by LJ Swallow
Table of Contents
The Four Horsemen: Chaos
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Other Books By LJ Swallow
Books by Lisa Swallow
About the Author
THE FOUR HORSEMEN: CHAOS
L J Swallow
Copyright © 2018 by LJ Swallow
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Cover Designed by Andreea Vraciu
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
The Four Horsemen: Chaos
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Other Books By LJ Swallow
Books by Lisa Swallow
About the Author
The Four Horsemen: Chaos
Questions will be answered.
Trust will be rebuilt.
And the true threat to the world will be revealed.
The threat to the Four Horsemen and the world continues, but now they have solid leads and are closer to uncovering who is behind the attacks. Vee and the Four become closer as barriers fall and trust grows, yet one person remains worried about what will happen if Vee reaches full power.
An opportunity to regain Portia’s trust, some help from a supernatural mercenary, and an investigation into the Myriad Foundation reveal more answers about the chaos surrounding them.
Suddenly, everything slots into place but the big picture isn’t what they expected. What will happen if the only way forward for the Horsemen is an alliance with their enemies?
The Four Horsemen: Chaos is the fifth book in this urban fantasy reverse harem series. If you don’t like a girl with multiple love interests, who doesn’t choose one guy by the end of the series, this may not be the series for you.
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1
VEE
“Joss?” My voice sounds distant as if I’m somebody else trapped in a dream.
He doesn’t respond.
I grasp Joss's hand and place my head on his chest, desperate to hear a heartbeat. Instead of the solid muscle I've rested my face on in the past, with his arms around me in comfort, I feel Joss's ribs against my cheek.
No sound.
My heart thuds in my ears as I pull away and look into his gaunt features.
Can I resurrect him with Heath's powers? Do I possess that energy? The adrenaline rushing through when I wanted to attack the creature has switched to panic, but however hard I concentrate, nothing is conjured in my mind and body apart from sheer terror.
I look between my hands and Joss, willing something to happen, but there’s no spark or light. Nothing.
My breath shortens and I focus on staying calm. I can’t panic; I need strength here. But how when the person lying on the bed is an unrecognisable version of the man who held and loved me?
Has he died?
No.
This is temporary. Ewan's death was.
But how long until it becomes permanent?
Uselessly, I copy what Heath did to Ewan and place my palms on Joss's chest. I close my eyes and picture the afternoon in the car park basement, summoning to mind the light I saw in Heath's hands. My powers have triggered before, in self-defence, surely they will when needed to help one of the guys.
Bile rises in my throat when nothing happens. I push against Joss’s chest, again and again, fooling myself if I press hard enough a miracle might happen.
Joss doesn't move. His chest remains still, and he doesn't breathe. Joss’s heart doesn’t beat beneath my palms.
Why? I have a close connection with Heath, and with Joss, but now I need the power from that connection and I'm failing. My determination to stay strong falls away and I gasp in a sob as my eyes blur with tears.
I'm wasting time.
My phone is downstairs so I search Joss's room for his. It rests on top of discarded clothes. A lump sticks in my throat as I remember him picking clothes from the floor the first night I stayed here. Joss, the guy who welcomed me and calmed me when my life disintegrated into the chaos now surrounding us all. The man who held me when I need his gentle comfort.
Joss can't leave. He's part of me.
My throat tightens further when I see the picture on his lock screen. Us, the day we drank coffee and walked in the quiet countryside. I'm dressed against the cold, cheeks red, with Joss's arm wrapped around my shoulder. Relaxed. Happy.
Fingers trembling, I call Heath, almost misdialling, and he answers on speaker, the hum from a car engine drowning out his voice. "What's up, Joss?"
"Heath. Where are you?" I manage to keep my tone even, but my voice wavers at the end of the sentence.
"Vee? Are you okay? What's happening?" His question comes staccato, and I hear Xander's voice, fainter, asking the same.
"Something happened. Joss, he...”
“Joss, what? Vee?”
I stare at Joss’s prone figure. “I don’t know... A demon, I think... He died, Heath." The words spill, adding a finality to the scene in front of me. "He died.”
The pause lasts a lifetime, and I’m terrified what they’ll say to me.
Xander's voice interrupts us, his tone sharp. "Where are you?"
"In the house. What do I do?" My voice is small again, as useless as I am right now.
"What the hell happened?" Xander asks.
"I don't know! Please, tell me what I can do."
"Heath?" asks Xander.
"I don't know. Shit.” My stomach knots as he pauses. “Have you touched him? Can you focus your energy on conjuring a light?"
"I tried, and I can't feel anything!" My anxiety peaks when he doesn't respond with anything apart from swearing. Is that it? Does this mean Joss has gone? "How long can he die for?" I rub my face at the crazy question. "Where are you?"
"On the way home. We'll be fifteen minutes," says Heath.
"Ten." Xander pauses. "What the fuck happened? How did a demon get in?"
"I don't know." I can't stop my garbled words as I stare down at a prone Joss. "Joss was upstairs, and I was downstairs with Ewan and—"
"You were distracted?” Xander’s voice hardens. “Where's Ewan now? Tell him to put his clothes back on and help."
Wow. Just wow. I bite back an angry retort. "Ewan left the house. He wanted space."
&nb
sp; "For fuck's sake!" For a moment I think Xander hung up, but the engine hums again as the dropped out reception returns.
Heath speaks. "Sit with him, Vee. Place your hands over his heart and picture it beating again."
I stare at my free hand. "I tried already! I tried to conjure your light, but it won't come."
"Try again,” Heath says. “If you can't bring him back him, he'll be fine. I'm not far."
"He won't stay dead?" I whisper.
"No. It might take him longer to recover, that's all."
A sob escapes, relief matching the anguish.
Heath's gentle voice crackles over the phone. "Vee, it's okay. We've got this."
"It's not bloody okay," growls Xander. "How did a fucking demon get into the house?"
I'm unaware whether the guys take ten minutes or fifteen because now I know how eternity feels. I do as Heath said, staring at my hands and concentrating with frustrated tears pricking my eyes when nothing happens.
I can't sense the demonic creature around anymore, but what if the apparition is hidden somewhere in the house?
I can barely look at Joss because he doesn't look like the man I saw an hour ago; he's a shadow of the man I love. Joss resembles images I've seen on TV news reports of starved people battling for life in third world countries. His ashen face is skeletal, cheeks hollowed, and closed eyes sunken into their sockets. Instead, I look at the window holding his cold hand and willing the guys to hurry. The grey day descends into a dark evening, and my tears fall.
I hear the sound of a car skidding across the gravel driveway. A car door slams while the engine continues to run, then thundering footsteps sound on the stairs.
Heath careens into the room and over to Joss. "Move, Vee."
I'd be offended, but the sheer panic on his face is like nothing I've seen before, on his or anybody's, and panic stabs my chest too. A second set of footsteps run up the stairs, and a third set walk slowly.
Heath sits on the edge of the bed and holds out his palms, eyes closed, and the vivid light I saw him conjure the day Ewan died sparks in his hands. He performs the same action, drawing the light upwards with his long fingers, as if pulling the energy from his hands, and shapes the magic into an iridescent ball.
"Shit, he looks bad." Xander strides over and stares down, arms crossed. "Is he injured, Vee?"
"There's no blood," I say hoarsely and look up. Xander's eyes are fixed on Joss, and his wild-eyed expression terrifies me more than anything else today.
Xander's scared.
"He's not injured, but he looks like the life has been sucked out of him," replies Heath. "What did you see, Vee?"
I describe the scene to Xander and Heath, as Heath continues to expand his ball of light.
"He looks starved." Seth speaks from where he stands in the doorway. He holds the doorframe either side, as if holding himself out of the room.
Nobody replies as Heath finally slams both hands on Joss's chest. I cover my face, peeking through my fingers, willing Joss to move as Heath sits hunched over with his hair falling forward into his face. The light surrounds Heath’s hands and spreads across Joss's chest; Heath’s breathing becomes laboured and he swears, pushing his hands against Joss in the way I did earlier.
"Heath?" Xander steps forward. "Isn't it working?"
Heath doesn't respond and squeezes his eyes closed, shutting us out. I startle as a rush of life flows into Joss, jerking through his body, and his eyes snap open as he draws in a loud breath. Heath removes his hands and his shoulders slacken, but Joss doesn't move. As he stares at the ceiling in silence, the dread rises again. I can't sense his emotions. Where's his relief? Confusion? Pain?
Anything?
Xander wipes a hand down the side of his face. "Joss."
No movement.
I voice the words I sense in the air around me. "Didn't it work?"
Heath takes Joss's pulse. "It worked. Joss is alive, but maybe he's stuck."
"Stuck where?" I look between him and Xander.
"In the dark." Xander's response is curt, and he leans over to examine Joss. "He's alive and breathing. Let him rest." I'm relieved Xander has snapped back to the War I recognise as he takes control of the situation. "Vee, sit with him, and we'll check if whatever attacked him is still around. Heath, come with me."
I turn my attention back to Joss. The dark?
"And phone bloody Ewan. Tell him to get his arse back here."
"He won't answer if he's riding," replies Heath.
Xander swears under his breath and shoves past Seth to leave the room. I watch him go. Like Seth, I haven't moved from the one spot since Heath and Xander arrived in the room. I still can't move because if I do I might fall.
I stare at the carpet, and when Heath's arms circle me, I allow myself to let go of the tension as he hugs me to him. "You look worried. He'll be fine."
I grip him in return, burying my face into his chest and focusing on his cologne, a reminder of happier times. "What does Xander mean by the dark?"
"I don't know." His voice is muffled by my hair. "I haven't died yet."
Yet. I tighten my arms, ear pressed against his heartbeat. I feel his worry. Today I showed Heath I couldn’t save him if he dies, the way I assured him I could.
Ewan needs to listen to me. I need to be whole.
2
JOSS
The dark street smells rank; a nearby skip overflows with boxes and refuse adds to the piss stench. I'm jittery, tensed and scouting out the area as I walk towards the high-rise block of flats.
Two kids sit in the dirty stairwell, smoking and drinking. Not even teens. Eleven years old maybe? They nod at me in recognition, but edge away as I pass them.
The fucking lift is broken again.
As I stomp past the kids and upstairs, I stare down at my dirty jeans and tattered black and white Converse. Thank fuck I have the energy to climb ten flights of stairs tonight.
My phone sounds and I pull it out, sliding nicotine-stained fingers across the screen. Aimee. Another in a long line of increasingly urgent messages asking me to call her.
I scroll through the recent ones; I'll reply to those worth my while later. Four flights into my ten-flight climb, I pause and place a hand on the stairwell. The rush in my bloodstream still misses something, and I pull a packet of smokes from inside my leather jacket.
One lit, and between my lips, I keep going.
I reach Aimee’s floor, step down the familiar hallway, which shares the same delightful sight and scent of poverty. Some doors look like they were kicked in recently, probably by the residents too.
I'm glad I worked my way out of this fucking hellhole.
I keep my finger on the doorbell, which buzzes incessantly. Half the time the fuckers are too out of it to hear me. Their loss because I'm not coming back again. They waste my fucking time; they can find another dealer.
I pull my finger away and rub at the indent the button left on the tip.
Fuck this.
I drop my cigarette butt to the floor and lean against the wall to check where I'm due next. Seriously, the arsehole who's supposed to do my run tonight had better watch his back, especially if he's stolen anything.
One more try.
I press the bell again, this time stopping and starting like an alarm.
Someone shuffles along the hallway. Normally she shouts but today, silence.
The door opens and Aimee regards me. I remember when she was hot, could pick and choose from the clients lining up. Now most of them come from me, desperate to feed her addiction, taking anything she can. Her gaunt face and over-dyed hair join her half-starved, addicted body.
"You're a fucking mess," I tell her. "Put some makeup on, for fuck's sake."
She's not scared of me, not anymore. She doesn't feel anything, I'm sure. She gave me her money, her youth, her life; Aimee is a shell of the girl I knew from school. I stare at her puffy face.
"You’ve been crying? What happened?"
"Chanelle." She wraps her thin arms around herself, wide-eyed like a trapped animal.
Instinctively, I step in front of the doorway and shove it closed behind me. "What? Did she leave? I warned her what would happen if she did!"
Aimee shakes her head and a tear flies across her cheek. "She's…"
“She’s what?”
Aimee points toward an open doorway.
I walk into the lounge room, trashed, a stolen TV in one corner and a stained mattress in another. The place is usually full of stoners, who’d be homeless otherwise. Not today. A girl is slumped on the sofa, on her back and a slack arm hanging over the edge.
Fuck.
I've seen this enough times to know what I'm looking at.
"How long?" I growl and stride over.
"I don't know," replies Aimee in a meek voice. "Is she dead? She looks dead."
I chew a nail. Fuck. “Maybe. OD’d? Does she have a pulse?"
Looking at the state of her, I'd lay bets there’s no maybe here.
"You know she's dead." I spin around at the voice behind and a guy stands in the hallway. Tall, hard face with a nose broken too many times. Tattoos cover his skin, on his neck stretching towards his cheek.
Gun pointing at my face.
"You killed my sister last week with your poisonous shit, you evil bastard. She was getting herself clean and you fucked her over."
I reach into my jacket and close my fingers around my gun, but this guy isn't here to negotiate, or waste his chance.
Gunfire sounds and the shadows swallow my life.
3
VEE