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

by Adkins, Heather Marie

  I cut my wrist again, this time deeper. Blood pooled on the surface of my pale skin before dripping to the ground below. Fire raced across my nerve endings. It reminded me that I was alive. That I was the one in charge. The one with the power. Or, maybe that was the Dark in me, my vile connection with Hell finally made complete.

  The wind—that wasn’t wind, but the sound of a thousand wailing souls hissing in torment—whipped the treetops. It twirled tendrils of hair into my face. Fluttered the pages of my grimoire. As the fury of the wind grew, so too did the cone of power deep in my core.

  Electricity arced between my fingers and toes, the sensation like riding on the back of a storm. A storm coming to devour all life. Devour me.

  Something within wanted to be annihilated. Wanted to give up, to give me over to the coming reign of darkness. But I was the darkness. It was within me, not around me.

  I was not its mistress.

  Not its queen.

  I. Was. It.

  The thunderous, devastating silence gathered into a final crescendo. With a sudden pop, my ears caught up to the surrounding pressure.

  “My daughter, you don’t know how happy you’ve made me,” said a voice I’d dreamt about hearing ever since I was old enough to understand I didn’t have a father like most little girls did.

  I turned to face the man—no. Not man. I faced the tormented archangel half responsible for my existence. “Daddy?” The word stuck in my throat, along with a scream. Every fear, nightmare, and dark thought I’d ever had were made manifest into the thing before me.

  I fell to the ground, curled into a ball, ignored every manner of centipede, beetle, snake, and worm crawling over my flesh. At that moment, they were more comfort than I’d ever find in the being I called Father.

  4

  “I don’t know what my father told you, but we aren’t fucking.”

  I pull my hand from Dante’s grasp and poke a finger into his chest, more than aware I’m still holding the phone the Devil gave me, the other hand full with bags of fudge.

  I haven’t turned on the phone. I don’t want to know what the threat is. Honestly, a part of me doesn’t care. If someone has to die to keep me from becoming what I’m supposed to become—Inferi—then their death is worth it. A hundred deaths would be worth it.

  “It’s nice to meet you, too,” Dante says, the slight smirk gracing his lips just as gorgeous as when my father inhabited his body. What is different is the notable absence of lightning and the pervasive stench of Hell.

  I’d have rather kept the stench of Hell than inhale the intoxicating perfume that is Dante. His cologne is expensive. Designer. But that isn’t what makes me want to lick him from head to toe.

  Magick and power radiate off him like an electrical current. When I breathe him in—because he’s standing way too close in the position my father left him—that same energy bursts across my tongue, buzzes all the way down my throat, aerates my blood until I’m nothing more than a shaken seltzer bottle ready to blow my top. A top located between my thighs.

  Dante is bad-fucking-news. The worst kind. But hell if I can stop the crave burning me from the inside out.

  No. I can stop it. I have to stop it. Dante was sent by my father. He’s here because he has to be. Has no choice. Just like I have no choice who my father is.

  Besides, I don’t want a Pentagram. I’ve spent half my life trying to escape the power I’m supposed to claim. If I do, bad shit happens. And I don’t just mean end-of-the-world bad shit. I mean, I might lose control bad shit.

  Control is the only kind of power that’s truly mine. The kind of power I wasn’t born to inherit. It took years of practice and mastery to be this mediocre. Fly under the radar. My life belongs to me, even if it was never meant to.

  Dante fucks with that control. With my power. My father knows it. I’d damn him to Hell, but what’s the point?

  I step back, away from Dante. Away from temptation. “Does it ever get old? Being Hell’s lapdog?” I ask, clutching the bags of fudge harder as if they can protect me.

  Or maybe it’s to remind myself I’m okay with my sugar addiction. I don’t need to add a Dante addiction on top of it. Don’t need to give Callen two things to judge me about.

  He steps forward, eradicating the distance I put between us. “Would you rather me be your lapdog?”

  His tone is playful. Light. But there’s a heaviness behind his eyes he can’t hide with silver-tongued smoothness and a practiced facade. It’s the first time I know for sure he hates being here as much as I do. Hates that he too has a calling he has no say over.

  “We are soul-sworn, Kate. I’m already yours.” He pulls down the collar of his shirt, turns his head to expose the side of his neck. Sure as shit, behind his ear are two letters intertwined.

  No. Not letters. Initials.

  K.D.

  Nausea rolls through me, forces bile to the back of my throat. It isn’t as if I didn’t know all Darks and Wyka alike have twin soul-sworn—males predestined to be mates, partners, and integral parts of the coven. But to be initialed? Like a brand? Like they’re cattle? Property? Owned?

  It’s wrong. It’s sick, and it’s wrong, and it isn’t what I want. I know what it feels like to crave a life that belongs to only myself. An identity not tied to someone else. Do any soul-sworn ever truly have that?

  “You aren’t mine,” I say, tone rough. “No one owns you, just like no one owns me.”

  Dante’s smile is back. This time, it isn’t forced. “While I appreciate the defiance, not one word of that was true. I like you. I didn’t think I would, but I do,” he says the last under his breath. My hearing is exceptional.

  I don’t acknowledge the statement, don’t say anything as I make another attempt for my keys, this time successfully. Once unlocked, I nudge open the door with my foot, flick on the lights using my shoulder, weave through carefully placed antique displays, and make my way to my back office to drop off the fudge, my purse, and my anxiety.

  The phone I keep. I want to break it. Set it on fire. Throw it in the dumpster out back. But something about it feels like a lifeline. To my father. To whatever person or thing he thinks I want more than denying my magick. More than denying him control over my body and my life.

  Turning from the office, I head to the front door to flip the open sign. Or I would, but six feet of delicious and damned blocks my path. “You can’t avoid me forever, Kate. Avoid your father’s wishes.”

  I’ve done it so far.

  “Wanna bet?” I snap, my tone harsh even to my ears. This isn’t his fault. But he’s here. Blocking my way. “Now, move. I have a store to open and a business to run. Unless you want to stay? I could use someone to file paperwork, sweep up the floors.”

  Dante’s body goes rigid. The muscles in his jaw writhe like snakes. It reminds me of the first time I met my father. Of the magick I cast when I was too young to understand the true consequences of vengeance.

  “We have a ritual to complete. Items to collect. Your Pentagram to establish,” Dante says, not saying what he really wants to.

  The look on his face gives him away. It’s a look I’ve worn too many times not to notice on others. It’s a look that says he’s above my request. Too good for menial tasks and hard labor.

  Newsflash, asshole, I want to say. You aren’t too good, and we aren’t doing anything my father wants us to.

  I keep it to myself, not because I’m shy or trying to be polite, but because a duplicate copy of the man I’ve desperately been trying to resist comes strolling through my front door. This is the moment I know I’m totally fucked, in every way.

  “Did she issue her first command?” he asks, all business, same sexy voice. Same sexy everything. But where Dante is smooth, this guy is all jagged edges.

  “Not yet,” Dante answers his twin.

  I stand there, mouth open, panties damp, and this is stupid. I’m not a teenager. My hormones don’t control me, despite their current best effort.

 
; “What is she waiting for?” he questions. Even though he looks directly at me, eyebrow cocked in judgmental appraisal, he speaks to his twin. “Didn’t she see the video?”

  Video? What video?

  He sighs, scrubs a hand over his stubbled jaw. “I’ll take that as a no. Fuck,” he mutters. “I was hoping I’d missed all the emotional drama bullshit. You’re better with that stuff, brother.”

  Dante crosses his arms, his expression matching his twin’s. It’s all I can do not to laugh. Better than doing other things.

  Both sets of sexy twin eyes glare at the phone in my hand. Suddenly, it feels like a two-ton wrecking ball set on a collision course with the walls I’ve built to keep everyone else out. Keep my magick in.

  Mouth dry, blood pressure high enough to make a junkie jealous, I tap on the screen. A video loads. At first, I’m not sure what I’m looking at, because the camera jostles before coming to rest on its side.

  That’s when I see her. Not the girl from my childhood, but the woman she’s become.

  Claudia!

  5

  “Daughter.” The Devil’s voice was like poisoned honey—sweet and deadly. His scent was a mixture of ash and burnt flesh. His skin mottled and sticky, like congealed blood. Once white wings were torn, ragged, and a dingy shade of gray. And his eyes were tiny reflective mirrors.

  Anyone who stared at the Devil was guaranteed to see themselves.

  He reached for me. I recoiled, tried to crawl underneath the dirt the same way the insects tried to crawl into my flesh. I should’ve listened to my mother. Should’ve, for once, done what she said.

  “Stand,” Lucifer commanded with all the patience of a starving dog thrown a fresh bone.

  Like a good girl, I obeyed. But I wasn’t a good girl; side effect of having the last name Dark.

  “You need something from me. What is it?” he asked. The cold detachment in his voice chilled my blood.

  This wasn’t how I imagined our first meeting would go. I thought…hell, I don’t know. I thought he would be happy to see me. Maybe offer some kind of comfort. A hint of recognition. Clearly, an unreasonable request from a man like my father.

  I wiped the dirt and grass from my clothes to buy a few moments to steady myself, prepare for the deal I needed to make. The Devil was right. I needed something from him. I’d come too far to change my mind.

  The image of Claudia curled on my bed, blood on her clothes, tears streaming down her face, reminded me that I wanted to go through this. I needed vengeance.

  “I summoned you to make a deal.”

  The Devil cocked an eyebrow. “You are aware of what making a deal with me means?”

  All too aware, but it wasn’t like I had a choice.

  “It would make me Inferi,” I answered. I didn’t truly grasp the meaning of the word. No one still living knew the true meaning.

  Inferi were legend. In the history of our people, there had only ever been two. Cutting a deal with my father would make me the third. The third firstborn daughter in three successive generations to strike a deal with the man who spawned us.

  In magick, three was always the most powerful number. It’s why Wyka daughters were born as triplets. Dark daughters started the same way. But by the time birth rolled around, only one of the fetuses typically survived. Such was our nature. Dark women hated competition, a trait coded into our DNA.

  While being the third Inferi to wield the power of three sounded nice in theory, Dark magick always came at a terrible price.

  The Devil approached. With him came the stench of Hell—burnt flesh, charred bones, and rotten misery. The same misery I’d bring to the world by doing this. Claudia needed justice. I needed vengeance. Not that I actually planned to go through with it. His part, yes. My part, not a chance.

  His clawed fingers scratched along my cheek, drawing blood. The Devil’s sign of affection. “You would give me control over your body, soul, and power?”

  No. But I needed to make him think I would.

  I nodded once, not trusting my voice to lie to the father of such things.

  Using the same claw he’d cut my cheek with, Dad sliced along his wrist. My blood was a thickening red. His was a fetid greenish-black. I flinched when he held his open wound to mine, our blood mixing for the first time.

  Sure, I was his daughter, but we didn’t share the same DNA. He’d used a shell to impregnate my mother, just like he’d done to her mother. Just like I’m sure he planned to do with me before making me his eternal weapon.

  This was different. An archangel’s blood now ran through my veins. It heightened my innate magick, pulled every hateful thought and deed to the surface. I swayed, woozy from the drunken high of Dark power.

  “You know what it is I wish from you. What is it you wish from me, daughter?”

  I licked my lips, tried to hold on to my sanity. There was still time. I could back out. Find another way to avenge Claudia.

  “I want the power that is mine by birthright. I want it now, instead of having to wait until my eighteenth birthday and the ritual. And I need a promise from you.”

  Dad cocked an eyebrow. Not many would’ve been bold enough to have asked for a promise. Everyone knew a promise was the one thing the Devil couldn’t keep. He’d want to keep this one.

  “This should be amusing,” he said, dryly, as if he’d never cracked a genuine smile in his entire existence.

  “I need you to promise that, when the time comes, you will take a soul to Hell. Not to regular Hell. I want his torture to be legendary. I want you to make an example of him so that every soul that ever was or ever will be knows what happens when you cross the Devil’s daughter.”

  By the time I’d finished my request, I was out of breath. I’d been running an anger marathon ever since Claudia came into my room. I could see the finish line, and only now realized how bone-deep my weariness went.

  Dad skimmed his finger over the cut he’d made on my cheek. The sensation of skin stitching back together felt strange. And yet, I knew that if he granted me my full power early, I could do the same on my own.

  “Daughter, you will make a perfect Inferi. Who is this soul? Name him, and I will claim him as you’ve asked.”

  I repeated the name Claudia had given me, bile rising to the back of my throat with every syllable.

  “As for your other request, not even I can control your magick. It is its own patient beast. But I can bestow upon you something temporary. Something to get the job done, as you humans would say.”

  My heart sank at the knowledge that he couldn’t give me my magick. How else was I supposed to trick the Devil if not with magick?

  “Having second thoughts, Daughter?” His nails tugged at strands of my red hair as he ran his hand over my head.

  How easily he could crush my skull. Slit my throat. Devour me with his gaping maw.

  I shook my head. “No. If you have power, I’ll take it. His eternal suffering is more important.”

  “We have a deal, then.” The Devil snapped his fingers and was gone.

  The night returned to its normal dark.

  6

  My hand covers my mouth to hide the surprised gasp followed by the strangled cry that tries to escape. Claudia is in trouble. The life-or-death kind.

  Claudia’s hands are bound behind her back with duct tape. Her ankles are secured as well. The wooden chair she’s in looks as if it could fall apart at any moment. So does Claudia. Black mascara streaks splotchy cheeks. Her frizzy, knotted brown hair sticks to her terrified face.

  Despite everything, she looks the same as when I tucked her into my bed almost twelve years ago—the last time I saw her. Porcelain skin. Thick dark brown hair. Eyes just as dark and rich. Cupid-bow lips that have the kind of natural pout that made all the boys in our class do anything for her.

  Now, those lips are puckered around a strip of fabric tied behind her head. She’s staring at the phone, deer-in-headlights style. “Help me,” she tries to say around the gag.


  Her situation is dire, clearly. She’s a prisoner, probably thinks she’s going to die. But the look of abject horror on her face seems a bit over-the-top. It’s a look I’d expect someone to wear when they discover ghosts are real. When a mundane sees magick for the first time. When the Devil appears in his true form.

  He wouldn’t, would he?

  In my peripheral vision, Dante shifts from one foot to the other. Or, shit. I don’t know. Maybe it was his twin. Hard to tell them apart. One thing is clear. Whatever’s on this video is about to get worse.

  “Hello, there, Kate.”

  My focus is all the way on the phone, on the voice that haunts my deepest nightmares. The world around me ceases to exist at the sound of his voice. It can’t be him. It’s impossible. He’s dead. I killed him. Made a deal with Dad to do it.

  When his face comes on screen, I forget how to breathe. Forget that I’m supposed to be a mundane now. Forget that the walls inside meant to hold dark forces back shouldn’t be allowed to crumble. To crack. To blast apart.

  “What in Hell?” The question falls from numb lips as I stare at Claudia’s stepfather. Well, his reanimated corpse, anyway. At the broken, tortured soul shoved back inside a broken, tortured shell.

  There’s only one being with enough power and access to make this happen. One being who happens to share my genetics. One being pissed off enough that I didn’t follow through with our deal.

  The Devil really is a fucking bastard.

  “Not in Hell anymore,” he says, his rotten green teeth filling the screen.

  Wait a minute. He just answered me. Which means this is live. Happening right now.

  “I understand you’re the reason I’m out. I’d thank you, but you’re the reason I went in in the first place.”

  “You son of a bitch!” My voice echoes around my tiny shop. Antique chests rattle on the floor. Drawers on wardrobes bang open and close. Some of the smaller items fall off their respective shelves.