Book 1: Tyche’s Flight
Book 2: Tyche’s Deceit
Book 3: Tyche’s Crown
The Night’s Champion
Could just one night change your life forever?
Valentine Everard and Danielle Kendrick have the Night’s Favor: they are werewolves. There are many who would steal the Night’s dark gift from them. The Night’s Champions must face down the corporate interests of Big Pharma, battle with masters of dark Vodou, and make their last stand against both vampires and the Riders of the Apocalypse. Armies fall. Zombies roam the street, and no one is safe. The world is close to its final Judgement. What can a handful of souls do against the powers of the heavens?
Book 1: Night’s Favor
Book 2: Night’s Fall
Book 3: Night’s End
Boxed Set: The Night’s Champion Collection
Future Forfeit
Would the man who has it all ever need to change?
Mason Floyd’s job is simple: company asset protection and acquisition, no questions asked. When tables turn, leaving him hunted and fresh out of friends, Mason Floyd learns that living in the soft line between incentive and crime was always the easy path. Making the right choices could save the world – and his soul. It’ll only cost him everything he’s ever wanted. Can Mason learn what it means to be truly human?
Book 1: Upgrade
Novella 1: Consensus (in Pew! Pew! - Bad versus Worse)
Novella 2: Delilah (coming soon!)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
TAKE A BOW. People like you are why I write; thanks for giving Tyche’s Deceit a shot. Readers drive the world’s hunger for stories, and without you there would be no Nate and Grace.
Tyche’s Deceit came with the usual angst, terror, and fear of the unknown. Thanks to my Team Narrative for a gentle hand on the shoulder at the right time. If you didn’t like this story, it’s on me, not them. Arran, Cheryl, Greg, Julia, and Rae deserve your thanks if you did like it.
There was also quality updates provided to the book before it hit the launch tubes — Anthony (always up for immolating himself, I don’t know why anymore, maybe he likes it?), Cheryl, and Julia helping out here. A special note goes out to my editor Tiffany Shand, who dived on the live grenade of touching a series part way through. She tried to make this book suck a lot less. If you dig her work, find her online at https://eclipseediting.com/. Any errors remaining in Tyche’s Deceit are my fault, not any of theirs (although you can blame ‘em if you like; I won’t judge).
You might have noticed a little more bow chicka wow wow in this story. Thanks to Cassie, Dawn, Kate, and Frances for their help on extending my writing skills. Writing light romance so it doesn’t sound like a Playboy article is surprisingly difficult.
My last thanks is — as always — reserved for my Rae. You might not know, but Tyche’s Journey was written on spec for her. There are so many stars waiting for us; let’s find them together.
— R. P.
December 2017, Wellington
EXCERPT: TYCHE’S CROWN
RECRUITMENT
“KOHL? KOHL, NO.”
October Kohl looked at the bartender — same glowing green braids, same pissed off expression — and then around the bar. He kept on turning until he arrived back at the bartender — yep, definitely pissed off — and then kept on walking forward anyway. He put his empty glass on the bar. “Joni? I ain’t working today.”
She eyed him with what he figured for a high level of suspicion. It was hard to tell, on account of him being drunk. “What are you doing then?”
He gave that some thought. “I’m recruiting.” He frowned at his empty glass. “I was drinking.”
“Which is it?” she said. “I can fill your glass. Hell, I’ll give you a whole damn bottle. But if you’re working, you can … Kohl? Look at me.” She reached across the bar top, raised his chin with a hand. “If you’re working, you can get the fuck out of my bar.”
He spent a little more time processing that. It gave him time to take in the grime level of the place while he did it. The place had seen a lick of paint since they were last in town. More than a lick: the bar had seen more love than Kohl himself in any given week. Which made sense, because last time he’d been in here a whole mess of Republic troops had come in and set fire to everything.
Technically, they’d shot the place up with plasma weapons, but the secondary effect of a good plasma volley was fire. It was just cause and effect. This particular spacer bar — that’s what the captain would have called the place — had been given a good facelift. Knocked twenty years off, maybe thirty. And then someone had gone around putting the dirt back in. Grime in the corners. Sticky floors. A holo stage was flickering its life away behind the bar. He squinted at it, trying to focus on the words imprisoned in the light. “Earth beer?”
“You want one?” said Joni, almost hopeful.
“Naw,” said Kohl. “Beer gets you full, not drunk.”
“So, you’re drinking?” said Joni. “You want the good stuff or the cheap stuff?”
Kohl massaged a pocket, worrying out a stack of good Republic coins. He put them on the bar top. “Good stuff,” said Kohl.
She looked at the pile of coins, not taking any of them. “I have to wonder, Kohl. I came on shift not two minutes ago. You’re already listing. Sheets torn, flapping to the winds. How’d you get so drunk? Tommy doesn’t like you.”
“You don’t like me either.” Kohl sniffed. “I mean, I don’t know. I guess I can live with Tommy not liking me.”
“Answer the question.”
“Oh, hell,” said Kohl. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of behind him. “There was this asshole over there who got in my way. So I took his drink.” He looked at the empty glass. “Before that, I was drinking on the ship. Before that, I said I’d go recruiting. Problem with these Resistance types is they’re all soft. They’re, how do you say it? Trimmed fingernails. That’s it.”
Joni looked at him, then picked a couple coins off the top of his stack. They disappeared, a kind of magic trick Kohl had never managed to work out, and a fresh glass — waste of time, old glass was fine — appeared on the bar in front of him. A chunk of ice as big as a fist — not one of Kohl’s fists, because he grew them at a proper size, but maybe one of Joni’s fists — entered the glass. A generous pour of amber liquid followed. Kohl watched all of this in silence, then looked at the pile of coins. “Y’all not going to take the rest?”
“Not if you’re drinking,” she said. “That’s more than you need for even the good stuff.”
“Huh,” said Kohl. “I tell you what. You hold on to ‘em for me.”
“Kohl? No.” Her eyes widened at something behind him, and Kohl let himself smile. Hell, he didn’t even have to work at this recruiting business. Basically the work did itself.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. Strong, big. Familiar in a way that said I own you rather than I am your friend and here for a good time. A touch like that would have put Kohl’s teeth on edge if he hadn’t been so well lubricated before setting out today. He let himself be turned around, leaving his drink on the bar. Kohl’d get back to it in good time. He stared at a man. Large. Muscles everywhere, and not dirty bulk. Lean like a tiger. Angry as one too. “Asshole,” said the man. “Did you beat up my buddy and take his drink?”
“Might have,” said Kohl. “Which one of these fuckers is your buddy?”
“Say,” said Tiger. “Don’t I know you?”
“I sure hope so,” said Kohl. “It’ll go easier on both of us if you do.”
Tiger gave a narrowing of the eyes, a tightening of the lips. “You held a gun to my head. Last time.”
“Might have,” agreed Kohl.
Tiger laid three punches into Kohl’s gut, bam-bam-bam. They were hard and fast. If Kohl had been sober, he might have done something useful about them, but as it was, he let them come. Why? Two reasons. First, he wasn’t in much of a position to do anything, on accoun
t of the liquor. Second, this guy would ease up faster when he worked out that Kohl was a bigger bear.
Both men stood still. Kohl heard Joni say something like fuck all this shit and the emergency shutters slid down over the bar behind him. Neither man moved at the rattle and clang as they locked into place. Kohl rubbed a hand over his gut. “That’s not a bad right you’ve got there.”
Tiger looked at Kohl’s gut, then at his right hand. Then up at Kohl. “I … hit you. I hit you hard.”
“Naw,” said Kohl. “This is hard.” He swung, giving it a good seventy percent. Enough force in the punch to lift Tiger up off his feet some, push the air out of his lungs all the way, and leave his eyes wide, mouth wider, trying to suck in a tiny spoonful of air through a paralyzed diaphragm. “See what I’m saying?”
Tiger nodded, but that was about it. Gracie would know what to say here. Course, Gracie wouldn’t be in this situation. Gracie doesn’t know how to drink proper. “Look,” said Kohl. “You’re a Marine. I get it. You’ve been through the training. Used to having big guns and a whole bunch of other assholes with you. Right?” Tiger gave a nod, sucking in some air. A knife appeared out from behind him, held in an angry fist, which Kohl more or less expected, so he took the knife away — short block, grab the wrist, and twist, but not too much, because he was recruiting. The knife dropped out of Tiger’s hand to clatter on the floor of the bar. “Nah,” said Kohl. “Let’s not do that. Where was I? Marines, check. Big guns … oh right. Yeah. So, you’re out of work, is where I’m going.” Kohl frowned, because that was about the most words he used in a given day, and he was out of runway. What usually helped was alcohol, but his drink was on the other side of the emergency shutters. Kohl became aware — gradually, like the coming of a new dawn — that the entire bar had gone silent. Nothing from the juke box, because it shut off in emergency situations. But the other patrons, if you could use a polite word like that to describe them, were all staring at Kohl and the Marine. A couple had gone towards the exit, and those were the kind that Kohl wouldn’t have wanted to recruit anyway. Probably didn’t grin when they fought. You need to get recruiting, October Kohl. Like you said you would. He cleared his throat. “Say. If I get Joni to lift these here shutters, and offer to buy you a drink, will you at least hear me out?”
The Marine looked at him, rubbing his own gut in an absent-minded way that said I am hurt but I am more curious than hurt. Which was good. He looked at the shutters behind the bar. “I don’t think they’ll open ‘em up for us.”
“Sure they will,” said Kohl. He reached behind him, not turning away from the Marine, and rapped the back of his hand against the shutters. Clang clang clang. “Joni! Joni, it’s all good out here. I need a round of beers. Or something.”
Her voice came back, muffled by the shutters. “No way, Kohl. No way.”
“No, we’re good,” said Tiger. He gave Kohl a look that said may I? Kohl nodded for him to go on. “We … just want to talk.”
“Uh huh.”
“Joni,” said Kohl. “If I wanted to mess the place up, it’d be messed up.” He winced. Not the best approach. “I mean, uh.”
The shutters rolled back with a clatter, and Kohl turned to see Joni. Hair still green, face still pissed off. She pushed his drink across the bar at him. “Here.”
“And one for all my new friends,” said Kohl, his arm encompassing the entire bar. “Anyone who wants to sit and listen.”
• • •
That senior officer guy Evans was still behaving like an asshole, even without his uniform and without his stripes. Kohl leaned on the table between them. “Hey, Evans.”
The man looked like he wanted to twitch at that, because he was used to Lieutenant coming before his name. There’d be a lot of things he’d need to get used to. “What is it?”
“Stop being an asshole,” said Kohl. “Drink your drink.”
Evans made to rise. “I don’t have to listen to this,” he said. “I came here as a courtesy.” Kohl had to admit, the guy sure wore casual clothes like they were officer’s finery. Pressed shirt. Nice black jacket, if that’s your thing. Bit scrawny, but officers tended to that general direction. It was, Kohl figured, all the hand-waving and pointing rather than the actual soldiering. Not that Kohl thought much of soldiering either. It was a good way to get paid poorly while wasting a lot of time. Plenty of better ways to do the same work for more money.
The Marine — Sib — put a hand on Evans’ arm. “It’s okay, sir.” He cleared his throat, remembering he wasn’t no Marine anymore, and this asshole wasn’t no Lieutenant neither. “Evans.”
“See,” said Kohl, “I know how it is.”
“You do?” said Evans, leaning forward. There was real anger there. Anger Kohl might have responded to if he hadn’t already been so drunk. “How can you know?”
“Well,” said Kohl, “I figure the way it is, is kind of based on how my captain blew up the moon.”
The circle of watchers — all holding their free drinks, all a rough and ready lot — leaned in closer. Kohl took a sip of his whiskey, frowned at the glass — too much ice melt, not enough strong liquor — and continued. “We had all these aliens. Which you sent us to go find, if I remember it rightly. You sent us out there — ‘downed transmitter’ my ass — and hoped we wouldn’t die. Or we would. Hell if I know. Don’t care. What I know is that we blew up a moon, and it was because you started something.”
Evans sat down, like he was a mechanical construct, hissing back into place. “Okay,” he said.
“And the thing you started,” said Kohl, “was the downfall of the Republic. There’s a real Resistance and everything—”
“There’s always been a Resistance,” said Evans.
“I know,” said Kohl, then took another drink. It was okay if you guzzled it. “This time your people are on the team. Hang on. One of them said to say something to you. Uh. Lieutenant Karkoski? You know a Karkoski?”
“I know Captain Karkoski,” said Evans.
“Whatever,” said Kohl. “She said she sends her regards.”
“Any special messages? Code words?”
“Naw,” said Kohl. “She said you and her never had time for that bullshit.”
Evans nodded at that. “That sounds like Karkoski. What about her?”
“She’s fixing to overthrow the Senate, on account of ninety percent of them being alien scum,” said Kohl. “I dunno. She figures a new broom? Sweep ‘em clean. Keep the same structure. I’m all for it. I like the Republic. What I don’t like is fucking mind bugs that get in your skull and eat you out.” He shuddered, remembering the one that had clawed inside him. How Gracie had saved him from doing something horrible. “But you know all this. It’s why you’ve been busted out. Republic’s shut down here on Enia Alpha. Office has closed. Discharged your sorry asses. The time for fighting’s come, Evans. And we’re needing people to do the fighting.”
“While you’re in charge?” said Evans. “No thanks.”
“Me?” said Kohl. “Hell no. I don’t want to be in charge. I guess you could say I don’t have the temperament for it.” There was a snigger from one of the men around them, and Kohl looked at the man. “What? You got a fucking problem? No? Didn’t think so.”
“Who’s in charge?” said Evans. “Who’s footing the bill for this merry escapade to rebuild our Republic?”
“Bills, I dunno,” said Kohl. “That’s Karkoski’s area.”
“Okay,” said Evans. “Who’s in charge?”
“Karkoski,” said Kohl.
“No,” said Evans. “I don’t think so. Who is it really?”
CHAPTER ONE
GRACE STOOD IN front of the Intelligencers, arms crossed, sword at her back. “You’ve got to decide if you want to live or die,” she said. The sun of Enia Alpha was a balm on her skin. She liked the feel of its kiss, almost as much as she liked the feel of Nate’s kisses. She shook her head. Not now. Focus. “Do you want to live?”
There was a gene
ral round of nodding from the Intelligencers, some of it more enthusiastic than the others. Chad shuffled his feet. “I think that’s a given, Grace.”
“Then you need to act like it,” she said. She sighed, not sure why she was feeling angry. “We … just don’t have—”
“Chad,” said Nate, walking up behind him, and clapping the esper on the shoulder, “what Grace is saying, if I can … paraphrase … is that we don’t have time for you to get your shit together. What we’ve got here is a basic time-meets-opportunity problem. We’ve got no time, and plenty of opportunity.”
“Sure,” said a woman’s voice from somewhere near the back. “We’ve got the opportunity to get killed.”
“You want this one?” said Nate, cocking his head at Grace.
“I’ll take it, sure,” she said, wanting more time herself. More time to be alone with him. To talk, or dance, or fly among the stars without being shot at. Instead, here she was, trying to teach a bunch of people used to giving orders how to prepare themselves for being on the front line. She looked out over the crowd, not sure who’d spoken. That was the problem with this lot. Her usual gifts could pick out people’s emotions. But the Old Empire’s Intelligencers were all strong espers, pick of the crop, top shelf to the last. They could shield their thoughts like most people walked and talked at the same time. They’d been teaching Grace the trick, and it was working. But it made singling out people in the crowd difficult. So don’t bother. “You’ll get killed either way,” she said. She waited for the gathering to stop their nervous shuffling. “You’re either going to die on your feet or on your knees. The Ezeroc are coming. Sure, we blew a hole in Earth’s moon. Took their Queen out. But that was just one. They’ll send more. We need to be ready. And we need you for that.” She paced, realized it was her nerves — because she wasn’t used to being front and center, her role was always behind someone, hiding from something — but went with it. “Normals against these things? They can’t compete. It’s our time to do what we were made for. We need to save the human race. If we don’t, then everyone will die.”
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