by Kait Nolan
Isla pulled open the door, shuddering as a gust of wind all but shoved her inside. It was noisy. Raucous laughter mixed with music from a jukebox on one weathered wall, all of it underscored by a babble of voices. No one was looking at her, and she was grateful because she was sure her mouth was hanging open. She felt every inch the ignorant, country bumpkin.
There were signs of the bayou here. A pirogue hanging from the ceiling. A series of framed photographs in rough, cypress wood frames depicting images of the Atchafalaya. Of a home that was a long ago and distant memory from another life. And the smells. The food. Rich, spicy jambalaya. Crawfish Etouffee. Gumbo. Dear goddess, she hadn’t smelled gumbo since she was five. It was the smell of favorite dishes that finally unknotted her stomach, relaxed her into the role she needed to play.
At least until the man vaulted over the bar.
Isla jolted, a bolt of fear ricocheting through her as he headed straight for her like some kind of freight train. She backed up, bumping into the wall as she took in the massive shoulders and messy, dark hair. His nose was twitching, she saw. He was smelling her? Some kind of shifter then. He bore down on her, stopping just a foot away, staring at her with golden eyes. Wolf eyes.
Her hand fisted around the alligator. “Mick?” It barely came out above a whisper.
Something twisted in his face, a painful mix of hope and disbelief. “Isla?”
Because her throat had twisted shut on a knot of tears, she nodded. The bar had gone quiet, watching them, but Mick didn’t seem to notice.
“You’re alive.”
Another nod.
Then she was crushed against him in a bruising embrace, listening dazed to a spate of rapid-fire Cajun French she only half remembered from her childhood.
Everything moved really fast after that. She got hustled back to an office, provided a change of clothes from who knew where, and settled with an enormous bowl of gumbo and a hunk of crusty French bread. There was so much she wanted to ask, to say, but she couldn’t get her jumbled thoughts to settle. How had Ransom known to bring her here? To Mick? Or had it been just some giant, cosmic fluke that the one person she would feel safe with happened to be tied up with the Underground?
“Where you been all these years ’tite fille?”
Isla focused on Mick where he’d slouched in a chair across the desk, a deceptively relaxed posture when she could see the restlessness in his eyes. “Imprisoned. By the same man who slaughtered my village and attacked your Pack to take me.”
She watched him shift in the chair, leash his fury.
“Who?”
“His name is Bael.” The words wanted to spill out in a flood, all the horrors and the secrets she’d witnessed. But Isla stuck to the abbreviated version. She’d spent too many years without allies to tell all, even to Mick.
When she finished, he said, “Where is the Hunter now?”
“I don’t know. He told me staying here was my decision. Then he left.” Isla sat forward. “He said they wouldn’t be able to track me here, but Bael will be coming for me. He’ll do anything in his power to get me back. I already brought death to your doorstep once. I won’t do it again.”
“You’re not goin’ anywhere. I’ll keep you safe this time like I didn’t manage before. Let the bastard come. This time we’ll be ready for him.”
Before Isla could say anything further to dissuade him, the door opened and a small, dark-haired woman slipped inside. Mick’s gaze shifted to her and softened. Isla watched, intrigued as he reached out and tangled a hand in hers to tug her closer.
“Isla, this is my Sophie.” Something about the fond possession in his voice made Isla bristle.
Bright blue eyes shifted to her with a perfunctory nod. “Hi.” Sophie looked back at Mick. “We have a problem. Eli just showed up with a body in tow. He stumbled across a Fae on the other side of the city with really bad iron poisoning from a gunshot wound.”
Ransom. It had to be Ransom. She knew he hadn’t looked right just before he disappeared.
Isla felt all the blood drain from her face. “Is he dead?” she whispered.
“Not yet, but it’s not good,” said Sophie. “They’re taking him in around back to see if Jeannette can do anything for him.”
“It’s all my fault,” Isla groaned. “He risked everything to help me escape and I was horrible to him. I didn’t even know he was hurt. He didn’t say anything, and I thought all the blood was from Bael’s men.”
“It will be all right,” Mick said. “I owe him for getting you out. We’ll bring in whoever we have to to make sure he survives.”
As Mick reached for the phone, Isla buried her face in her hands and wondered how many more lives would be lost because of her.
~*~
Ransom’s face was gray, the lines of it gaunt and tense as his body fought the iron. Would this proud warrior, who’d survived centuries of bloodshed, be felled by something as small as a bullet? The wound would almost certainly be deadly for any of the humanoid races. Just to the right of his spine, even if it hadn’t hit his heart, it tore through something vital. If it had gone through and through, the wound might have begun to heal. But the bullet had lodged somewhere in his chest, and there it poisoned his body. Wicked black lines spread out from the wound, across his back, down his arms, and lower, beyond what the sheet covered, a ragged map of the poison’s path. The wound itself was packed with herbs from the Fae home world of Alinar. Isla didn’t have a clue where Mick’s healer had gotten ahold of them. It was enough to slow the spread of iron, to keep his heart beating.
Isla didn’t know if it would be enough to keep him alive until the Fae healer could arrive.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve this.”
She sat by the bedside and watched his face. Not even unconsciousness was keeping him from pain. Seeking to offer comfort, she reached out and curled her hand around his.
The vision slammed into her.
Chaos. Blood. Noise. She was back in the burning city. But this was different somehow. The acrid scent of smoke clawed her throat, burned her eyes. Isla coughed. She started to lift one hand to her mouth and found it weighed down by a blade. Before she could puzzle that out, a goblin began to move toward her, its red eyes fixed in her direction. She turned her head, looked behind her. But there was no one else. The goblin was charging when she looked back. It could see her.
No, no this wasn’t right. She was an observer only.
The goblin kept charging, a mace held high above his head, poised to crash into her skull. Unthinking, Isla lifted the blade and parried the goblin’s swing. She felt the shock of impact all the way down to her toes. Before her mind could recover, her assailant swung again, and again she parried, her body knowing what to do, though her brain hadn’t caught up.
Isla gave up arguing with herself that the vision could not be happening, her disbelief swallowed by the adrenaline of a true fight. Not until she drove her blade into the goblin’s chest, feeling the initial resistance in her arm before it slid home, did she have another moment to think, This can’t be real.
From her left, she heard another battle cry. A vampire bore down on her, sailing through the air, fangs bared, to land only a dozen feet away. Isla tried to pull her sword from the goblin, but the blade was stuck. She braced one foot on the goblin’s body, trying to yank the sword free, but it wouldn’t come.
Desperation ripped through her as she saw the vampire stalk closer, mouth curved in a delighted leer.
She could run. Abandon her blade. But then she would only be cut down by something else. With grim resolution, she picked up the goblin’s mace and readied herself.
Before she could swing, something else flashed between her and the vampire. She saw a spark of gold, then a spray of red, as the top half of the vampire’s body slid off the bottom.
Ransom turned, his bronze sword stained red and black, his eyes almost feral.
“Are you all right
?” he demanded.
Mute, she could only nod.
He knelt over the goblin, wrenching her sword free and offered it. When her hand curved around the hilt, he slipped his hand around the back of her neck, lifting her to her toes. She had time for only one hissed breath before his mouth claimed hers.
Isla woke on the floor of Ransom’s room, breathless, her heart pounding, her hand still fisted around his instead of the sword from her vision. She disentangled it and brought her fingers to her lips, which still burned from his phantom kiss.
In all her life, Isla had never had a vision of her own future. She had not believed it possible. Yet she had just undeniably seen it. Felt it, though that too should have been impossible.
Who the hell was this man that brought her visions of her own future? Visions where she fought. Visions where they were clearly far more involved than they were in the present.
Shaking, she got to her feet. This assassin was part of her future. She did not know what it meant. Did not know what to think, and her voice, too, trembled when she spoke. “You will live to fight another day, warrior. I have seen it.”
With one final look at his face, Isla fled.
Finis.
A Note From The Author
I hope you’ve enjoyed this quick glimpse into the Mirus world. Rest assured, we haven’t seen the last of Isla and Ransom. They play a very important role in the ultimate outcome of the series, though a lot will happen between now and the rest of their story. In the meantime, if you’re new to the Mirus series, you can check out my other titles, listed on my website: https://kaitnolan.com or turn the page for a full list of books.
If you enjoyed the story, please consider leaving a review or telling a friend.
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Thanks for reading!
Other Books By Kait Nolan
Paranormal Romance
Mirus Series:
Genesis (an omnibus including, Forsaken By Shadow (Mirus 1.1), Devil’s Eye (Mirus 1.2), and Blindsight )
Riven Turn the page for a sneak peek!
Whisper of Shadow
YA:
Red
Whisper of Shadow
Contemporary Romance
Wishful Series
Be Careful, It’s My Heart
Meet Cute Romance
Once Upon A Snow Day
Once Upon A New Year’s Eve
Once Upon An Heirloom
Riven
A permanent injury in the line of duty effectively ended Ian Ryker’s career as a Shadow Walker for the Council of Races. Being posted to a safe house in Washington, D.C. was one step short of forced retirement–until the day Marley Weiss, a local human woman, witnessed something she should never have seen. According to Mirus law, that glimpse of their world makes her life forfeit. Once, Ian might have followed orders to take her out. But not this time.
Excerpt:
Marley’s stomach pitched as fear bit into her with ravenous teeth. She started to jerk her head around to look for their pursuer, but a short sharp tug had her snapping forward. Ian wrapped an arm around her to move her through the crowd.
“Don’t look back,” he murmured. “Don’t look around. Just keep moving forward.”
She could tell by his voice he was back in his element. The body moving beside hers was taut, fluid but for the slight drag of his bad leg. He was good at weaving them in and out of the crowd, picking up the pace subtly but not so much to attract attention.
“We stick to the public space. He won’t try to take you in front of so many witnesses. His mission prerogative is to remain unnoticed.”
Marley didn’t ask what was going to happen when they got out of here. As busy as Gatlinburg was at this time of day, it wouldn’t stay that way. And then the Hunter would have a clear path.
“Just keep moving,” Ian repeated.
She did, trying to school her features, her breathing into something that didn’t resemble flagrant, mind-numbing terror. She wasn’t alone in this. Ian was here. Despite her reservations about how he’d handled things in Detroit, she was grateful for his presence.
Think, she ordered herself. Pay attention. You are not without survival skills.
Shoving back the panic, she focused on her surroundings. People ebbed and flowed around them, a continuous river of tourists. Using shop window reflections, she checked out the crowd behind them. In the pane of a bay window she saw the man dart across the street to a chorus of angry horn blasts. He wore a long black duster, too warm for the weather. She could just see the tip of some kind of glove on his left hand.
“Is that him?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Nothing about him screamed threatening or supernatural. He looked…human. Then again, they’d hardly send some green-skinned lizard monster or a vampire with dripping, bloody fangs out into the heart of a tourist destination in broad daylight. Scarlett had seemed human until she’d jumped off that ledge. The thick crowds seemed to part before him, a subtle shift that let him eat up ground with long legs.
“He’s gaining on us,” Marley hissed.
“It will be all right,” said Ian.
She really wished she believed that.
He shifted, pulling something from his pocket and pressing it into her hand. Marley glanced down at the embossed silver disk. “I don’t understand.”
“Put it somewhere safe,” he ordered. “Keep it close. About a quarter mile up the strip, just past the Pancake Pantry, you’ll see a brick entrance for a little shopping center called The Village. You’re going to run to the back, past the fountain. Look for the spice shop. Inside you’re going to go to the back wall and use that key. Careful no one’s looking when you do. That will give you access to Levi’s shop in the back. Tell him I sent you and that I’m calling in the favor he owes me.”
“And what do you plan to be doing while I’m running?” she demanded.
“Buying you some time.”
“Are you crazy? You’re about to fall over. I’m not leaving you behind.” The grayish pallor of his skin made his eyes look bottomless and hollow.
“Marley, there’s no time to argue about this.” He tugged her into an entryway, out of the flow of traffic and pulled her close. “This is the best chance you’ve got.” The hand cupping her cheek seemed to grow hot, a sharp punch of heat that burst over her like a wave before soaking into her skin. She felt an odd little pull and swayed. “Ian?” The dam shattered and adrenaline dumped into her system as all the fear she’d been holding back broke free.
He shoved her into the flow of people. “Run!” he snapped.
For a long humming beat she stared at him.
“Run!”
Urgency beat in her blood, the song of the hunted as her body recognized itself as prey. Marley turned, her muscles coiled for flight, instinct demanding she do as he’d asked. From the corner of her eye she saw him slump against the wall.
“Ian!”
The Hunter noted it too, tipping his head in a strangely reptilian motion before swiveling his attention back to her and continuing his relentless pursuit.
Ian struggled upright, pushing away from the wall and stumbling back into the flow of people. What the hell was wrong with him? Was he sick? Poisoned? Under some kind of mental attack? Clearly he was in no shape to fight.
Panic was an electric current in her body. Marley fought to get past it, to look around and think.
Run.
She could all but hear Ian in her mind, feel his will pushing her to follow his orders. Eddies of people whirled around her as the Hunter prowled closer.
From the day they’d met, Ian had continually put himself between her and danger, done what he thought was right, regardless of her distrust or the difficulties
presented. He hadn’t abandoned her, even when it would’ve made his life easier. She couldn’t abandon him. So Marley did the only thing she could think of.
She screamed.
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