Dr. Stein had run what seemed like fifty different tests on the new vampires before allowing them to return to the museum where they could be watched over by Hugo, Aristos, and Valentine. Hugo was even making them study the Reborn Vampire Handbook, which covered the rules of my Kiss and reviewed everything they may have missed while dead.
He even had tests planned, requiring passing marks before they were permitted to advance to the next courses of their choosing—including technical courses like the Subtle Art of Exsanguination—or internships at any of our numerous business ventures. Hugo had also scheduled field trips upstairs to the museum, now that it was abandoned. Since the vampires hadn’t been very talkative, Aristos and Valentine were planning a social mixer for them tomorrow night, with over one hundred blood slaves required to attend.
I’d paid close attention to the news, eager to hear that the mayor was indeed in hot water over the bodies found floating near the Williamsburg bridge. Like sharks sensing blood in the water, a mob of political hit-pieces had already begun to circulate, accusing him of many more suspicious activities. I had no idea if they were warranted or not.
Strangely enough, we’d so far managed to keep the obvious news of Castle Ambrogio out of the press. I knew it wouldn’t last, but Hugo had greased enough palms so that he could control the narrative. Sooner or later, the humans would learn the truth, no matter what story was told in the news. With a cell phone in every pocket and the internet only a thumb-swipe away—for those fortunate souls allowed to have smart phones, anyway—it was only a matter of time.
Nero and Stevie had set up a time for me to perform the favor I had indirectly promised the alpha for stealing Natalie from his pack. I had no idea what it entailed, but I had grown suspicious after Nero’s involvement. He had promised me that it would be both terrifying and fulfilling—and he had looked scared as hell saying it.
Wanting to reduce the amount of stress in my life, I had let it be. I would find out soon enough. I had Castle Ambrogio to occupy the majority of my thoughts. The Nephilim stood guard at the Castle Gate without rest. I’d visited them earlier tonight just to make sure they weren’t lonely, but upon finding them giggling and rolling around in the bushes—destroying everything in their wake—I’d left with a satisfied grin.
Adam and Eve had finally discovered what their bodies were designed for, learning how much pleasure could be derived from a guilt-free heart and a genuine smile. I was confident they had learned other pleasures as well, judging by some of the sounds I’d heard.
Victoria had recovered from her near-death experience, and I’d twice found her sitting on the steps of the museum, staring out at Castle Ambrogio with a sad smile on her face. Victoria was now able to communicate with my castle, as was Natalie, by extension. Hyde had told no one of my meeting with Zeus. Just that I had helped him fix Dr. Stein’s lightning rod. I had no idea whether that bit of news regarding my paternity was true or not either, but it did answer a lot of questions I’d accumulated over the years.
Natalie suddenly spun to face me, grinning wickedly. “I thought they would never leave!”
I arched an eyebrow, frowning. “What?”
She pointed ahead of us to where Nosh and Isabella had been walking moments ago. “They called it a night,” she grinned.
“And we finally have some privacy,” Victoria purred.
Natalie studied me up and down. “One reason I got into this was because of the sex, and so far, that has been sorely lacking. In fact, I’ve been knifed by a crazy ex, almost killed by witches, and I even starred in a truly beautiful rain dance ritual—that you missed,” she said with a stern glare. I kept my face composed, not daring to tell her that the ritual had been fraudulent. “And I learn about your son—who is older than me…”
“And a kiss,” Victoria said, touching her lips with a dreamy smile.
I nodded, not entirely sure how to respond. “It was a very stressful couple of days.”
“The samples have been incredible,” Victoria pointed out, biting her lip as she eyed me up and down.
Natalie pursed her lips analytically. “Until I get the real thing, I can’t be so sure.”
I rolled my eyes, finally giving in. I turned to Victoria. “How fast can you run?” I asked, grinning.
In response, she suddenly bolted away, laughing as she sprinted down the halls of ancient artifacts with the swiftness of Artemis, the Goddess of the Hunt.
I shot Natalie a hungry look. “Winner takes all.”
Natalie bolted after Victoria, laughing delightedly.
I noticed that the nearby wall displayed a brief story about Zeus and Hera. I stared at it for a moment, pursing my lips.
Then I turned away, locking in on the laughter echoing from up ahead.
There was no way in hell I was going to let Natalie win.
The Devil of New York City returns on January 7th, 2020 in DEVIL’S BLOOD. PREORDER HERE!
Turn the page to read samples from Shayne’s other worldwide bestselling novels in The TempleVerse—The Nate Temple Series, the Feathers and Fire Series, and the Phantom Queen Dairies.
TRY: OBSIDIAN SON (NATE TEMPLE #1)
There was no room for emotion in a hate crime. I had to be cold. Heartless. This was just another victim. Nothing more. No face, no name.
Frosted blades of grass crunched under my feet, sounding to my ears alone like the symbolic glass that one shattered under a napkin at a Jewish wedding. The noise would have threatened to give away my stealthy advance as I stalked through the moonlit field, but I was no novice and had planned accordingly. Being a wizard, I was able to muffle all sensory evidence with a fine cloud of magic—no sounds, and no smells. Nifty. But if I made the spell much stronger, the anomaly would be too obvious to my prey.
I knew the consequences for my dark deed tonight. If caught, jail time or possibly even a gruesome, painful death. But if I succeeded, the look of fear and surprise in my victim’s eyes before his world collapsed around him, was well worth the risk. I simply couldn’t help myself; I had to take him down.
I knew the cops had been keeping tabs on my car, but I was confident that they hadn’t followed me. I hadn’t seen a tail on my way here, but seeing as how they frowned on this kind of thing I had taken a circuitous route just in case. I was safe. I hoped.
Then my phone chirped at me as I received a text.
My body’s fight-or-flight syndrome instantly kicked in, my heart threatening to explode in one final act of pulmonary paroxysm. “Motherf—” I hissed instinctively, practically jumping out of my skin. I had forgotten to silence it. Stupid, stupid, stupid! My body remained tense as I swept my gaze over the field, sure that I had been made. My breathing finally began to slow, my pulse returning to normal, as I noticed no changes in my surroundings. Hopefully, my magic had silenced the sound and my resulting outburst. I glanced down at the phone to scan the text and then typed back a quick and angry response before I switched the cursed phone to vibrate.
Now, where were we…
I continued on, the lining of my coat constricting my breathing. Or maybe it was because I was leaning forward in anticipation. Breathe, I chided myself. He doesn’t know you’re here. All this risk for a book. It had better be worth it.
I’m taller than most, and not abnormally handsome, but I knew how to play the genetic cards I had been dealt. I had shaggy, dirty blonde hair, and my frame was thick with well-earned muscle, yet still lean. I had once been told that my eyes were like twin emeralds pitted against the golden-brown tufts of my hair—a face like a jewelry box. Of course, that was two bottles of wine into a date, so I could have been a little foggy on her quote. Still, I liked to imagine that was how everyone saw me.
But tonight, all that was masked by magic.
I grinned broadly as the outline of the hairy hulk finally came into view. He was blessedly alone—no nearby sentries to give me away. That was always a risk when performing this ancient right-of-passage. I tried to keep the grin on my face fr
om dissolving into a maniacal cackle.
My skin danced with energy, both natural and unnatural, as I manipulated the threads of magic floating all around me. My victim stood just ahead, oblivious of the world of hurt that I was about to unleash. Even with his millennia of experience, he didn’t stand a chance. I had done this so many times that the routine of it was my only enemy. I lost count of how many times I had been told not to do it again; those who knew declared it cruel, evil, and sadistic. But what fun wasn’t? Regardless, that wasn’t enough to stop me from doing it again. And again. Call it an addiction if you will, but it was too much of a rush to ignore.
The pungent smell of manure filled the air, latching onto my nostril hairs. I took another step, trying to calm my racing pulse. A glint of gold reflected in the silver moonlight, but the victim remained motionless, hopefully unaware or all was lost. I wouldn’t make it out alive if he knew I was here. Timing was everything.
I carefully took the last two steps, a lifetime between each, watching the legendary monster’s ears, anxious and terrified that I would catch even so much as a twitch in my direction. Seeing nothing, a fierce grin split my unshaven cheeks. My spell had worked! I raised my palms an inch away from their target, firmly planted my feet, and squared my shoulders. I took one silent, calming breath, and then heaved forward with every ounce of physical strength I could muster. As well as a teensy-weensy boost of magic. Enough to goose him good.
“MOOO!!!” The sound tore through the cool October night like an unstoppable freight train. Thud-splat! The beast collapsed sideways into the frosty grass; straight into a steaming patty of cow shit, cow dung, or, if you really want to church it up, a Meadow Muffin. But to me, shit is, and always will be, shit.
Cow tipping. It doesn’t get any better than that in Missouri.
Especially when you’re tipping the Minotaur. Capital M.
Razor-blade hooves tore at the frozen earth as the beast struggled to stand, grunts of rage vibrating the air. I raised my arms triumphantly. “Boo-yah! Temple 1, Minotaur 0!” I crowed. Then I very bravely prepared to protect myself. Some people just couldn’t take a joke. Cruel, evil, and sadistic cow tipping may be, but by hell, it was a rush. The legendary beast turned his gaze on me after gaining his feet, eyes ablaze as he unfolded to his full height on two tree-trunk-thick legs, hooves magically transforming into heavily-booted feet. The thick, gold ring dangling from his snotty snout quivered as the Minotaur panted, and his dense, corded muscle contracted over his human-like chest. As I stared up into those brown eyes, I actually felt sorry…for, well, myself.
“I have killed greater men than you for less offense,” he growled.
I swear to God his voice sounded like an angry James Earl Jones. Like Mufasa talking to Scar.
“You have shit on your shoulder, Asterion.” I ignited a roiling ball of fire in my palm in order to see his eyes more clearly. By no means was it a defensive gesture on my part. It was just dark. But under the weight of his glare, even I couldn’t buy my reassuring lie. I hoped using a form of his ancient name would give me brownie points. Or maybe just not-worthy-of-killing points.
The beast grunted, eyes tightening, and I sensed the barest hesitation. “Nate Temple…your name would look splendid on my already long list of slain idiots.” Asterion took a threatening step forward, and I thrust out my palm in warning, my roiling flame blue now.
“You lost fair and square, Asterion. Yield or perish.” The beast’s shoulders sagged slightly. Then he finally nodded to himself in resignation, appraising me with the scrutiny of a worthy adversary. “Your time comes, Temple, but I will grant you this. You’ve got a pair of stones on you to rival Hercules.”
I pointedly risked a glance down towards the myth’s own crown jewels. “Well, I sure won’t need a wheelbarrow any time soon, but I’m sure I’ll manage.”
The Minotaur blinked once, and then bellowed out a deep, contagious, snorting laughter. Realizing I wasn’t about to become a murder statistic, I couldn’t help but join in. It felt good. It had been a while since I had allowed myself to experience genuine laughter.
In the harsh moonlight, his bulk was even more intimidating as he towered head and shoulders above me. This was the beast that had fed upon human sacrifices for countless years while imprisoned in Daedalus’ Labyrinth in Greece. And all of that protein had not gone to waste, forming a heavily woven musculature over the beast’s body that made even Mr. Olympia look puny.
From the neck up he was entirely bull, but the rest of his body more resembled a thickly-furred man. But, as shown moments ago, he could adapt his form to his environment, never appearing fully human, but able to make his entire form appear as a bull when necessary. For instance, how he had looked just before I tipped him. Maybe he had been scouting the field for heifers before I had so efficiently killed the mood.
His bull face was also covered in thick, coarse hair—even sporting a long, wavy beard of sorts, and his eyes were the deepest brown I had ever seen. Cow shit brown. His snout jutted out, emphasizing the gold ring dangling from his glistening nostrils, catching a glint in the luminous glow of the moon. The metal was at least an inch thick, and etched with runes of a language long forgotten. Thick, aged ivory horns sprouted from each temple, long enough to skewer a wizard with little effort. He was nude except for a beaded necklace and a pair of distressed leather boots that were big enough to stomp a size twenty-five imprint in my face if he felt so inclined.
I hoped our blossoming friendship wouldn’t end that way. I really did.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I couldn’t do this without my readers—those wayward souls who crave adventure, encouragement, tears, laughter, danger, and confidence. You are all enablers to my madness.
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ABOUT SHAYNE SILVERS
Shayne is a man of mystery and power, whose power is exceeded only by his mystery…
He currently writes the Amazon Bestselling Nate Temple Series, which features a foul-mouthed wizard from St. Louis. He rides a bloodthirsty unicorn, drinks with Achilles, and is pals with the Four Horsemen.
He also writes the Amazon Bestselling Feathers and Fire Series—a second series in the Temple Verse. The story follows a rookie spell-slinger named Callie Penrose who works for the Vatican in Kansas City. Her problem? Hell seems to know more about her past than she does.
He coauthors The Phantom Queen Diaries—a third series set in The Temple Verse—with Cameron O’Connell. The story follows Quinn MacKenna, a mouthy black magic arms dealer in Boston. All she wants? A round-trip ticket to the Fae realm…and maybe a drink on the house.
Shayne holds two high-ranking black belts, and can be found writing in a coffee shop, cackling madly into his computer screen while pounding shots of espresso. He’s hard at work on the newest books in the Temple Verse—You can fin
d updates on new releases or chronological reading order on the next page, his website or any of his social media accounts. Follow him online for all sorts of groovy goodies, giveaways, and new release updates:
Get Down with Shayne Online
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BOOKS BY SHAYNE SILVERS
CHRONOLOGY: All stories in the TempleVerse are shown in chronological order on the following page
SHADE OF DEVIL SERIES
(Not part of the TempleVerse)
* * *
DEVIL’S DREAM
DEVIL’S CRY
DEVIL’S BLOOD
* * *
NATE TEMPLE SERIES
(Main series in the TempleVerse)
* * *
FAIRY TALE - FREE prequel novella #0 for my subscribers
OBSIDIAN SON
BLOOD DEBTS
GRIMM
SILVER TONGUE
BEAST MASTER
BEERLYMPIAN (Novella #5.5 in the ‘LAST CALL’ anthology)
TINY GODS
DADDY DUTY (Novella #6.5)
WILD SIDE
WAR HAMMER
NINE SOULS
HORSEMAN
LEGEND
KNIGHTMARE
ASCENSION
FEATHERS AND FIRE SERIES
(Also set in the TempleVerse)
UNCHAINED
RAGE
WHISPERS
ANGEL’S ROAR
MOTHERLUCKER (Novella #4.5 in the ‘LAST CALL’ anthology)
Devil's Cry Page 27