Razor's Edge, Book 3, The Horde Wars

by Sherri L. King

  She was, at best, a loner. Only a rare few had looked beyond her exterior to the woman that lay beneath the surface. Only a rare few could she really call friend. And that was fine enough with her.

  Her head swam with weariness. Her stomach lurched from lack of food. But she’d been too edgy to sleep this past week. Too preoccupied with dark thoughts to do more than eat whatever small fare was at hand.

  The memory of wicked fangs and claws and monstrous growls consumed her mind now. Visions of a tall man in a dark trench coat with long, shining hair swam in her tired eyes. It had been a week since that night in the alley—a week since her world had been turned on its axis. And still she felt the fear.

  The shame.

  Shame because she’d succumbed to her weaker impulses. Given in to her fear, her terror. It had never happened to her before; she’d never allowed it. But in the face of such alien evil she’d lost her wits, gagged, trembled and weakened. It was not to be borne. Emily vowed it would never happen again, even under pain or fear of death.

  She looked out the window on the far side of her station, situated as it was in the middle of the receiving lobby. The dawn was streaking its warm, strawberry rays over the sky beyond the glass, the edges of the night fleeing in a stain of pink and gold and blue. It was summertime. The dawn came to the world early now, and she would leave work with its cheerful shine this morning.

  Hopefully she’d be able to sleep today. Insomnia could only last so long, after all. And she should know, being a poster child for the sleepless community. Her entire life had been peppered with bouts of insomnia. It was just one of her many quirks, though it had never plagued her for so long a stretch without even a light doze.

  The world around her was lost in a marshmallow haze during times like this. Like a canvas of wet oils that had slid off its easel to splash its ocean of color onto the floor, her tired eyes saw only the vague outline of reality’s normally crisp picture. Everything was surreal. Nothing was as it should be. Colors, textures, scents, tastes and even emotions…all held but an echo of their usual brilliance when she went too long without sleep.

  At times she wondered if the monsters and the man in the black coat had been hallucinations after all. Horrific visions dredged from the depths of a sleep-deprived brain. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? But unfortunately she knew better. Her insomnia had set in after the attack. Had been brought on because of it. But it was fun to pretend—to wish—in her weaker moments, that it had all been a waking dream.

  She hadn’t told anyone, of course. Not really because of the man’s threat to come after her if she did, but because she knew no one would believe her. Knew it would, in fact, put her job and her reputation on the line if she spoke of the monsters without proof of their existence. And that she could not bear, even to tell the truth. She’d worked too hard for too long to lose it all simply because her tale would be too fantastical to believe.

  So what was left to her?

  Not much. Her life was forever altered after that experience in the alley. Her drive to be a peacekeeper, a protector of the people, had been redirected along a new path without her even wanting it to be. Common thugs no longer concerned her full time as they had but a week before. Now she knew there were far more dangerous threats stalking the dark streets of the night. And she couldn’t let that go as if it had never happened. She had to do something about it.

  Instinctively she knew there were more of those evil creatures out there. Knew that, despite his threatening words to the contrary, the man in the black coat had been on her side. If indeed he was a man. He’d been so strange, with his blades shooting out from his very flesh, and his dangerous fiery eyes. She wouldn’t be surprised at this juncture to learn that he’d been something other than a man. An alien perhaps?

  God, had she really lost it? Had she snapped? She needed to get away, to think for a while of a way to best meet this new threat. There would be no real rest for her until she solved this puzzle or was driven mad by it.

  Which was why she’d asked for a two-week leave. Since she’d never in her five years on the force taken a sick day, or even a vacation day, her boss had given her the time with no questions asked. Hopefully that time would be enough for her to come to grips with the harsh new reality that threatened to push her into madness. Perhaps she’d find a way to redeem her cowardice in the alley…if only for her own ego’s sake.

  And maybe she’d finally get some sleep.

  Grabbing her things she rose from her desk and bid farewell to the necessary people. The warm welcome of the summer morning greeted her with a perfumed heat—the scent of blooming morning flowers light in the air. Crawling into her car with a weary weight in her bones, she headed for her home, and the adventure she knew would either spell her doom or salvation.

  * * * * *

  Even the warmth of her bath couldn’t lull her to sleep, though her body so desperately craved its sweet oblivion. But it did, nevertheless, feel good to her screaming muscles. It seemed that the longer she stayed awake, the more her muscles strained against themselves. She ached from head to toe. Even pulling her hairbrush through her hair was a painful chore.

  Clothing hurt her skin—ravaged it. Her nerves were sensitive, aching and screaming from sleep deprivation. She opted to crawl into her bed nude, leaving her bathwater to dry negligently on her skin. She kicked the bed covers onto the floor and tossed and turned, looking for the perfect position in which to seek her rest. Nothing seemed comfortable. No position had a natural feel, so she finally flopped onto her back, huffing in grumpy agitation.

  Emily ran her hands over the damp curves of her body, trying to soothe away the tension. A flash of memory, of the sight of the tall man’s body covered in ebony liquid latex under his coat, assailed her mind. Her breathing hitched. It was as good a fantasy as any, she supposed, and ran her hands over the peaking tips of her breasts.

  She hadn’t been afforded much of a look at him, had only seen the muscled line of his chest and stomach and thigh, barely covered in the latex. But she had a good imagination and filled in the blanks where she wished. His skin would be gold where hers was alabaster. His body would be strong and tall and heavy against her much smaller, delicate frame.

  The pain in her muscles ebbed and dulled, replaced by the tingling warmth of desire.

  His mouth would taste of heaven. His eyes…she turned away from the memory of them. She wanted no closer knowledge of the man in the black coat, even in fantasy. He oozed danger…and where he dwelled in her mind, so too did the monsters. Better he be a faceless phantom lover with the body of a god than the dark angel, the warrior, she knew him to be.

  The long silk of his rich auburn hair would fall across her body, caressing her like thousands of tiny kisses. It would tangle in the blue-black curls that fell about her own shoulders as they moved together. His muscles would be smooth, hairless and glistening. His cock would be thick and long and demanding.

  Her hands moved over the smooth plane of her stomach, down to the mound of wet flesh between her legs. The image of his hand replacing hers made her gasp with longing. It was easy for her to imagine him parting her folds, seeking out the swell of her clit and rubbing it expertly, as she was doing.

  Spreading her legs wide so that her dream lover would have the room to settle his bulk between them, she bucked her hips against the burn of his cock and fingers. She sighed. Her pussy was so wet, so swollen and tender that she cried out with each press of her dream lover’s body against her. His finger filled her, fucked her roughly, mercilessly, until she was panting and rocking against him.

  The fingers on her clit rubbed in a circular pattern and she grew impossibly wetter. Creamier. But it wasn’t enough. The fantasy faded. She growled and thrashed her head on her pillow. She needed to be filled. Stretched. Impaled.

  Emily reached into the drawer of her nightstand and retrieved her dual action vibrator. Without preamble she thrust it deep into her pussy and turned it on. She wanted it hard. Needed i
t hard and fast and frenzied. Merciless vibrations beat at her clit and she sighed. The thick length of the soft latex shaft filled her, moving in small circles deep within her, rubbing against her G-spot with each rotation it made. She smiled and fell back, thrusting the vibrator in and out of her wetness with a dreamy moan, letting the magic of it sweep over her.

  It was easy to fall back into fantasy. To imagine it was he filling her, fucking her with his long, thick cock. That it was he who rubbed her clit until it throbbed and swelled, not the vibrator. She heard the sucking sounds her pussy made as he thrust in and out of her, felt the hard slap of him against her as he moved.

  It was his voice that brought her over the edge. The memory of that dark, smooth voice—fire and ice combined—that made her lose control at last. She imagined him whispering dirty, risqué promises in her ear. Imagined him telling her how luscious her cunt was, how hot and wet it felt while wrapped around him. Imagined him growling out how tasty her nipples were, how much he wanted—needed—to fuck her.

  She cried out, trembling and bucking on the bed. The force of her climax swept through her like a tidal wave. She tingled from head to toe. Her nipples and clit were like throbbing stars in a heaven of pleasure. It was all consuming. It lasted for long, endless moments. And when she came back down she had a small, satisfied smile playing about her lips. She could feel it there and almost laughed at herself.

  For hours she lay there, spent and languorous in her bed. The day came and went and then nightfall was again sweeping across the world.

  But still she couldn’t sleep.

  Chapter Two

  “After months of quiet the Horde is now making a move into New York City. Why? There must be some reason.”

  “I don’t know, Elder, but I’ve met them twice in the past week. And each time there are more.”

  “Have you heard from Obsidian yet, Traveler? Have they found any activity on their patrols?”

  “Not that I know of. Shall I call the team to us?”

  “Do you need their aid?” Tryton asked.

  The Traveler and Edge exchanged glances—though Edge couldn’t really see The Traveler’s eyes beyond the shadow of his cowl. It didn’t matter. He understood the sentiment behind their silent communication.

  “Not yet,” Edge answered, turning back to The Elder. “Thus far they have been relatively easy to defeat. I will wait until I know more about this threat before seeking my teammates’ assistance.”

  “You are, as always, a formidable warrior, Edge. But if you encounter too dire a threat I want you to return here immediately. I will not have your life placed in too much danger unnecessarily. Though your team is spread thin to cover more ground in the Territories, you are still dependent on each other for full strength. Your team will be summoned to help you if the Horde makes a strong move. Is that clear?”

  “Of course, Elder.” Edge bowed to his leader respectfully.

  “Traveler, you will remain by his side as much as possible. I do not want Edge to find himself without hope of escape should the situation grow too desperate.”

  The Traveler nodded his acceptance of Tryton’s direction.

  “Now if you’ll both excuse me. The Council awaits.”

  Tryton exited the room, leaving the two men alone.

  “The woman. Have you seen her again?” The Traveler asked, breaking the silence.

  “No. She was just a lone law enforcement official, no threat to us. Give her no more thought.” He’d do well to follow his own advice, he thought, with no small amount of chagrin. Truth was, he’d thought of little else since running into the woman.

  “I find I cannot help thinking on her. And on the Daemons’ untimely arrival in her city.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  But The Traveler didn’t answer. Instead, he retreated from the room in silence, following Tryton’s footsteps.

  Travelers and their secretive ways had always gotten on Edge’s nerves. But now…he wondered what occupied The Traveler’s thoughts. Wondered where the woman with the gorgeous crimson baby’s mouth and glossy curls fit in with the man’s ponderings concerning the Horde. He didn’t like knowing that she was the object of The Traveler’s attention. Didn’t like knowing that the man dwelled on her, even for a second’s passing.

  Didn’t like it at all.

  * * * * *

  Armed to the teeth and sporting her bulletproof vest as a precaution in addition to the weight of her weapons, Emily prowled around the streets of the city’s underbelly in search of her nightmare. But the creatures, thus far, were nowhere to be found.

  Drugs, prostitution, and thievery abounded here. While not being as dangerous as many other cities, this one had its fair share of darkness and secrets. If one knew where to look. And she did.

  But the monsters were elusive. Or else they didn’t really exist.

  God, she was tired. But on she walked, trudging through the dank and dirty streets in search of redemption. Redemption for the moment of weakness she’d shown in the face of the threat of evil. A threat she should have faced head on, instead of cowering before it in a stupor of fear.

  After hours of research, in the library and on the Internet, Emily still had no solid information about her prey. What were they? Why were they here? And how long had they hidden in the shadows, undetected by virtually anyone who would be willing—or able—to catalogue what they saw, leaving clues for others to find? In fact no book or website had given her any leads…save one.

  TheVoyeurs.net

  An odd link she’d found buried in FTP sites and encrypted file searches, Emily had first thought it to be one of the endless porn sites dotted about the Net because of its name. But the page was so well hidden that she’d wondered about it and finally typed in the address to see what info it might divulge, if any.

  It was a surprise to find exactly what she had been looking for, if a little too vague to be entirely useful. The website was run by college students—all female—with an interest in the paranormal. They asked for photos and sighting reports of the beasts they’d nicknamed Daemons—from the Latin Daemonio for ‘evil demon’—and promised in-depth study of the phenomena. Though there were photos and a few forum posts on the subject there hadn’t been much to go on besides the expected ufology-styled speculation of the site itself.

  Finally obtaining some proof—however small—that she wasn’t the only witness to these monsters, these Daemons, she felt a lot less ridiculous about searching for them. Also, she now had some ideas of how to kill the beasts. ‘Take their heart and burn their hide’ had been the only real instruction on the website. Though fighting the Daemons was strongly cautioned against all throughout the domain. Study and report, but do not engage had been the motto and the rule.

  It would seem, however, that sometimes skirmishes were unavoidable for the web mistresses to offer such dangerous instructions in addition to their warnings.

  Now Emily could either take the website at face value and follow their advice, or find out for herself just what these so called Daemons were made of. If they existed to be found, she would find them. And she would do what she must to protect the citizens of her city from their threat. It was a driving force within her, this need to serve and protect. It always had been. And, despite all the endless stringent rules involved in police work, she’d taken up the badge with that very purpose in mind. To keep the streets safe from danger and crime.

  Many times over she could have taken a desk job. Many times over she’d turned down promotion after promotion, instead wanting—needing—to patrol the streets. She liked knowing that she made a difference, liked to see the results of her own handiwork. Duty and honor, these were the most important things in her life and had been for longer than she could remember.

  Sitting on the steps of a rickety old fire escape, she released a heavy expulsion of breath. Her muscles trembled with fatigue. Her bones felt rubbery beneath her skin and her head felt swollen atop her sagging shoulders. The sound of
a lone wolf howling came from a distance. But there were no wolves in New York. Lone or otherwise.

  “I’ve totally lost it,” she whispered to herself. “Totally.”

  There was another noise in the darkness. Close this time. It was brief and almost inaudible, but she heard it nonetheless. A sift of dust fell down over her head, light and weightless. She would have missed it if she hadn’t been so edgy. Her hand crept towards the handgun holstered at her waist, slowly, cautiously so as to be undetectable to anyone who might be watching from overhead.

  It was probably just some poor, homeless soul perched above her on the fire escape. She just hadn’t seen their shadowy form when she’d taken her seat. Holding on to that thought, she palmed her Glock 23—a sturdy, dependable weapon—and instinctively steadied her nerves.

  The smell of refuse, rotten and ripe, was thick in the air. Had she noticed it before? Or had it only just crept into her sensory field? The scent thickened, turned to one of death—a sickly sweet perfume—of fleshly decay.

  She daren’t look above her. To do so would give away her only advantage of surprise. The person—or thing—above her must not know she was aware of its presence. As an added precaution, her free hand inched towards another pistol, fastened to the outside of her thigh. She shifted just so, to hide her movements. To mask her intent.

  Another shift of mass above her sent a shower of dirt down onto her head. She flew into motion, her training taking over the command of her muscles as if her higher brain were on autopilot. Raising her weapons high she jerked out from under the fire escape, turned as swift as a thought, and faced the threat that waited above her.

  A large, scruffy cat meowed plaintively at her from the level above where she’d been sitting. Emily laughed at herself, exhaled her pent up breath, and lowered her weapons. “I’m way too paranoid tonight,” she said with another shaky chuckle.

  Two massive, clawed hands clamped down like iron vises on her shoulders.