by Rebecca Main
“That’s because all that matters regarding the bedroom is the size of the bed,” he sasses back, a sly grin curving upwards on his handsome face.
“Don’t start,” I warn, sending a scalding look over my shoulder. “If I’m going to live here I want it to feel like home, and I don’t like dark color schemes like this. They’re too moody.”
“I rather think it sets the mood,” he purrs, prowling into the room.
“For depression,” Irina deadpans, delivering the same look to her brother. Ryatt halts, features ruffling back into the stormy frown.
“Isn’t it time you moved out, little sister?”
She flutters her eyelashes at him, “Why I’d love to, brother dearest. Then I’ll set about painting my room some dark and dreary blue to set the mood for all my guests.” A thunderous expression flashes behind his eyes, lips thinning.
“You’re not leaving this house until you’re married,” he promises darkly, sulking away.
“Such a drama queen,” Irina murmurs, focus turned back onto an orangish-red color called Burnt Sienna. “How do you like this with the off-white trimming?”
“You’re all drama queens,” I’m quick to assure her, continuing before she can protest, “and I like it. Not as much as the cloud dust color we looked at earlier.” She shrugs, pocketing the few samples we both agree on and roaming the edges of the room with a critical eye.
“This could be quite the costly renovation,” she tells me with a conspiring grin.
I smirk back. “My thoughts exactly, which is why I need to go bug the Alpha about a certain paycheck I’m still owed.”
Irina blinks owlishly back at me for a moment, the grin stalled on her face before it splits open into a wide smile. “Are you still going to make him pay you?”
“Obviously,” I tell her with a fierce nod of my head. “I got the crystal back, didn’t I?”
“Plus interest,” she quips. We share a look at the thought of Luna, the naïve fairy who had been transported to our world through the crystal.
“Plus a headache,” I amend.
“Maybe you can squeeze a few extra grand out of my brother for some kind of restitution for your fallen friend,” she comments blithely.
I don’t take her casual words too personally. They aren’t meant to harm, but they bring up a familiar sadness. Irina’s eyes and mind are already absorbed back on the task at hand as I wander to my suitcase near the end of the bed. Perhaps I had some photo on my laptop of the M and I together at some point? It wasn’t the smartest thing to have on hand, being a thief and all—well, former thief—but exceptions could be made.
In my search, my hands catch upon a large envelope.
Pulling it out, my eyes alight with recognition: my last job proposal. I hadn’t bothered to look it over too carefully with the Degas on my mind. The turnaround time hadn’t seemed worth the effort for Mr. Vrana’s needs. My fingers flick through the papers, idly taking in bits of information here and there about the item in want.
“Irina,” I call calmly. She hums distractedly in response. “What’s your favorite jewel?”
“Sapphire,” she responds immediately, eyes darting suspiciously to me and the files in my hand. “Why?”
“What about amethyst?” Our gazes lock. Irina comes to my side and takes the paper I offer.
“Well, well, well,” she murmurs, a devious tint to her voice, much like the one Ryatt owns. “It looks like you have one last job to complete. It looks like a big job. No doubt you’ll need the whole packs help for this one.” We share a smile. I would indeed.
Wardens of Starlight
Wardens of Starlight | Contents
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
Epilogue
Connect with Rebecca Main
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Amethysts of the Aztecs
Relics line the walls of the atrium. Sacred hammers and swords. Vinewood wands and staffs of yew. Rings of amethyst, pearl, and pewter. Each with their own unique history and power. Some forged by gods of old. Others by those of new. I’m still learning them all. The Wardens of Starlight seems to have an almost endless supply.
Five months into my training as a Starlight Warden and I have only just finished learning the upper level of relics housed in the atrium. Five months since I was reassigned from the Stellar Warriors and sent here, to the Banks Facility. The Starlight Council had called it a blessing. A righting of a wrong. I’ve lost count of how many people told me that I was lucky to be reassigned as a Starlight Warden. After all, among my kind, women weren’t seen as "well suited" for the call of a Stellar Warrior. No. They are much better suited for other trades. Trades such as Shadow Scouts or Occult Scholars. Even a Weapons Master is better suited for a woman than a position among the Stellar Warriors. Or so everyone thought.
My fingers itch to toy with the butterfly knife hidden snuggly beneath my belt and sweater. Not a year ago, I had proven myself worthy of the elite group of warriors, yet one mistake and I had been kicked to the curb. Banished here instead.
Guilt coils heavily in my stomach.
It had been more than a mistake. It had been a tragedy. A massacre. And the blame for it could only be put on my shoulders. Maybe they’d been right to strip me of my warrior status after all.
“Are you listening, Callie?” Still lost in my thoughts, I let my head bob carelessly along. The triplets who occupy the atrium with me continue to speak, seemingly satisfied with my assurance. Then, an elbow smashes between my sixth and seventh rib.
“What was that for?” I wheeze, rubbing the offended bones. Nova sends me a smirk, her heavily lined eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Let's just say I had a gut feeling you weren’t listening,” she replies. I let out an unladylike snort.
The triplets are known for their “gut feelings” and uncanny ability to understand the power of the Borealis and the relics we keep safe. Most find their shared ability off-putting, but I didn’t mind one bit.
“We’re only trying to help you, Calliope,” Noelle gently scolds. “Your final exam with the head warden is only a few weeks away.”
“And she will not go easy on you,” Naomi affirms, eyes large and doe-like. A wistful sigh falls past my lips. How unsurprising. Felicia Metzart is tougher than diamonds and smart as hell to boot. She expects no less than the absolute best from those under her tutelage, and I’m no exception.
The Starlight Wardens are the keepers of magical relics, but more importantly, they’re the handlers of starlight. Only the Wardens are allowed to harness the mystical power sent forth from the sun—Borealis Matter—to infuse into our weapons and make them unimaginably stronger. Only the Wardens know the vast secrets and knowledge of the world's hidden relics. Daggers that can cast a single un-sealable cut. Brooms that allow the rider to sift from place to place in the blink of an eye. Liquid gloves that can tame any flame. It is an honor to be among them.
Too bad my heart belongs to the warriors. Those who fight and kill the dark supernatural forces littering the earth.
“I know. I know,” I finally lament, toying with the velvet cloth that drapes the altar we stand around. The rich fabric is out of place among the sleek white walls and glass display cases that houses the relics.
Noelle lets out a distinct humph. “Daydreaming about your time with the warriors won’t do you any good now, Calliope.” I send her an unimpressed look, enjoying a bit too much the way her cheeks color in embarrassment. “Your thoughts an
d talents are better put to use here than with them anyway. Don’t you have your degree in astrophysics?”
“Yes,” I confirm begrudgingly. Not that I wanted to, I think bitterly. Why JJ was allowed to go straight to his apprenticeship instead of having to run the ramparts of higher education is still a mystery to me. A niggling voice in my head croons a familiar tune; it’s because he is our parents’ favorite. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s right. JJ is everyone's favorite. Including mine.
“Just because we don’t risk life and limb to fight the monsters underneath the bed, doesn’t mean we aren’t cool,” Nova teases. We share a smile.
“Oh, we’re cool all right. We’re stuffed in a glorified igloo up here in the middle of nowhere, Alaska. Reading books and dusting shelves all day. Oh lord,” I groan, “we’re librarians.”
The three sisters wear matching expressions of disdain. “Librarians are cool,” Naomi insists, fiddling with the glasses perched atop her head. My bluster deserts me as I take in the slump of her shoulders. Of all the Stavok sisters, Naomi is the most sensitive.
“Librarians are cool,” I concede.
“Hell yeah, they are!” Nova agrees. We share another smile. I spent most of my time with Nova. Whether studying dusty tomes or showing her how to handle my butterfly knife properly. We always seek each other out in the small fortress. Noelle rolls her eyes, smoothing a hand over the tight ponytail she typically sports as she fights down a smile. Nova continues, “Let’s not forget we get access to the best shit. Did you know Felicia keeps the Baltic ivory harpoon head on her for ‘safe keeping’? At all times. If that isn’t a perk, I don’t know what is.”
“I do like that we get to wear our bracers all the time.” The iron cuffs that adorn our wrist are etched with intricate spirals and notches. When activated by the wearer with a purposeful twist of the wrist, the etchings fill with a pale green luminescent light—the sacred power of the Borealis. The power increases both our strength and speed to almost supernatural proportions, but only the Wardens are permitted to wear the bracers at all times.
“What was that?” Naomi asks, mouth modestly agape. The conversation dies as our ears perk to catalog the faintest hint of movement or disturbance in the air. For a tense moment, my breath catches before Noelle shoots her sister an annoyed look and relaxes.
“Nothing, Naomi. You must be hearing things,” she says. Naomi flushes, but her eyes dart nervously toward the sliding glass doors that lead into the atrium.
“What did you hear?” I ask.
Naomi flushes brighter and tugs the glasses off her face to clean them, a nervous habit of hers. “I just thought I heard a pop.” While her face is downturned, I spare a look toward the other sisters. They wear matching frowns, but Nova’s seems to set itself deeper as her head cocks to the side.
“I don’t hear anything,” she finally says, stance relaxing. I mirror her movement. My shoulders relaxing from their stiff pose. I hadn’t heard anything either, but the glass doors of the room are thick. Bulletproof-thick.
“Me either,” Noelle agrees, gently patting Naomi on the shoulder. The youngest of the triplets flushes and places her glasses back upon her crown.
“Maybe something was dropped in the hallway?” Noelle opens her mouth to reply—no doubt to offer some half-hearted and thoughtless agreement—when a second pop occupies the moment. My gut clenches, and once more the atrium fills with roaring silence. The cool metal of my knife digs into my spine as I shift and walk toward the door.
“Where’s Nathan?” Where indeed? The hallway is unusually empty, though protocol dictates at least one guard should be stationed at the end of the hall to patrol its length.
“Something isn’t right,” the triplets respond in unison. A tingling sensation flashes across my scalp and down my spine. An eager restlessness is quick to follow through my nerves and muscles.
Lights flash from overhead. They blink red in unison three times, pause, then repeat. That alarm sequence means only one thing.
“Wolves,” I hiss. A sharp twist of my wrists outward and the bracers ignite. “Nova, get the dragon skin and balaclava. Noelle and Naomi, unlock the cases,” I order stepping back from the doors.
“Who put you in charge?” Noelle gripes, though she does as she’s told. I may not have seniority when it comes to the Starlight Wardens, but my fighting experience is far greater than the sisters’.
My eyes don't stray from the empty corridor. There is a fair chance the wolves won’t make it this deep into the facility. There is also a fair chance that Nathan is dead.
“Here.” Nova presses the dragon skin armor into my arms, along with a modified balaclava. Our eyes meet for a split second just before the room goes dark.
Chances are the wolves have made it past the outer web, the first level of the facility, which means there’s only one more floor between them and us.
I slip on the armor, which wears like a duster. It falls just above the knee with a slit in both the front and back to allow the wearer better movement. It fits almost as well as the bracers and protects better than the strongest Kevlar. By the time the generator sputters to life, I’m slipping the balaclava over my face and we can all see Nathan’s body lying awkwardly at the end of the hallway, a pool of red ballooning around his head.
“What’s your poison?” Nova asks. I glance at the sisters to see what they’ve chosen. Naomi holds a yew staff, Noelle a crossbow with silver darts, and Nova sports two souped-up .44 auto mag pistols. My fingers ache for the butterfly knife in my pants, but I gesture to the bone harpoon.
“Predictable,” she taunts. I hold my hand out expectantly. The auxiliary lighting is nothing more than mediocre fluorescents, but they are enough. Minutes tick by as we wait impatiently for an attack, but the only thing to note is Nathan slowly bleeding out.
“Did you hear that?” Naomi asks.
No, I think, just the sound of my heart in my ears. Or the slight creak of the floor as Nova shifts restlessly from one foot to the other and the soft whisper of fabric as Noelle adjusts the crossbow in her hold. My eyes drift to Naomi. She is entirely at ease, her body loose, the staff griped only just enough in to keep it standing, eyes closed.
“What do you hear?” I breathe, tilting my gaze back toward the glass doors. The triplets give pause.
“Currents,” Naomi answers.
“Electricity,” Noelle corrects softly. The fluorescent lights begin to spasm, and one by one burn out. Thankfully, our bracers provide more than enough illumination.
“Fucking wolves,” Nova mutters disgustedly as the steady hum of electricity comes to an end all around us. I find myself nodding in agreement. Why is it that every beast and demon chooses to fight in the dark?
Figures emerge, eight in all, and approach the doors.
“W.E.S.T. formation,” I order softly. “Naomi, take the south position. Noelle and Nova, flank middle. Trigger point is me.” The triplets move quickly and silently to their places as I set myself firmly in the lead point of our diamond shape. The door opens, and a man with raven hair steps cautiously into the glow of our bracers. He sports a lazy smile and a cut on his brow.
“Now, now,” he murmurs, “no need for any more bloodshed. We’re just here for a teensy, insignificant piece of jewelry. A ring, as it would happen.” Something clicks, and a thin flashlight illuminates more of the room. It scores the walls in pursuit of the ring.
“No piece here is as you describe,” Naomi responds without inflection. The wolf turns a wayward glance over my shoulder toward her before following the line of the flashlight.
“I stand corrected,” the man replies. I note the way his gaze lingers on the south end of the room and stiffen.
“Leave,” I command. “You desecrate this sacred place with your mere presence.” The man shifts, placing both feet wider apart as his hands form fists at his side.