Shadows and Sorcery: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

by Adkins, Heather Marie

  “What the hell happened?

  The Guardian’s soft voice sounds from the other side. “Lady Tirelli killed you. I think we can safely assume that she controls a powerful assassin’s ring that allows her to resist physical damage and makes her stronger. Your heart gave out after the fight with her. But then Archer…”

  “What did she do?”

  “She said she could save you. She was desperate to touch your chest, but it was like a force was pushing against her, and in the end her body…” The Guardian sucks in a sob. “Her body tore apart when she finally did it. That’s when you woke up.”

  The silence fills only with Cain’s heartbeats. Rapid. Like his breathing.

  He whispers, “My soul. She gave me back my life.”

  There’s a frown in the Guardian’s voice. “What?”

  Before Cain answers, multiple footsteps sound. I struggle again to open my eyes, concentrating as hard as I can until finally … just barely … I have the smallest slit of vision.

  Sarah races toward me, kneeling swiftly. Her hands swill the space above my body without touching me.

  Cain says, “Tell me you can help her.”

  Sarah shakes her head, her lips pursed. “Cain, I’ve never … she’s barely held together. Her back is … it’s a miracle she’s still alive. This is far beyond my capabilities. I will use the magic in my ring to stabilize her, but I can’t heal her. I’m sorry. There is no surgery for this.”

  Cain’s roar echoes through the room. Alexei leans forward, his hands planted firmly on Cain’s shoulders, muscles bunching, struggling to restrain him.

  Sarah doesn’t wait for a command, turning her attention back to me. Multiple gentle hands begin to work over me, the intermittent glow telling me that they are using their assassin’s magic on me. Sarah murmurs while she works, her sporadic instructions to others indicating that a whole team is attempting to help me.

  Alexei doesn’t wait for Cain to calm down. “Cain, listen to me. We can’t help Archer. None of us has that kind of healing power. But we all know who does.”

  Cain sucks in a sharp breath, grinding his response. “The Saber Lane Witch in Boston. The one who spelled my daggers. But that means taking Archer back into the heart of Legion Territory. I may as well deliver her to Slade!”

  “No! There’s another way.” Alexei chews his words again. He casts a wary glance at the Guardian. “There’s a way around the Code. But Cain … you won’t like it.”

  Cain shakes his head. “Don’t test me, Alexei. I will do anything to save Archer, even fight Slade.”

  “What about giving her up?”

  “What?”

  Alexei says, “Slade can’t touch Archer if she’s an assassin. The hierarchy of rules in the Code will protect her.”

  Cain freezes and the Guardian sucks in a sharp breath, but Alexei plows on. “It would be unwise for me to train her, and even more so for you, Cain. Slade can’t train her either. There is only one assassin who can take her on.”

  Alexei casts a demanding glare on the Guardian. “Will you sanction it, Guardian?”

  The Guardian leans forward, worry and hope creasing her forehead. “If Archer is an assassin, then the fifth rule no longer applies to her—she is not a bystander anymore. The first rule will take priority.” Her gentle eyes fill with emotion. “It’s a stretch, but I believe the Code can accommodate it.”

  She lifts a stern finger. “On one condition. It must be a clean start. Cain, if you agree to let Archer go, I will sanction her training as an assassin. Then she will be safe.”

  Cain closes his eyes. “You’re telling me I have to put her out of my life. Send her to Boston to be healed. Never see her again.”

  Tears fill the Guardian’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Cain. It’s the only way this will work.”

  Cain sucks in a sharp breath, but his voice is dangerous. He turns his head to address each of the assassins. “Sarah, do not let Archer die. Juliet, you’re my second in command now. Make sure the sentence on the remaining Novices is carried out.”

  I can’t see Juliet, but her response is resolute. “Thank you, Master. The Novices are all dead.”

  “Good. I need you to arrange my jet to take Archer back to Boston. And ask Lutz to come in here, but without Parker. I don’t want her to see this.”

  Moments later, powerful footsteps tell me that Lutz has joined us. He stops suddenly, barely entering my line of sight. The blood drains from his face. “Damn…”

  I guess I must look pretty awful.

  Cain’s response is stern. “As soon as Archer is stabilized, you will take her to the Saber Lane Witch. Guardian, will you please explain?”

  She says, “I have sanctioned Archer’s training as an assassin. She is no longer the Legion’s target. I will inform Slade and travel with you to make sure the message is clear. We need to hurry. Archer doesn’t have long.”

  Lutz cycles through surprise, to relief, to concern. He gives Cain a firm nod. “Understood. I promise you, Archer will arrive safely.”

  As he speaks, a figure appears behind him, slender and quiet. Parker is pale as she draws to a halt, her focus shifting from me to Cain. “Oh no … Archer…”

  “Parker.” Lutz spins. I guess she snuck up on him again. He angles himself between her and me, attempting to block her view.

  He says, “You were supposed to stay outside.”

  Fire enters her eyes. “Why? Because I can’t handle it?” She paces right up to him, not letting him get in her way. “Archer is my friend too.”

  Lutz growls, “You don’t need to see this kind of violence.”

  “Don’t put me on a pedestal, Lutz Logan!”

  His response is so quiet I almost miss it. “Innocence is worth protecting. You still have yours. Don’t give it up so quickly.”

  She inhales. Exhales. The indignant fire in her eyes dies and the edges around her lips soften as she gazes back at him.

  Cain contemplates them both. He says, “Lutz … you have my permission to come back.”

  Lutz spins. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I—” Lutz swallows his gruff response. “Okay.” He falls silent as Parker slips her hand into his. Her eyes fill with tears as she watches over me and Cain. She’s the only one who isn’t afraid to shed them.

  Cain lets out his breath, but his focus becomes far away, as if he’s folding up his true emotions and putting them in a safe place. A blank mask slowly takes their place. He lifts his left hand slowly, very carefully, toward my face. His focus shifts from the ring on his hand, the declaration he made with it, to my face, my lips.

  He searches my eyes, whispering, “Archer? Can you hear me?”

  I want to tell him so much, but I can’t speak. My eyelids close, then open again, but barely. My heart is physically shattered, but this pain … is worse.

  Cain brushes his thumb across my forehead, a gentle graze that is more powerful to me than the tear along my spine.

  He says, “I’m going to use my magic to help you sleep now. But I promise you … you will be okay. I love you, Archer Ryan.”

  His assassin’s ring glows and his face blurs. I fight the pull, the descending darkness, wanting to hold on to this last moment with him.

  Against my will, I sink into oblivion.

  * * *

  I wake in an unfamiliar room, lying on an unfamiliar bed. The room is sparsely furnished with a closet and a bedside table, but nothing else. No lamp, no sharp objects, not even a blanket or sheets. I’m lying on a bare mattress, wearing sweatpants and a sweater that don’t belong to me. They’re soft and comfortable, I’ll give them that. A book on the bedside table is the only thing I recognize. It’s the book Lutz stabbed through—the one that saved my life.

  A quick inventory of all my limbs tells me I am intact, pain free, my entire body responsive to my mind’s commands. I’m healed. But as for where I am…

  A woman leans against the far wall, about eight feet away. She is as tal
l as I am, casually dressed in jeans and a sleeveless shirt. Her mahogany hair sweeps long and free across one shoulder, her emerald eyes rimmed in silver. A tattoo adorns her right arm, but I can’t make out the design from this angle.

  She watches me carefully as she says, “I’m sorry about your surroundings, but I couldn’t take the chance that you’d react before you let me speak.”

  My gaze flicks to the bedside table. “I could probably throw the book at you.”

  She smiles. It’s surprisingly warm. Genuine. Carries the slightest hint of hope. “Cain said you were resourceful.”

  I try not to hurt at the sound of his name. “Where is he?”

  She lifts herself off the wall, her smile fading, a deep sadness taking its place. “Where you left him. But certainly not where he wants to be.”

  I sit up and slide my legs over the edge of the bed, making no sudden movements, testing my strength. For now I’m prepared to listen. “Who are you?”

  She says, “I’m Hunter Cassidy. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”

  I nod. “I’m told nobody messes with you.”

  She levels her gaze with me. “Which is why nobody will mess with you now.”

  “And this place?”

  “I live above a bookstore. I believe that might appeal to you.”

  It’s impossible for me to hide the tiny spark of happiness I find in the darkness of my situation. I can escape into books. Books have happy endings. Books will always give me hope. Hope that no matter what happens, I will find a way back to Cain.

  Hunter contemplates me with the quiet confidence of a woman who knows her own fears and has conquered all of them. She tips her chin at me, a spark of challenge entering her expression. “Are you willing to train with me and become an assassin, Archer Ryan?”

  I find myself saying, “Yes.”

  The End

  * * *

  Continue the Assassin’s Magic Series:

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  About the Author

  Everly Frost is the author of YA and New Adult urban fantasy and science-fiction romance novels. She spent her childhood dreaming of other worlds and scribbling stories on the leftover blank pages at the back of school notebooks. She lives in Brisbane, Australia with her husband and two children.

  www.everlyfrost.com/aboutthebook/

  Shadows Come

  Brea Viragh

  Shadows Come © copyright 2019 Brea Viragh

  Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Created with Vellum

  Shadows Come

  Coffee isn’t the only dark brew.

  Oriel Justice, human child of a vampire, runs The Dark Caf coffee shop with his sister, catering to the paranormal and all the danger they bring with them. Supernaturals are drawn to his shop and his special drinks that contain one very special addition: an alchemical potion designed to curb even the most voracious hunger.

  But when his latest batch is threatened by a competitor, he has to think. Fast.

  Racked by a hunger in her body she isn’t used to, Georgia St. Edmond—a high-profile actress before an accident claimed her fame, and her life—is on the losing end of a fight with a man determined to steal the potion from her. Whatever she is now, she knows she can disappear into the shadows...if she has the brew she needs to stay alive.

  She’s determined not to let Oriel stand in her way, until a third party trashes the coffee shop and threatens to kill them both. Now, Georgia and Oriel must put aside their fight with each other and work together to usher in a new life for them both. If they fail, a new hunger has the potential to sweep the Oregon coast supernaturals. A hunger no one will be able to stop.

  Fans of Patricia Briggs and Laurel K. Hamilton will love this delicious, edge-of-your-seat novella.

  1

  Oriel Justice ground his teeth against a swell of boredom. It was always the same thing. Waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting for the damn messenger raven to return with news. Waiting, waiting, waiting for the world to change, maybe, but knowing it never would. At least, it wouldn’t according to his schedule. He had a wide open one and instead of the universe throwing him a bone, it threw him more waiting.

  It was enough to make him sick.

  He crossed and uncrossed his legs for something to do.

  “Please, stop. I mean it. Stop.” Jasmine dropped her head over the back of her seat and sighed. A sigh like she was going to die any minute if he didn’t do exactly what she said.

  “I’m not doing anything,” Oriel insisted. His fingertips drummed a random tune on the desktop. “I’m sitting here. Finishing the paperwork.”

  Where the hell was his damn phone call? At the very least his raven should be back with news. Although half the time he ended up driving across town to retrieve it. He’d gotten one too many calls from people who knew Drascol was his and the bird was somewhere it didn’t belong.

  “I know. You’re thinking too loudly. It’s seriously disturbing me.”

  Jasmine continued to do her nails, a portrait of young adult boredom.

  Oriel twisted around to scowl at the molding under the window, the place where the wood was cracked and the paint chipped a little along the seam. Like dried blood near a wound. He’d need to have it replaced soon. “I’ve never heard of anyone thinking too loud. It must be your imagination.”

  “Well, now you have, because you’re doing it. Why don’t you go behind the counter for a little bit?” Jasmine twirled in her chair and the hinges squeaked. “Do something with yourself. Something constructive, besides sigh and stare out the window like a morose poet.”

  “I have to get these paychecks done otherwise the rest of the staff will start to complain.” Oriel tapped his pen against the checkbook in front of him. “You might not need one, but they depend on the money.”

  Squeak. “Suit yourself.”

  “You could go out there, you know. Give me a little peace and quiet. I could get a lot more done if you weren’t complaining about the way I think.”

  Jasmine shot him a wide smile showing the gap between her two front teeth. “I’d rather sit here and bug you.”

  “I figured as much,” Oriel grumbled.

  His little sister was a pain in the neck. Literally. Since the moment their mother was turned into a vampire, Jas was trying to do the same, be the same, only without the wearing black and rising at first moonlight and drinking blood. She’d started biting anyone within reach with her blunt human teeth and leaving a mess of bruises along his arms. He always seemed to be the closest to her during one of her biting fits.

  Sure, she’d been four when she first started, but the habit stuck, and whenever he did something to piss her off—which was more often than not—she’d give him a nip to tell him to back away.

  Even now, after they’d just celebrated her twenty-first birthday.

  Oriel usually tried to pull rank. He was the older brother, older by a good seven years. He’d taken care of her when she couldn’t take care of herself, when their parade of foster parents left them alone to fend for themselves. It didn’t even matter that he owned the building a
nd the coffee shop on the lower level.

  Jasmine didn’t care.

  She’d grown up with a sense of entitlement bigger and meaner than a dinosaur. Wherever she went and whatever she did, she was reigning queen. She threw off authority like some people with their winter coat.

  The coffee shop had been his idea and was a nod to their supernaturally-inclined mother. That’s what he’d taken to calling her. It was better than vampire, honestly, because neither of them wanted people to know they were the human children of a vampire. He kept it under wraps as much as it was possible to hide a secret so large.

  He’d opened The Dark Caf as a way to pay homage to her and creatures like her. The kind who wanted a place to hang out during the day or night—as they were open twenty-four hours—without fear or judgment. Sure, there were clubs or bars or seedy warehouses in the great city of Yachats, Oregon. But to Oriel’s way of thinking, there was no place like he had. Where the younger generations of paranormals felt comfortable letting loose. Kicking up their heels with a great cup of espresso. More often than not it was espresso laced with something. Blood for the vamps and shifters, wheatgrass shots for the centaurs, etc.

  Plus, the little bit of extra only he and Jasmine knew existed. The bit that kept his patrons coming back for more. Not in a sinister way, like he was about to rub his hands together and let loose a sardonic serial killer laugh. It was the good kind of extra, the kind that saved lives.

  Jasmine helped him keep shop to the extent she was able. More often than not she was down in the main room chatting up the clientele and flirting with people she had no business flirting with. Part and parcel with her move into being a beautiful young woman, Oriel mused with a groan. He saw in his younger sister a vision of his mother in her glory days before cancer tried to take her under. In Jasmine, there was the same bright blue eyes, straight nose, long dark hair, and raucous laughter. There were the same easy compassion and good heart.