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

by Adkins, Heather Marie

  “Seelie.”

  I bite my lip. That’s right. I remember now.

  Morty had led me through the castle walls and straight to these barracks. The long building with dozens of bunk beds had reminded me of a military school, and I’d lost my reserve. I’d tried to escape, elbowing Morty in the gut with all the strength I possessed.

  It hadn’t been enough.

  Before I could take three steps, Zander was there, standing in front of me with a malicious grin. A sharp sting had hit my chest, and I didn’t immediately realize it came from him. Unconsciousness had greeted me like a familiar friend.

  I sit all the way up, slumping against the hard metal at the head of the bed, the seriousness of my predicament threatens to overwhelm me, but I need answers. Without them, I can’t hope of getting out of here. “Why am I here?”

  I meant the barracks, but the stranger snorts and says, “The same reason all of us are here. Some stupid Fae magical orb marked us for abduction.”

  My eyes snap to hers. “You were taken, too?”

  She nods, a strand of red hair falling across her forehead. She brushes it aside. “Yes. All of us. And before you ask me why, I just told you all I know. An orb with some voodoo magic saw us in the human realm, and the queen of Seelie sent her sentries to get us. All so we can complete a contest.”

  That’s right. I remember now.

  “What’s the contest?”

  “No one knows, but it must be pretty serious. They’re training us like crazy.”

  She stands. “Speaking of training, you need to get up. Here.” She holds out a piece of fruit. It looks like a banana, except its skin is blue, not yellow. I eye it skeptically.

  “It’s good,” the girl assures me, waving it in front of my face. “It tastes like a cross between a grape and a banana. It should give you enough energy to survive today.”

  I take the offer, knowing I’m not in a situation where I can refuse. If what this girl says is true, I’m in for a rough day. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” She tugs on her shirt, and I notice she wears black leggings and a green tank-top. She’s even wearing tennis shoes.

  Seeing my observation, she smirks, but the amusement doesn’t reach her eyes. “One of the few mercies we’re given is wearing normal, human clothes while we train. I think male Fae like the way we look.” She gestures towards her body, then another pile of matching clothes located on the bench at the end of the bunk bed.

  I shove aside the blanket and freeze when I see the thin, white gown I’m wearing. I definitely don’t remember showering, but my clean skin shows no trace of the grime from lying in a field of flowers and running through a forest.

  “Don’t worry. None of them touched you. Me and a couple of other girls washed away the mud and helped you change.”

  A stuttered breath flows past my lips, and I try to hide the tremble in my hand. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” She gives me a knowing look. “I’m Jordan, by the way.”

  “Sera.”

  This time, her smile is kind, letting me see the type of girl she would’ve been before being abducted. Sweet and genuine. “Well, Sera. Eat up and change. We need to be in the training yard in ten minutes or else you’re in for an even worse first day than expected.”

  * * *

  I stand in the middle of a crowd of no more than thirty young women. A quick count has us at twenty-four, including myself. The training yard consists of a packed dirt floor surrounded by wooden posts reminiscent of a horse corral. Wooden staffs and swords are stored along the edge of the large space. A raised platform stands near the entrance gate.

  Jordan and I were the last to arrive. Curious and serious eyes had assessed me as we walked past the group to stand in the back. Aside from Jordan, none of the girls wore welcoming, or even kind, expressions. Glancing around, I see haunted eyes mixed with resigned, bored stares. That’s not the only thing I notice.

  Careful not to draw too much attention, I lean towards Jordan. “We all have red hair.” The bright color ranges in various shades among us, but not a single girl in the training yard lacks the rare hair color.

  “Wondered how long it would take you to notice. Yeah, we’re all gingers here.”

  “But why?” There’s no way it’s just a coincidence.

  “No one knows. For some reason, the orb only fixates on redheads. Or should I say, the queen does.”

  “The Seelie queen?” I don’t know why I ask. There’s only one queen Jordan could be talking about.

  “Yeah, but I wouldn’t talk about her so loud if I were you.” Jordan casts cautious glances around us, making me feel the need to do the same.

  None of the girls look our way. Their attention rests on the empty platform. Waiting.

  Their stoic expressions and unmoving stances put me on edge. “What are we waiting for?”

  Jordan doesn’t have the chance to answer. Five Fae exit the stone building behind the yard. I recognize Morty, Wyrd, and to my disdain, Zander. They no longer wear golden armor. Instead, their chests are covered by thick, wool tunics and leather trousers cover their legs, the fabric disappearing into sturdy combat boots. I don’t see any weapons, but that could be a trick. I wouldn’t put it past them to have daggers tucked into their boots or strapped to their legs. Two of the Fae are unfamiliar, but their broad builds and serious expressions make me think they’re sentries, too. One, in particular, looks noticeably menacing. There’s a hard glint to his eye as he stares forward. His body is stiff. His steps are almost robotic. Untold strength stretches underneath his skin, and instinct tells me to avoid that one at all cost.

  The group strides wordlessly to the platform and fan out into position, facing us.

  I tell myself not to shrink away or try to hide myself from view. I still don’t know what the heck I’ve gotten myself into, but at least I’m no longer alone in a forest. If I want to survive this ordeal, I know I need to be strong. I need to bide my time until I can find a way to escape and return home. Determined, I straighten my spine and roll my shoulders back, holding my head high.

  As if attracted to the aura of subtle defiance, Zander meets my eye. An eerie grin pulls his lips, and a chill courses through my veins, threatening to freeze me in place.

  Fortunately, Morty steps forward, and clears his throat. “Good morning, ladies.”

  A half-hearted chorus of “good morning” fills the early air. I glance at the sun and estimate it’s barely eight o’clock, but I could be wrong. I have no idea of how time works in the Fae Realm. The sun could rise at four in the morning as far as I know.

  “We will begin today sparring with staffs. Partner up.”

  The women around me move every direction, finding already established partners. I bite my lip. The trauma of elementary school gym class hits me, and I feel like I’m that ten-year-old waiting to be picked on a kick ball team when someone touches my arm.

  “Want to be partners?”

  I blow out a breath and give Jordan a grateful smile. “Sure.”

  We take our position on the edge of the group, farthest away from the platform. Jordan disappears briefly to retrieve two wooden staffs.

  Jordan returns just as Morty delivers the next instruction. “Defensive drills first. Begin.”

  Jordan widens her stance, placing her right foot slightly behind for balance. “Copy everything I do.”

  I oblige and step back, bending my knees to lower my center of gravity.

  Jorden tosses me a staff, and the smooth wood almost slips from my fingers. I’m grateful it’s been polished. Splinters are the worst.

  “Hold the staff in a neutral position, one palm facing you and the other facing away. You’ll be switching which one is which when we practice.”

  “Okay.” I adjusted my hands until the weight of the staff is distributed comfortably in my arms. If I had to guess, it weighs no more than five pounds. “Now what?”

  “Now, you’re going to try to strike first. Like this.�
�� Jordan demonstrates by swinging the top of her staff toward my right side, pulling back before she makes contact. She does the same move towards my left. Then, she uses the bottom end of the staff to sweep towards my lower half.

  “Feel free to attack in a random order, or you can start by going top to down, left then right.”

  The sound of wood cracking fills the air around us. A quick glance reveals the other girls aren’t holding back. The blows are fast and hard, but their girls on defense are swift as they block them with their own staffs.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Jordan smirks. “You won’t. Now, go.”

  I listen, only because I don’t want to risk drawing the Fae over when they see us not practicing. I adjust my grip, then use moderate force as I swing the staff at Jordan’s left shoulder.

  Her staff collides with mine, and the force reverberates back through my staff and up my arm. I release the staff with my left hand and shake out my tingling limb.

  “Good,” Jordan states, “but you need to hit harder. Try again.”

  Confident Jordan can defend herself, I attack again, this time on her right side. She deflects, but I come right back. Again, her staff meets mine in the air, preventing contact.

  We continue on this way for another ten minutes. My speed and force vary throughout the exercise, and a layer of sweat gathers on my forehead, but I don’t stop for a break. Jordan periodically offers a critique on my form, suggesting a better position, and she praises me when I make good strikes. I know this is strange to think, but I’m almost having fun. It feels good to move around and work my muscles. It’s also nice to take my mind of the reality of my situation, at least for a few minutes.

  “Halt.”

  Immediately, everyone lowers their staffs, turning towards the platform to await the next command. Using my forearm, I wipe the sweat from my brow, then dry my arm against my green tank top.

  “Switch roles.”

  Now, I’m on the defensive.

  Jordan takes it easy in the beginning. She moves slow, allowing me time to familiarize myself with how to move the staff to meet oncoming strikes. Once I get the hang of shifting the staff each direction, her speed increases, but she still softens the force of each blow.

  My arms burn, and my fingers protest the locked grip I keep them in. I deflect each one of Jordan’s assaults, and she smiles in encouragement, applying a little more power behind each subsequent strike.

  “Hit harder.”

  The smile fades from Jordan’s lips.

  I look up. Zander appears over her shoulder, accompanied by the menacing Fae, the one with the dead eyes. Unease clenches my stomach when the male’s hard gaze lands on me. I look away, almost forgetting to block Jordan as she sweeps down to hit my left leg. My staff hits hers, but she came close to making contact. I put a little oomph behind me as I shove her weapon away from my kneecap.

  “Hit harder,” Zander repeats. He speaks to Jordan, but I can feel his attention resting on me. I refuse to make eye contact. Jordan shoots me an apologetic glance before she obeys his command.

  Jordan’s staff slams into mine, almost knocking me off my feet. I stumble back to regain my footing. Holy cow. How is she so strong?

  Jordan advances, unable to give me a reprieve with our current audience. Her next blow lands its mark, and I gasp as hard wood collides with my soft stomach.

  I hunch over, trying to catch my breath.

  “Did I tell you to stop? Keep going!”

  Zander is an ass hole.

  Planting the end of the staff on the ground, I use it as leverage to push myself into a standing position. Jordan wields her weapon like it’s part of her body. She’s faster and stronger than I am. I know she doesn’t want to, but she’s going to beat the hell out of me if Zander doesn’t allow her to stop.

  I’m wondering why Zander would bother to abduct me only to kill me on my first day in Seelie when Jordan spins and takes another swing. I jump out of the way, barely avoiding the end of her staff. My foot lands awkwardly, and my ankle twists, taking me to the ground.

  “Ah!” I clutch my ankle, abandoning my staff.

  It’s a mistake.

  Jordan hadn’t expected my ankle to give out beneath me. She swings her weapon so it targets my left thigh. Or it would, if I were still standing

  Unable to pull back the attack in time, Jordan’s staff hits my head. The force knocks me onto my back, my gaze facing the bright sky. I mourn the fact the blow hadn’t rendered me unconscious. A splitting headache throbs throughout my skull. I close my eyes, willing the pain to go away.

  “Oh my god,” Jordan breathes. “Sera, I’m so sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing,” Zander barks. “Keep attacking.”

  “B-but she’s down.”

  “She hasn’t surrendered.”

  Surrendered? Weren’t we just practicing defensive maneuvers? Since when had this become a fight?

  “Continue,” Zander growls when Jordan doesn’t make a move to comply.

  Aside from the ringing in my ears, I realize the area around me has grown silent. None of the other girls are training. No doubt, my downfall caught their attention.

  “Enough!” Someone shouts from the distance. The voice sounds familiar, but I’m unable to identify it. I try to open my eyes, but the world spins. I close my eyelids tight, praying I don’t throw up.

  Feet shuffle around me, and I hear two sets of boots stomp closer. Again, I try to look and see who it is, but the pain is just too much.

  “Your Highness,” Zander adopts a submissive tone.

  Highness? Is he a prince? Why do I think I know a Fae prince?

  My thoughts are a jumbled mess, along with the rest of my brain. I can barely remember my own name, let alone why I think I know a prince.

  “What is the meaning of this?” The newcomer doesn’t sound happy. I want to smile, thinking his displeasure is focused on Zander, but even moving my lips makes me feel like my skull is about to crack open.

  “Training, Your Highness.”

  “It looks like you were instructing this girl to beat a fellow contestant,” a different male voice says. The words are soft, but that doesn’t make them any less frightening. His anger is obvious.

  “I’ve been tasked with preparing this batch of contestants to endure the grueling conditions of the contest. You know how dangerous the ordeal can be.”

  “I fail to see how beating an injured woman prepares her for the contest,” the original male growls low. Zander would be a fool to respond. It’s obvious the guy is about to lose his patience, and even in my condition, I can tell there is a promise of violence waiting to be unleashed.

  Unfortunately, Zander proves he is, indeed, not a fool. The snarky male remains silent, and I swear it’s like everyone around me holds a collective breath, waiting to see what will happen next.

  “Take her to the infirmary.”

  A pair of arms lift me from the ground, jostling my head. I groan and rest my head against a hard plate of metal. He must be a sentry, but I’m pretty sure he’s not one of the five originally in the training yard.

  Whoever carries me walks with a steady pace. His strong arms barely move, and my head is thankful. His steps shorten, and I feel him climb a set of stairs. This guy must be in crazy good shape. He’s not even breathing hard.

  “On second thought, Frederick, take her to my parlor. I’ll have the healer attend her there to avoid drawing the queen’s attention.”

  “As you wish, Prince Camden.”

  Camden.

  The name jogs my memory, and my eyes fly open. I immediately regret the move. I wince and my head falls back, banging against the chest plate.

  “Don’t move, Sera. Everything is going to be fine. Fae healers are very skilled, and you will be fixed in no time.”

  I ignore the prince’s soothing tone. I have no desire to be comforted by the Fae who could’ve helped me escape, but instead allowed his goons to take me to the castle.
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  “I’m fine. Take me back to the barracks.”

  “No. You suffered a massive blow to the head. Until a healer confirms there is no damage, you won’t be going back to the barracks.”

  “The blow wasn’t that bad.”

  “Trust me, I saw the blow. It was bad.”

  “You were watching me?” I wish I could open my eyes. I want to see his expression.

  “I often watch the training sessions.”

  Why don’t I believe him?

  “Seriously,” I take some of the anger out of my voice, hoping less animosity will convince him, “I’m okay. I don’t want any special treatment.”

  Today is my first day in Seelie, but I’ve already figured out most of the girls I share a barrack with aren’t people to be messed with. I don’t know much about this contest, but it obviously involves combat of some kind. If there is only one winner, I wouldn’t put it past some of my competitors to play dirty. And what better way to mark oneself as a target than to get preferential treatment from the prince of Seelie Court?

  “Many contestants are healed in the infirmary.” Prince Camden replies. I hear a door creak open and feel the temperature change as I’m carried inside. The Fae’s footsteps sound against the floor. I picture expensive marble tile.

  “But you told this guy to take me to your parlor,” I point out indignantly.

  “My name is Frederick.”

  I lift my chin in the direction I imagine Frederick’s head to be, keeping my eyes safely shut. “Right. I’m Sera. Nice to meet you. Now, will you put me down?”

  “Afraid not.” He replies bluntly, but I detect a hint of amusement. I’m turned sideways and lowered onto a soft couch. My head is gently placed on an armrest.

  “Just relax,” the prince says, sounding like he stands near the other end of the couch, next to my feet. “The healer will be here shortly.”

  I hear retreating footsteps. A door opens, then closes. Frederick must’ve gone to go get the healer.

  “Fine,” I huff, crossing my arms. I’m sure I look ridiculous, throwing a tantrum with my eyes closed. Honestly, I feel like I should be freaking out more. I woke up in an unfamiliar place this morning, momentarily forgetting I’d been abducted from my home, with very little memory of the finer details of my life, and I’d almost been knocked unconscious by the only girl who seemed remotely interested in being nice to me. If there was ever a time for me to lose my cool, now would be it.