The Supernaturals of Las Vegas Books 1-4

by Carrie Harris

  The thought of combat made her nervous. She hadn’t managed to steal a sword in her hurried rush from the castle dungeons. Getting her hands on the Wand had been difficult enough, and haste was important, because she knew that capture meant death. Ilimitaine wouldn’t forgive this. So she’d hidden herself under a heap of dung on a cart to sneak out of the castle, out into the wilds where she could use the Wand and leave Faerie forever. Good riddance, if you asked her.

  The boots had been a lucky acquisition off the guard who’d been watching over the Wand as well as Ilimitaine’s other Objects of Power. But that guard had carried only a knife, which was currently strapped into Citrine’s other boot. Only the lowest of the fae bothered with weapons, preferring magic instead.

  Off in the distance, the unseen crowd cheered, and Citrine realized how silly it was to be hiding here in the garbage when she could be out there with them. After all the time she’d spent planning this very moment, all of the abuse she’d endured at the hands of Ilimitaine and his men, she’d finally done it. She was free. She could only hope that the human world was everything she’d dreamed it would be, and now that she was here, she found herself suddenly afraid that it might let her down. What if the people here were as miserable as the fae she’d left behind? What if they realized she wasn’t entirely human herself? What would they do to her? If someone tried to lock her up, she wasn’t going to stand for it. She’d kill them—or herself—before she ever let anyone imprison her again.

  There was no way to prepare for it. She would just have to take the plunge. She took a deep breath, and then, before she could think twice, she stepped out from behind the big metal garbage receptacle and walked down the alleyway toward the noise. Bright colored lights hit her in the face. People walked to and fro in all kinds of exotic and strange clothing, laughing and shouting. Down the street, the waters of a fountain danced before her. An unseen band began to play, and the water moved in time with the music as if enchanted. Citrine laughed in delight and stepped into the throng of people moving toward it.

  In all of her excitement and nervousness, she completely forgot about the open portal, shimmering in the air above the reeking dumpster.

  Citrine didn’t know what she’d been afraid of. The humans seemed so lovely and kind. In the half hour she spent standing by the fountain, not one person drew steel. Not even the fellow who had a cup of some pungent liquor spilled down his back. He yelled a bit—which Citrine didn’t blame him for—but then his buddies settled him down. Instead of the haughty caution of the fae, people laughed boisterously as they weaved drunkenly down the street. It must be incredibly safe here in the human world, because public drunkenness was a surefire way to an early grave in Ilimitaine’s kingdom.

  Finally, when she grew bored of the fountain with its dancing lights, Citrine began to wander down the street. Although it seemed quite late, with the moon high in the sky, the boulevard still teemed with people. She had the fae gift of language, and so the signs and chatter weren’t completely incomprehensible to her. Strange, but readable. That was a blessing; she couldn’t imagine what it was like to be born one of those races that could only master a single tongue. The Wand would have been no use to her then.

  She spotted shop after shop that sold what smelled like liquor, although nothing as strong as the faerie brews she was used to. Not that she’d had much time for leisure drinking, but sometimes the guards would give the gladiators a drink or two when they were badly injured. Less as a mercy and more to stop their screaming.

  If she’d had some human money, she might have tried a drink herself. But after watching for a while, she couldn’t quite figure out how the transaction worked. Sometimes the humans gave coins, and sometimes green paper, and sometimes little squares of some stiff material. At first, she thought that maybe the coins got you one drink and the paper got you something else, but there wasn’t any pattern to it as far as she could see. Luckily, she spotted one woman dressed in scraps and sparkles, drinking from a magic fountain that spouted clear water, for no payment at all. She took her turn, gulping down the cool liquid, heedless of the puddle of vomit at her feet. Although she had no desire to return to Faerie, it still comforted her to find something familiar. The human world might be strange and overwhelming, but at least they still had water.

  As she watched, a human boy slipped his arm around the waist of a slim girl with a high blonde ponytail and pulled her onto a strange silver transport vehicle. Their laughter floated out as the doors slid to a graceful close. It seemed like the crowd was thinning. Pushing through the crush of people wasn’t as difficult as it had been just a short while ago. Bedtime, perhaps?

  It seemed like time for Citrine to find somewhere to go, but she didn’t know where. There was still so much for her to learn about the humans before she could figure out how to fit in. She didn’t sense any magic in the air at all, which was good news for her. Did they have guards or warriors? If she could find a position as a guard for some human leader, she could live here quite happily. The guards here must be fat and lazy, if all they had to do was keep these peaceful revelers in line.

  Perhaps the right thing to do was to find a place to watch for the soldiers. This was a busy thoroughfare; certainly some troop would come through here if she waited and watched long enough. Although she might not recognize human livery, she felt confident that she’d spot them by the way they moved. Then she would approach them and inquire about a position.

  In the meantime, she would enjoy the sights and smells of this place. The signs called it Las Vegas, which Citrine thought was a pleasant name. A pleasant name for a pleasant place. She would move down the street, though, away from the portal. Ilimitaine shouldn’t be able to follow her here without the Wand of Doors, but that didn’t excuse carelessness. And loitering near the site of the portal was careless indeed.

  As she moved down the street, she tried something daring. She met the eyes of a scruffy young human. They grew so much hair—like animals—but he seemed so full of delight and liquor that he couldn’t possibly be dangerous. She smiled at him, hesitantly. Then she tried a tentative “hello.”

  He stopped in his tracks, his face breaking out into a broad grin. “Hello yourself, you cute little thing.”

  She tried to keep going then, content with her experiment. She’d spoken to one of them, and it had gone well. He hadn’t immediately picked up on her otherness, or drawn steel and challenged her to a battle. But before she could make it two steps, his hand closed on her elbow, tugging her back toward him.

  “Where you going?” he demanded, but whatever he was about to add was cut off by the swift arm bar she applied, forcing his hand to release her limb or be broken. His question turned into a long, drawn out howl.

  “Hey!” said his compatriot, balling his fists and taking a step forward, as if looming over her might make her cower in fear. It didn’t work. Citrine preferred to be the smallest opponent in a battle. It offered advantages if one knew how to handle one’s self. Which she did.

  She tilted her head and looked at him. So this was what the human warriors must do. Keep the peace between these overgrown children. It wouldn’t be a glamorous job, but at least it wouldn’t be difficult. Unless she was reading him poorly, she could kill him a hundred different ways without breaking a sweat. She wouldn’t, though, because Citrine Avonmora only killed with honor. The policy had gotten her into trouble with Ilimitaine more times than she could count, but she couldn’t break it. Not without losing herself entirely.

  If he moved, she decided she would subdue him. Nothing more. And then the tussle would likely attract the warriors, and she would find them sooner rather than later. What had initially seemed like an annoyance would turn out to be an advantage instead.

  She smiled at this thought, and that seemed to anger the boy even more. He growled at her. The effect was so far from intimidating that she couldn’t keep from laughing. He had size on her, but clearly lacked any martial training at all. His stance, his fist
s, his eyes…all wrong. She thought about attempting to correct them but figured he might take that as an added insult.

  He stepped forward, cocking his arm as if to swing, and Citrine waited for it calmly. She had plenty of options, plenty of space to move. The boy she’d originally smiled at was still clutching at his arm and looking pitiful when she was sure she hadn’t broken it. Under these conditions, she felt perfectly safe.

  Then she smelled it. The dank, cave mold scent of a troll. The tang of magic in the air. It could be nothing else. She’d been up and down this street and hadn’t smelled anything like it before. This was new, and it could mean only one thing. Ilimitaine had found her.

  She could waste no time on these boys and their egos. Although Ilimitaine had forbidden her from practicing the illusory magics of the fae, even her paltry abilities would work on weak minded drunkards like these. She waved her hand and projected dizziness at them. By the time their heads cleared, she was already on the other side of the street, lost in the crowd.

  But there was no time for triumph. Trolls were brutal beasties, all hungry bellies and crushing fingers. First, they’d try to eat you. If that didn’t work, they’d smash you to bits. She’d fought them before in the arena and won, but never alone. And never in the middle of a crowd of clueless humans.

  She quickened her steps, pushing past a man in nothing but a tiny little loincloth and body paint. She would have to lure the troll away and dispose of it herself. It couldn’t be allowed to report back to Ilimitaine. Hopefully it was alone.

  The scent grew stronger as she ran, fleet-footed, through the crowd. Yes, it was definitely coming from the depths of the alley she’d emerged in. It was only blind luck that had kept her close enough to sense the beast before it got loose in the crowd. Trolls were slow moving things, not particularly quick in the decision making department. She turned the corner, stepping out from the shadow of the metal trash holder. As she did, she could see the magic shimmer of the portal still hanging in the air.

  “Darkness blast me!” she swore quietly.

  This was her fault. She’d assumed that the Wand of Doors opened a one way portal, but obviously that wasn’t the case. Why hadn’t she double checked when she’d arrived here? Her excitement was no excuse; she should have been more careful. With luck, the troll had just wandered through the open portal, and Ilimitaine hadn’t discovered her escape after all. If so, all she had to worry about was the troll, which was a small comfort. Maybe she could drive it back to Faerie before closing the portal behind it. That would be much easier than killing it on her own. Her mind made up, she stepped closer, allowing her magic to suffuse her limbs. It would smell her. It would hunger. And it would charge.

  The lumpy grey figure at the end of the alley turned laboriously, scenting the air. Trolls were typically big and dumb, but this one had grown abnormally large. It stood at least three times as tall as Citrine herself, with mushrooms and fungus growing along its shoulders and on top of its head. Its face was cruel and blocky, with a wide jaw built for crushing. Citrine remembered the first time she’d fought one. It had bitten her partner Galvane’s head clean off and tossed the remains at her feet, then chewed casually while she’d done her best to slice it to pieces.

  But with that strength came a lack of grace and coordination, and she would use that to her advantage. If she could get it to charge her, she could dodge out of the way at the last minute. It wouldn’t be able to adjust its momentum. The top of its head would hit the portal, and it would be sucked through.

  It was a good plan. Before she could begin to exercise it, a huge hairy creature came leaping over the wall. For a moment, she thought it was the human scruffy attacker from earlier, but this beast was much larger and hairier, with a muzzle that made her think of the dire wolves back home. But it walked upright like a man, and while it wasn’t as tall as the troll, it sure got close.

  It leaped atop the troll’s back and swiped at it with its claws. Of course that accomplished little. The troll lumbered around in a circle, trying to dislodge the annoying thing that was scratching it.

  “Oh, come on!” she exclaimed in exasperation. Now her perfect plan was ruined.

  The dire wolf creature looked at her with surprise and what looked like intelligence. She’d never heard of such a thing—wolves with the senses of men—but perhaps there was more to the human realm than she’d realized. Perhaps she could communicate with it.

  She searched around in her mind for something that would make sense to it. Over the years, the gladiators had developed a code of sorts to help each other in the ring, but of course this creature wouldn’t know that. But then she had it—an answer so simple that it was obvious.

  “Pack tactics!” she said, pointing at the portal. “Drive it back through the portal!”

  The dire wolf man tossed its head in what could have been acknowledgement or might have been pain after the troll pawed at it. Then it dropped off the troll’s head and immediately began to worry at the troll’s heels, darting in and out, trying to annoy it enough to make the troll move. The troll swung at it with slow, lumbering movements that the wolf thing easily dodged. But it would only take a single blow to crush it into pulp.

  Citrine took the other side, drawing her knife. It wouldn’t pierce the troll’s hide, but that wasn’t the purpose. She just wanted to annoy it enough to make it move, and the plan worked. Together, she and the wolf man urged the troll, step by slow step, toward the portal. It was so close. If only the humans would stay out of the alley. If only the troll didn’t plant its feet and decide to fight them…

  It didn’t. But it did manage to catch the wolf creature mid-leap with one sweep of its enormous hand. The wolf creature flew into the stone wall of the building with bone-crushing force and fell in a heap on the ground.

  Citrine launched into furious action, weaving around the troll’s legs, forcing it to try and strike her while she was underneath it. It leaned to the left, trying to reach her. She darted right. It swept with its other hand, groaning in annoyance. It snagged her tattered dress as she leaped out of the way. It leaned down far this time, trying to catch her. Its bulk overbalanced.

  In what felt like slow motion, the troll toppled over. Its head missed the portal, and Citrine’s breath caught in dismay. But the worry was unfounded. The creature’s shoulder hit the shimmering rent in the air, and it disappeared in a flash of light and—for some reason Citrine didn’t understand—the smell of almonds.

  Chapter 2

  Derek Ranier returned to consciousness on the grimy concrete of a narrow side street with his face pillowed on a broken Styrofoam cup. A piece of the cup stuck to his face as he pushed himself up to hands and knees. He brushed the sticky Styrofoam away and tried to force his eyes to focus. Thanks to his werewolf metabolism, the rock-like thing hadn’t broken any bones when it batted him into the wall, but quick healing always did a number on his head. Injuries that would kill a normal person just sent him into unconsciousness, and then he’d wake up disoriented, with a killer head rush and gnawing hunger in his belly.

  That wasn’t such a big deal when the rest of the pack was around to finish off whatever had knocked you out in the first place, but Derek no longer had a pack. It was just him, so he pushed himself to his woozy feet despite the fact that he didn’t really feel ready for that. He wouldn’t be able to shift for another minute or two, but the rock thing had been slow and he was confident in his ability to dodge its swings, even in his human form. He’d only gotten hit because he’d been distracted by that woman.

  She didn’t smell like a shifter, but she wasn’t human either. He’d never smelled anything like her before. She was fierce for such a tiny little thing, with an assurance only gained from battle experience. He’d seen it sometimes, in the cubs who came to introduce themselves to his alpha.

  Back when he’d had an alpha.

  Many of them were full of bluster, impressed by their own size and abilities. Invariably, they’d been disappointments
. But the quiet and unassuming ones let their worth prove itself. It showed in their restraint and their thoughtful approach to battle. Werewolf stories always portrayed his kind as wild, thoughtless beasts, but that wasn’t the case at all. Mark Logan, Derek’s former alpha, had always approached battle carefully. It was his responsibility to make sure the pack got home, to take on the riskiest positions, to insure their survival. He’d taken the responsibility seriously, but some things can’t be planned for.

  Now Derek was alone, except for this strange girl who seemed to understand basic pack tactics, but who wasn’t a shifter. The girl who knew how to fight better than most shifters he’d known. The girl who stood just a few feet away in a gauzy dress, ripped and tattered. The fabric matched the violet of her eyes as she stared at him, her face a pale, perfect oval in the dim light.

  He looked around quickly, but the rock-like thing was nowhere in sight. Just the girl, who seemed perplexed. She’d seen him shift—or at least she’d seen the aftermath—but she wasn’t running away or screaming or trying to convince herself that she’d hallucinated the whole thing like normal humans did. Instead, she just stood there, her body language communicating caution.

  Oh, and he was naked.

  His clothes didn’t shift with him, and that was something you got used to with other shifters. It wasn’t a sexual thing. But here and now, standing in front of the pixie-like girl with the frankly appraising stare, he was suddenly aware of the other things that happened when he got naked with a woman, and how long it had been since he’d enjoyed those things. He began to stiffen as she watched, and a slow smile appeared on her lips. She seemed to relax then, seeing him less as a potential combatant and more as a potential plaything. He wasn’t usually much for empty sex, but he found himself strangely ready.