Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by hamilton, rebecca

  Sam pleaded with his gaze and André shook his head. He wanted everyone on the battle ship to hear this. He wanted his home planet to know what their emperor was made of. “The prophecy was bullshit, wasn’t it?”

  The emperor glared at André and sent the silent command to the warship to send the fighter fleet.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” André said and looked up at the sky, unleashing the power and fury inside him before the battleship could fire on the domes. The air in the stadium changed, rippling around André as a powerful blast shot out through the opening in the stadium ceiling, passing through the solid sphere of the dome and annihilating the fighter planes. He took it a step further and destroyed the flight deck on the warship, disabling their ability to fire on Earth.

  The stadium roared as the television screens switched to show the disintegration of the fighter jets in space.

  André staggered a step and shook the cobwebs of exhaustion from his head. He glanced back at the emperor. “Tell them the real reason you killed my parents and sent me packing,” he demanded, circling again. “Tell us all.” He looked around the stadium, his eyes falling on the remains of Katrina and Matthew. His face contorted with rage, pushing the tiredness from his bones. He stepped closer to the emperor, slamming his fist into the man’s face. “Tell them!”

  The emperor glared at André, blood gushing from his broken nose.

  “Since you seem to be without words, I think I’ll clue everyone in on just how much of a bastard you really are.” André stepped away. “You manipulated Zyclonian prophecy to suit your own needs. The prophecy that I read stated a mad tyrant would destroy Zyclon, not a blue-eyed boy. Not the heir to the throne.”

  The emperor struggled to break free of the invisible bonds that held him in place.

  “You conveniently targeted my blue eyes, because I was different,” André growled. “It didn’t matter that I was your nephew. It didn’t matter that I had legitimate claim to the throne. All that mattered to you was power and control, and with me and my parents alive, that threatened all you built. All you stole.” André looked around the stadium and up at the displays. “So tell me, Emperor,” he said, his voice filled with bitter sarcasm, “did you fulfill the prophecy? Did you destroy Zyclon?”

  Silence fell over the crowd and he looked up at the screens, feeling the pause of the warship crew.

  “You are an abomination,” the emperor hissed.

  André laughed. “You killed your own sister and sent your nephew into space to die. I think you’ve got the corner on that market.” He looked in the direction of his dead wife. “I’ve waited over twenty-five years for payback,” he said, glancing over at Sam, “and you’ve destroyed almost everything I cared about.” His vision clouded with red tears. “And as much as I want to see you die for what you have done…” He trailed off as the tears spilled. “I can’t kill you in cold blood. That would make me no better than you,” he said and walked toward Sam.

  “And my father taught me better than that,” he whispered and stopped behind the emperor. He put his hand on the back of his head and with a vicious mental yank, he slammed the barrier in the emperor’s mind closed, shutting all traces of his inhuman power.

  “But I can take away your power,” he said over the emperor’s cry of pain.

  André dropped his hand and turned toward his son.

  “He killed Papa and Mom,” Sam said as André approached.

  André nodded. “But that doesn’t make it right for me to kill him. Too many have already died.”

  “He declared war,” Sam whispered.

  “He did more than that, Sam. He destroyed Zyclon,” André said, looking at the display now broadcasting the interior of the warship control room, and received a nod from the acting commander of the Zyclonian fleet. “It’s over now and he’ll stand trial for his crimes.” He put his arm around Sam, turning him away from the carnage. “Let him go.”

  Sam released the emperor, squashing the urge to shatter the bastard’s bones to a pulp where he stood. His gaze fell on his mother and tremors started in his stomach, spiraling outward while sobs ripped from his chest.

  Cal’s wide eyes caught his attention and then his father lurched forward onto his knees, his breath a wincing wheeze of an exhale. No inhale followed and his father fell forward with a dagger sticking out of his back.

  Sam spun around, fury lining the power, transforming it into a wild beast, and he let loose.

  The skin peeled from the emperor, his scream a fraction of a second too late, but when it came, it echoed like a frightened little girl.

  Sam crossed the distance and plunged his hand inside the man’s chest. “You won’t be needing this, but my father will,” he said and ripped out the emperor’s heart. He stood in the center of the football stadium, holding the muscle in his hand, reeling in his power and focusing it on keeping the heart beating and strong.

  The emperor keeled backwards, dying like he lived—heartless.

  Epilogue

  The sounds of the heart monitor and the swish of the ventilator registered in his fog-ridden brain. André’s eyes fluttered open. The bright lights of the operating room made him squeeze his eyes shut again. He welcomed the darkness.

  You can’t stay, her voice whispered in his ear.

  But I want to be with you, he said, straining to see her in the mist.

  Katrina stepped into view. We will be together again someday. But right now, Sam needs you. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. I love you. Katrina faded, mixing in with the smoky mist.

  “Don’t go!” André yelled and sat up in the recovery room.

  Cal looked up from the chart. “It’s about time you came back to us.”

  “Kat,” André whispered, looking around the room. He glanced back at Cal. Slowly, the events of the past couple of days filtered back into his consciousness. André lay back on the pillow and covered his face with his hands. “She’s dead,” he said, finally allowing the despair to take hold.

  Cal put the chart down. “We thought we lost you, too.”

  “My father’s gone.”

  “Yes.”

  “Please tell me Sam’s okay.” He looked beyond his fingers.

  “Sam’s just fine.” Cal smiled. “He’s with your mother. They’re waiting to see you.” He handed André a wet washcloth and let out a small chuckle. “I’m not sure what to call you. Is it Commander or Your Highness?”

  André glared at him. “Don’t go there, Cal,” he said, wiping the bloody tears from his cheeks. “Did anyone else from the team make it?” he asked, diverting the conversation of his true lineage to another time.

  “No, you and I are the only ones who are still alive.”

  André wiped his face and took a deep breath, stepping into the role of commander as easily as his father had. “We need to arrange a national memorial service to recognize the sacrifices our team made, as well as my father’s leadership in protecting the country.”

  “I already made that suggestion to the president and he is waiting for word on your condition before he finalizes the plans,” Cal said.

  “What about the remaining Zyclonians on the spaceship?”

  “Peaceful negotiations are underway and they haven’t shown any signs of hostility since your showdown. The president has included Sam in the negotiations and Sam confirmed their peaceful intent. He says they just want a place where they are welcome.”

  André nodded and closed his eyes, letting the emotions back in. “Can I see Sam now?”

  “In a second,” Cal said. “I need to tell you the extent of the damage and what we had to do.” He sat on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath. “Do you know what happened?”

  André shook his head. “The last thing I remember was leading Sam away.”

  “Your uncle threw a dagger and it went through your heart,” Cal said. “I tried to push it away, but I was a little late on the draw. I was only able to move the trajectory a little, enough to save yo
ur life, but not enough to save your heart.”

  André looked down at the bandages on his chest and back at Cal. “Okay, so whose heart do I have?”

  “Your uncle’s,” Cal replied.

  Surprise sputtered a shiver up his spine and André’s eyebrows creased. He had left the emperor alive on the football field.

  “Sam killed him,” he replied to the unspoken question in André’s eyes. “He ended up being a perfect match to your blood and tissue type. Better than the one we had on ice.”

  André closed his eyes and nodded. “Where’s my heart?”

  “Probably still in the operating room. Why?”

  “I want it buried with Katrina,” he said. “She’s the one who owns it.” The tears fell again. “It belongs with her.”

  Cal nodded. “I’ll make sure that happens,” he said and stood up. “There haven’t been any complications at this point and no sign of your body rejecting the organ.”

  André opened his eyes, meeting Cal’s. “I don’t know how I feel about this,” he said. “I hated my uncle; he was a cold-blooded killer.”

  “André, it’s just a muscle that pumps blood. You are still André Robbins, no matter whose heart is in your body.” Cal tapped his temple. “It’s what’s up here that counts.” He headed for the door. “Besides, it’s an ironic twist of justice,” he said over his shoulder. “He wanted you dead; instead, he ended up saving your life.”

  André swallowed the lump in his throat and sent a sad, lonely smile in Cal’s direction. “That’s something Kat would have said.”

  * * *

  The End

  Thank you for reading MESSIAH. If you enjoyed this book, please look for other titles by J.E. Taylor at http://www.JETaylor75.com. And as always, please consider leaving a review!

  About the Author

  J.E. Taylor is an award winning, USA Today bestselling author, a publisher, an editor, a manuscript formatter, a mother, a wife, a business analyst, and a Supernatural fangirl, not necessarily in that order. She first sat down to seriously write in February of 2007 after her daughter asked:

  * * *

  “Mom, if you could do anything, what would you do?”

  * * *

  From that moment on, she hasn’t looked back.

  * * *

  In addition to being co-owner of Novel Concept Publishing (www.novelconceptpublishing.com), Ms. Taylor also moonlights as a Senior Editor of Allegory (www.allegoryezine.com), an online venue for Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror.

  * * *

  She lives in Connecticut with her husband and two children and during the summer months enjoys her weekends on the shore in southern Maine.

  Visit her at www.jetaylor75.com and sign up for her newsletter for early previews of her upcoming books, release announcements, and special opportunities for free swag!

  Sign up for Ms. Taylor’s newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/P6UPX

  Spark Rising

  Kate Corcino

  Spark Rising: The Progenitor Saga COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Kate Corcino

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, stored, scanned, transmitted or distributed in any form or by any means, including but not limited to mechanical, printed, or electronic form, without prior written permission of the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  Contact Information: www.katecorcino.com

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  * * *

  Published in the United States of America

  Created with Vellum

  SPARK RISING

  All that’s required to ignite a revolution is a single spark rising. Lena is it.

  * * *

  Two hundred years after the cataclysm that annihilated fossil fuels, Sparks keep electricity flowing through their control of energy-giving Dust. The Council of Nine rebuilt civilization on the backs of Sparks, offering citizens a comfortable life in a relo-city in exchange for power, particularly over the children able to fuel the future. The strongest of the boys are taken as Wards and raised to become elite agents, the Council’s enforcers and spies. Strong girls—those who could advance the rapidly-evolving matrilineal power—don’t exist. Not according to the Council.

  * * *

  Lena Gracey died as a child, mourned publicly by parents desperate to keep her from the Council. She was raised in hiding until she fled the relo-city for solitary freedom in the desert. Lena lives off the grid, selling her power on the black market.

  * * *

  Agent Alex Reyes was honed into a calculating weapon at the Ward School to do the Council’s dirty work. But Alex lives a double life. He’s leading the next generation of agents in a secret revolution to destroy those in power from within.

  * * *

  The life Lena built to escape her past ends the day Alex arrives looking for a renegade Spark.

  1

  “Nothing says ‘Home, Sweet Home’ like an abandoned gas station.”

  The words came with a muffled snort from one of the two men following Lena. He probably hadn’t meant for her to hear them—probably—but the rich, husky tone of his voice carried them to her.

  Lena rolled her eyes, her back still to the client and his assistant. “Does my home offend you, Mr. Reyes?” She kept her tone even and pleasant. It took effort. A lot of effort.

  “No, no,” he answered from behind her. “I’m just trying to understand what would make someone see this place and say, ‘Now this…this is the place I want to call home.’” He paused. “Miss Gracey,” he added, mimicking her formality.

  She could hear his amusement. It was nothing she hadn’t heard from other clients before. As far as she was concerned, he could keep trying. She highly doubted he’d get it.

  When she’d arrived at the ancient gas station nine years before, she’d been fifteen and full of rage, fear, and pride over making her escape from a life of hiding in the city. The empty building still stood firm against the onslaught of the world. Buckled, collapsed pavement at the far end of the lot showed where the tanks below ground had ignited during the cataclysm two centuries before. The void was filled with sand pushed by the wind—a shifting, fatal trap for the unwary. A tumbleweed bounced across the rubble of the road, smashing against teetering pump fourteen, shedding thorns and seeds as it rolled off again.

  The desolation was a reflection of Lena’s grief. She’d staked her claim on the station and carved her home out of drifted sand and weeds. She didn’t expect those who lived in the comfort of a relo-city—surrounded by people and walls to keep the world at bay—to understand why it mattered to claim a corner of the wild as hers alone. The cities that had grown out of the post-disaster relocation centers were the last hope of those clinging to the old ways. They were willing to give up a lot to live in safety. She knew safety was relative.

  Now her client, and the assistant who’d powered the electric vehicle to get him out here, sized her home up as they followed her inside. The visual examination of the home she’d built for herself, the life alone, was typical of every client, every time.

  This time the examination, and the judgment it implied, rankled. She spun around, mouth opened to snap at them.

  She stopped. Alejandro Reyes had removed his antique sunglasses, and his dark eyes were focused on her. She tried to escape the intensity of them by looking down, but that was a mistake. Instead of a heated gaze, she caught his wide-chested, lean-hipped body as he slid closer to her like on
e of the big cats of the desert, stalking prey.

  He’s not a hunter, Lena. Just another indolent client looking for a black market charge to make his easy life easier.

  She cleared her throat, turning to his assistant. The other man, Lucas, was busy inspecting every detail of her home. She doubted Reyes’s attention had ever left her back. It certainly didn’t leave her face now that she had turned to the other man. She could feel his focus still, the itch of attention that always made her self-conscious. He wasn’t interested in the room.

  “Where’d you get the light bulbs?”

  They were a luxury item, rarely seen outside of Council buildings, but she wasn’t fooled. He was studying her, not her fixtures.

  She shrugged. “I barter for everything.” She considered him for a moment, gauging the risk he presented. He didn’t seem threatening, merely interested, and Lena didn’t sleep with her clients, no matter how hot they were. She held out her hand. “May I have the item, please?”

  Reyes had to snap his fingers at Lucas to get his attention. She’d dismissed the Spark assistant as soon as she’d seen his energy bloom, the faint displacement like a heat shimmer that other Sparks could see. The brightness indicated the inherent power of a Spark and showed up the moment the mental power was accessed. Typically, the bloom would grow as a Spark worked with the Dust to create the electrical energy that was otherwise dead to the world.