by CK Dawn
“Clarice isn’t that good.” Doque rolled his eyes.
“According to who?” Jasper shot back.
Nice, Quill thought, knowing Jasper long enough to know he was bluffing.
“Ten,” Doque offered after a tension-filled silence.
“Throw in that one and you have a deal.” Jasper nodded his head at Quill. “Good for the next twenty seconds.”
“I don’t know, Jasper,” Doque said, running his hand up Quill’s thigh and sliding a finger in her vagina. With a smile into Quill’s horrified eyes he removed his finger with needless insolence and sucked like it was a grape ice pop. “Reggie over there’s been waiting a while for a taste.” He threw an apologetic glance at Reggie who, though bloody, waited with baited breath alongside the hsigo.
“I’m helping you out here, boss. Think they’re gonna stop squabbling if you give Quill to Reggie? Ten seconds.”
With a scowl Doque conceded. “Done.” He nodded at Fish who unhooked Quill and pushed her at Jasper who shouldered her behind him, ignoring Reggie’s anguished moan and the hsigo’s bellow of rage.
Safe for the moment, Quill fell to her knees and held her pulpy wrists to Buddha. She rolled her eyes to Ch’in as the analgesic properties in the gryphonita’s potent salvia hit her like a shot of heroin and smiled drunkenly. “Love you,” she sang, her body swaying to a tropic baseline only she could hear.
“Oh, Quillya,” Ch’in lamented, pulling off his raw silk jacket, arranging it about her shoulders and threading the artistic knots through their waiting loops.
Ignoring the scene behind him, Jasper placed Dragon on the elaborately embroidered rug before Doque, elated when the prince immediately knelt to attend her instead of ordering food and wine, as was his custom.
Placing a hand over Dragon’s belly button, Doque referred to a vision only he could see and used a finger to apparently align objects before manipulating the area lower to somehow solidify his commands.
“How are you doing that?” Jasper forgot himself enough to ask.
Doque’s roar was animalistic, his most authentic self, silencing Jasper.
Jasper sank to his knees, bowing his head deferentially to the jigger of concentrated fae only the Shade or the Sun were capable.
After many minutes of tense silence, Doque stood, exhaustion aging him worse than a terminal illness. “She’s empty,” he said, his voice overflowing with despair before staggering to his knees.
Wrapping his arms around the larger man’s waist, Fish steadied his master and guided him to the elaborate bed at the center of the room.
“Ch’in,” Jasper called, kneeling over his daughter.
“Her energy is—” Ch’in said, allowing his palms to hover an inch above her body “—better.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Still fractured, but in bigger, more manageable pieces.”
“I can heal her,” Quill said, gripping Jasper’s arm.
“Get your fucking hands off of me,” Jasper said, gathering Dragon in his arms. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’d ever let you near my kid again.”
“Enough!” Ch’in stood. “I know what must be done,” he said, his compassionate gaze touching Quill briefly. “We must get her home.” He pulled Quill to her feet and ushered her through the Shade’s bedroom door.
“I’ll be in touch, Phooka,” Doque said, standing with Fish’s aid.
“As you will, my liege,” Jasper said, addressing the Prince of Shadows respectfully for the first time in their long acquaintance.
“Ten years, Jasper,” Doque reminded him.
“Better make them count,” Jasper answered as he followed Buddha’s tail out of the room.
When they’d left, Doque extracted himself from Fish’s hold, the need to appear weakened no longer necessary.
“Empty.” Doque’s growl echoed, portending doom the way no thunderclap could. Appearing calm, he walked to the well-stocked bar in the corner of the room and reached for a bottle.
Fish watched, praying that he would choose whiskey, Scotch, vodka, anything to dampen the anger that assuredly darkened the entire back nine like a plague of locusts. Knowing his master well and knowing too that the Shade’s rage would be most destructive within the vicinity of his shadow, Fish sprinted for the door, Reggie on his heels. The hsigo, not as attuned to the Shade’s anger, could only squeak before his ribs caved in and his innards were pressed out to splat against the walls. Reggie, all but one leg over the threshold of the bedroom managed to gasp “Master” even as the bones in his thigh and calf were crushed.
It was enough. Light returned and the killing pressure eased.
“Get up!” Fish whispered to Reggie, and peeked into the bedroom. “You.” He motioned to Clarise crouched behind a branch of the great tree. Her presence was unsurprising and, at such times, a required part of her responsibilities. “Help him,” he said and reentered the bedroom.
“Jasper reeked of undertow,” Doque blithely commented, finally pouring himself a drink. “That may be of use in the future. In the meantime, send him to relieve Ché.”
“Ché won’t be pleased,” Fish said, staring at the dead hsigo and making a mental note to have the palace cleaners use the stain removing concoction Patty had created to combat last year’s Pan’s feast staining excesses, most of which continued to twitch long after the celebration ended.
“His performance in the Sun has been mediocre. You’re welcome to add him to your harem if he balks. See what the Phooka can accomplish given the same budget and let him know that if he doesn’t locate my magic, I’ll kill the girl and give the goddess to the entire hsigo guard.”
“Yes, my lord. Can I get you anything before I go?” Though Fish’s gaze was neutral, his wildly swishing tail revealed his eagerness to be a balm to his agitated master.
Hauling his shirt over his head, Doque smiled. “No, thank you, Fish. I’m going out.” He stretched his neck and triceps before inhaling and exhaling several measured breaths, then like a chameleon, his hair and body darkened until they took on the tones of a human of Mediterranean descent. Loud cracks echoed throughout the room as his bones broke and reformed, making him nearly two feet shorter; his nose longer and his eyes an unremarkable brown. His sweats fell off his smaller body and his genitals shrank to less than quarter of their normal size, completely disproportionate to the new body the Shade inhabited.
He inflated them experimentally, watching as Fish discarded his calm façade and fell to his knees.
“You need not subject yourself to the inconvenience of going into the city. I am happy to serve you, Father,” he begged.
“I know you are. Later, perhaps,” Doque said, his gravelly voice gone, exchanged for distinctly uneducated accents. “Right now, I need to think. Where’s the orange jumpsuit?” Doque said, shortening the cock of his parolee costume.
Fish nodded to the alcove, his disappointment obvious as he watched Doque’s new, flatter ass disappear in the closet. When the Shade reappeared he was dressed in the disguise that lured even the most suspicious prudes to their knees.
“Don’t wait up.”
Fel stared out the window at the dark stone pathways and the gurgling water of the tiered square fountain and sighed contentedly. He was safe here—he knew that much at least—and finished. No more wars to fight, no more ends to meet, no more bitterness to swallow. Memories of a glass koi fish and a longing for its contents, and for acceptance sparkled and disappeared like fireworks.
Wherever this was, nourishment was boundless, love was at his fingertips and peace was finally his to command. And time, this too was his. Finally, time to enchant and be enchanted, to lead and follow, to hunger and feast. Endless time to choose. Stay or go. Past or present. Live or die.
Choose...no strings.
Outside, fat, perfectly formed snowflakes mingled with cherry blossom petals as they both danced and floated to the ground, softening the gray landscape with a hint of blush. A vermillion flycatcher chirped its distress at this u
ncommon struggle between the stubborn snowfall of the dead and the vibrant first steps of the living.
A pair of warm, brown hands slid around his waist, a dragon wyrm tattoo curling about her wrist. He smiled as she snuggled against his back, her nipples pressing into his flesh and her soft belly heating the curve of his ass as her diaphragm expanded and contracted.
She pressed three quick kisses against his shoulder blade, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor before a downy-stuffed thump indicated she’d retreated to the large futon that took up a shadowy corner of the room.
“Oral’s fifty and is included in the straight sex package,” he said, turning and leaning against the cool panes of the window. “The kinky package includes any dom-sub scenario requiring restraints and/or corporeal punishment. Additional implements such as paddles or enemas are available for an extra fee. I’m also running a special,” he added, his hooded gaze fixed on her as she placed her palms behind her and, bracing her weight on her straightened arms, slowly opened her bent legs wide. “Anything I want,” he continued, drawing closer to the futon so he could kneel in front of her. “For as long as I want.”
She hummed as if considering her options. “I’ll definitely take the special. Only the minute the snow stops, I gotta be on my way.”
“Then I’ll make sure the snow never stops.” He smiled, running his hand up her calf and over her knee, the precise scars of stylized ivy and thorn that described his antecedents changing to match the colored dragon roaring on her flesh.
“How? Spring is—” Her voice hitched as his fingers slipped down her thigh and hovered over her dampening vagina. “Here.” Her head fell back when he lightly touched her, but she continued. “Winter reaches,” she gasped. “A last-ditch effort then fades away.”
“I can find it,” he said, dragging his lips along her exposed neck, his skin darkening to a metallic gold in places, decadent eggplant and sin-free red in others. “I can always find it.”
“Can you?” she murmured, allowing her arms to slowly slide out from under her, sighing when she landed on her back. With a smile she opened her eyes and met his—a molten reflective silver. Cupping his face tenderly she said, “Can you really?”
“Always.”
Can Charlie and Saras find a way to bring their friends back from the afterlife? Stay tuned for Air, book two in the Unbound Realms series, and sign up for my newsletter to be the first to know about release dates, giveaways and other announcements!
About the Author
Joss Dey writes emotionally-driven urban fantasies that explore questions about love, family and self amidst bizarre creatures, odd goings on and the end of the world from her basement office in the ghetto in New Haven, Connecticut.
Read more from Joss Dey:
www.jossdey.com/
Karen, I wouldn’t have started this Grand Endeavor without you, and couldn’t have finished without you either. Your encouragement has been as constant as your friendship. Both have meant the world.
Acknowledgments
Many grateful thanks to the Plotmonkeys: Karen Pinco, Kristan Higgins, Jennifer Iszkiewicz and Huntley Fitzpatrick. Laughing with you and working on our books has made me a better writer, even when I didn’t really feel like writing.
Thank you to CTRWA. Nothing has made me believe I could be a writer like this organization has.
Thank you to Professor Steinbrink who suggested that I take this leap all those years ago.
Crescent Rogue
Axelle Chandler
Crescent Rogue © copyright 2017 Axelle Chandler
* * *
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.
Crescent Rogue
Every new beginning must come from an end, and with each defeat a new future is born.
The first memory Boone has is running.
Hunted by magical forces beyond his understanding, he crash lands in the forest outside the sleepy Irish village of Derrydun. It’s there he meets the odd and slightly eccentric Aileen, the last of the Crescent Witches…and discovers he’s lost who he is.
Boone is a shapeshifter, a human born with extraordinary powers, and he’s wanted. By what or whom, he doesn’t remember.
With his memory locked away by unknown forces, he soon learns there is nothing he can do to regain them…unless he steps outside of the protection of the ancient hawthorn and faces the darkness that awaits him.
When he finally gathers the courage to cross the boundary, what he finds is only the beginning of his problems.
Magic is being hunted…to extinction.
One
I was running.
Placing one paw in front of the other, I hurdled over fallen logs, wove through russet-colored ferns, and dodged trickling streams. I was lightning across the landscape, darkness nipping at my heels. Wolves were leaping behind me, saliva flying from their snapping jaws as they gained on my sleek form.
Red fur flew as jagged teeth crunched around my hind leg, and I yelped, twisting and rolling. Forcing the will to escape through my body, my bones snapped, and my fur began to grow.
Then I was flying, my wings beating faster and faster until I broke through the forest canopy and into the night sky, leaving the wolves behind on the ground below. Before long, black shadows broke away from the darkness above and fell, darting past my beak and buffeting my small body.
Danger! It permeated every sense, and I knew they would kill me if I were caught.
I dove, spiraling and zigzagging across the sky, the shadows bubbling and bulging until they formed the shape of a hundred inky ravens. As they whipped past me, their beaks and claws tore at my fragile wings, pulling feathers free and drawing blood. A shrill peal of alarm pierced the air, my beak opening and snapping at my attackers.
They buffeted me from side to side, swarming and smothering until I closed my wings and dove. My neck extended, my body straightened, and I broke through the trees and collided with a branch. There was a shower of leaves as I tumbled, slamming into another bough, and then another before slamming onto the forest floor. I rolled, my bones snapping and changing, stars bursting through my vision and fire tearing through my body.
The world spun, tumbling over and over, and then I was flat on my face, coming to an ungraceful stop in a clearing. Covering my face with my arms, a strangled moan tore from my lips, but the ravens didn’t come. Peering at the sky, it was clear. The only thing that bore witness to the abrupt end to my flight was the thousands of stars twinkling down on me.
My hands curled through the undergrowth, dirt lodging under broken fingernails and leaf litter scratching against my palms. I was a man again, but how I knew was a mystery. The first thing I remembered was the four red paws of a fox and the white, speckled wings of a gyrfalcon. I was all three of those things, but I couldn’t remember why.
Ahead, I heard the constant sound of crashing water. It was falling from a great height, slamming into a pool below, and the hiss of the wet spray showering on the rocks was barely audible above the din. Beside me was the snarled trunk of an ancient hawthorn tree, its branches bowing over the edge of the clearing like an umbrella.
When I rolled over, everything hurt. From the tips of my toes to the very hair on my hea
d, there was pain. Moaning, I was aware I was completely naked, my skin bare to the sky above…and I was bleeding from what felt like a thousand cuts. The ravens had almost torn me limb from limb, but why?
Why?
Rustling drew my attention to the edge of the clearing, and my head snapped up. I almost expected the wolf pack to step from the darkness, their silver eyes glowing, their jaws snapping and thirsting for the kill, but it wasn’t the wolves at all.
It was a woman. She was tall and slender, and her black hair was flecked with strands of silver. As she stepped into the moonlight, the air seemed to shimmer around her.
“Fanacht amach,” I said with a raspy voice, attempting to drag myself toward the hawthorn tree. It felt safe there, the branches beckoning me under their canopy. “Fanacht amach.” Stay Away.
“Are you all right?” the woman asked, taking another step closer.
“Cé hé mise?” I asked, my voice sounding strange to my ears. “Cé hé mise?” Who am I?
I curled up against the trunk of the hawthorn, shielding my nakedness from the strange woman. I beat my fists against my head, my memory full of darkness and pain. “Cé hé mise?”
“Irish,” the woman murmured to herself. To me, she asked, “Can you understand English? An bhfuil Béarla agat?”
Fisting my hands into my hair, I nodded. “Yes.”
“What’s your name?”
“Di…” I began, my tongue thickening in my mouth. No, that wasn’t right. “Di…” I tried again, but my mind filled with noise. “I don’t know.”
She smiled softly. “I’m Aileen,” she said. “It seems you’ve forgotten some things.”
I cowered against the tree as she edged closer, fearful this was another trick. The sky was full of shadows that had turned into ravens. Maybe the woman would raise her hand and finish what had begun with the wolves.