Power in Darkness
Supernatural Community
Book Two
KRISTA STREET
Copyright © 2020 by Krista Street
All rights reserved.
First Published: January 31, 2020
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, transmitted or distributed in any printed or electronic form, or stored in a database or retrieval system for any commercial or non-commercial use, without the author’s written permission.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and plot are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any places, business establishments, events or occurrences, are purely coincidental.
50102001270108
Cover art by Covers by Combs.
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Preface
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
Dragons in Fire
Supernatural Community
Thank you
Preface
Power in Darkness is a coming-of-age shifter paranormal romance and is the second book in the Supernatural Community series. The recommended reading age for this series is 18+.
Chapter 1
Thick black illness swirled into my palms. My hands hovered above my client’s head, absorbing his sickness.
He lay quietly on my healing table with his eyes closed. Acne covered his cheeks, and wispy stubble grazed his chin. At nineteen, he’d only just begun adulthood.
Sweat beaded along my upper lip, and my palms trembled. In my client’s mind, the diseased cells dipped and played, toying with me. They were trying to hide and evade my powerful internal light.
You can’t hide from me. I’ll find you.
Heat radiated from my palms as I sought every imbalance in his brain. Silence filled the small storage shed as I worked my light. Only the hard concrete floor beneath my soles registered in my mind. Everything else—the autumn wind rustling through the shed’s thin walls, my client’s anxious mother rocking in the corner, Cecile’s intense gaze as she watched over the healing session—had faded.
I bit my lip as my hands shifted to my client’s ears. My light flowed into his temporal lobes, and I grimaced. He had so many chemical imbalances—definitely schizophrenia.
A voice cackled to my left when I extracted a particularly diseased section, but I ignored it. I knew the voice wasn’t real since my client’s persistent hallucinations were transferring to me.
I worked deeper into my client’s mind, encircling and capturing the demented cells.
That’s it. Almost done.
When the last remnant of my client’s mental illness transferred to me, I hunched over, my hands gripping the edge of the portable bed tightly. My harsh pants filled the room.
“You stupid, bitch! Do you really think you can beat me?” A haggard-looking old woman appeared on my left, stringy gray hair hanging around her shoulders. Her gnarled hands reached for me. “You think you’re so smart, playing witch doctor with kids. You’re no witch! You’re a fake! No wonder your mother died. It was the only way to be rid of you!” She laughed, the sound ugly and twisted.
I squeezed my eyes shut and called up my light, pulling all of it from where I stored it deep below my navel. The hot fire climbed from my belly into my mind, burning me and the schizophrenia as it went. The cackling woman beside me faded, her voice growing quieter, as my healing light rid me of my client’s hallucinations.
“What’s she doing?” my client’s mother asked, her voice quietly drifting to me from where she sat in the corner of the storage shed.
“Shh!” Cecile hissed. “Daria needs absolute quiet and concentration to work her gift.”
I tuned them out and coaxed my light to burn stronger. Heat burst through my mind, destroying the last sick remnants in its path.
The haggard woman shattered into oblivion as my light shot from my fingertips in a powerful eruption, bathing the room in gold.
A muffled shriek came from my client’s mother.
A moment passed, then another. Slowly, the sounds and smells of the small storage shed permeated my mind: soft cries of gratitude came from my client, the squeak of his mother’s chair as she hurried forward to reach him, and scents of lavender and rosemary from the burning candles tickled my nose. Finally, Cecile’s quiet footsteps tapped as she approached me from behind.
I stayed bent over the table, sweat dripping from my forehead. Fatigue rolled through my body, but already, it was passing.
Cecile squeezed my shoulder comfortingly but removed her hand just as my light rushed upward from my navel. The shocks that came from people touching me, activating my gift, never occurred during Cecile’s brief affections. She was one of the few people that understood my touching limitations.
“We have ten minutes before your next client arrives. Is that enough time?”
I nodded and grabbed the small towel Cecile held out to me. I wiped the sweat from my brow before handing it back to her. Even though the temperature hovered around sixty-five, I felt hot and winded, as if I’d just run five miles.
“Thank you! Thank you for healing him!” my client’s mother gushed.
She rushed forward and reached for my hand just as her son sat upright on the portable bed. He stared at me with a look of disbelief.
I let the mother squeeze my hand briefly but pulled back when a painful flare followed. “How are you feeling?” I asked her son.
He shook his head, a look of amazement on his face. “I feel fine. Really good, actually. The voices … they’re gone.”
I smiled warmly before Cecile ushered them out of the shed.
After grabbing my water bottle, I took a long drink then bit into a granola bar. I chewed quickly, knowing I didn’t have much time. Sure enough, only a few minutes passed before a car door slammed. I chugged another drink and set my things down.
The door to the storage shed creaked open. In hobbled an elderly woman with her husband at her side. One of her legs was shorter than the other, her gait uneven. She’d been a victim of polio in her toddler years. Within half an hour, she would be free of the virus’s destruction on her body—just as soon as my light burned away her sickness.
∞ ∞ ∞
That night, I lay on my bunk in our tour bus, twirling a strand of my blond hair around my finger, my phone pressed to my ear. Our ancient bus rumbled beneath me as Mike drove us to my next venue. Above my bed, through the narrow window, I could see the full moon. It lit up the sky.
“How did things go today?” I asked Logan, my former bodyguard and newly appointed boyfriend. He, along with his three werewolf friends—Jake, Alexander, and Brodie—were all in California, trying to track down someone who had stolen a dragon from a dragon trainer.
Logan grumbled. “Not good. The culprit knows how to cover his tracks. He’s all but disappeared.”
“So not an easy fix.” I sighed.
I still couldn’t believe that dragons existed and weren’t just in fairytales and movies. The times Logan had spoken of the supernatural community during the past few days had only
increased my desire to visit him. I bit my lip and let my hair fall before turning on my side.
“And how are your friends?” I asked.
Jake, Alexander, and Brodie were also members of the Supernatural Forces, the supernatural community’s version of the armed guards and law enforcement combined. The four of them were in the same squad.
“Good, but their teasing me about you is getting irritating.”
I laughed.
“So where’s your next stop?” Logan asked.
I peeked out the window. Dark mountains surrounded us as we climbed a steep hill. “Not far from Bozeman—I think some small town north of I-90.” I let the curtain fall. “It’s hard to believe tomorrow’s my last day off. That means my tour’s almost finished.” A delicious thrill ran through me at what that meant. Already, a week had passed since Logan boarded a Greyhound bus in Miles City. It had been a long week without him.
I expected Logan to come back with an excited remark, instead, his tone turned serious. “North of Bozeman? That’s werewolf territory.”
I perked up. “It is? Does that mean I’ll run into other people from your pack?”
“Not likely in that area.” He grumbled again, tension strumming along the line. “Be careful, and steer clear of any stray wolves, okay? You have no idea what kind of scent your magic gives off. Other wolves will know you’re a supernatural, which to them means you’re ripe for the picking.”
I snickered. “I wouldn’t even know how to steer clear of one. You all look like any other human, other than the fact that you’re all freakishly huge.”
Again, my teasing tone didn’t alleviate his grave one. “We’re all big, yes. That’s the only clue you’ll get if you meet one of us, but Dar, be mindful of who you run into. Okay? Having to contend with another wolf for you would be painful enough, but they’re not who I’m worried about. I’ve heard rumors of a few rogues in that area.”
“What are rogues?”
“They’re wolves that have left packs and live alone, but any werewolf who’s alone for an extended period of time changes. Packs keep us civil, more human than animal, but rogues…” He paused, and I would have sworn he was running his hand through his hair. “They’re not like me or my friends. They’re vicious and cruel, and if you encountered a rogue and resisted him, he’d most likely force himself on you.”
“Really?” I shuddered. “Are rogues common? How many are there?”
“Less than a hundred that we know of, but that’s a hundred too many. The SF is always trying to track down and capture them.”
My stomach tightened, my teasing mood evaporating. “Okay, I’ll be careful, but what do you mean about my scent? You can smell my magic? You’ve never mentioned that before.”
He sighed heavily. “I still have so much to tell you, but yes, your magic has a scent. Witches have a floral smell. Your magic smells like blooming roses, and it’s strong. In general, the stronger the magic, the stronger the scent.”
A lightbulb clicked on inside me. So that’s what Alexander was talking about. One of Logan’s friends had made a comment about me smelling like roses when I’d overheard the four of them talking about me after a particularly brutal healing session the other week.
“And that part about me being ripe for the picking, what does that mean?”
“Supes are only allowed to date other supes, so you’ll be seen as a potential mate by other wolves within the community.”
I sat up, swinging my legs over my bunk. My long blond hair fell over my shoulders. “Wait, so supernaturals aren’t allowed to date humans?”
“Not without special permission from the courts. The community’s law changed about ten years ago. Some supes have dated humans in the past—like your mom—and some even married them, but not all marriages and relationships last, and when a jilted lover is looking for revenge, what better way to do that than to draw attention to us? We’ve had a few sticky situations when humans reported us to the government and other organizations that would benefit from having supes on their payrolls.”
My feet thumped quietly on the floor when I hopped down from my bunk. I’d never been able to date humans because of my light, so that realization didn’t particularly bother me. “I had no idea, but don’t worry. I’ll be careful. I won’t run into any single werewolves looking for a girlfriend, and I’ll try to avoid any rogues.”
He chuckled. “Good. Avoid any and all single werewolves, cause I’m not the sharing type. You’re mine, Daria Gresham, and mine alone.”
Goose bumps tingled on my arms from the possessive growl in his tone. Next came the familiar tightening in my core when I pictured Logan’s large hands running along my body as he showed me just how possessive he was. Already, dampness coated my panties. He’d made me react that way from day one.
Squirming, I was about to ask him more about dragons when Logan added quietly, “And, Dar? I mean it about the rogues. If you come across any—run.”
∞ ∞ ∞
Logan’s words sank in after we hung up, snuffing out some of the desire that burned in me. It was crazy to think I’d never encountered another werewolf or supernatural before, but Logan said I probably had but hadn’t known it.
According to him, the community knew that my family had excommunicated themselves centuries ago—for what reason, I still didn’t know—so most left us alone. But because word was out that I knew about the community and intended to visit, he didn’t know if that would still be the case.
I bit my lip as I stood in the dressing room, looking for clean pajamas. With a flick of my fingers and a muttered spell under my breath, two sets of pajamas floated up from the drawer and hovered in front of me. I grabbed the blue pair—a skimpy tank top with matching shorts—and slipped them on.
Frowning, I mulled over what Logan had told me. Despite unquenched desire flowing through my veins—the result of hearing Logan’s voice—his words also reminded me that we led separate lives, mine in the human world and his in the supernatural one.
But it doesn’t have to be that way.
I chewed on my nail, my brow furrowing. Unbidden thoughts kept entering my mind, tempting me to walk away from my calling. But my supernatural healing tour waiting list was two years long. Sick people who were hoping to still be alive by the time their appointment arrived were counting on me. Yet as each day progressed and my life outside of the supernatural community continued, I began to question if I really wanted to continue my tours. Every day, our nomadic existence grew less and less appealing.
But I’m a Gresham!
I held on to that thought, trying to find comfort in it. After all, according to my ancestors, our gift was created to help others, to heal them.
And at the moment, I was the only Gresham woman in the world since my mother and my grandmother had died the previous year. If I didn’t continue our way of life, if I didn’t birth a daughter and raise her to do what we did, my family’s legacy would die with me. Centuries of my people’s sacrifices would have been for nothing.
I hung my head. My mom had told me that doubt would eventually plague me—that I would question my purpose in life, even want to abandon it. The path my ancestors had chosen wasn’t easy. It required sacrifice. I knew all too well what she was referring to now.
The urge to stomp my foot and rail at my predicament grew almost uncontrollable with every passing mile as our bus rumbled down the interstate. Frustration over my life and longing for something that could never be had haunted me all week.
Why couldn’t I have been born a normal witch? One without these great expectations?
Despite only a week passing since Logan had left, already the distance was wearing on me, and even though I wanted to be with Logan, considering our current circumstances—my responsibility to my clients, and his to the SF—I didn’t know if that was possible.
That was one reason why my mother and my nan had never married. Most in my family didn’t. Our calling was to heal others, not to pursue a life of
self-gratification.
Cecile nudged the door open. “Everything okay, Dar?”
Her perfect gray bun sat just above the nape of her neck. Whistling drifted down the aisle from the driver’s seat. Mike had the radio cranked up.
I forced a smile and stood up straighter. “Yeah. Fine. Just thinking about something.”
“Well, it’s getting late.” She checked her watch. “You may want to get to sleep since tomorrow is the only day you can sleep in before your tour finishes.”
“Of course, good idea.” I crammed the second pair of pajamas back in the drawer. “So after my show tomorrow, how much farther west are we going?”
“Western Washington is the last stop, just south of Seattle.”
I took some comfort in that. Western Washington strayed well out of rogue territory. Once we hit that state and moved progressively west, fewer stray wolves would be around, and if less than a hundred werewolves had gone rogue from the community, the chances of me actually running into one were pretty small.
At least that was one worry I wouldn’t have to think about.
Chapter 2
“Have we got it all, Cece?” I pushed our heavy shopping cart toward one of the supermarket checkout lines. Around us, the steady beep beep of checkout scanners filled the air. Since it was my last day off, we were doing really exciting things—like grocery shopping.
Cecile held up her shopping list and checked things off with a pencil. “I think so. Those steaks should be delicious tonight. Mike will be excited that we splurged on them. We can even pull out the Weber and properly grill them. What do you think?” She set another item on the conveyer belt. “Dar?”
“What? Oh, yeah.” I shook myself, trying to not let my increasing anxiety over what my future held get the better of me. All day, I’d had a hard time concentrating. “Steaks sound good.”
After paying, we wheeled the old cart into the parking lot. The rickety wheels spun noisily along the pavement as morning sunshine streamed down, and the Rockies loomed around us like giant bowling pins.
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