Born in Fire (Fire and Ice Trilogy Book 1)

by K. F. Breene

  Born in Fire

  K.F. Breene

  Contents

  Born in Fire

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Also by K.F. Breene

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2017 by K.F. Breene

  All rights reserved. The people, places and situations contained in this ebook are figments of the author’s insane imagination and in no way reflect real or true events.

  Created with Vellum

  Born in Fire

  Heart pounding and laugh out loud funny, K.F. Breene will take you on a magical joy ride you won’t soon forget.

  Supernatural Bounty Hunter isn’t the sort of thing you see on LinkedIn. But with a rare type of magic like mine, I don’t have many options.

  So dangerous or not, the job is mine. And it was going fine, until an old as sin vampire stole my mark, and with it, my pay day.

  Knowing I’m poor and desperate, he has offered me a job. I’ll have to work by his side to help solve a top secret case.

  Everyone knows not to trust vampires. Especially a hot elder vampire. But without any other jobs coming up, I’m stuck. As I uncover a web of lies and treachery, revealing an enemy I didn’t know existed, the truth of my identity is threatened. I might make it out alive, only to end up in a gilded cage.

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  Chapter One

  The sticky-sweet night embraced me like a satisfied lover. Raucous laughter crowded in close as people strolled up Bourbon Street with their green plastic drink holders fashioned after grenades. A little girl broke away from her parents and ran toward me, stopping much too close and snatching a string of pink beads off the street.

  She looked up at me with clear blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “Pink is my favorite color!”

  I stared back at her, struck mute. Only the naive would pluck beads off Bourbon Street. There was no telling what sweaty chest those had been on. I didn’t want to kill her dreams, though. She was so excited as she stood there, clutching the plastic string in a small fist.

  Seeing that she was expecting some sort of reply, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “So is mine.”

  She flashed a giant smile before turning at the calm call of her mother.

  With a gaping mouth, I stared after her.

  So is mine?

  Pink was most certainly not my favorite color. I didn’t hate it, but being caught dead in it would be a horrible way to go. Black was my favorite color, if I had to choose. It hid stains. I could spill food or blood on it, and no one was the wiser. You certainly couldn’t do that with pink leather. No way. Everyone would gasp and point.

  A very important question assaulted me: why wasn’t that kid afraid of me?

  I glanced down at my black army boots, made for kicking in teeth. Paired with my black leather pants, decorated with scuff marks and four parallel lines from when a mark had tried to rake me with his claws last month, I looked fierce. A bad mama-jama. Right?

  I had a freaking gun strapped to my leg! And if, for some reason, that wasn’t hardcore enough, then surely the sword strapped to my back should’ve made that kid hesitate in approaching, grimy pink beads or no. Sure, this was NOLA, where anything goes, but still, my outfit should’ve at least panicked the mother.

  My job hinged on the fact that I was terrifying, dang it!

  Intent on getting to the bottom of this, I adjusted my bra. A catcall came immediately. I swung a glare toward the source, a man in his early twenties loitering in a bar doorway.

  He took a step toward me with a drunken smile, displaying the unmistakable swagger of idiocy.

  I’m not the kind of girl sane men hit on, bro.

  In a power stance, I faced him dead on, letting my glare amp up until I was sure crazy sparkled within my eyes. The man flinched. His drink slopped out of his plastic cup and down the front of his shirt. He didn’t notice. Instead, he started sidestepping back into the bar, his smile twisting into a grimace.

  Good sign. That made me feel better.

  Clearly, any kid brave enough to pick beads up off this street wasn’t worried about an armed bounty hunter.

  She reminded me a little of myself.

  With a glance back at the girl, who took a running leap and splashed into a puddle, I continued on my way to the edge of the French Quarter. I had a mark to pick up and money to collect. Soon it would get unbearably hot in New Orleans, and Mama needed air conditioning.

  I turned a corner, away from the half-flooded, busy street. Clouds still spotted the sky above, blocking out stars in patches. The earlier deluge of water from the spring storm would hopefully continue to seep into the storm drains, making my hunting ground more pleasant to navigate. Wet boots really put me in a bad mood, and I refused to wear galoshes. I had to have a little pride in my badassery.

  Tourists and partygoers dotted the way ahead, this month a little slower for visitors. When summer revved up, the jeering crowds would flood the street. It would be my cue to avoid the area.

  Up ahead, jazz clattered out of a bar. A man backed out of my way and I caught sight of Red, a resident were-dog.

  Yeah. He turned into a dog. A nondescript brown one, at that. His style points in the were-community were seriously lacking, hence his position as a snitch for Roger, the alpha of a bunch of sub-packs spread out across North America. When a magical person without a pack wanted information in this area, torturing Red was a great way to get it.

  Red caught sight of me as I stalked down the sidewalk.

  “No way!” He turned to flee, straight into a large group of drunk tourists. His escape route cut off, he threw a panicked look out at the street, where a police car was rolling by, before hunching down against the wall.

  The man was pure comedy.

  I stopped near him with a grin, just to see what he’d do next.

  He threw up his hands to block his face. “I don’t know anything. Nothing is going on, I swear!”

  I patted him on his bony shoulder. He flinched with each touch.

  “I’m good this time,” I said, scanning the way ahead. “I don’t need any information.”

  “I’ve heard that before. Then something goes wrong and here you come, looking for secrets.”

  “That’s your own fault.” With a last pat, I headed away. “Friends shouldn’t keep secrets from each other.”

  “You’re not my friend,” he yelled at me.

  That wasn’t very nice.

  I turned and scoured him with a half-assed glower. He skittered in the other direction.

  I really shouldn’t pick on the poor guy, but he was a thorn in my side, always helping those infuriating shifters track my whereabouts. Half the time they showed up to dog my footsteps, no pun intended, watching my movements for some clue as to what my magic was. What I was, basically. My scent told them something was up with me, but they couldn’t find a rea
son to haul me into the Realm, the magical world basically run by the elves, to question me. That meant they skulked around, trying to catch me doing something wrong. Their presence made people skittish, and my marks, who were usually up to no good and already skittish, often found somewhere else to be.

  The shifters represented the elves in the human world, policing the magical people to ensure our kind was kept secret. I sometimes worked for the other type of law enforcement, a human-world office funded in secret by the U.S. government that operated with the same goal—keeping all things magical from the humans. One would think the two factions would combine forces, but for whatever reason, that didn’t happen. Instead, the two groups were always at odds with each other. Hence my eternal annoyance with the shifters.

  No sooner had I reached my destination, the Purple Bear, than Jimmy, the manager, said, “I don’t want no trouble in here tonight.” He stood at the doorway of the bar, warding away underage partygoers with his perma-scowl. “It’s a slow night and I don’t want no one leaving.”

  “This one will be real easy, Jimmy, don’t you worry.” I patted him on the arm. Unlike Red, Jimmy did not flinch. “Grab and bag. No big deal.”

  “You say that every time.”

  “And it would be true every time if it wasn’t for outside influences.”

  He sniffed. “Who you looking for?”

  I scanned the dimly lit interior. Four people sat at the bar. Two were on their own and hunched over their drinks, and the other two were rehearsing for the horizontal ugly dance, hands all over each other.

  “A small, wiry fella.” I shifted to the side of the door when two girls staggered closer. Jimmy reached for their IDs. “Balding. Brown eyes. He has a tattoo of a yeti on the side of his neck. Yesterday I was told he’d be in here to meet a buyer. Don’t ask what he’s selling—I have no idea.”

  “A yeti?” Jimmy shoved the ID back at the first girl and took the ID of the other. The girls giggled for no reason.

  “Yeah. An abominable snowman. You seen him?”

  Jimmy returned the second ID and jerked his head for the women to enter. They giggled again, still for no reason. “I seen a short, balding man. Didn’t notice no tattoo. He walked through ’bout a half hour ago. I’d leave that one alone, if I was you.”

  “Why is that?” I shifted so I could scan the booths. “The music tonight sucks, by the way. Did you lose a bet?”

  “Becau—” He cut his explanation short and glanced inside. “That’s the best I could get last minute. The normal gig canceled an hour before they was supposed to be here. I had to get a human band, and I don’t have many connections on that front.”

  Jimmy was a merman, which had shocked the hell out of me. I constantly wanted to ask how procreation worked, since they did it in mermaid form, what with the fins and the man parts and all that, but he was very closed-mouthed about it. All I knew was that he disappeared for a month out of the year to frolic in the ocean. Also, he hated when I used the word frolic.

  Especially while smirking.

  “Why’d they cancel?” I asked, eyeing the first booth of people, an older couple wearing beads and laughing.

  “Same reason you should call it a night and walk away. We got vamps. They came in out of the Realm.”

  I pulled away from the door—reflex. “Out of the Realm? What level are they?”

  “Middle or higher. And an elder. He walked in earlier like he owned the world. He ain’t the type to mess with, Reagan, even for you. Seems like they have an interest in your mark.”

  I swore silently and stared out at the street. “How do you know? Did they make a move?”

  “Because I know. And no, they didn’t. Not yet. Been vamp sightings all over the place, though. Them little furries are in a tizzy.”

  He meant the resident shifter pack, probably. Mostly wolves and one badger. They were always the first respondents to vamp sightings in this area—under the Realm jurisdiction, anyway. My branch didn’t respond until something actually happened.

  “The little furries don’t have enough power to move in and chase the vamps away.” Jimmy pulled up his britches. “That should tell you something about what’s going on. I’d go after someone less noteworthy.”

  “Or…” I scratched my chin in thought. “I could bag him, hold him, and negotiate for a larger payout.”

  Jimmy’s lips turned downward, and his brow furrowed. “Or you could bag him, hold him, and get eaten by vamps.”

  “Don’t be silly. Vamps are just cuddly creatures that want a hug.”

  Ignoring his protest, I slipped into the bar and immediately against the wall. Moving fast, I made it to the corner with the broken light fixture. Nice and shadowy. From there I had a full view of the first two booths and their inhabitants.

  Baldy was sitting in the middle booth with a girl. She glanced around the bar with moving lips, her eyes wary. A forgotten beer sat at her elbow. Baldy sat opposite, his eyes on the strap of the handbag resting on her shoulder. He licked his lips in anticipation.

  What are you selling?

  It didn’t matter to my job in the least, but I was curious what would get the vampires all worked up. Elders seldom acted directly, preferring to send their minions. So it was extraordinary for one to not only leave the Realm, but to actually follow a mark into a bar.

  I glanced at the last booth, seeing a shoulder. The person sat with his or her back to the divider, on the other side of Baldy. My waist bumped the wood of the bar as I edged over until the person’s hair came into sight, cropped close and styled with mousse. Probably a man.

  “What can I get you?” the bartender asked, leaning against the bar.

  “I’m good. I won’t be here long. Actually…” I reached into my pocket for a five. One of my last. “What’s the guy at the end drinking?” I pointed to the far booth.

  Wariness crossed her bold features. “Just a beer, but it’s full. He doesn’t want company.”

  The head in the last booth turned a fraction, his awareness now encompassing me, the chick who wanted to buy him a drink. Abnormally great hearing confirmed he was the vampire, and the fact that he could hear me over the racket of the band meant he was old.

  Very old.

  Well then, everyone was accounted for, elder included.

  I shrugged. “His loss.” I pretended to think for a minute. “I’ll have a beer. I’m waiting for Prince Charming. I sure hope he’s rich. I hate working.”

  The bartender’s face screwed up in confusion as I stuffed my money back in my pocket. Without giving her a chance to ask what I wanted, or if I actually planned to pay for my drink, I took off toward the middle booth. I grabbed Baldy and yanked him to his feet.

  “What the—”

  I punched him so as to daze him, which made people much easier to transport, and threw him over my shoulder. The woman shrieked, but I ignored her. I wasn’t here for her, and whether she realized it or not, I was doing her a favor.

  With my mark bouncing on my shoulder, I rushed for the door. A man entering the bar jumped out of the way. I darted a glance behind me as I ran out. No one exited the last booth.

  Good news.

  Baldy started to struggle. I threw another punch at him, and he went slack.

  “Dumb move, girl,” Jimmy said.

  “What’s he selling?” I yelled over my shoulder, already moving again.

  “Blood.”

  Blood?

  Jogging now, I hastened through the streets. If Jimmy was right, I needed to outrun the vamps. Middle- or high-level vampires could move fast, organize faster, and box me in. If five or more joined forces, they could kill me. That was not the ideal situation.

  I turned a corner and had to put on the brakes. A group of people collected on the sidewalk in front of a convent. A ghost tour.

  “Great work, Lou!” I shouted, saluting her. To the group, I said, “Best guide in the city!” She loved her fanfare.

  Lou gave me a bow, then pointed at the man start
ing to struggle on my shoulder. “Looks like that one is trying to get away.”

  “I got it.” I hesitated long enough to punch him again, which was pretty awkward considering his face was hanging over my back, and knocked him out. If only he’d stay unconscious, my life would be a lot easier. “Resident vamp. Nothing to it.”

  “Just dramatics, folks.” Lou turned back to her crowd. “She loves the theater. As does her boyfriend, there.”

  Lou was good to me. I saw her on the streets often.

  “She’s really strong…” one of the tour patrons said.

  “She works out a whole lot, yes. Hence the display. She plays a vampire in the local theater, actually. So she has to be strong.”

  All lies. I could thank my genetics for my abilities.

  I hurried on. When I was nearly out of sight of the tour, a mere two blocks from safety, a shadow stepped gracefully into my path. I recognized the haircut, the large shoulders and unfaltering confidence. The elder had caught up. Crap.

  I cut right and ran diagonally across the street, dodging a car. Another shadow stepped out, not as suave, but with smooth enough movements to give me a racing heart.

  “Captain, we have a problem,” I muttered, looking for another escape route. Graceful and elegant shadows stepped out all around me, perfectly synchronized.

  “Oh look, she’s putting on a show for us!” I could hear the worry in Lou’s voice. She knew I was up shit creek with a broken paddle.

  Haircut walked toward me, slow and purposeful. Confidence radiated out from him like a weapon. He was much too calm for my taste. He didn’t think I was a threat.

  Being that he was upwind, he probably also thought I was human.

  “Drop the man,” he said in a velvety-smooth voice.

  “Look.” I stopped in the middle of the street. “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll—”

  “I do not make deals.” He stopped ten feet from me. His minions stayed back, though perfectly placed to box me in. All ten of them. So that wasn’t good.