by C. I. Black
She shoved her hands into her pockets. She didn’t know what to say or ask. She wasn’t certain about anything anymore. “So.”
“So.” Runnels of water streamed down his face, accentuating the hard lines of his cheeks and jaw.
“Do we stand out here until one of us gets a cold?” she asked.
“I can’t get colds.”
“Fantastic. What else should I know about you?” The wind tugged at her hair and she hugged herself against the chill that had soaked into her clothes.
“Your friend will be fine,” he said.
“Not what I asked.”
“The details of the events will change in her mind. By the time she wakes tomorrow, anything Kin related will be changed to something her brain can handle.”
Swell. So much for having a possible outside ally in all this. “The glamour is that powerful?”
“Yes, it is.” He dug his boot toe into the mud and gravel. “Rika says the DNA came back and all four of the kidnappers can be linked to cases the team worked on with your mother. Looks like Rentz wasn’t involved after all.”
So this had everything to do with a biological mother she’d never met. “How many more of these people are out there?” But she knew the moment she asked the list could be endless. Just like her job as a marshal, criminals had friends and families. Kin had… well, kin.
“You’re among the most powerful of the Kin. There will be those who’ll want to control you, and those who, if they can’t control you, will want you dead.” Gage twisted the ring on his right index finger. “You’ll be safe with us.”
“And by with us you mean…?”
“At the house. With the team… on the team.” Which was what he’d said when she’d first overheard him talking with Lachlin. But did he want her on the team because he genuinely cared or because he was one of the Kin who wanted to control her? He ran a hand over his hair, slicking it back. “When your mother died, she asked me to find you, to protect you.”
“From all those crazy Kin out there who want me dead just because I’m a gorgon?” She wanted to ask about the case in the evidence box, but she didn’t know if she’d get a straight answer. She needed outside information to corroborate his story. As much as he was hot and smelled really good, that didn’t mean she could trust him.
“And protection from one Kin specifically.” His gaze locked onto hers and she was drowning in his eyes.
“Who?”
“The Kin who killed your mother.” He blinked, releasing her for a heartbeat and capturing her again. “It was just supposed to be a precaution. But when I realized you’d come into your powers, I knew you were in danger.”
“Because I’m a gorgon?”
“Because only a gorgon can stop him.” He twisted the ring again. “He’s why you’re the last of your kind.”
“And you think this attack, these kidnappers, are connected to him?” The ruined distillery building groaned and another piece of wall crumbled.
“There’s no proof of that.”
But his conversation with Lachlin in the SUV said they knew differently and somehow the case in that evidence box was connected.
“But you suspect it?”
“Anything is possible.”
A hint of fire licked at her eyes and she forced it back. His dancing around the subject could just be another attempt to protect her. It might not mean anything.
Except her instincts said there was more to this story than Gage was saying. Yet everything he’d done since she’d met him had been to protect her. Besides, she knew nothing about the world she’d suddenly found herself in. At the very least, she needed to power-read that set of encyclopedias at Gage’s house.
“You have no reason to trust me,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “But your mother wished for me to protect you.”
Morgan snorted. “You’re doing a terrible job at that. I just got the crap beaten out of me.”
“And you almost turned me to stone. I’d say we’re even. Come on.” He jerked his chin to the new SUV where Rika and Lachlin waited. “Let’s go home.”
To a new and terrifying life. One where she was surrounded by monsters of myth. One where she was a monster herself. But she didn’t have much of a choice. She needed to learn to control her powers and her best bet was with Gage and his team. Besides, living by herself was too dangerous for everyone.
Fine then. At least she wasn’t crazy and didn’t have snake hair.
Bring it on.
Thanks for reading The Medusa Files, Case 1: Written in Stone
I hope you enjoyed it!
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Other Books by C. I. Black
THE DRAGON SPIRIT SERIES
Immortal Coil
THE MEDUSA FILES
Case 1: Written in Stone
Case 2: Heart of Stone
Case 3: Escaped From Stone
Keep reading for an excerpt from
IMMORTAL COIL
A Dragon Spirit Novel
Book One
C. I. Black
Anaea climbed over the railing of the Queen Street Bridge and watched the streetlights’ flickering reflection on the sluggish water and ice of the Allegheny River. She hadn’t stood on this side of the railing since childhood. Then, it had been summer. Her heart had pounded with exhilaration and her friends, already swimming in the water below, cheered her on.
Now, her heart still pounded, but no one swam below. Now the river’s cold embrace called to her, promising to wrap around her and pull her down until she was numb and sleepy.
She sucked in a shaky breath, not believing what she was thinking.
Jumping would end it. End the fight, end the isolation, end the slow wasting loss of self and life.
She hadn’t thought this was how she’d die; pills had seemed more likely. Heck, she had hoped she could win her fight and die of old age in some retirement home, not at thirty-three when her life was just getting started. But her doctor had said it: metastasized.
And now she was here.
She hadn’t even thought about it, just fled from his office and aimlessly driven around and around. The sun had set, but no clarity had come with nightfall, nor hours after. All she knew was she didn’t want to waste away, fading into death in some hospital bed. She had fought so hard, and had still lost. Lost her job, lost her right breast, lost her husband—and good riddance to the cheating bastard—and now she would lose her life. It wasn’t fair. And while she knew life was like that, she had hoped so desperately for something better. But now the only thing left under her control was how.
Ice lined the river’s edge, but its heart still flowed, even in mid-January. If she jumped, her winter coat would drag her down and the cold would dull her senses and she would slip into that which she had feared the most.
Her gut churned at the thought. She wanted to scream and rant and cry but knew it would be all for nothing. It wouldn’t make her feel better. It wouldn’t make her stop trembling.
She closed her eyes, imagining the summer sun warming her face, the laughter of her friends. But the winter’s evening wind picked up, biting her cheeks and nose. That little girl was gone, her friends grown up and moved, the courage for summertime swimming frozen by a loveless marriage and consumed by cancer.
In a way, it was a relief. Good or bad, her battle was done. Finally. And if she kept telling herself that, maybe she wouldn’t lose her nerve.
Really. There was no more left to do. She supposed she should call Mark, her best friend—ex-best friend—and say goodbye. But her marriage had isolated her, alienated her even from him, and she didn’t know if he wanted to talk to her any more.
“Hey.”
Her heart leapt, pounding furiously. This close to midnight the bridge should have been deserted.
The voice was firm and masculine.
Oh, great. A good Samaritan. Just what she needed
. Why did this have to be more difficult that it already was? She should jump, avoid the conversation, save herself the trouble, but she couldn’t make herself let go of the railing. It wasn’t a sense of self-preservation, she was sure of that. It was something else, perhaps the tone of his voice.
“You know, whatever it is, I’m sure it won’t seem so bad in the morning.”
She snorted. Nope. She’d still be dying.
“Listen, I’m sure you mean well...” She leaned back and glanced at him. He stood a few feet away, one side of him illuminated by his car’s headlights, looking every bit like his voice, firm and masculine. He wore a double-breasted coat cut to mid-calf that accentuated a broad chest and narrow hips. His face was square with high cheekbones and dark eyes. A brush-cut of dark hair finished off the look. The overall impression was deliciously handsome and if it were a different day, or she a different person, she might have considered flirting with him.
Maybe she should. She wasn’t dead yet. But that was just a fantasy. No one would be attracted to her bald head and sunken eyes and cheeks. Her illness couldn’t be hidden.
He stepped toward her, crossing the headlight beam until it completely backlit him, casting his face in shadow.
“Why don’t you just climb back over the railing.” His voice held a tenderness she hadn’t expected from someone who looked so... well, so masculine. It was just fate being cruel that made them meet under such circumstances, and that, really, was neither here nor there.
“And once I’m safe on the bridge, then what?”
He hesitated.
Ah, he didn’t want to waste extra time on her. Typical. He wanted to be the hero then rush away. He’d run even faster, if only he knew...
What the heck was she waiting for anyway? This stranger didn’t know her well enough to care, and even if he did there was nothing he could do for her. No miracle cure for cancer expected in the next three months.
She let go of the railing, spread her arms, and leaned forward. This was it. She didn’t want to do it and yet she didn’t want a slow death, either.
From the corner of her eye she glimpsed a flash of movement, then something jerked her back. Her collar dug painfully into her throat, and she struggled to breathe. Shit. He’d grabbed her coat.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.
She twisted in his grip, but he held tight. “What does it look like?”
“It looks like you’re crazy.”
“Then let me go.”
“No.”
God. She couldn’t even kill herself in peace. She fumbled with the buttons on her coat, her fingers numb from holding the metal railing.
“I will not justify myself to you.” He had no right to tell her what to do. Her fingers weren’t working, were too slow. Grabbing the edges of her coat, she yanked, hard, popping the buttons off. She twisted to face him, using his grip on the coat to shrug out of it.
He dropped the coat into the river and seized the front of her sweater. She clawed at him and he pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her back. She twisted, squirmed, but her last bout of chemo had left her weak and the railing between them made it difficult to fight back.
Sudden, sharp pain bit into her shoulder. She gasped and froze. Samaritan’s eyes hardened, his mouth a tight line. Behind him stood a blond woman whose smile sent a shiver down Anaea’s spine. A blade protruded from the man’s chest. The weapon had gone right through him and cut into Anaea’s arm. The blade had—
Oh God! That woman had stabbed him. Right here on the bridge. Anaea couldn’t make her mind work beyond that. She had no idea where this new stranger had come from. She hadn’t noticed the woman’s approach, but then she hadn’t been paying attention to the road, only to her thwarted desire to jump off the bridge.
The woman leaned against the man, pinning him to the railing. “Give me the medallion.”
Samaritan shook his head. His eyes were fierce, dark.
“You’re so predictable.” The woman jerked the blade from his body.
Samaritan coughed a mist of blood into Anaea’s face, making her eyes sting. Through her tears, like a slow-motion scene in a horror movie, she watched the woman raise her sword to swing at the man’s head. A sword. An actual, honest-to-goodness, medieval weapon. What kind of trouble was this man in?
He tensed and his grip on her sweater tightened. Something flickered through his dark eyes, a decision, but she couldn’t fathom what. With a ragged breath, his face contorted in pain and he threw himself over the metal barrier, his weight slamming into her. The railing tore from her grip and they tumbled off the bridge.
For a heartbeat, Anaea was weightless, her mind unable to focus on anything but the woman standing on the bridge. Her expression was stunned, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. The headlights from the man’s car glinted off the sword blade and blood ran down its length onto her hand. The man’s blood. Anaea’s blood. And now they were falling.
Falling!
Her heart pounded hard; the world leapt back into real time. She drew breath to scream and they hit the water. The air burst from Anaea’s lungs. Water whooshed around her, cold and stinging. She couldn’t see, couldn’t feel, couldn’t breathe. Her brain screamed at her to surface, but if she let go, relaxed, everything would be over. Wasn’t this what she’d wanted? To end her struggle and finally beat the cancer?
Her Good Samaritan appeared inches from her face, water billowing his coat around him, his eyes peering into hers. Good God, he was still alive.
He clutched at her arm and pressed something hard and round into her palm, his expression pleading, desperate. Then his demeanor changed, hardened. He jerked her toward him and smashed his lips against hers.
What the hell was he doing? She struggled against him, but he grabbed the back of her head and thrust his tongue into her mouth, forcing it open. A ferocious heat raced down her throat, pouring across her chest and deep into her gut.
The heat grew, melting away the bite of the freezing water until fire radiated from every pore. An inferno rushed through her veins, raced into every organ, muscle, and bone. Expanding, burning, until she felt she’d burst or burn up or both.
She threw her head back and screamed. Water flooded her mouth and white light shot out.
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ABOUT C.I. BLACK
C.I. Black has always lived in a world of imagination. When she’s not daydreaming, she puts her flights of fancy down on paper writing urban fantasy and paranormal romance books.
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Table of 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
Other Books by C. I. Black
Excerpt: Immortal Coil
About the Author