I shook my head, saving it for later.
Although my body was sore and battered, I felt strong inside. I had earned my scars, overcome my fears, banished my nightmare, and shown Kansas City I was no dainty flower. I had found my I.
Or at least part of it.
And Nate had shown me something, too. My heart had led me astray with Johnathan, and I wasn’t about to let it do the same with Nate, despite our… reactions to each other.
Nate had shown me that not all Freaks were power-hungry. Men were just men. Some good, some bad. But it gave me hope.
I flipped off the light, squeezed my unicorn, and smiled.
I could taste black licorice on my tongue as I fell into a deep sleep.
Callie Penrose returns in October 2017… Turn the pages for a sample of OBSIDIAN SON - Book 1 in the Amazon Bestselling Nate Temple Series. Or pick up your copy HERE!
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Thank you very much in advance.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First, I would like to thank my beta-readers, those individuals who spent hours of their time to read, and re-re-read Callie’s story. Your dark, twisted, cunning sense of humor makes me feel right at home… I also couldn’t have done this on time without Carol T’s incredible editing services.
I would also like to thank you, the reader. I hope you enjoyed reading UNCHAINED as much as I enjoyed writing it. 1 more Callie Penrose Novel, 2 more Nate Temple Novels, and 3 more Nate Temple Novellas are coming in 2017…
And last, but definitely not least, I thank my wife, Lexy. Without your support, none of this would have been possible.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Shayne is a man of mystery and power, whose power is exceeded only by his mystery…
He currently writes the Nate Temple Series, which features a foul-mouthed wizard with a chip on his shoulder trying to protect St. Louis from monsters, myths, and legends. Nate rides a bloodthirsty unicorn, drinks with Achilles, and is pals with Death.
Shayne holds two high-ranking black belts, and can be found writing in a coffee shop, cackling madly into his computer screen while pounding shots of espresso. He is hard at work on the seventh installment of the Nate Temple Series coming September 2017, and Book 2 in the Feathers and Fire Series coming October 2017.
Connect with him online for all sorts of groovy goodies:
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www.shaynesilvers.com
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BOOKS BY SHAYNE SILVERS
NATE TEMPLE SUPERNATURAL THRILLER SERIES
OBSIDIAN SON
BLOOD DEBTS
FAIRY TALE - FREE for joining my Readers Group
GRIMM
SILVER TONGUE
BEAST MASTER
TINY GODS
UNTITLED #7 - SEPT. 1, 2017…
FEATHERS AND FIRE SERIES
UNCHAINED
UNTITLED #2 - OCT. 15, 2017…
OBSIDIAN SON (NATE TEMPLE SERIES BOOK 1)
There was no room for emotion in a hate crime. I had to be cold. Heartless. This was just another victim. Nothing more. No face, no name.
Frosted blades of grass crunched under my feet, sounding to my ears alone like the symbolic glass that one shattered under a napkin at a Jewish wedding. The noise would have threatened to give away my stealthy advance as I stalked through the moonlit field, but I was no novice and had planned accordingly. Being a wizard, I was able to muffle all sensory evidence with a fine cloud of magic — no sounds, and no smells. Nifty. But if I made the spell much stronger, the anomaly would be too obvious to my prey.
I knew the consequences for my dark deed tonight. If caught, jail time or possibly a gruesome, painful death. But if I succeeded, the look of fear and surprise in my victim’s eyes before his world collapsed around him, was well worth the risk. I simply couldn’t help myself; I had to take him down.
I knew the cops had been keeping tabs on my car, but I was confident that they hadn’t followed me. I hadn’t seen a tail on my way here, but seeing as how they frowned on this kind of thing I had taken a circuitous route just in case. I was safe. I hoped.
Then my phone chirped at me as I received a text. My body’s fight-or-flight syndrome instantly kicked in, my heart threatening to explode in one final act of pulmonary paroxysm. “Motherf—” I hissed instinctively, practically jumping out of my skin. I had forgotten to silence it. Stupid, stupid, stupid! My body remained tense as I swept my gaze over the field, sure that I had been made. My breathing finally began to slow, my pulse returning to normal as I saw no change in my surroundings. Hopefully my magic had silenced the sound, and my resulting outburst. I finally glanced down at the phone and read the text. I typed back a quick and angry response before I switched the phone to vibrate.
I continued on, the lining of my coat constricting my breathing. Or maybe it was because I was leaning forward in anticipation. Breathe, I chided myself. He doesn’t know you’re here. All this risk for a book. It better be worth it.
I’m taller than most, and not abnormally handsome, but I knew how to play the genetic cards I had been dealt. I had fashionably shaggy blonde hair, and my frame was thick with well-earned muscle, yet still lean. I had once been told that my eyes were like twin emeralds pitted against the golden tufts of my hair — a face like a jewelry box. Of course, that was after I had filled the woman with copious amounts of wine. Still, I liked to imagine that was how everyone saw me.
But tonight, all that was masked by magic.
I grinned broadly as the outline of the hairy hulk finally came into view. He was blessedly alone — no nearby sentries to give me away. That was always a risk when performing this ancient right-of-passage. I tried to keep the grin on my face from dissolving into a maniacal cackle.
My skin danced with energy, both natural and unnatural, as I manipulated the threads of magic floating all around me. My victim stood just ahead, oblivious of the world of hurt that I was about to unleash. Even with his millennia of experience, he didn’t stand a chance. I had done this so many times that the routine of it was my only enemy. I lost count of how many times I had been told not to do it again; those who knew declared it cruel, evil, and sadistic. But what fun wasn’t? Regardless, it wasn’t enough to stop me from doing it again. And again. Call it an addiction if you will, but it was too much of a rush to ignore.
The pungent smell of manure filled the air, latching onto my nostril hairs. I took another step, trying to calm my racing pulse. A glint of gold reflected in the silver moonlight, but the victim remained motionless, hopefully unaware or all was lost. I wouldn’t make it out alive if he knew I was here. Timing was everything.
I carefully took the last two steps, a lifetime between each, watching the legendary monster’s ears, anxious and terrified that I would catch even so much as a twitch in my direction. Seeing nothing, a fierce grin split my unshaven cheeks. My spell had worked! I raised my palms an inch away from their target, firmly planted my feet, and squared my shoulders. I took one silent, calming breath, and then heaved forward with every ounce of physical strength I could muster. As well as a teensy-weensy boost of magic. Enough to goose him good.
“MOOO!!!” The sound tore through the cool October night like an unstoppable freight train. Thud-splat! The beast collapsed sideways into the frosty gra
ss; straight into a steaming patty of cow shit, cow dung, or, if you really want to church it up, a Meadow Muffin. But to me, shit is, and always will be, shit.
Cow tipping. It doesn’t get any better than that in Missouri.
Especially when you’re tipping the Minotaur. Capital M.
Razor-blade hooves tore at the frozen earth as the beast struggled to stand, grunts of rage vibrating the air. I raised my arms triumphantly. “Boo-yah! Temple 1, Minotaur 0!” I crowed. Then I very bravely prepared to protect myself. Some people just can’t take a joke. Cruel, evil, and sadistic cow tipping may be, but by hell, it was a rush. The legendary beast turned his gaze on me after gaining his feet, eyes ablaze as he unfolded to his full height on two tree-trunk-thick legs, hooves magically transforming into heavily-booted feet. The heavy gold ring quivered in his snout as the Minotaur panted, corded muscle contracting over his human-like chest. As I stared up into those eyes, I actually felt sorry… for, well, myself.
“I have killed greater men than you for less offense,” I swear to God his voice sounded like an angry James Earl Jones.
“You have shit on your shoulder, Asterion.” I ignited a roiling ball of fire in my palm in order to see his eyes more clearly. By no means was it a defensive gesture on my part. It was just dark. But under the weight of his glare, even I couldn’t buy my reassuring lie. I hoped using a form of his ancient name would give me brownie points. Or maybe just not-worthy-of-killing points.
The beast grunted, eyes tightening, and I sensed the barest hesitation. “Nate Temple… your name would look splendid on my already long list of slain idiots.” Asterion took a threatening step forward, and I thrust out my palm in warning, my roiling flame blue now.
“You lost fair and square, Asterion. Yield or perish.” The beast’s shoulders sagged slightly. Then he finally nodded to himself, appraising me with the scrutiny of a worthy adversary. “Your time comes, Temple, but I will grant you this. You’ve got a pair of stones on you to rival Hercules.”
I pointedly risked a glance down at the myth’s own crown jewels. “Well, I sure won’t need a wheelbarrow any time soon, but I’m sure I’ll manage.” The Minotaur blinked once, and then bellowed out a deep, contagious, snorting laughter. Realizing I wasn’t about to become a murder statistic, I couldn’t help but join in. It felt good. It had been a while since I had experienced genuine laughter. In the harsh moonlight his bulk was quite intimidating as he towered head and shoulders above me. This was the beast that had fed upon human sacrifices for countless years while imprisoned in Daedalus’ Labyrinth in Greece. And all of that protein had not gone to waste, forming a heavily woven musculature over the beast’s body that made even Mr. Olympia look puny.
From the neck up he was entirely bull, but the rest of his body more resembled a thickly-furred man. But, as shown moments ago, he could adapt his form to his environment, never appearing fully human, but able to make his entire form appear as a bull when necessary. For instance, as he had looked just before I tipped him. Maybe he had been scouting the field for heifers before I had so efficiently killed the mood.
His bull face was also covered in thick, coarse hair — even sporting a long, wavy beard of sorts — and his eyes were the deepest brown I had ever seen. Cow shit brown. His snout jutted out, emphasizing the gold ring dangling from his glistening nostrils, catching a glint in the luminous glow of the moon. The metal was at least an inch thick, and etched with runes of a language long forgotten. Thick, aged ivory horns sprouted from each temple, long enough to skewer a wizard with little effort. He was nude except for a beaded necklace and a pair of distressed leather boots that were big enough to stomp a size twenty-five in my face if he felt so inclined.
I hoped our blossoming friendship wouldn’t end that way. I really did.
After the laughter died down, the Minotaur spoke, his shoulders relaxing as he assumed a less-intimidating posture. “I must thank you for testing me this night. I almost forgot The Path, and for this I must ask your forgiveness.”
I blinked. “Uh, forgiveness?”
He nodded, relaxing even more, steepling his fingers before him as if in prayer. “I have been reading quite a bit lately on the Buddhist faith. Most intriguing. I can’t fathom why I had never heard of it until recently. But I need not react to such an overt negative offense. Karma will come back to visit you… quite severely, I would imagine,” he sneered.
It took a few moments for my brain to process his words. “Karma? You’re a Buddhist now?” I practically yelled in disbelief. “Come on! It was just a practical joke. You make it sound as if Karma will be gunning for me.”
Asterion replied in a lecturing tone, his snout pulled back like Mr. Ed chewing a wad of peanut butter. “The severity of the Karmic retaliation is weighted against five conditions: frequent repetitive action; determined intentional action; action performed without regret; action against extraordinary persons…” He leveled a meaty thumb at his chest with a vain grin. “And finally, action toward those who have helped one in the past.” He wasn’t able to conceal his pleasure. “Having broken all five this night, I would say Karma’s going to destroy you.” I rolled my eyes and shrugged. The Minotaur switched gears. “My deepest condolences, but if this is about your parents’ murder, I cannot aid you.”
Before I could stop myself, the frozen ground around us vaporized to baking clay and cow shit in a fifty-foot radius, steam rising up in a heavy fog. I could smell the soles of our boots burning like fresh tarmac. “What?” I hissed.
The Minotaur’s eyes widened. “You are the heir to the notorious Temple wizards who recently passed. Why would you seek me out again if not to find their murderer?”
“The evidence revealed no foul-play. What do you know?” I whispered, voice like gravel, trying to blockade the torrent of emotions that had so suddenly swelled up inside me — the emotions I thought I had successfully walled away. Until now.
“Nothing! But come now, Temple, you know better. Are you claiming that you do not know a way to kill someone without a trace? You are a wizard. That is child’s play for your kind. When a wizard dies, it’s either violent or from extreme old age. For two to die within moments of one another is beyond calculation. Even Hermes wouldn’t bet on that.”
I had checked the evidence myself. Repeatedly. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. Calming myself, I came back to the reason for my visit, dispersing my magic out into the night with a flick of my wrist. The ground remained warm, but no longer smoldering. “Word around town says you deal in antiquities. Is this true?”
The Minotaur hesitated, glancing at the ground in relief. “Says whom?”
I glanced behind me as I heard the distant sound of sirens on a nearby road. Impossible. They couldn’t be following me. Perhaps some kid had been caught speeding on the back roads. I was just being paranoid. “Who,” I corrected, turning back.
“Irrelevant,” he muttered.
That rankled me. “It is not irrelevant. It’s paramount! The rules of grammar are just as important as the rules of engagement in war. Without them we are barbarians,” I argued.
The Minotaur frowned pensively. “Then I must take that into consideration.”
“So, are the rumors true or not?” I pressed.
“Possibly. What do you seek?”
“A book.”
“I know many books. Perhaps you could elaborate?” he replied, sounding bored.
I weighed my options. My client wanted this badly. Very badly. And so far, I had turned up nothing. This was the end of the road. The sirens were closer now, and the flashing red and blue lights limned the fringes of the field. Fuck. It couldn’t be for me. I rushed onward, anxious now. “I don’t know the title, but I can show you the symbol from the cover.” I had to move fast in case the cops really had found me. Regardless, if they drove by, chances were good they would either recognize my car, or at least wonder why such a beautiful vehicle was parked outside a field on a deserted country road.
The Minotaur k
nelt down to the ground, waiting. I noticed that his necklace was really a set of prayer beads, and shook my head in disbelief. The Minotaur, a reformed Buddhist. I traced my fingers just above the grass, releasing a tendril of fire like a pencil to burn an insignia into the now dry earth. It resembled a winged serpent over a flickering sun that appeared to be burning out, or fading. The Minotaur was still for several breaths, and then glanced warily toward the sky. After a long silence, he unfolded from his crouch, scuffed up the ground with his massive boot, and whispered one word. “Dragons.” His horns gleamed wickedly in the moonlight as he towered over me. I blinked. What the hell?
“Dragons?” I glanced behind me as the sound of slamming car doors interrupted my train of thought, and realized that the flashing lights were just outside the field, right by my parked car. Shit. I had been made. Time to wrap things up. As I stood, I saw a flicker of silver in the air as Asterion tossed something at me. I reflexively caught it to find a dull, chipped silver coin in my palm. A worn image of a man holding the legendary Caduceus — the healing staff of doctors everywhere — was imprinted on one side, but the other bore only a pair of winged feet. “Flip once to save the life of another, and once to save your own,” the Minotaur recited.
I frowned. “Why give me this?”
“I do as commanded. The book you seek is dangerous. I was told to pass this relic on to the first requestor.” He fingered the prayer beads thoughtfully, glancing once over my shoulder at the flashing lights.
“How long have you held this?”
He answered a different question instead. “I have guarded the original version of the book you seek since I was put in that cursed Labyrinth, but I fear that copies might exist in the outside world. If they haven’t been destroyed over the years. Humans are always destroying their culture.” He snorted, eyes briefly flaring in outrage. “Both the coin and book were entrusted to me by Hermes.” My mouth might or might not have dropped open in disbelief for a moment, but the Minotaur continued. “If your desire for this book is strong enough, meet me here two days hence. We will duel at sunset.”
Unchained: Feathers and Fire Book 1 Page 26