Aequus

by Randi Cooley Wilson

  And when it does, most of us fight it before we accept it.

  I’d say it’s human nature, but I’m not human.

  For Serena and I, fate has led us back to the beginning.

  The gargoyle heir destined to reign, needing to be safeguarded from those who hunt her. And the reluctant protector who must educate her in the ways of her reality.

  It is a vicious cycle.

  Only this time, I’m not reluctant.

  And we are no longer fighting separate wars.

  We’re one—aequus.

  I wasn’t supposed to want her, because it wasn’t supposed to be about me. It was supposed to be about blood, oaths, and protection. Loyalties and obligations that we are, and were, both tethered to.

  Now, I’m enlightened.

  I realize those loyalties and obligations we’re bound to have always been about each other. Our fate.

  Acting on our attraction triggered a shitstorm of darkness to fall over both our futures. These past few days have been pure fucking hell. During the day, I force myself to stop imagining what is happening to her. Wondering whether she’s suffering. But nights are completely different.

  At night, in the darkness, I can’t guard my thoughts.

  And with the darkness comes the madness and anger.

  For the first time in my life, I will destroy everything and everyone in my way to fight for, and hold on to, my fate.

  Her.

  I’ll protect her, even if it takes me to my grave.

  Because I love her.

  Which is the only reason I’m staring at the dragons and torches in front of me. The wrought-iron gates creak open and we drive into the underground garage. Zander parks next to handful of expensive-looking vehicles.

  I take in a deep breath and exhale it slowly.

  Magali and Zander get out of the car, but I sit for a moment, talking myself off the ledge. Reminding myself how much Serena needs me to do this, in order to save her.

  A harsh knock on the glass window next to my face forces me to snap my gaze to my brother.

  He offers an encouraging nod and motions for me to get out of the vehicle as he opens the passenger door.

  I step out and we walk to the elevator.

  Once in, Magali presses the button for the first floor.

  With a quiet ding, the door to the elevator slides open, and we step into a short entry.

  The walls are a light gray and the floors a dark hardwood. I know this because my gaze is focused on the tips of my boots until we arrive at the black lacquered door.

  The three of us stand in front of it. Wordlessly.

  Stretching my neck from side to side, I sigh.

  Magali tugs at my elbow, signing it will be all right.

  Zander and I exchange a final look.

  I raise my fist and pound three times as instructed.

  And we wait.

  In silence.

  For what’s to come next.

  A moment later the door swings open.

  I inhale sharply at the sapphire eyes narrowed at me.

  “It’s about fucking time you showed up,” she says.

  NOX

  THE ROYAL PROTECTOR ACADEMY FINALE

  NOVEMBER 2017

  Love has revived an ancient war.

  Jealousy has risen and torn lives apart.

  And one prophecy demands the ultimate sacrifice.

  What if rewriting your destiny means that you must sacrifice the one you love? Serena St. Michael has forsaken her future—for him. Tristan Gallagher has renounced the throne—for her. The Vergina Sun prophecy has been fulfilled, but at what cost? Their love has renewed an ancient war. With Serena gone, will Tristan save her in time? Or will the dark army of Diablo Fairies descend upon the Royal Protector Academy, destroying the London clan’s legacy and ending the existence of the gargoyle race forever? Nox is the finale in the Royal Protector Academy series.

  (THE DARK SOUL SERIES, BOOK ONE)

  Coming May 2017

  “THERE IS NO REASON THIS HAS to be difficult, Miss Annandale.”

  Startled by the voice, my eyes blink rapidly and I pull my stare away from the dark figure hiding behind a snow-covered tree. Its constant presence is the reason my mind has turned.

  “Miss Annandale?” the inquisitive voice firmly repeats.

  I exhale and slowly shift my attention to the warm, vibrant gentleman who is assessing me with a curious expression. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” I manage.

  The expensive leather groans under his weight as he sits back in his executive chair, quietly scrutinizing my disposition. Dr. Cornelius Foster has been studying me since I walked through the door, fingers tented under his chin. It’s unnerving. Even so, I don’t show my discomfort.

  I’ve learned that exposing alarm is cause for medication.

  And the meds only serve to darken my mind further.

  I focus on the prestigious degrees and awards the good doctor proudly showcases on the rich burgundy wall behind his mahogany desk. They’re impressive. He’s impressive. None of it matters, though. He can’t help me. No one can.

  “Let’s talk about the voices. Are you still hearing them?”

  The voices are constant. Never ending. But that isn’t what he wants to hear. The hundreds of thousands of dollars he’s spent on those framed degrees won’t allow the voices to still be there.

  If years of conventional medical treatments and medication haven’t helped, one hour in a Swiss healing spa certainly isn’t going to. I fake a smile. “They’re much quieter now.”

  Dr. Foster dips his chin. “And the demons? Do you still see them?”

  I can’t help but notice how bright his crisp button-down shirt looks against his dark chocolate skin. The white almost appears to glow. I pretend he’s an angel sent from Heaven to protect me from evil.

  “Hope?” he prompts, stating my name.

  “I haven’t seen one since landing in Switzerland,” I lie.

  Dr. Foster’s brows furrow and he runs a large hand over his full beard. The gesture causes me to stare at the few strands of grey mixed in with the black. For a man in his early forties, Cornelius Foster certainly is easy on the eyes. His features remind me of that actor, Idris Elba. Unlike the other doctors before him, he’s sharp and seems to be able to read me.

  Lost in thought, I don’t realize he’s now leaning on his desk in front of me, his muscular arms crossed.

  “Hope,” he commands my attention again. “You’re safe here. Our patient-doctor relationship only works if you are candid during our sessions. I can’t help if you don’t truthfully tell me what is going on inside your head. While you are here, I expect open and honest communication. There is no judgment. I’m here to aid in your healing.”

  An awkward silence lingers between us.

  It’s been two years since my twenty-first birthday; two years my mind has been haunted by visions of suffering, pain, and torture. The images are burned into my memory.

  I squeeze my eyes closed and attempt to push them away, along with the bile.

  A small knock at the door breaks through our quiet standoff.

  “Come in,” Dr. Foster answers, without taking his gaze off me.

  I twist my focus to the girl who slides into his office. With her presence, a cold chill spreads through my limbs. The stranger’s brown eyes are vacant. Just like mine.

  She’s young, around my age, and looks to be of Native American heritage.

  Her straight brown hair falls to her waist and is parted down the middle. I watch as she flips one side over a slender shoulder. The gesture is odd. There is no feeling behind it. It’s almost as if someone programmed her to blink and move every few seconds as a way for her to appear human.

  “Hope, this is Lore,” Dr. Foster says by way of introduction. “She’ll be your roommate during your stay here at Shadowbrook.”

  I frown. “Roommate? I thought my parents requested a private suite?”

  The psychiatrist smirks. �
�Human nature thrives on community. I believe it’s healthy to be social. Having a suitemate will be beneficial to your healing. You’ll see.”

  I don’t answer him as I once again meet Lore’s unresponsive expression.

  “We’re done for the day.” Dr. Foster walks around and sits behind his desk. “Lore will show you around the campus and help to get you settled in. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon for our private session.”

  Relieved at the dismissal, I stand and face my new roommate. She’s silent as she opens the door and waits for me to walk through. Maybe Lore doesn’t speak. I can certainly understand the desire to remain quiet and keep people at arm’s length.

  Walking through the door, I watch as inky shadows swirl around her aura.

  Demon.

  Start at the beginning with

  (THE REVELATION SERIES, BOOK ONE)

  I’M RUNNING, AND NOT VERY WELL, might I add. My lungs burn and my shallow breathing erratically bounces off the slick stone walls. I keep moving forward, forcing myself farther and farther into the dark underground passage. It’s cold, damp, and smells like musk.

  “What the hell is following me?” I ask myself, as confusion sets in. The only thing I’m certain of is that I’m bone-chillingly terrified, down to the core of my very soul. I’m frightened that whatever is chasing me will catch me, because when it does, there’s no doubt it will kill me. Its hatred and anger rolls off it in waves, crashing through me like a sharp gust of wind, suffocating me. I’m positive it’s pure evil.

  Just as I reach the end of the tunnel, I hit a solid wall, ceasing my progress and ending my futile efforts at escape. “Shit,” I whisper out loud, while I strike my palms against the water-slicked stones. Feeling defeated, I place my forehead to the damp wall and release a soft whimper.

  I need to figure out my options, quickly. I sense its presence closing in, dropping the tunnel’s temperature from cool and damp to downright frigid, the glacial air settling around the passageway. My breath comes out in a cloud in front of me. My heart rate increases as I stifle the gag reflex being challenged by the rancid smell of sulfur and sour milk.

  “Eeeve,” it hisses, mocking me. Sensing my deepest fears, it begins to play with me by using those emotions against me. “Oh God,” I exhale, as I close my eyes and rub my temples, trying to ease the dread rising in my throat.

  Panicked, I start talking to myself. “Think, Eve.” I turn around, allowing my eyes to scan over the dark enclosed area. All I can see in front of me is black. Blowing out a harsh breath, I begin to pray for a miracle as I wait for it to manifest.

  “Nope, nothing,” I say dejectedly to no one.

  I twist back to the wall. In a frantic state, I push and pound on the large, dark gray stones, trying anything. I’m desperate, and there’s an off-chance that located somewhere is a hidden opening that could grant me freedom.

  Then I hear it. The thing I fear most. I spin and freeze, fixed in my spot at the hissing sound of slithering snakes. Oh shit, now I’m really afraid. My heartbeat echoes in my ears as a severe chill runs down the length of my spine. My lips force air out sharply in a frenzied state, causing strands of fallen hair to jump away from my face with each irregular breath.

  Without warning, the tunnel goes silent. The only sound ricocheting off the wet stones is my strained breath being forced into the dark abyss. I remind myself to inhale before I suffer from a full-blown panic attack. With great slowness, I rotate to face my attacker.

  No one is there.

  As I swallow hard, my eyes shift down to the floor and take in the dark tendrils of smoke that crawl around my ankles, rooting me to the ground. What the hell? My eyes dart around wildly, searching for the point of origin of the wisp, but there isn’t one.

  With my back pressed flat against the cold concrete wall and the dampness seeping into my shirt, I’ve resigned myself to the fact that this is how I’m going to die. I close my eyes in acceptance and attempt to steady my breathing, listening to the droplets of water hitting the ground.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  I try to convince myself it will be okay as the dark cloud works its way up my body, wrapping forcefully around my neck and cutting off the oxygen supply sustaining me.

  Black spots form behind my closed eyelids as I become light-headed and dizzy. The lack of oxygen begins to take hold of my body, and I start to lose consciousness. Crap.

  “Dimittet eam, Nero,” I hear a strong male voice order, in a calm yet deadly tone.

  I can’t see my savior. Everything is shrouded in darkness. Maybe he isn’t even here, and I’m hallucinating in my final moments of life.

  The black mist loosens its choke hold on my neck while hissing angrily. “Deus tuus, ibi est filia eius.”

  A putrid gust of air blankets my face with each seething mock. Changing its mind, the evil smoke cackles, wrapping around my throat again and gripping firmly, causing me to wheeze. What the fuck?

  “Dixit mittam tibi pergat ad profundum inferni, sive,” my liberator says heatedly in Latin.

  Nero releases me, then turns to my rescuer, morphing into the outline of a man. At the discharge of its hold, my body slides down the slick wall, landing harshly on the glacial, water-soaked stone floor. I begin coughing and gasping for air as I place my head between my legs, willing air into my lungs.

  “Et subdit quod me putesssss?” Nero hisses.

  “Yes, you repulsive excuse of an existence, I do think I can send you back to the depths of Hell,” my protector replies calmly, yet cockily.

  “Et veniunt ad me ut, gurgulio,” Nero states, in a final slithery tone. At that command, my savior pulls out a long, black, granite sword that reflects the water cascading down the passage walls.

  “Delectabiliter,” the dark knight replies coldly, before he attacks.

  Even wrapped in blackness, I can sense he’s a trained warrior. His body moves with ease and agility as he engages Nero. I hear each whoosh the sword makes as it slices effortlessly through the air, making contact with each thrust.

  I can’t make out any of the warrior’s facial features, but I know he’s large and moves fast and efficiently. I close my eyes for a brief second, only to throw them open in alarm at the high-pitched shriek coming from the thing called Nero, as it bursts into blue flames and vanishes.

  That’s when I officially lose control over my emotions and begin to shake uncontrollably, with tears flowing down my pale cheeks. The blackness engulfs me, choking me. I shut my eyes, wishing that everything would just stop, and that I was anywhere else.

  All of a sudden, I feel warmth and calm flow through my veins, as my guardian kneels down next to me and pulls me into his safe embrace with gentleness. He strokes my hair, trying to pacify me as I cling to him for life.

  The masculine scent of smoky wood and leather fills my nose, as his deep voice whispers in my ear.

  “Hush. It’s all right. You’re safe. No harm will come to you. I’ve got you.” His tone is slow and soft, as if speaking to a wounded animal, lulling me into a state of calmness.

  With great tenderness, his large, warm hands cup my cheeks and lift my face to meet his, wiping the tears away with his thumbs—a pointless effort, since the flow increases with the kind gesture.

  My gaze lifts and connects with a pair of glowing indigo eyes. They’re staring at me with such intensity and affection that his look creates an ache deep within my chest, as my body draws itself to his of its own accord, like it knows him.

  The voice belonging to those eyes speaks with a firm vow. “I will protect you . . . always.”

  Gasping for air, I abruptly sit up in bed and swallow down a scream. My fists clutch my blanket in a severe death grip, as pieces of my light brown hair fall from my ponytail and stick to the sweat on my face and neck.

  I drop my head into my waiting hands and realize my cheeks are wet, most likely from the tears that escaped my hazel eyes during my nightmare.

  The dampness
causes my long, dark lashes to stick to one another while I rub them. The lids open, then close again, and I order myself to take even breaths to calm my erratic heartbeat. As I slowly open them for the final time, my heart rate picks up once more, at the realization of what’s coming next.

  I turn to my left and steel myself.

  “What. The. Hell. Eve!” Aria, my roommate and self-appointed best friend, screeches, and I wince from the high-pitched octave. Crap. I woke her up, again.

  She’s sitting on her bed, looking like a pissed-off fairy. Her normally cute pink, pixie-cut hair is suffering a major case of bed head, sticking up in all directions.

  “Are you okay?” Aria asks, with an irritated yet concern-laced voice, and her petite hands on her curvy hips. She’s staring at me, waiting for an explanation as I open and close my mouth like a gaping fish, trying to form intelligent words.

  “Sorry, I um, bad dream,” I mutter inarticulately.

  “No shit,” she says, with sarcasm dripping from her lips. “Same one?” The question is thrown out along with some serious stink eye radiating from her round chocolate orbs.

  Arianna “Aria” Donovan dislikes being woken up in the middle of the night. I know this because we’ve been college roommates for all of one month now. Which means I’ve woken her up more times than I care to count.

  We met over the summer during freshman orientation, and according to Aria, it was “friendship at first sight.” As new students, we were placed into groups of ten and forced to play this ridiculous get-to-know-you game where each person had a photo of a particular cartoon character taped to their back. The goal was to ask the group questions in an attempt to gain enough information to guess who your character was, so you could partner up with your match for the rest of orientation.

  Aria was Bert and I was Ernie. We’ve been inseparable ever since, even requesting to room together this semester. Well, in truth, Aria demanded we room together, and since I’m pretty easygoing, I didn’t put up a fight, figuring it would be nice to know someone.