Sun Broken: A Wild Hunt Novel, Book 11

by Yasmine Galenorn

  Sun Broken

  A Wild Hunt Novel, Book 11

  Yasmine Galenorn

  A Nightqueen Enterprises LLC Publication

  Published by Yasmine Galenorn

  PO Box 2037, Kirkland WA 98083-2037

  SUN BROKEN

  A Wild Hunt Novel

  Copyright © 2020 by Yasmine Galenorn

  First Electronic Printing: 2020 Nightqueen Enterprises LLC

  First Print Edition: 2020 Nightqueen Enterprises

  Cover Art & Design: Ravven

  Art Copyright: Yasmine Galenorn

  Editor: Elizabeth Flynn

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any format, be it print or electronic or audio, without permission. Please prevent piracy by purchasing only authorized versions of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, or places is entirely coincidental and not to be construed as representative or an endorsement of any living/ existing group, person, place, or business.

  A Nightqueen Enterprises LLC Publication

  Published in the United States of America

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Welcome to Sun Broken

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Cast of Characters

  Timeline of Series

  Playlist

  Biography

  Acknowledgments

  Welcome back into the world of the Wild Hunt. We’re at book eleven, and the start of the second story arc. The future is looming dark as Typhon rises and his emissaries begin to emerge. I love the world of the Wild Hunt, and am so grateful you do too. It’s become a living, breathing entity in my thoughts and imagination.

  Thanks to my usual crew: Samwise, my husband; Andria, and Jennifer—without their help, I’d be swamped. To the women who have helped me find my way in indie, you’re all great, and thank you to everyone. To my wonderful cover artist, Ravven, for the beautiful work she’s done.

  Also, my love to my furbles, who keep me happy. My most reverent devotion to Mielikki, Tapio, Ukko, Rauni, and Brighid, my spiritual guardians and guides. My love and reverence to Herne, and Cernunnos, and to the Fae, who still rule the wild places of this world. And a nod to the Wild Hunt, which runs deep in my magick, as well as in my fiction.

  You can find me through my website at Galenorn.com and be sure to sign up for my newsletter to keep updated on all my latest releases! If you liked this book, I’d be grateful if you’d leave a review—it helps more than you can think.

  Brightest Blessings,

  ~The Painted Panther~

  ~Yasmine Galenorn~

  Welcome to Sun Broken

  Sometimes, all you can hope for is to make it through the storm intact…

  Typhon, the Father of Dragons, is waking up. Amid the fallout, a serial killer with a hidden agenda emerges, targeting necromancers, psychics, and anyone who can control or deal with the dead. When the cops can’t find a clue as to who’s doing this, and the body count rises, the deputy mayor approaches Herne and the Wild Hunt, asking for their help.

  Ember and the Wild Hunt head out on the trail of the killer, only to find themselves drawn into the dark underbelly of the Vampire Nation as they try to prevent the assassin from striking again. But the killer’s far more dangerous than anyone predicted, and next in the line of danger is Raven BoneTalker. Can Ember and Herne keep her safe, or will the killer slide beneath their radar and claim Raven as their next victim?

  Reading Order for the Wild Hunt Series:

  Book 1: The Silver Stag

  Book 2: Oak & Thorns

  Book 3: Iron Bones

  Book 4: A Shadow of Crows

  Book 5: The Hallowed Hunt

  Book 6: The Silver Mist

  Book 7: Witching Hour

  Book 8: Witching Bones

  Book 9: A Sacred Magic

  Book 10: The Eternal Return

  Book 11: Sun Broken

  Book 12: Witching Moon (coming)

  Book 13: Autumn’s Bane (coming)

  Chapter One

  The new moon had just passed, and the only sign of her presence was a thin crescent as she moved into her waxing cycle. I gazed up at the sliver of light as I waited beside the massive maple tree in the park. The leaves were almost full size, and they whispered lightly in the April night. We were into a warm streak, with the days running in the high sixties and the nights in the upper fifties. Beltane was nearing—a little over two weeks away—and I could feel the energy build, especially when I was around Herne. It had been a year since he had come into my world and changed everything in my life.

  I turned at a low huffing sound and there he stood, my magnificent god, in his alter shape. The silver stag glimmered, brilliant and luminous, his back as tall as me, antlers rising like silver tines against the shroud of darkness that surrounded us.

  He slowly approached me and I bowed my head. I always felt his divinity more when he was in his stag form. He leaned down to breathe against my cheek and the scent of his musk swept over me. I threw my arms around his neck, gazing into those sloe eyes, and pressed my face against his throat.

  “I love you,” I whispered. “I cannot believe how much I’ve come to love you.”

  He gently stepped away from me, kneeling onto his front knees. I swung up onto his back and leaned forward, bracing myself with my hands on either side of his neck. He stood, waiting for me to give him the signal.

  When I was properly situated, I said, “I’m ready,” and we were off, racing through the woods under the pale moonlight. Herne wove through the trees toward a ravine, and down we went, through the undergrowth, a blur of movement. In his silver stag form, Herne could move faster than any normal stag or elk. This was his domain. The forest was his world, and as Lord of the Hunt, he ruled over it with his father, Cernunnos, the Lord of the Forest. Together, they embodied the woodlands of the world, and their presence was within every leaf of every tree, every animal that called the forest home. They embodied the wild, and ran with the Wild Hunt.

  And…Herne was my boyfriend.

  That last thought made me laugh. It seemed so mortal, but the gods shared a number of traits with mortals, with the Fae, the humans, and shifters alike. And when I had gone to work for the Wild Hunt—the agency, not the actual Hunt—a year ago, I had quickly fallen for Herne, and he had, against all odds, fallen for me.

  I wasn’t sure how long we had been running, it could have been five minutes or twenty, but Herne pulled to a stop next to a trickling stream. The greater Seattle area was rife with both ravines and streams, and the forest wild permeated the cities around the area with tenacious fingers, large swaths spreading between the condos and skyscrapers, shading the spacious streets of the city. The grass and weeds continuously broke through the concrete on sidewalks, jutting up through the cracks to prove that nothing manmade could keep the wild at bay for long.

  Herne kneeled and I slid off his back, my thighs warm from pressing against his sides. I wandered over to the stream, kneeling beside the bank. The water played like music and I could sense there were several elementals n
earby, dancing through the eddies and swirls that splashed over the stones at the bottom of the streambed.

  Here in Western Washington, almost all creeks trickled over a bed of the rounded river rocks that had been left in the wake of the alluvial deposits. As I reached toward the whitecaps, a spray of water rose up, forming into a translucent being that was vaguely humanoid. It reached out and touched my fingers, and I closed my eyes as we met.

  I know you. You are one of the water Fae.

  The thought came unspoken, filling my mind. Only it wasn’t a thought in words, but in emotions—a sense of familiarity. I smiled at the gentle mind-touch.

  Like recognizes like. I am part Leannan Sidhe, I answered. How are things here in the park? Is everything going as it should? I patterned the thoughts into emotions and images that the water elemental would understand.

  Herne and I were reconnoitering. We had heard rumors that there were unnatural forces stirring in the park. Given the current state of affairs, we had decided to check it out for ourselves. There was too much at stake to just hope for the best or rely on rumor.

  The elemental paused, then I felt a quiver of fear coming from it.

  I have seen nothing unusual, but something is approaching. There are those who have rested in the arms of the forest for many years, deep in their death sleep, who are now slumbering uneasily. Their bodies are long gone but their spirits are approaching a wakeful state. What lures them out of their long sleep, I do not know.

  And with that, the water spirit dove into the stream and flowed back into the current, and within seconds, it was gone.

  “What did it say?” Herne asked from behind me.

  I turned to face him. He was in his human shape now, rugged and gorgeous, with shoulder-length hair the color of wheat that was approaching his mid-back. I’d asked him to let it grow—I loved a man with long hair, and Herne wore it well. He had a five-o’clock shadow, the stubble making his jaw look even stronger, and his eyes were cornflower blue. He was wearing a pair of dark jeans and a leather jacket over a dark blue muscle shirt. His belt buckle—a silver stag—gleamed in the dim light from the sliver of moon overhead. I had given it to him on Valentine’s Day, and he wore it constantly now. He was wearing motorcycle boots, with chains and studs.

  “According to the elemental, the spirits who have made their rest in the park are waking up. From what I gathered, given the images it showed me, these are mostly spirits of Native Americans who died on this land before any settlers came in, though there are also some of the settlers here, and a few people who’ve been murdered here. They’re all spirits who should have moved on, who should be long gone. As to what’s responsible for waking them up, I have no idea and neither did the water spirit.” I rubbed my chin, glancing around us.

  The Seattle area had been inhabited for at least four thousand years, first by the earliest Coast Salish natives, and then, starting in the mid-1800s, by European settlers coming in. Plenty of people had lived and died in the area.

  Herne regarded me gravely. “Typhon?”

  I pressed my lips together, then let out a sigh. “Probably.”

  “Reports are coming in from Mielikki’s Arrow, Odin’s Chase, and all the other agencies like ours. This is happening worldwide. Typhon may still be in the process of waking, but his reach is extending out to affect all areas of the world.” Herne sat down on a nearby boulder, frowning. “We knew this was coming.”

  “I know.” I didn’t want to think about it, but we had to face the fact that we were running on borrowed time. It wouldn’t be long and the world would be a chaotic mess when the dead returned, in both spirit and physical form. And all we could do was wait, and take care of the collateral damage when it arose.

  “Come here.” He held out his arms.

  I sat on his knee, leaning against him as he wrapped his arms around me. He reached up to kiss my nose, the warmth of his breath stirring my blood. I moaned gently as his tongue slid between my lips, and he shifted, lifting me into his arms as he stood. He carried me over to a mossy bank beside the stream and lay me down, kneeling beside me.

  “Jeans off,” he whispered.

  I unbuckled my belt and unzipped, sliding my jeans down, along with my underwear. As I tugged them off over my boots, he whipped off his belt, then followed suit, his jeans down by his knees. He was facing me as I lay back on the grass, his eyes glowing in the darkness surrounding us. The fire rose inside me, and I pulled up my shirt and began to finger my nipples beneath the lace of my bra. Herne let out a wicked laugh and knelt between my thighs, his tongue searching for my center, bathing me lightly at first and then harder. I caught my breath and reached down to tangle my fingers in his hair.

  He wrapped his hands around my hips, holding me firmly as the swirl of his tongue drove the fire higher. I moaned, wanting to feel him inside me, wanting him to drive the length of his shaft deep into my core.

  “Fuck me,” I whispered, reaching down to pull him up.

  Herne’s eyes glinted, shining as they began to glow. He let out a low grunt and grabbed hold of me, rolling so I was on top. I slid down on his shaft, dropping my head back as I braced myself against him, hand to hand. I laughed, feeling wanton and powerful, and as I began to ride him, he laughed again, lifting me up as he thrust to meet me.

  I let go of his hands and he clasped my waist. “Touch yourself,” he ordered.

  I reached down with one hand to slide my fingers across my clit, and with my other, I cupped my breast, shaking my hair out to stream down my back.

  I rode him hard, and as the stars began to wheel overhead, I felt dizzy with our passion. With one swift move, he smoothly rolled me over, still inside me, and began to drive himself deep into me, his chest pressed against mine.

  “You’re mine, love. You belong to me,” he said, his voice husky. His eyes were glowing fully now and he began to thrust in earnest, driving me hard against the soft moss below us. The scent of spring soil rose to greet us, mixed with the spray of the stream. The smell of wild roses surrounded us, heady and intoxicating. I closed my eyes, merging into the energy of the Hunt. Herne was everywhere around me, and the feel of the forest called to my blood, to my heritage.

  I let go, spiraling into the web we wove between us. The magic of our sex built the world anew each time we came together. As we renewed our passion and our love, I could sense the journey stretching out ahead of us. It was still new, but I had set foot on a road from which I couldn’t turn away. I had made my decision, and nothing in the world would ever be the same.

  “Ember, my love,” he whispered as he gave one final thrust and then stiffened, pinning me to the earth below. I let go even as he did, capitulating as the waves dragged me under. As I sank into the orgasm, the world expanded, the storm shaking me to the core. I burst into tears, overwhelmed, and pulled him tightly against me.

  Herne rested his head on my breast, breathing hard as the ripples of our climax began to subside. After a moment, he raised his head, his hair tickling me as it trailed down to caress my skin. “Never leave me,” he whispered. “Stay with me, Ember. Please.”

  I gazed deep into his eyes, and right there, right then, I realized that I had everything I wanted in my life. “I don’t plan on going anywhere,” I whispered back, kissing him on the nose. “I don’t think I could leave if I wanted to. You and I are too tightly bound for me to leave you. You’ve become a part of my life, a part of my world. A part of me.”

  He kissed me again, and we rested in the shade of the forest as the stars continued to wheel overhead in the darkened sky.

  On our way back to his house, I found my thoughts returning to the park. Even though I had been focused on sex, the moment we dressed I began to notice the energy that the elemental had warned us about. The forest felt uneasy, and though the magic from our union had calmed the immediate area, it didn’t take long for it to begin to feel agitated again.

  “Can you feel it?” I asked.

  Herne gave me a solemn nod. �
��Actually, yes. The forest is ill at ease. I’ll come out later and speak to the trees, see if they have anything to tell me.” He shook his head. “I fear we haven’t even begun to see the effects that Typhon will bring with him.”

  Typhon was the Father of Dragons, a Titan who had been cast into stasis thousands of years ago, but now had managed to shake himself out of his slumber. And as he woke, the dead would follow him, returning from the spirit world to enter ours, for he was born of Tartarus—the god who meted out punishment to the dead.

  We had been preparing for Typhon’s arrival for several months, ever since Cernunnos and Morgana had first warned us of his approach. While we at the Wild Hunt Agency couldn’t take him on, we were assigned to take care of collateral damage while the gods worked together to find a way to drive him back into stasis. So far, they didn’t have a clue on how to do that.

  “Come, let’s get home before sunrise,” Herne said, stepping back from me. I shielded my eyes as he transformed into his stag self. The light was so bright that it almost blinded me. As he knelt for me again to straddle his back, I couldn’t help but wonder how many nights we would have left to run free in the woods and make love under the stars. How long before Typhon stretched out his wings to cover the light? And how much longer before our days—and our nights—were spent chasing down the dead?

  But at least, Herne would be at my side, and for that, I was ever grateful.

  My name is Ember Kearney, and I’m a tralaeth. That’s an ugly word that I’ve reclaimed. I’m half–Dark Fae and half–Light Fae, and according to the Fae Courts, never the twain should meet. But they did, in the forms of my father, who was Dark Fae, and my mother, who belonged to the Light Court. When I was fifteen, they were murdered for daring to love across borders, and as the product of their love, I was considered untouchable in the Fae Courts, a half-breed who shouldn’t exist. As far as I was concerned, they could all go fuck themselves. My parents’ families had been in on the double murder, and I had no use for any of them save for one uncle whom I had only recently met.