Wicked Legends: A Dystopian Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Collection

by hamilton, rebecca

  “Prove it, then.” He stroked his thumb back up her cheek. “Kiss me a promise, so neither of us forgets that this is home.” He gestured with his chin to the small space between them. “Right here with us. Make it a good one.”

  Her mouth turned up. A small smile grew into a familiar naughty grin, her top teeth catching her bottom lip in a way that made his breath catch. She slid her legs around him and boosted herself further up him, then leaned down over his face. She hovered there, inches away.

  “A promise, huh?”

  The Spark between them already gathered into a glow he could feel just under his skin. He gave his head a tiny nod, and she smiled again. Her face softened as she leaned in and opened her mouth to his.

  She made it a good one.

  33

  Alex moved through the caravan as those under his care moved around preparing for another post-attack night on the road. Much of the damage to the caravan was psychological, from the loss of caravaners and the Councilor and his senior staff. They’d waited as long as they could before leaving two days before. Most of those who’d run away had drifted back in over the day and a half they remained outside of old Denver. Alex and those few of Councilor Three’s administrative staff who had survived managed to sop up the mess and organize the survivors. They buried the dead together near the tree line, a way to appease the living who didn’t want to leave their loved ones behind in a Hell Zone.

  Those of his agents who had posed as Council attackers had long since pulled back. Alex had thoroughly enjoyed the raid on Lucas’s waiting mercenaries in the early morning hours after he’d seen Lena and Jackson off. He was happy to take out his frustration and fear on those who’d attacked his people. That he had also been responsible for an attack on them was irrelevant—his attack had been for the greater good, and his agents had only targeted known Council collaborators. It served a purpose other than the terrorizing of Zone Three’s people. They didn’t know it yet, but he was freeing them.

  The bulk of Alex’s Fort Nevada force had been sent back to the fort to await his and Thomas’s return from the Council Meet. Jackson and Lena were with them.

  Alex savored the warmth that spread through his chest at the memory of their goodbye. Once they’d managed to pull themselves out of the car, they’d handled the final details of their group’s pull-out together. He’d been right. They made an excellent team. She’d even smoothed Jackson’s ruffled feathers as she took control of those who’d be returning with her, while Alex handed out final orders to the men who’d be staying with him.

  As the men had scattered to their assigned exit points, she’d taken Alex’s hand in hers and pulled him to the side. After running her hands up his sides, she’d risen to her toes to cup his face in her small hands.

  “Tell me again,” she’d demanded softly. “We will make this work.”

  He’d grinned down at her. “I’m Alex. You’re Lena. It’s what we do.”

  She’d returned his expression with a broad smile of her own. “Especially when we’re highly motivated.”

  Alex had leaned down to press his lips to hers, to pull up on the Dust within her and feed on the energy that swirled between them. Feeling her doing the same had deepened the exchange. It had been about sharing who they were, and not just what they could do to each other.

  When he’d caught his breath again, he whispered against her lips, “I’m about as motivated as a man can be.”

  She’d pressed her lips softly to his for barely a moment, then she’d gone, turning away and signaling the men who’d be heading back with her with a three-note whistle she must have heard him use before. Minutes later, they’d pulled out.

  Alex had headed over to the ridge where his men were waiting to lead the raid on Lucas’s men. He hadn’t looked back. He didn’t need to. Everything he needed he carried within him until he returned to his home or she came back to him.

  He hadn’t felt this focused and energized in a long time. It wasn’t just the relationship, he told himself, because that was tucked away in its compartment. He only allowed that to affect him when he they were together.

  Okay, Alex. Sure.

  It wasn’t that. It wasn’t. It must be that he had the chance to return to what he did best. There were other villains afoot. Courtesy of Councilor Three, Alex had names. And courtesy of Lucas’s ineffectual leadership, they had proof, too. The Meet would be even more of a spectacle than he had planned. He meant to flush his prey out of hiding. And once they were exposed, he and Lena could hunt them together.

  Ya see? Lena again.

  His growl at himself turned into an unrepentant grin. Whatever the source of the new enjoyment, he had a caravan to rebuild, people to inspire, and a new Councilor-elect to prep. He hoped the young man had the foresight to be out among the caravaners, now, cultivating their feelings for him. If they played it right, he would have a swollen wave of popularity to ride into Azcon after the Council Meet.

  Alex stopped to watch a scene playing out at the end of a car two up from him. A small, satisfied smile played about his lips. Danny, the most senior survivor of the Councilor’s staff other than Alex himself, had taken command and handed out evening assignments as the caravan tucked in for another post-raid night on the road. Tend to the wounded. Set a perimeter. Ensure everyone was fed. See to the equipment.

  As the charismatic young man spoke to a mechanic and sent him off to check an engine, Danny caught Alex standing at the end of the car line. He strode over.

  “Word about Lena?” He spoke her name in an undertone. Of course he’d take the first opportunity they’d had to speak alone to ask about her.

  Alex shook his head. “She’ll be making Fort Nevada in a day or two. It’ll be fine.”

  “Tell me again that she doesn’t hate me.” He’d always feared her discovering the full truth.

  After Danny had screwed up and caused her arrest, Alex had to imagine the feeling had multiplied. It had turned out all right, though.

  It had turned out better than Alex could have imagined.

  Alex hated that he’d had to keep this from her. He hated that Thomas had forced his hand, but he’d extracted a promise from Thomas in exchange that would guarantee her and her girls time and space. Still, there would be hell to pay when he was finally able to share the full arc of what they’d done with her. He just wasn’t sure if he dreaded the fireworks, or looked forward to them. Lena did fiery like nobody else.

  Alex shook his head again. “I’ll make it right. Lena and I will work it out.”

  It’s what we do.

  He swallowed the smile that was threatening to break out and made his voice no-nonsense for the young man in front of him now. “Are you ready? We have a lot to get done tonight. We’ll reach the Meet the day after tomorrow, and once we get there and they swear you in as Councilor Three, it’s going to be meeting after crisis after intrigue.”

  Danny nodded, excitement written across his face.

  Alex might not have found a successor in Jackson, but he’d found a kindred spirit in Lena’s brother. He’d been training him for this for a long time.

  “I’m ready.”

  The End

  Continue the Progenitor Saga in book two, Spark Awakening.

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  About the Author

  Kate Corcino is a reformed shy girl who found her voice (and uses it...a lot). She believes in magic, coffee, Starburst candies, genre fiction, descriptive profanity, and cackling over wine with good friends. A recovering Dr. Pepper addict, she knows the only addiction worth feeding is the one that comes with characters and dialogue.

  Corcino also believes in the transformative power of second chances. Cheers to works-in-progress of the literary and lifelong variety!

  She currently lives in her beloved desert Southwest with her family, three dogs, two cats, and a rotating cast of invisible friends (aka very demanding characters).

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  The Night

  N.R. Larry

  The Night © 2016 N.R. Larry

  * * *

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  * * *

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

  * * *

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.

  Created with Vellum

  The Night

  No one knows more than Kinsley Lane that nothing good happens when the dead walk free. A year ago, she was possessed by a ghost and her life forever changed.

  * * *

  Luckily, on this All Hallows’ Eve, the witches of Harker Heights have offered her protection from the dead spirits who will roam free. Mac Harker is appointed her guardian and everything goes smoothly, until a mysterious guy arrives on the grounds. One that only Kinsley can see.

  Mac is determined to protect her from Charming, leaving Kinsley torn between wanting his protection and the strong pull to a guy who won’t even tell her his real name. She must make a choice; the one she makes leads to the biggest heartbreak, and greatest love she’s ever known.

  * * *

  All over the course of one night.

  I

  The Morning

  FUCK A RUBBER duck in Kuwait.

  My mother is knocking at the door. I know it’s her even though I’m still in bed with a hangover. And a drug over. I went all out last night. My eyes squeeze shut when the knocking comes again. The pattering says, I know you’re in there and I’m not going away.

  Knock. Knock. Niggety-knock.

  With a groan, I throw the covers off myself and roll out of bed. I crash down into a pile of clothing. The smell of vomit and what I hope isn’t urine wafts up my nostrils, and I dry heave. I rub my eyes, trying to snatch up drunken memories from last night. They swim around in my brain. Black spots that are unreadable.

  Knock. Knock. Niggety-knock.

  My eyes stretch open, and I slam a hand on my cluttered nightstand.

  I pull myself to my feet. My mother’s knock rings out again, and I grit my teeth. Her knock is as persistent as her back handed compliments.

  Oh, my Kinsley, you don’t even look that fat in those jeans! I’ll get you a few more pair. I know you can’t really afford nice things, you know, since you didn’t go to college.

  I grab my robe from the back of my door on my way out of the room and stumble down the hallway. As soon as I reach the entryway, the knocking starts again. With a sigh, I press my hand against the back of the door and close my eyes. I try to figure out why she’s here. She never comes here. Afraid she might catch something, like poverty.

  It has to be bad if she’d risk mucking up her expensive shoes in this neighborhood.

  Knock. Knock.

  “Kinsley! I know you’re in there. Hurry and open up!”

  I let out another sigh and undo the dead bolt. Keeping the chain in place, I open the door a crack and peer out at my mother. Her graying hair is expertly dyed shadowy black. Her eyes, stormy gray, are narrowed, and she’s clutching a can of pepper spray to her chest.

  If my head wasn’t hammering, I’d laugh.

  “What do you want, Mom?”

  Her eyes dart around in real panic. “Let me in,” she demands, her eyes dancing around.

  For a few moments, I consider letting her stand out there. Let her sweat a little. Then I realize I’d pay for that in some not-so-subtle way. Hell, I’ll probably pay for this visit with little chips to my self-esteem. Might as well lessen the fallout.

  With a third sigh, I close the door, undo the chain and let her in. She shuffles across the threshold with one last glance over her shoulder. I close the door behind her.

  “What’s up, Mom?”

  When I turn around, she’s as stiff as my ex-boyfriend’s hard-on. Her expression is pinched as she takes in her surroundings. She hugs herself as if she’s trying to become as small as possible.

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

  “When is the last time you cleaned this place, Kinsley?” Her lips tighten in distaste, an expression that almost never leaves her face.

  “You should have called first.” I decide to ignore her comment.

  She huffs. “I called three times. You really should answer your phone. What if something had happened to me? To your father?” She shakes her head.

  “Step.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Step-father.”

  “Oh, Kinsley. You really should get over that. You’re twenty-one now, hardly a child. And you really should answer your phone.”

  I start to argue when I realize she probably did call me, and in my current state, I have no idea where my phone is.

  “Okay, I’m sorry. What did you need?” I cross my arms and lean back against the door. I would invite her into the living room, but I don’t feel like hearing about what a lousy housekeeper I am, and I don’t plan on letting her stay that long.

  She actually smiles. I almost faint.

  “We got passage.”

  My eyes widen. I have no idea what she’s talking about. My brain takes its time translating her words. I feel dizzy, my throat parched. I need to sit down, and I really need my mother to leave.

  She sighs. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember what today is.” The smile fades from her face and turns into the stony frown I’m so used to. “How much did you have to drink last night?”

  I cough and decide to ignore that, too. “Why don’t you just tell me what you’re talking about?”

  She stares at me for several moments with that look. That disapproving look. That picking out faults look. It’s my turn to hug my arms around myself. I’ve always felt the need to hide from it.

  “Tonight is All Hallows’ Eve, Kinsley,” she says in her matter of fact voice. “And this year we’ve been granted passage to Harker Heights.”

  Her words have an almost healing effect on my hangover as what she’s saying starts to make sense. Tonight is the night the dead are free to walk among us.

  And when the dead walk freely, bad things happen.

  Bad things like being possessed. The very thing that happened to me last year. I push away the memory before it has a chance to settle into my bones and ice me over.

  My mom reaches into her designer purse and pulls out a small, creamy eggshell-colored envelope. She hands it to me. With shaking hands, I take it and stare down at my name.

  Kinsley Elizabeth Lane.

  No return address. Just a wax seal with Harker Heights stamped onto the back of the envelope. My chest starts to burn, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath. It comes out in a rush, and I suck it quickly back in.

  “H-how?” I ask without looking at her. For some reason, I can’t look away from my name in that elegant calligraphy. It says to me, you’re safe. A promise whispered into my ear that last year won’t repeat itself.

  I have passage.

  “We’re somebody in this town now, dear.”

  She only calls me dear when she’s being patronizing. Which is most of the time.

  “Harker Heights opens at five o’clock. If you’re not there and inside by six-thirty, their gates will be locked to you.”

  I nod, still staring down at my name. My mother wanted me to change my last name when she remarried, but I told her that had nothing to do with me. I’d be a Lane until I went the way of my real father.
<
br />   “Be on time, dear.” She reaches for me, and I jump. I glance up at her. Her eyes are wide. “Oh, for God’s sake, Kinsley. Stop being so twitchy.”

  I go stiff as she touches my hair. She takes a multi-colored pastel curl and rubs it between her thumb and index finger. Her eyes narrow. It looks almost like she’s trying to rub the color out.

  “Maybe you can go back to your natural color before you arrive?” She says it like a question, but her tone suggests a command.

  I smile and nod. It’s my no-way-in-hell response. She drops my curl and backs away. She shrugs, and her lip curls down. It’s almost a warning. I know she’s about to go there. To that place that hurts.

  I brace myself.

  “It’s just, that multi-color hair style. Isn’t that more of a white girl thing?”

  I almost laugh Nothing about how a subtler hair style would take attention away from my round face? Not her best stuff. Not even in the ballpark.

  “Well, Mother. I am half white, thanks to you. So, I guess this style suits half of me.” With my widest, fakest smile, I lead her toward the door without touching her. Wouldn’t want to contaminate her pretty outfit. “I’ll see you later.”

  Before she can say another word, I shut the door in her face and turn the deadbolt.

  IT TAKES ME ten minutes to unwind after she leaves. Ten minutes of leaning against my front door trying to figure out what to do. Should I get dressed? Shower? Take a Vicodin? Finally, biology wins out, and I go to the bathroom to relieve myself. As I sit on the toilet, I stare down at my name on the envelope again. When I’m finished, I wipe, flush, and stumble out into the dim hallway, all the while staring at my name. I shuffle back into my bedroom and glance around.