Realm Walker rw-1

by Kathleen Collins

  He released her throat and raised both hands to his head. He stumbled backward in an effort to get away from her but her legs stayed clamped around his waist. She continued to pour electricity into him until he dropped to his knees. Only then did she put her feet on the ground and back away.

  Her opponent stayed on all fours, shaking his head, trying to clear it. The air hung heavy with the scent of burnt fur and troll. As he rose to a kneeling position, she adjusted her grip on the weapon. From the corner of her eye she saw Nathaniel stagger to his feet.

  The troll held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “No more, Walker. I will go where you ask. Wherever you ask.”

  Relief eased the tightness in her chest. She wasn’t sure she was up for another round of Taze the Troll. She ran her thumb along the side of her ring preparing to use it to call the portal tied to it. Then the troll began to laugh. A low sound at first, it quickly grew to a volume that made her ears ache. Great. She had fried his brain and now she had a crazy troll to deal with.

  After putting more distance between them, she put her Taser away and drew her sword. It left the sheath with a ring of steel. She adjusted her hand on the grip. Nathaniel came to stand beside her, leaning his weight into her leg to let her know he was near. “You okay there, Mr. Troll?”

  He opened his blazing red eyes and looked at her. “I’ve had your blood, Juliana Norris. It tells me things.” Apparently it told him her name, because she’d never given it.

  Her prisoner wasn’t crazy, then. He was blood drunk. It happened to vamps as well, depending what brand of Altered they munched on.

  She ran her thumb along the stone in the ring, summoning the portal. It opened to the left of them and bathed the clearing in blue light. The Agency’s extensive use of the portal mages was what had earned them the name Realm Walkers.

  The beast staggered to his feet. “He is coming, Juliana Norris. He is coming and he will bring your death. There is nothing you can do to stop it.”

  If there was one thing Juliana hated more than trolls, it was prophecies. She had yet to come across one that wasn’t intentionally vague enough to leave people arguing over its meaning for years or centuries even. What was wrong with saying “Bob will kill you on the fourth of November with a poorly cast stone spell”?

  The troll took a step toward the portal before turning and lunging at her. She ran her blade clean through his middle, gritting her teeth against the agony that tore through her shoulder with the movement. He looked down in confusion at the sword protruding from his gut and then back up.

  “I had it in my hand. Did you really think I wouldn’t use it?” She pushed him back and Nathaniel launched himself at the troll’s chest. He struck the beast firmly with all four paws then bounced back to land on precisely the same patch of ground he’d leaped from. The blow shoved the troll off her blade and he fell backward through the portal. It snapped shut behind him as it had been programmed to do. The injury she’d dealt wasn’t lethal, not for a troll, but it would hurt like a bitch for a while. Not that he deserved any less.

  Despite the gore on the blade, she slid it back into the sheath, which, thankfully, was charmed to stay clean. She staggered to the edge of the clearing and dropped onto a boulder. Her shoulder throbbed in rhythm with her heart. Blood still ran from the wound. The clearing remained peaceful, quiet. The only indications of the previous battle were the marks on the ground and the blood in the snow.

  Nathaniel nuzzled her hand and she scratched behind his ears. “Stuff’s at the top of the hill,” she told him and he trotted off.

  Juliana stayed where she was, waiting for him to return. She kept her head down and stared at the snow at her feet. The toes to a pair of black army boots appeared in her line of sight and she grunted a greeting.

  “How are you?” Nathaniel asked, his voice rough from his recent change.

  “I hurt and we just removed a creature from the only home it’s ever known. How do you think I am?”

  “It’s part of the job, pup.” He crouched in front of her to inspect her shoulder.

  “Well, sometimes this job sucks.” She hissed when he peeled her shirt away from the wound.

  He let out a low whistle. “Bet that smarts.” She glowered at him and he responded with a grin.

  “What happened to you anyway?”

  He growled and dug in the pack that had housed his clothes and still held a med kit. Pulling out a stack of bandages, he placed them against the bite. “Press on that. The damnable troll led me into a game pit. I had to go into a half-shift and climb out with my claws.”

  Nathaniel’s half form tended to drain his energy so he avoided it unless absolutely necessary. “Game pit?”

  “Yeah, you know, he dug a hole in the ground and covered it. I didn’t see the damned thing until I was already falling.”

  “Guess I’ll forgive you for being late then.”

  “Gee, thanks. I’ll clean this up and we’ll get out of here.” He draped her coat around her shoulders and then moved to the center of the clearing to put out the fire. She watched his heavily muscled frame move with all the grace of the predator he was. Piles of snow managed to douse the flames of the troll’s bonfire. Juliana burned the bloody snow with a gesture, making Nathaniel jump. There was a lot of magic in blood. It wasn’t something to leave around if it could be helped.

  “All right, let’s get you home.” He helped her up from her spot as he pulled out his phone and called the Agency to send a portal. The ring would have to be recharged before she could use it again. A familiar blue glow lit the air beside them. As they stepped through toward home, she tried not to let the troll’s dire prediction bother her. After all, it wasn’t like she hadn’t died before.

  Chapter Two

  The Den of Iniquity made it easier to forget the outside world. Juliana belonged in that little hole-in-the-wall bar at the edge of downtown New Hope. Everyone accepted her and, if not, they at least left her alone to wallow in her misery.

  She sat at her favorite table in the darkest corner nursing a smooth scotch, her wounded pride and a troll-bitten shoulder. It could have been worse. She knew that, but she didn’t like having her ass handed to her. The scar on her shoulder would be a lasting reminder that she let the troll get too close. She had a lot of reminders like that. Obviously, she didn’t pay them much attention or she’d find a new line of work.

  It was Wednesday so she knew everyone in the bar, by sight if not by name. All three of them, five if you counted employees. A gnome named Chester sat by the jukebox with his sister Charlene. Chester would play dwarf ballads on the machine next to him until threatened with bodily harm, usually by Juliana. He got up to select another song and she narrowed her eyes. They ended up listening to the Bee Gees instead. It wasn’t much of an improvement.

  An ogre sat at the bar, his shoulders perpetually hunched against the world. She didn’t know much about him except he came in almost as often as she did. That and he had a wicked right hook. He was the reason all the tables were now bolted to the floor. Apparently, no matter how calm their normal demeanor, Ambrosia-drunk ogres got rather hostile when goaded by a selkie and three nymphs. The Den closed for a week to recover and Juliana was on light duty for the duration. She tried not to hold it against the ogre; it wasn’t really his fault, but they kept their distance from each other regardless.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her nerves still hummed from the fight, but she hoped with time and alcohol, they’d calm down. If they didn’t, she was going to have a long, sleepless night. The bar normally smelled like old sweat and stale beer, but tonight the heavy scent of lemon permeated the air. She assumed the odor was the remnant of a recent cleaning, but the bar looked just as dingy and dirty as ever. Nothing short of blowing the place up would fix that.

  She pressed the palm of her hand against her forehead. Not only was she trying to stave off the headache she felt creeping up, she was checking her temperature. Trolls weren’t the most diligent
species when it came to oral hygiene. It would be just her luck to survive the attack only to succumb to some stupid infection because the thing didn’t floss.

  The air stirred beside Juliana. She looked up to meet Tony’s dark eyes. They were a startling contrast to his platinum blond hair, but both suited him. He managed the Den and seemed to think that looking after her was part of the job. “You okay, Jules?”

  She leaned back in her chair and searing pain flared through her shoulder. She hissed in a breath and froze, not daring to move until the sensation eased a little. It was her own cursed fault for not taking any of the pain meds the medic offered, but she didn’t like what drugs did to her head. Never had. When she could talk again, she answered through clenched teeth. “Troll bite. You know how they are.”

  He blinked a couple of times. “Um...no. Actually I don’t. Not all of us run about playing with the animals.”

  She didn’t respond to his comment. Most of the people Tony called friend were more uncivilized than the troll ever thought about being. She should know, she’d grown up amongst many of them. Seen them at their absolute worst.

  “Did you see the doctor?” he asked, concern threading his voice.

  “Medic. She did what she could, but it’s deep and burns worse than pixie venom. It’ll be all right in a couple of days.” She swirled the amber liquid in her glass, not meeting his eyes. “This is good, but I could use something with a bit more bite if you don’t mind.” It was a bad pun, but she was easily amused. She tried to keep the tension, the anticipation, off her face and out of her voice. If Tony refused her, she didn’t know what she would do. She was in more pain than she wanted to let on, and she really didn’t care to lose the use of the arm while it healed.

  Needing it so much made the request feel like begging. She hated it and didn’t want to have to ask again. But she would. She’d ask him a hundred times if she had to. And if he still said no, there were other sources. Other places she could go. Gods, she felt like an addict and maybe in a way she was. Addicted to the quick fix. To not feeling the pain. She shoved the thought away.

  He glanced around, though Juliana had no idea who exactly he thought might be watching. He snatched the glass from her and hurried through a door behind the bar. A few minutes later, he returned her drink.

  She sipped her scotch, closing her eyes to savor the coppery-sweet tang of vampire blood mixed with it. An acquired taste, she’d grown to like it over the years. Crave it, even. She gave Tony a nod of thanks and he went back to his work.

  The buying and selling of vampire blood was illegal, but no laws limited its consumption. The vampire Council however kept a tight rein on distribution. Juliana didn’t think they’d get irate over the little amounts Tony gave a Walker here and there, but it wouldn’t hurt to be cautious. All the major groups of Altered had similar systems of oversight. It was the only way so many powerful control-freaks could co-exist without killing each other. Their leaders made sure they stayed in line, and took care of it when they didn’t. The things that slipped by their notice were the jobs that were picked up by the Agency.

  As the governing body over the vampires, it was well known the power had long ago gone to Council’s heads. They could be irrational and petty at times. Growing up in a coven gave Juliana more insight into them than any outsider should possess.

  It’s why the presence of outsiders was usually forbidden in the covens. They had a strict vampires-only policy, but her would-be savior had been powerful enough, and old enough, to do as he pleased. The Council, of course, being what they were, acted as if it were a fine idea to have a half-dark fae, half-mage in the middle of one of the most powerful covens in the country. When they couldn’t get their way, they acted as if it was what they wanted all along.

  Halfway through her drink, liquid warmth flowed into her shoulder to replace the pain. A trembling sigh of relief escaped her. She had no idea how old Tony was, but his blood was sweet, potent. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head over the back of her seat. Tension flowed from her, untying the knots of stress that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her shoulders.

  Then, the phone rang. Every head in the bar turned toward the sound. Juliana always assumed the Den had a phone, but she’d never heard it before. Even Tony hesitated a moment before answering. His eyes shot up to meet Juliana’s before he looked quickly away. She glanced to her phone on the table. It was charged with full service bars. As if it would be anything but—it was charmed. Not a call for her then, but about her. Either someone was asking questions or Tony was up to something he didn’t want a Walker to know about.

  Her jaw clenched. She didn’t like either option. Apparently, no one else in the bar did either. They stood, almost in unison, threw some money down and hustled up the short flight of stairs to the door. Juliana didn’t want to bust Tony, and she wanted him selling her out even less.

  Tony put down the phone and spoke in a low tone to the bartender before hustling through the door behind him. She stretched the muscles in her neck, marveling at how quickly the knots had reformed. The bartender Miguel had grown up in the coven with her. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Tony was gone. Turning back, he met her eyes and jerked his head toward the exit. She didn’t hesitate. Tony had crossed her one way or another.

  Juliana’s chest ached and she ignored the sharp pain that tried to remind her she’d just been betrayed by one of her closest friends. One of the few people she trusted. She should have known better. She’d mourn the loss later. Right now she had to worry about saving her own skin. She fired up her gift causing her eyes to glow much brighter than their normal emerald. Many beings could cloak their presence from the casual observer, but she’d yet to meet one that could hide from her. Miguel smiled as she pulled a pair of dark glasses from her pocket and slid them on. They hid her eyes from view but were charmed not to interfere with her vision. Despite the near impenetrable darkness of the lenses, to her it was like looking through glass.

  She didn’t intend to hang around and wait for whoever called to show up. If she could get out of the Den before they got there, she could conceal herself in the night, memorize their signature and hunt them down when she was more prepared. Tony came out of the back room just as she passed the bar. Seeing her, he shot a narrow-eyed look at Miguel.

  Her former friend rounded the bar in a flash and snared her arm in his cool grip. Tony’s palm was damp as he started to steer her back to her table. “You can’t leave yet, Jules. You haven’t finished your drink.”

  She planted her feet, resisting when he tugged. “I’m not thirsty. Besides, I think it’s about time for me to head home.”

  He released her and stood with his arms at his sides, palms out in a pleading gesture. “I really think you should stay.” Sweat beaded his forehead, the skin around his eyes stretched tight with worry. Either he feared her, or whoever was about to walk through the door scared the crap out of him. Maybe there was more to this than she’d thought. A thread of worry for her friend snaked its way through her.

  “What is this, Tony?” She crossed her arms over her chest. She wanted to believe he’d been manipulated or coerced, but she wasn’t ready to trust him just yet. “If you’re in some kind of trouble, I can help. Whatever they’ve got on you can’t top me. You know I’ll kick your ass if you cross me.”

  Hurt flashed through his eyes. “I’d never harm you, Jules. You’re family. You know that.”

  “Then what in the name of all the dark gods is going on?” She maintained her stance, waiting for him to answer.

  He opened his mouth and froze, eyes locked on a point over her shoulder. His already pale skin blanched to a new shade of white. She reached for her gun. At the same time, a warm breeze caressed her neck like a lover’s tease. Her breath caught. Her pulse raced. She stayed her hand though part of her still ached to palm the weapon. She shut down her gift but left the glasses on. She knew this enemy.

  “Juliana.” The word, a whisper, floated down
the stairs and wrapped around her, willed her to turn. She swallowed a sob of despair and answered its call. She turned slowly, hoping she was wrong, but knowing who she’d find behind her. Only one man had ever affected her this way.

  Thomas Kendrick stood at the top of the stairs, looking as gorgeous as she remembered. His dark hair fell in soft waves to his shoulders. His brilliant topaz eyes looked her over from head to toe and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. She forced her feet to stay flat on the floor, fought her desire to go to him, cursing the part of her that wanted him even as she hated him. The gods knew she’d tried to stop loving him. She’d even thought she’d succeeded until about thirty seconds ago.

  He walked down the steps, eyes locked on her. Her mouth went dry; her palms grew moist. She took a deep breath, raised her chin and waited for him to reach her. His smile widened and his dimples flashed. Moisture pooled in her eyes. She clenched her hands into fists, nails digging into the tender skin of her palms. The pain grounded her, kept the tears from falling. Still she was grateful for the glasses. She wondered briefly if he could see past them. He always seemed to be able to, especially when it was the last thing she wanted.

  He stopped just beyond her reach. She kept her gaze trained on his forehead, unwilling to meet his eyes. They stood like that for a long time—him smiling down at her and her resisting the urge to throw herself into his arms.

  “You cut your hair,” he said finally.

  She ran a hand through the maintenance-free cut. When he’d last seen her, it had been halfway down her back, now it barely brushed the bottom of her neck. Less for the bad guys to grab onto.

  He tugged one short strand. “The streaks are new, too.” At the moment, they were cardinal red hiding amongst her usual black. He grinned at her. “I like it. It suits you.”

  She hated the need, the yearning, the grin and the compliment sparked in her. Clearing her throat, she ignored the expectant look in his eye. “I have to go.” She thanked every god she could think of that her voice was sure and strong.