by Steve McHugh
ALSO BY STEVE MCHUGH
The Hellequin Chronicles
Crimes Against Magic
With Silent Screams
Born of Hatred
Prison of Hope
Lies Ripped Open
Promise of Wrath
Scorched Shadows
Infamous Reign
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2018 Steve McHugh
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by 47North, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503951808 (hardcover)
ISBN-10: 1503951804 (hardcover)
ISBN-13: 9781477817964 (paperback)
ISBN-10: 1477817964 (paperback)
Cover design by @blacksheep-uk.com
Cover illustration by Larry Rostant
To the Fleet Performance team.
Never have I had the pleasure of knowing such a hive of scum and villainy.
CONTENTS
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2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
1
Wisconsin, USA. One Week Ago.
Elias Wells had to admit to being genuinely impressed with the escaped experiment that sprinted through the snowy forest in search of her freedom. She had fled the prison she’d been in, along with two others, an hour earlier. They’d not only made it to the edge of the forest—a rare act that deserved respect—but the last of them, Liz Barnsley, managed to outpace the monsters that chased her.
Elias didn’t bother running. He didn’t see the point. Not only because he considered it a waste of his energy, but also because the snow beneath his leather-booted feet had begun to turn to slush. He didn’t want to slip on an unseen spot of ice and make himself look like an idiot. Elias jogged at an easy pace, making sure to keep the creatures he worked with in his view, but allowing them the freedom to do their jobs. Besides, it wasn’t like Liz had a lot of choices when it came to an escape route.
Liz had escaped a half hour ago, and upon hearing the news Elias had been genuinely shocked. The fact that, during the years of the prison being active, she was the only one of four escapees to have lived long enough to reach the forest surprised him even more. He’d always taken her as the sort of person for whom the idea of running came a distant second to the idea of sitting. He guessed that adrenaline and the need to be free drove people to perform better than they’d ever be able to otherwise. He made a mental note of it; it was something to try on the rest of the subjects. Maybe they’d get better results.
A scream from up ahead signified that Liz wasn’t as far away as she’d probably like to be. Elias didn’t need to concern himself with anyone hearing it who wasn’t meant to. Civilians were not an issue in the middle of nowhere. The only things likely to hear the screams and pleas for help would be the animals who lived in the forest, and he doubted that Liz was able to call the animals to her aid like Sleeping Beauty.
As he got closer to the noise of fighting, he heard the laughter of the creatures that served in the prison, and the cursing from Liz. Elias began to wonder if there was a way to take her back without damaging her. He shook his head as he pushed aside a branch, letting it fly back to its position after getting past it.
Liz stood in a clearing, blood seeping down her left arm where an arrow had struck it. A second arrow protruded from just above her left ankle. She couldn’t put weight on it.
“Hello, Liz,” Elias said, his tone conversational and light. His English accent was still evident, even after all these years away. “Feel like coming back to the compound with me?”
“Go to hell,” she snapped.
Elias glanced over at the three creatures that had accompanied him on the hunt. They were all baying for blood, but would do nothing until he commanded it. “Go deal with the other corpses,” he told them.
They did as they were ordered without comment, and were soon lost from view in the darkness of the forest.
“I really would rather you live,” Elias said. “But if you’re going to fight me, you might as well get it started now.”
A spine, three inches in length, flew toward Elias, who easily avoided it. The next four were even faster as they left Liz’s palms, and Elias had to catch one mid-flight to stop it in time.
“Nicely done,” he commended. “Your bone mass must regenerate at an extraordinary speed.” He turned the bone spines over in his hands.
“I was taught by the best,” Liz said.
“Sarcasm, my dear? We’ve been trying to teach you to accept your new abilities.”
“Abilities I never wanted! I just want to go home.”
“To where, that park bench we found you on? We’ve given you shelter, food, and warmth. We haven’t beaten you, or tortured you. I think personally that we’ve been quite pleasant.”
“You forced this onto me. You murder those who can’t cope.”
“Well, sometimes things don’t go according to plan, but you have exceeded my expectations.” He wagged his finger at her and smiled. “No one has ever made it this far. But what were you going to do next?”
Liz looked behind her at the cliff.
“You were going to jump? That’s a two-hundred-foot fall into water. I’m pretty sure that even if the water was deep enough, you’d still die.”
“I’d rather die than be one of your pawns.”
“Fine, I’ll tell you what. You try to kill me and manage it, you can enjoy your brief life as a cliff diver. You don’t kill me? You’ll be dead. Either way, you win.”
Liz fired a half dozen spines at Elias, who moved smoothly as he dodged them, sliding under the last one and drawing out a nine-inch stiletto dagger, then plunging it up and into Liz’s stomach. He twisted it and pulled the knife out, pushing Liz onto the ground. He watched her writhe for a few moments as soft cries escaped her lips. He felt nothing except relief that the job was completed. Her pain would last longer than he liked. A quick kill was important. Professional. Kills should only last a long time if you needed something from the person, and he needed Liz to suffer a little—she had escaped after all. He’d end it soon, and then she’d be at peace.
Elias held the stiletto up to the light of the moon. A stunning piece of craftsmanship; a black handle, with silver pommel and matching cross guard. The blade itself had a percentage of silver in it, and had been polished to a high sheen. As he turned the dagger over in his grasp, a drop of blood fell from the tip onto the snow below.
He looked at Liz; her already pale face appeared ashen. She didn’t have long left. The silver i
n the blade had made sure of it. Even so, he needed to ensure that the fight to survive was extinguished. “I realize if we take you back, you’ll either escape again, or kill someone. So you really do get your wish.”
“You should not play with your prey,” a male said from behind Elias.
Elias turned to the newcomer and dropped to one knee, bowing his head. “My Lord Nergal.”
Nergal was a head taller than Elias’s own five feet nine inches, with broader shoulders and dark skin. A smooth bald head and deep brown eyes that looked almost black gave him the appearance of someone who was not to be crossed. Several thousand years earlier, Nergal had been considered a god by the Mesopotamian people, and it was easy to see why—just being near him made people nervous. To Elias’s knowledge, there were few people who possessed Nergal’s level of power; it practically came off him in waves.
“Get up. It’s cold and wet and you’ve already gotten yourself filthy fighting this one.” Nergal walked over to Liz and bent down, slapping her across the face to get her attention. “She’s almost done. End it. We need to talk.”
Elias wanted to tell him that was exactly what he’d intended to do, but there was no point in angering the man. Instead, he nodded, and used his foot to push Liz over onto her front. He placed a knee on her back and pressed the tip of the dagger up against her throat. He pushed it in without comment, removed it, and stepped off her to avoid the arterial spray.
He removed the black trilby from his head and dropped it into Liz’s blood, wiping the knife on his expensive suit trousers before replacing it in the sheath at his back.
“Are you quite done?” his lord asked.
“I did not know you were coming,” Elias said, turning around. “We had some issues with escapees. First in a few years. She was good too. Shame about how it ended up. Not to change the subject, but I’ll have to recharge soon.”
“Well, that will have to wait. We found her, Elias. I need you to go to England. To Southampton. I’ll have all of the details e-mailed to you.”
Elias didn’t want to question his lord, but he’d been here before. “Are we sure she’s there?” He made sure to say we too.
Nergal smiled. “We’ve been searching for so long, Elias. Yes, I’m sure she’s there.”
Elias picked up his hat from the ground; it had absorbed all of the blood that had once been inside Liz. Despite the amount of liquid it had taken, it was completely dry. To all outward appearances, the hat remained black and nothing had changed. In the few minutes since he’d killed her, Liz’s corpse had turned into a mummified husk.
Elias placed the hat on his head and a slight trickle of blood slid down his pale skin. He caught it with a finger, leaving a smear, and licked the digit clean.
“Picked it up too early,” Elias said, by way of explanation. “You want me to go now?”
“Yes, Elias. Take whoever you need. Just find the woman, and bring her back here. Alive. And do it quickly.”
“Not a problem, my lord.”
Nergal turned and walked away as the three creatures arrived once more, looking hungrily at Liz’s corpse.
“Make it quick, leave no trace.” Elias knew he didn’t have to say that to them—they were always quick and clean—but sometimes he liked to tell them anyway. Just in case they ever forgot who was in charge.
He walked back to the compound, his mind ablaze with possibilities. He had a lot to think on, and a lot to achieve in a short time. Going back to his ancestral home would have to wait until the job was done. Find a human girl and bring her back to Nergal. Easy.
2
Southampton, England.
Layla Cassidy landed back first on the padded mat in the gym. She looked up at her friend, Chloe Range, who stood above her with a grin fixed to her face. “Ouch,” Layla said.
“Don’t be a baby. Just get up so I can do it again,” Chloe said with a barely concealed chuckle.
Layla got back to her feet and removed the hairband that had been holding her shoulder-length, dark blue hair in a ponytail. She retied it and got back into a fighting stance.
“You know, attackers don’t wait for you to do your hair,” Chloe pointed out.
Layla mouthed Chloe’s words in a mocking fashion.
“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” Chloe responded, a stern look on her face, but Layla could see the twinkle of laughter in her friend’s eyes.
Layla winked, causing Chloe to break her expression and smile. An instant later, the smile vanished, and she lunged forward, lurching for Layla, who avoided her grasp and managed to get hold of Chloe’s t-shirt under her bicep. She snapped forward, using her free hand to grab Chloe’s lapel, and planting her knee on Chloe’s hip, she launched herself up, wrapping her legs around Chloe’s neck and putting her in a flying arm lock.
Layla dragged Chloe to the floor in an instant, locking the arm in place. The entire move took a fraction of a second, and although it had taken a lot of practice to master effectively, the look of surprise in Chloe’s eyes was worth the work.
“That’s it, people. It was a good practice.” The instructor, a South African woman by the name of Mosa, clapped her hands twice, signaling the end of the session. She was a giant of a woman, and looked like she could crush people between her hands if she so wished. Layla liked going to her classes because of the endless patience and good spirits she exuded. She hoped that she’d learned more than her fair share of patience and control while under her tutelage.
“No way,” Layla shouted. “Chloe needs to tap.”
“I will not surrender,” Chloe yelled.
Mosa walked over to them, a smile on her face. “Layla, are you willing to break your friend’s arm?”
For a split second Layla’s mind screamed yes. It would be easy to win this round, just apply a little more pressure, and . . . she forced herself to quickly release the hold. “No,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. She pushed herself away from Chloe, afraid that the thoughts might come back. She never wanted to think about hurting Chloe again.
Chloe did a small victory dance.
“You didn’t win,” Layla pointed out, hiding her concern at the violent thoughts that had yet again entered her mind. She’d hoped that time would stop them, would allow her to control her emotions better. Despite all these years of training, those thoughts still occasionally leaked out, wanting her to lose that control she’d worked so hard to maintain. It was her father’s fault. Most awful things in her life could be traced to him in one way or another.
“Didn’t lose either,” Chloe shot back.
Mosa laughed. It was a deep, rich sound. “Go home, both of you. What you do outside this building is not my concern.”
Once her mind was calm again, Layla called after Mosa, “I had her.”
Mosa gave her the thumbs up.
Layla turned back to her friend. “I had you, Chloe.”
“Yep. And if we had been in class, I’d have tapped. But I wasn’t going to give in that close to the end, and then it was just a matter of principle.”
“I could have hurt you.” I wanted to win. I wanted to beat you. All joking had vanished, and Layla’s expression had turned to one of concern.
“No, you couldn’t. You’re not that person. You have technique, speed, and a lot of power, but you’re not the person who would break an arm to win a point.”
Sometimes I’m not so sure, Layla thought as she picked up her gym bag. “And you are?”
“I’m like a ninja.”
“Tell me, do ninjas commonly have blonde pixie hair and colorful tattoos? Just asking.”
Chloe raised her arms as if inspecting them for the first time. They were both covered in a variety of styles and pop-culture characters. “Probably. I’d like to think it’s a progressive job.”
Layla stretched out in the corner of the gym while she waited for her friend to pack her bag. Both five foot four, neither Chloe nor Layla could be considered the tallest people in Mosa’s class. Ho
wever, they were probably the most enthusiastic, and Chloe was certainly one of the most formidable. Mosa had sparred with Chloe once, and had been visibly surprised at the strength and speed she possessed. Layla was athletic, and in good shape, but she wasn’t sure, in a straight fight between herself and Chloe, who would win. It would be a close thing.
“Are we going out tonight?” Chloe asked after taking a swig of water.
“I have no idea, are we?”
Chloe pushed open the gym door, letting in the cold March evening air. “Oh, come on. You’ve got a few months until you’re twenty-one, and only a few more until you’re officially finished with university. You haven’t been out with me for a month at least, and frankly I miss my wing-woman. Besides, I got these light brown lowlights put in my hair, and they look awesome, and now everyone else must see the awesome.”
Layla wondered just how much anyone would be able to see of anyone’s hair color in a dark nightclub, but she let it slide. “Wing-woman?”
“I’m not entirely sure if there’s a version of wing-man for women, so I took a shot.”
Layla chuckled. She’d known Chloe for the last two and a half years, and Chloe had quickly gone from the girl who served her coffee and went to the same self-defense classes to her closest friend.
Layla glanced at her watch. “It’s after nine.”
“I think by the time we get home, get ready to go out, and leave, it’ll be ten at the latest. I don’t think that’s too late for you, is it? Or do you need to drink your last cup of warm milk by then?”
Layla laughed, which was unfortunate timing as she’d just taken a mouthful of water, spraying it all over the concrete paving slabs as they walked back toward Chloe’s car.
“Fine. A few drinks,” Layla conceded.
“I knew you’d come around.”
“Shall we just go straight to yours? It means me stealing some of your clothes.”
“I’ll manage. I’ve got some electric pink hot pants?”
Layla stopped. “I’m not wearing anything where the color is described as electric. And not hot pants. I’d rather wear a burlap sack.”
Chloe paused as they reached her car, a black BMW M4 coupe. “I don’t think I have any burlap sacks. I could probably find one for you for next time.”