see it ailed via her headlamp. Many of its branches were barren. Those with leaves showed sick spots.

Annie stood at its base and huffed. “Wow. Look at it. It’s got to be like a thousand years old.”

“Close. More like a few centuries, which is surprising. It doesn’t look healthy.” Mindy’s lips pursed. Something about the tree repulsed. An ache started in her head.

“Moonflowers!” Annie’s attention shifted as she pointed.

Indeed, the lovely blooms had opened and emitted a gentle fragrance. “Let’s grab them and go. I’m craving ice cream.” Mindy wanted out of here. Something about the tree didn’t feel right.

“Ooh, chocolate ice cream and pickles.” Annie smacked her lips.

Mindy didn’t gag. She was used to her friend’s odd food choices.

She crouched and before she trimmed the blooms asked permission from each plant. All but one agreed to let her have the flower. She tucked them in her bag and stood, noticing Annie stood with her ear pressed to the bark.

“What’s up?” Mindy asked as she approached her friend.

“Can you hear that?” Annie murmured.

“Hear what.”

“The voice.”

Mindy cocked her head and listened. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Weirdest thing. I’d swear it came from the tree.” Annie turned round eyes on her. “Do you think it’s a dryad?”

“Dryads don’t live in these parts.” They preferred warmer climates that didn’t put them in hibernation.

“Says you. I think it’s possible. I mean, look at that hole.” She pointed to the dark crevice in the bole of the tree. “Great little hidey hole for a dryad.”

“More like a woodpecker went too hard. A shame because the opening is allowing water to enter which is causing it to rot from the inside out.” Inner decay explained the dead branches. The tree was slowly dying and in pain. If she looked past her revulsion, she could feel its distress. Maybe she could ease its suffering.

Mindy reached out and put her hand on the tree.

End it.

Burn it.

Chop it.

Kill it.

The screams in Mindy’s mind had her gasping and reeling.

“What’s wrong?” Annie grabbed hold and steadied her.

“There’s something in that tree,” Mindy exclaimed.

“For real?” Annie’s expression brightened.

Free me!

The sudden yell widened Mindy’s eyes.

Annie’s too. “Did you…?”

Mindy nodded.

FREE!

ME!

When the branches started swaying and the ground rippled underfoot, they didn’t stick around. They raced out of those woods, hopped on their bikes, and pedaled hard for home.

They never went back to those haunted woods again.

And the tree continued to suffer and rot, until a woman named Ruby came along and finally put it out of its misery.

Chapter One

Decades later…

 

Woe is me.

Baptiste trudged head down through the forest, shivering in his ragged clothes as the first snowflakes began to fall. Winter had arrived and he had no shelter—which was as it should be. He didn’t deserve even a barebones doghouse. He’d committed a grievous crime and deserved to be punished.

But would his previous friends do him a favor and tie him to a cross for lashings?

No.

Would they stake him to the ground by a fire ant mound, drizzle him with honey, and leave him to scream?

Again, no.

He had terrible friends who kept looking for him and shouting they loved him, cared for him, and wanted to help him.

Assholes.

You should have been an actor because you are nailing the whole mopey Eeyore routine. That comment came from his inner beast, a piece of the wolf god, Garou, that inhabited his body and always had a smart-ass remark for everything.

“Fuck off,” he muttered.

You get better results when you fuck on.

Baptiste tuned out Garou and went back to his lament. What did a man have to do to get some well-deserved discipline? Why would no one put him out of his misery?

Speaking of misery, he shivered with cold.

A fire would be nice, Garou remarked.

He didn’t deserve to be warm.

Then think about me, his beast growled.

“You don’t deserve it either,” he muttered. “We’re both guilty.” Guilty of murder.

How much longer are you going to whine about it?

“Until I die.”

Rather not. And Garou meant it. Garou had been foiling Baptiste’s attempts to take his own life, pushing past his usual control to make sure he didn’t step in front of a train or off the edge of a cliff.

Damned bossy beast.

Gonna get bossier if you don’t do something about the cold. Don’t make me take over again.

The last time Garou had shifted and taken control, Baptiste woke naked in a dumpster, covered in pasta sauce. He got chastised by the goblins living in it because they didn’t want to share.

“Fine. You want fire, I’ll give you a fucking fire.”

Baptiste pulled a lighter from his pocket and headed for the splintered stump of a large tree. The base of it, with its inside hollowed from rot, made a great place to dump the dry branches he snapped from the fallen trunk. Once he had a pile, he lit it. Fire shot up from the stump, the warmth easing the trembling in his limbs. He held out his hands to the blaze and sighed. If only he didn’t feel guilty at enjoying such a simple pleasure. The woman he’d killed would never feel anything ever again.

Here we go on the pity-me merry-go-round.

Once upon a time, Baptiste was a good guy. He worked as the muscle for the Cryptid Authority, assigned to a division known as the Special Monsters Unit—SMU for short. He’d been friends with his coworkers to the point they shared most meals and hung out when the workday was done. A good son, he visited his mom a few times a week. Fuck, how he missed her spicy chickpea, potato, and faux bacon crumble casserole. He missed his mom’s hugs even more. He knew he could show up now, dirty and pathetic, and she’d drag him inside, instantly forgiving.

Like your mom. We should visit.

Even his Pack—werewolves like him—would have taken him back. He was their Garou, a rarity with his kind, ranked higher than an Alpha because he was thought to be imbued with the spirit of their wolf god.

We are blessed.

More like cursed. It had been his wolfman shape that had torn his fiancée apart. He might not have loved Diandra—their marriage had been arranged—but he’d liked her. She didn’t deserve what happened.

She wasn’t the one. Garou had been clear on that from the beginning.

“Neither was Ruby.” The woman Garou had fixated on. A redhead with a power to cancel magic, she’d come to work for SMU. His first meeting with her, he’d thought she was okay. By the second, he was instantly smitten.

Bad magic. Should have never eaten that donut.

Someone had placed an intense love spell on his honey cruller. It made him shirk his obligation, chase after Ruby, and, in the end, it made him snap. Poor Diandra died because of it.

Unlike others, he wouldn’t blame the curse he’d been under. He should have had better control. What was the point of being the avatar of a god if he was susceptible to malicious spells?

Gonna learn to play the violin if you keep whining.

Garou felt no guilt. No remorse. And he was annoying as fuck.

Love you, too, asshole.

Baptiste sat on the ground and rested his back against the fallen trunk of the tree. He missed his big, comfy bed. Missed his apartment. His shower. Food. Foraging in the woods just didn’t satisfy.

Berries and nuts are for prey. I want meat.

His beast side was all carnivore in direct contrast to the man who’d gone vegetarian a while ago. It pissed off his wolf side something fierce.

“I’ll find us something in the morning,” Baptiste promised.

Your liver is looking awfully tasty.

“How many times have I said that isn’t funny?” He should have never watched that movie, Venom. Ever since, Garou had been reciting some of his favorite parts and being a general pain in his ass.

Full moon is soon. Good thing. We’re getting weak.

The reminder brought a grimace. On the full moon, he would shift. He’d have no choice. And if it was like previous times, he’d wake to his belly full of whatever Garou hunted, the blood left on his lips and tongue tasting more delicious than it should.

Meat is life!

“Killing is wrong,” he muttered.

Pussy. Speaking of which, been a while since we munched on any.

“Whoa. Way inappropriate.”

A wolf has needs.

“I’m not in the mood.”

I swear, I will mount a dog next full moon. Maybe that cute mastiff who lives behind that pizza place.

“Don’t you dare hump anything!”

I don’t take orders from you.

“Why me?” Baptiste groaned.

Because you are blessed.

Funny, because it didn’t feel that way, a thought that followed him into a restless sleep.

He woke at dawn, stiff and cold, the fire down to just embers. Time to get moving. With winter coming, food would be getting scarce. Soon a campfire wouldn’t be enough as the deep chill moved in. Then what?

I have a task for you. The feminine voice in his head wasn’t Garou but his inner beast answered, Fuck yeah.

Baptiste shook his head. “Can we not get excited about disembodied voices?” As if he needed more evidence he slowly lost his mind. He rose and glanced around. He saw no one but was reminded of the rumors that this section of the forest was haunted.

As he stomped off, Garou whined. Why must you ruin all my fun?

Because fun was for people who didn’t murder their fiancées.

 

***

 

As the man and beast wandered away, he missed the sharp wind that shifted the embers in the trunk. The ash stirred and rose, clouding the inside of the charred remains of the tree. When it settled, a very large kernel could be seen. The seed, the size of a beanbag chair, rocked, its motions violent enough it cracked. The sides split apart, revealing a bent form that untangled and rose, the shape very womanly. Her hair, long and white. As she stretched and sighed, in a scratchy whisper like that of a branch rubbing a branch she said, “At last. I’m free.”

Chapter Two

As Daphne stretched for the first time in more than a century, she heard the Earth Mother’s voice.

Welcome back, my champion.

“About time,” was her grumbled reply. Her limbs and joints popped as she rotated them, trying to work out their stiffness.

There were complications.

“You mean you lacked the right person to break my curse.” A curse that was broken weeks ago, and yet Daphne had to wait until someone came along and finally lit the fire that ripened her seed.

The flakes of falling snow chilled her warm skin. She glared at the sky. Couldn’t she have been reborn in warmer weather? Winter was a time of hibernation and she’d already slept too long.

The dying coals in the trunk beckoned, but that would involve getting close to her prison. She’d already spent too much of her life in that spot. She couldn’t wait to leave this wretched place.

You’ll need to dress yourself if you don’t want to draw notice, the Earth Mother advised.

Daphne cocked her head before speaking aloud, her voice rusty from disuse. “Where can I find clothing?” And a weapon. Not that it had helped her last time. Caught by surprise, she never had a chance to stab anyone.

The Mother sent her directions via the soil touching the soles of her feet. Daphne pivoted to follow, only to pause and frown. “There is a strangeness in the air.” A feeling of power that she was not familiar with.

The Monster King has returned and claimed this land.

“Do you need me to kill him?” Daphne asked. In the past, before her untimely imprisonment, she’d been the Earth Mother’s paladin, tasked with handling threats.

No. I approve of his return. However, given this is his domain, and you are my champion, you will have to relocate if you wish to serve me still. I will understand, though, if you’d like to switch your allegiance. I’m sure the king would find you a position suited to your skills.

“What happened wasn’t your fault.”

The Earth Mother had always been good to her. When a grievous injury had Daphne on death’s door, the Mother placed her into a seed. It was only supposed to last a few weeks while she healed. Alas, the same witch that injured her cast a curse that kept Daphne trapped until now. Pity the witch was long dead. Not all species enjoyed extended lifespans like dryads.

Outfit yourself, then speak to me again. I have a mission for you.

With the Mother’s guidance, Daphne began to walk and quickly discovered she followed tracks in the newly fallen snow. Big footsteps dented the fresh snow and, given the falling flakes hadn’t filled them yet, indicated the wearer of the boots shouldn’t be far ahead. Good, because her hair might be long, but it barely covered her chilly flesh. She’d hate to go into hibernation so soon after her lengthy, forced sleep.

Within minutes, she came in sight of a bulky figure standing on the edge of the woods, staring off into the distance. As she came close, he spoke in a low gruff tone.

“Who are you? Why are you following me?”

“Give me your clothes.”

He chuckled as he turned, and then gaped before blurting, “You’re naked.”

“And you’re not.” She held out her hand. “Give.”

“Is this a trick?” He eyed her with suspicion.

“You talk too much.” She launched herself at him, but he moved fast for a male his size. His sidestep led to her landing hard, hitting the ground, but rolling back to her feet. She partially crouched and planned her next attack.

A mighty frown creased his brow. “Are you insane? You do see I’m like two to three times your size.”

“It’s not about the size but the skill.” She might be a little stiff and out of practice, but he had something she wanted. She pounced again. This time he caught her midair.

“Bad whatever the fuck you are.”

She clapped her hands over his ears, and he bellowed as he dropped her.

“Geezus. You want my coat, take my fucking coat,” he groused.

“Was that so hard?” she replied as he shrugged it off.

He glared. “You’re lucky I’m a nice guy.”

“No, you’re lucky, because I’m not a nice woman, and had you kept refusing, I would have taken it from your cold, lifeless body.”

He blinked in the midst of holding out his coat.

She snatched and had enough manners to say, “Thank you.”

But did he reply with, “You’re welcome?” Nope. He just stared. Apparently, some things never changed, starting with males who couldn’t keep their gazes to themselves.

It took the Mother murmuring, Don’t hurt him, for her to leave his eyes intact.

For now.

COLLAPSE
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