by JL Madore
URSA UNEARTHED
Scourge Survivor Series – Book Two
JL Madore
URSA UNEARTHED
Copyright © 2014 by JLMadore
All rights reserved
ISBN 978-0-9916763-2-3
Cover by: Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations
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this is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Dedication:
To my family: We’re one step closer. I love you.
To my readers: Thank you for loving Blaze Ignites and for blogging, tweeting and reviewing it so kindly. I hope you love the continuation of our Ambar Lenn in Ursa Unearthed.
Acknowledgements:
To my Writers' Community of Durham Region family: You are without question, the greatest and most talented community of writers ever assembled. You energize me. I'm honored every day to be part of the group. Rock on WCDR!
To my editors, Ruth and Gwynn of Writescape: Even when I think I've got things locked down I know you'll show me places to tighten up and shine. You're just that good. Thank you.
To my writing circle, Critical Realm: Carol, Chris, Dawn, Justin and Sharon, your critiques are invaluable, your support immeasurable, and your friendships irreplaceable.
PROLOGUE
Alone in the darkness, Aust sat at the bottom of the grand staircase of Jade's manse, staring at the cryptic words mounted on the foyer wall. Translated by the Centaur, Chiron of Deleran, the Queen Oracles' prophesy hung opposite the double entrance doors.
Aust's Elven brothers and warrior friends boasted thoughts and theories as to its meaning, but theories they remained. And on nights when reverie evaded him—which occurred more oft than not—he sat within the silent stone walls of Jade's new home and tried to glean the prophesy's meaning:
Journey of Fate, two realms to purge
Weapons drawn against the Scourge
Blaze of passion,
Trust unearthed,
Cleansing of past,
Spirit rebirthed,
Fate or free-will, which to choose?
With love to gain and life to lose.
Darkness hides in familiar form
A brother's betrayal, a sister's storm
Empower lost souls or evil shall reign
Noble the child of argenteous mane
Journey of Fate—the first line referred to their Ambar Lenn, everyone agreed. Four fortnights past, the inception of his, Galan's and Thamior's journey to manhood had triggered unforeseen events. On that night, the exile of his people lifted and the three of them had set off from the Highborne village to find their path. Aust had found naught—save grief.
His Eda slain, his Naneth left heart-weary, and his people so offended by his goddess-given affinity to communicate with his animal brothers and sisters, he had been cast out.
Galan fared well enough, and for at least that much, he rejoiced. Jade was a remarkable female, and to have Recognized with his mate . . . there was no greater blessing. Together, partners in life and purpose, the two now served Castian as Protectors of the Realm of the Fair.
Thamior's journey? Well . . . Tham remained Tham e'ermore. Aust marveled at the strength of spirit the male possessed, his love and wonder of all things, the simple joy he found in living free within the Realm of the Fair. Tham had yet to make any progress in his journey, yet paid it no mind.
Weapons drawn against the Scourge—Aust was more than ready to take up arms against the enemy of the realm. He yearned to prove his value, burned to avenge his dead. There were moments, the fury boiled so white-hot in his blood, he almost drowned in the lure of vengeance and pain. He quelled those impulses as best he could.
For the choices made to navigate the journey of the Ambar Lenn would determine if he could ever be thought of as a male of worth. And so, he pushed back the anguish and the anger and waited. . .
CHAPTER ONE
"Ah hell Paige, you're killing me." I shook my head and sighed as my boss steadied her boots on the bench beside me and straightened. Swaying full hips to the bass line of the Goth-rock blaring at us from all sides, she clinked her glass with a spoon and waited until my friends raised their glasses.
I glanced across the pitted, wooden table and over the sea of eclectic patrons. Were the exploits of my intimate office soirée registering with the crowd in the anything-goes pub? Nope. High-backed leather booths lined three sides of the dance floor, secluding those of us who were seated in our own little rectangular worlds. Besides, the hedonistic hypnotism of the crowd held everyone's attention locked down tight.
Annnd that is the beauty of Spankz.
"Here's to Mika," Paige said, her mocha cheeks flushed from celebration. "The Nimithic Group may have thought themselves untouchable, but were they?"
"Nooo," my girls chimed in.
"That's right. Thirty-four counts of trading in illegal exotics, five warrants for arrest, three properties searched, and the largest seizure of black market animal products in Canadian history taught them different."
"Fucking A!" Meg placed two fingertips in her mouth and nearly popped my eardrums with the shriek of her whistle.
"Now ladies," Page continued, "let's down a hearty drink in honor of the most decorated investigative journalist Canada's wildlife has ever seen. A woman who takes warm and fuzzy to a new level, who, quite honestly, could spend a little less time with her pets and a lot more time getting petted, our very own . . . Mika "The Bandit" Silverbrook."
"Wooo Mika!"
Focused on the glowing red beacon of the Exit sign across the dance floor, I considered my odds of escape. Not good. They'd just drag me back by my hair. "Thanks guys. Oh, for god's sake Paige, get down before you fall." I tugged at her skin-tight jeans until we were all seated around our table. "Really, thank you, but can we get back to the drinking and dancing and stop with the dinner theatre?"
Paige snorted. "Whatever you say, honey. It's your—"
I held up one finger as the vibration changed in the air around us. Fishing into the front pocket of my jeans I grabbed my phone and waited. When my ring tone sounded and the Heartbeat Drum Song started, I answered it. "Grandfather? Everything all right?"
"My question to you, Rabbit," Grandfather said, his graveled voice unusually thin. "You were mentioned on the news tonight. Are you safe and well?"
Damn. If I'd been at home tonight, I would have remembered to call him before he saw the eleven o'clock news. I touched my cheek as it tingled beneath his mystical caress and I breathed deep. "I'm fine. I'm sorry. I should have called."
The pause on the other end of the phone tightened my gut. "The destination is not as important as the path, child. The power is in the path."
Grandfather didn't like my path, even so, he supported
me. The only thing he asked was that I kept him involved while I worked in the city so he wouldn't worry. "I'm coming to the reserve next weekend. We have a date with your telescope and a comet, don't we?"
"We do." The rhythmic tap of his cane in the background spoke volumes about his mood. I could picture him sitting in the willow chair at the base of his stairs, his silver braids hanging forward as he leaned over the old walnut phone table. This late, he'd have his threadbare Thunderbird blanket wrapped over his curled shoulders.
"I'm sorry I worried you, Grandfather. It won't happen again."
The tapping stopped and the tightness in my gut eased.
"You make an old man proud, Rabbit. A true guardian of the Earth Mother. Now go back to your evening with your friends. I look forward to seeing you."
After saying goodnight, I flipped my phone shut, then refocused on the scene in front of me. "Sorry. What did I miss?"
Paige wagged her finger toward my phone, her eyes narrowed. "One day you'll tell me how you do that phone trick. I swear you're psychic or something."
Or something.
Paige sputtered mid-swig and lowered her Cosmo, coughing. From our table, near the back hall, we had a clear view of the club's landscape. She cleared her throat and pointed, not-too-discretely toward the front of the pub. "Major stud alert, four o'clock."
Cue the peanut gallery: "Oh, I need me one of those." "Yep. Click, add to cart." "Call my travel agent. I'm eloping."
I laughed, but they weren't wrong. The half-naked sea of dancers parted for two men. Shoulder to shoulder they stood looking like cover models—if GQ ever printed a tall dark and lethal edition. One was about six-foot-four, had ink-black hair, a goatee, guy-liner and a half dozen platinum piercings. He looked like a Goth hit man, all tone, no fat. His body language said he'd take you down and enjoy the carnage—whether fucking or fighting.
The other stood a little shorter and balanced a perfect blend of bad-boy meets muscle builder. Collar length, medium brown hair fell messy around a chiseled face while shaggy bangs hid his eyes. His worn leather vest covered a crisp white, button-down shirt hanging untucked over blue jeans. Good gosh, Hugo Boss. Designer denim hugged thick, muscular thighs. Casual classy was something we didn't see a lot of in this club. The charge in the air shifted and the hair on my arms stood on end.
"Those hard bodies are making promises for a wild, night." Em breathed.
"And every woman in here knows it." Meg nodded.
I giggled at the estrogen surge in my posse. "Okay, I'm off to the bar. You ladies close your mouths before someone offers to fill them for you." With the next-round list in my head I skirted the dance floor and made my way through the crowd.
"Blender drinks will take a sec, hon," the bartender said. "You mind waiting while I thin out this crowd a bit?"
"Not a problem." I turned toward the dance floor and rested my elbows on the wood rail while the show unfolded. You have to love a place where women in go-go boots and micro mini's jockey with body-painted metro-sexuals for the honor of shaking their junk in cages.
Fifteen minutes of fame.
I chuckled as two Barbie-blondes in thigh-highs and bustiers started sword fighting with their tongues in the cage closest to me. Always a good time.
"Here you go, hon." I whirled around, but the bartender wasn't speaking to me. She handed a frosted tumbler to the drop-dead, vest guy with the shaggy hair. "I'll send the bottle and your tab to the back, baby. You boys setting up camp in VIP?"
He emptied his glass and set it up for a refill. "That's the plan. Hey Laney, how's that little girl of yours? Still as stunning as her Mama?"
"More," she replied and topped up his glass, "but she's not so little any more, Bruin. She turned seventeen last month and boys are lined up around the block."
He arched a brow and leaned over the bar. "If you need a hand beating them off, give me a call. I'd be happy to scare a few dogs out of your yard."
She laughed and shook her head. After popping the caps off two Coronas, she squeezed quartered limes down the bottle necks and set them on a tray. "That would be a big-ole no thanks. She'd never forgive you and I'd never hear the end of it. For some reason, she thinks the sun rises and sets on you, Bruin."
He sipped from his glass and shrugged. "The girl has impeccable taste."
Down the bar, a pink haired chippie in a seventies, vinyl onesie waved. The bartender chuckled as she headed off. "Duty calls, baby."
Settling back against the rail, I heard the clink and swish of ice cubes grow louder until drop-dead guy leaned in beside me. As my senses tingled, I gave myself a brisk inward shake and stared straight out into the club. He took another swig and gazed into the writhing bodies—maybe taking inventory of the prospects for the night.
There were plenty to pick from and I wondered what a man like him would hunger for. I eyed the after-office flocks unwinding, the usual leather clad party girls advertising easy pick up, the scary chicks dressed like Dracula with safety pins through their purple painted lips, and the ever amusing dazed and confused who probably walked in off the street unaware—and now found-themselves lost in the Twilight Zone.
He rested his arms on the rail next to me and his white cotton shirt strained to contain his shoulders and biceps. "Busy tonight."
"Mhmm."
"So, tell me pretty lady, what band are you with?" The din of the club couldn't drown out the rich, cultured timbre of his voice, but really . . . was that the best he had?
I leaned back a bit to get a good look at him. "Sorry, not a musician."
With a flip of his bangs, his eyes stole my breath. Against the dim light cast by brass and glass sconces, those two turquoise pools practically glowed. He looked me up and down without apology. How many times had he choreographed that move to dazzle a woman?
Full lips eased into a heart-stopping smile. "Not that kind of band," he drawled. "You're First Nations. What band you're from?"
I ignored his cocky smirk and studied his chiseled features. "What gave me away?"
He sipped at the clear liquid in his glass and studied me back. "Well the copper skin, chestnut hair and deep brown eyes are obvious. More impressive though, is your essence of being one with the Earth. It sets you apart from every other female in this crowd."
It took a minute for my mind to grasp that little tidbit. Was he kidding or was that the most original pick up line ever? He nursed his drink and watched me. Too sexy to be real. He probably had an ego the size of Vancouver Island.
"You're all set, miss." I forced myself to turn and reached for the tray the bartender held out. "Sorry for the wait, hon. It's crazy here tonight."
"It certainly is." I nodded farewell and headed back to my table. After my girls each claimed their libations and sucked back a swig, we moved en masse to the dance floor. Hunk-in-vest still stood at the rail where I'd left him, assessing the sea of leather and denim, muscle and grind. When he tipped his glass to me, I turned my back and swayed to the music.
Well, if he was looking I should at least give him something to see. Right?
Releasing the clip in my hair, I let it loose to fall down my back. Liane's jaw dropped when Meg sidled up and brushed her hands over my backside in a little girl-on-girl action.
Meg leaned in close and whispered, "He's still looking at you."
Wrap him up, I'll take him to go.
The rest of the sexually charged patrons and the thrum of music melted away. His heated gaze traveled over my body like a physical caress. Warmth tingled down my back, along my curves and paused on my ass. As one song blended into the next, my girls and I kept up the show. The club could've burned to the ground around me and I'd never have noticed. The next song sped the tempo way up, so I opted out and left them to it.
Back at our table, I sipped my Long Island and waited to see if hot-guy nibbled the bait.
"Mika?"
My smile faded as I turned. "Do I know you?"
Three, skull-trimmed, biker types closed in a
nd my inner sense itched like a colony of ants scrambling from the nape of my neck down my back. Mother Earth was never wrong and I never questioned her warnings. I side-stepped to head back to my girls, but not fast enough.
The three shifted to intercept.
"Sorry boys, my dance cards full tonight."
The tallest thug grabbed my wrist and spun me down the back hall. Iron fingers clamped my shoulder and twisted my arm behind my back. A cloth tightened over my mouth and I screamed against the inside of a gag. The noise of the club swallowed the sound. Fabric pulled tight and split the corners of my mouth. My pulse thrummed through my veins. My mind spun. They confiscated my phone and my Taser was in my purse at our booth.
As Curly, Larry and Moe swept me down the dark corridor, I remembered seeing some specialist on Oprah saying, 'never let your enemy take you to a secondary location.'
"You fucked with the wrong people, bitch." Hot breath washed my cheek, the reek of tobacco and whiskey, assaulting my senses. The old familiar duo made my gut churn.
Shoved from behind, I stumbled down the deserted hall toward the back door. At each washroom door I prayed someone would step out. No luck.
"You have no idea what you've stepped in."
Moe burst out the back door and dragged me into what the locals called 'heroin alley'. I threw my hands out and clawed to find purchase as the tall guy pushed us forward. Out-weighted and out-muscled I couldn't find a hold. Two hands were no match for six. The heat of the summer night hit me like a wall and panic rose in my chest. Three strung-out party-goers scrambled and scattered without a second look. The slam of the steel door trapped us out back.
I might be a dead-woman-walking, but I'd go down with a fight.
Think Mika. I sucked in some courage and slammed my boot heel into the top of my captor's foot. Twisting down with all my weight I made a solid grab for his crotch. My hands aren't big, but I grabbed all I could and squeezed like I was juicing an orange.