Thrall
Jennifer Blackstream
Contents
Copyright
Don’t Forget!
Summary
Also by Jennifer Blackstream
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
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Next Book
From the Author
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THRALL
A Blood Trails Novel, Book 8
USA Today Bestselling Author
JENNIFER BLACKSTREAM
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Thrall
©Copyright Jennifer Blackstream 2020, Skeleton Key Publishing
Edited by 720 Editing
Cover Art by Covers by Juan © Copyright 2020
* * *
This is a work fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form without the written permission of the author. You may not circulate this book in any format. Thank you for respecting the hard work of all people involved with the creation of this ebook.
Temptation, Blood Trails #0.5
A dinner party ended with a dead body.
A young officer recognizes the foul stench of demon at the crime scene.
It’s time to call for backup.
Not a cop.
A witch.
Tap or click HERE and tell me where to send your free ebook. Quick! There's a murder to solve...
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I will always respond, because you’re the ones that make these books possible.
With much love,
Jennifer Blackstream
P.S. Your coffee is sitting somewhere getting cold.
The dream sorceress who once tried to kill Shade is after her again—
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To hire her.
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An evil being from the astral plane is building an empire in the physical world. One of his victims sought sanctuary with Arianne—and was turned away. When that same poor soul is murdered, a shocking revelation exposes personal stakes for Cleveland’s most powerful sorceress.
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Now Arianne wants Shade’s help to hunt down the killer—and the thralls who serve him. But Arianne isn’t the only danger from Shade’s short, but eventful career as a PI that’s making a reappearance.
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Shade soon finds herself playing deadly games of cat and mouse with enemies old and new. To make matters even more complicated, she must also navigate awkward alliances with a persistent masochistic goblin and a tempting, but off-limits alpha werewolf.
* * *
Being a village witch was simple. Being a private investigator? Not so much…
ALSO BY JENNIFER BLACKSTREAM
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Join my mailing list to be alerted when new titles are released.
* * *
Urban Fantasy
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Blood Trails Series
Temptation (prequel, mailing list exclusive)
Deadline
Monster
Taken
Corruption
Mercenary
Caged
Betrayal
Thrall
* * *
Paranormal Romance
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Blood Prince Series
What Big Teeth You Have (bonus short story, mailing list exclusive)
Before Midnight
One Bite
Golden Stair
Divine Scales
Beautiful Salvation
Bonus Novel: The Pirate’s Witch
* * *
Blood Realm Series:
All for a Rose
Blue Voodoo
The Archer
Bear With Me
Stolen Wish
* * *
Join my mailing list to be alerted when new titles are released.
* * *
Short stories are not listed here, but can be found on my website here.
“Free will is what it means to be human, and no one can determine the path you take through this universe. Choice is our greatest right, our greatest gift-and our greatest responsibility.”
Amie Kaufman
Chapter 1
“PEASBLOSSOM!”
I slammed on the brakes as my vision filled with pink pixie wings. Tension seized my chest, freezing my breath as I waited to feel the thump of my Ford Focus driving over the body of one of Dresden’s inhabitants. I was on a residential road and hadn’t been going more than twenty-five miles an hour, but for a village that covered barely more than one square mile, there were plenty of people and animals ready to become roadkill at a moment’s notice.
“I’m fine!” Peasblossom yelled, holding onto the seatbelt to steady herself where she was now perched on the window edge of the driver’s side. “You worry too much.”
I focused on breathing through the urge to shout at her, counting to ten, then twenty, then two hundred and three before responding. “Peasblossom. I’m so pleased that your wings are feeling better. I am. Truly. I’m not just saying that.”
Peasblossom’s multifaceted pink eyes narrowed. “You don’t sound pleased.”
My knuckles turned white, and I forced myself to relax my grip on the steering wheel. This was Dresden, not Cleveland. Not only had someone seen me slam on my brakes—I was ninety-nine percent sure they’d be calling me in the next five minutes to ask if everything was all right. They didn’t need to see me shouting. Especially not when it would appear no one else was in the car.
“I am pleased, I just need you to stop flying in front of me while I’m driving.”
Peasblossom stomped her foot. “You said I can only fly short distances for at least two weeks. You said that. This,” she said, gesturing from one side of the car to another, “is a short distance. And I’m bored.”
My cell phone rang, and I swallowed a groan. “We’re almost at Mother Hazel’s. You can practice flying when we get there.”
“Your phone is ringing. Aren’t you going to answer it?”
“Not while I’m driving.” I eased my foot off the brake and tapped the gas to get the car moving again.
The ringing stopped. Then my phone beeped to let me know I had a text message. Then it beeped again.
And again.
“Blood and bone,” I muttered.
I steered my car down the side road that led closer to Dresden River Park.
Peasblossom grunted, then glided down to my lap, making an exaggerated point of not passing in front of my face. I slowed and turned my car off the paved road onto a wide dirt path as the pixie wrestled my blinking cell phone out of the side pocket of my waist pouch.
“Mrs. Davis wants to know if you’re all right, she saw you hit the brakes,” she said, r
eading the text message.
“Text her back and tell her I’m fine.”
“Mrs. Harvesty saw you too. She wants to know how Majesty is doing.”
I tensed, but resisted the urge to look around. Majesty, the enchanted kitten, hadn’t been in the car when I’d left Cleveland, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t here now. “Text her that last picture I took of him playing with the ring from the milk carton. Say something cute.”
“I could text her that he’s doing much better and he’s ready to come home?” Peasblossom said hopefully.
“I’m not putting a ball of chaos magic in Mrs. Harvesty’s house. Don’t be mean.”
Peasblossom scowled, but started the text message response.
A house rose up out of the forest ahead. Literally. The chicken legs that held up Mother Hazel’s cottage extended enough to let the house peak over the trees, and I knew it had spotted me. My shoulders eased, and I smiled in spite of myself. Almost there.
I rolled down my window to welcome the scent of rich earth, fallen leaves, and warm feathers, dragging a deep breath into my lungs. You didn’t get air like this in Cleveland. Not with all those buildings, all those cars. No, this was small village air. And it was the best.
Peasblossom smacked my hand away when I offered her my palm to lift her to my shoulder. With a sniff in my general direction, she jumped off the pouch and flew into the air. She didn’t rise as fast as she used to, and I held my breath as I waited for her to get high enough to perch on my shoulder. Peasblossom’s wings had finally—finally—healed enough to lift her, but getting her to take it easy until they were back to fighting trim would be nigh impossible.
I pretended not to notice she was breathing harder when she finally landed.
When I got out of the car, the cottage squatted down to put its foundation on the soft earth, its chicken legs tucked out of sight. I narrowed my eyes as I took my first step onto the porch.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warned.
The house paused, like a child considering making a break for it with a stolen cookie. Wood creaked as it shifted experimentally. Past experience taunted me, reminded me of the house’s penchant for straightening its legs suddenly, flinging the house into the air above the trees with enough speed to drop your heart into your stomach. It had done that to me once or twice, and the experience had left a mark. Several marks. And bruises.
“Don’t. You. Dare.”
I felt more than heard the cottage capitulate, the tingle of restrained energy fading as its legs relaxed beneath me. Quiet, peaceful. Sulking.
I rolled my eyes, even as I patted the shingles beside the front door. I was actually in a good mood, but now that I was here, I remembered why I’d come to begin with.
“All right, Peasblossom,” I murmured, standing with my hand on the doorknob. “We’re here for answers, and we’re not leaving until we get them. Agreed?”
“Sure.”
“She’s going to tell us everything she knows about Scath. Right?”
“Why not?”
“And she’s going to tell us why the Unseelie queen turned Majesty into a ball of chaos magic and pitched him my way.”
Peasblossom wrinkled her nose. “How long do you want me to play along before I start correcting you?”
I ignored her and turned the knob, squaring my shoulders as I swept inside. The familiar scents of my mentor’s house threatened to overwhelm me, and my chest tightened as I realized how much I missed this place. I’d been so happy to leave, and now I’d give anything to come back. To abandon the miserable apartment the leannan sidhe provided in Cleveland and live here again. If I could, I’d even give up my house a few blocks away, move back into this house, and—
I froze, realizing where my thoughts were headed. Pull yourself together, Shade. No time for rose-colored glasses now.
“Hello?” I called out. “Mother Hazel?”
The house’s layout shifted, the walls ahead of me melting away to reveal the kitchen with its long, heavy wooden table and huge stone fireplace complete with enormous black cauldron over crackling flames. The moving walls weren’t strange, enchanted houses liked to switch things around a bit. No, what made me stop and very nearly swallow my tongue was seeing the three women sitting at the kitchen table.
Mother Hazel glanced up at me as I walked in. The old crone had more magic in one split end then an entire Vanguard strike team from the Department of Divinity. And she had more forms than most tricksters. But the Mother Hazel sitting in front of me was the same old hag I’d known throughout my apprenticeship. Her five-foot-seven frame was folded in her seat at the table, covered in brown robes and a cascade of long grey hair. Her white skin was wrinkled with age, the lines deeper around her eyes and mouth. Just looking at her filled my senses with the scent of metal shavings and wild poultry.
“Ah, here you are.” She frowned. “You’re late.”
I ignored the last comment, mostly because being late seemed like a lesser sin than her not mentioning that an attempted murderer would be here waiting for me. One of her tea party companions looked at me, dark eyes calm in sharp contrast to the way her fingers tightened around her tea cup. One lock of long black hair curled over her shoulder, and for just a second, it reminded me of the spindly legs of the dream shard monster she’d sent after me a few short months ago.
“Arianne,” I said, aiming for a light tone that wasn’t at all squeaky. “How nice to see you again.”
The dream sorceress gave me a look that might have been intended as a smile, but looked more like a wince. “Mother Renard. How have you been?”
“Fine.” It didn’t escape my notice that she’d called me by my title. Not witchling. Apparently, she was going to play nice while Mother Hazel was watching.
“Is she a friend now, or should I fly away?” Peasblossom hissed.
I had no idea. Arianne had, for most of our relationship, hated me. But last month she’d shown up on my doorstep in Cleveland and we’d had… Well, we’d had a moment, I guess. At least it had felt that way.
I lowered one hand toward my waist pouch. Shortly after my last meeting with the dream sorceress, I’d recovered a bracelet from a young man. Ametrine beads—a stone Arianne had told me would allow a magic user to manipulate the youth’s dreams. Which they had, to disastrous effect. I’d been meaning to call on her and ask if she could look at it, tell me more about what it had been used for. But I’d never quite gotten around to testing our newfound truce.
Arianne noticed my hand drop to the waist pouch, and promptly misinterpreted it. I felt her shields vibrate as she poured energy into them, and she turned to face me more completely, her brow falling into a hard line. She shifted to put herself more in front of the third woman sitting at the table.
Arianne’s companion had the same dark hair and eyes as the sorceress, but her skin was a shade or two darker than Arianne’s, a beautiful, rich mahogany. She smiled easier as well, and when Arianne tensed, she put a gentle hand over the sorceress’ wrist.
Mother Hazel let out an exasperated breath. “Both of you think very carefully before you act.”
I froze. “I wasn’t— I mean, I was just going to ask you to have a look at something.” I gestured to the pouch. “The bracelet we talked about. I have it.”
I stopped talking, hoping that if I gave myself a moment, I could manage a sentence that didn’t sound like a recording being played with a five-year-old enthusiastically jamming the pause button every three seconds. “Arianne, if I gave you that bracelet, do you think you could tell me what it was used for? Would a spell like that leave any…echoes?”
Arianne lifted her tea cup, visibly composing herself. She took a slow sip, considering me over the rim of her cup before answering. “Give me the bracelet. I will do what I can.” She lowered the cup to the saucer and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.
She looked like she wanted to say more, but hesitated. I glanced from her to Mother Hazel. What exactly was she doing h
ere? When Mother Hazel had agreed to our meeting, I’d suspected she’d find some way to dodge my questions. But I hadn’t expected her to go this far.
I looked at the woman beside Arianne, but she remained silent. I fished the bracelet in question out of my pouch. Or rather, I put my hand inside it and waited for Bizbee, the grig who’d taken up residence in there, to hand it to me. I passed it to Arianne before she could change her mind.
My mentor gave the sorceress a gruff nod. “Ask her, Arianne.”
Arianne accepted the bracelet without looking away from Mother Hazel. My eyebrows twitched up. She’d come to Mother Hazel’s because she wanted to ask me something? I looked at the woman who had yet to be introduced. Was this about her?
Either Arianne had just remembered her manners, or she wasn’t quite ready to ask me for anything. She put her hand over the other woman’s where it still rested on her wrist. “Mother Renard, this is Iman. My wife.”
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