Legacy: The Niteclif Evolutions, Book 1

by Denise Tompkins

  I sat up and was amazed that nothing hurt. I looked around and realized that Tyr was at my side.

  “You may have set a record,” he said and almost smiled. “Shortest Niteclif service in the history of all Niteclifs. Do I congratulate or console you?”

  I thought about that for a minute. “Wait. I can’t be dead,” I challenged, looking around for proof, but there was none to be had.

  “You have a choice, Madeleine Dylis Niteclif,” Tyr said. “Do you stay, or do you go?”

  “Go where?” I asked skeptically. “Because there are options, apparently.”

  Tyr tipped his head back and laughed but sobered quickly as something happening over my shoulder caught his eye. I turned to see what he was looking at and I froze, my heart seizing in my chest.

  Bahlin was bent over me giving me CPR. Not good. He was working feverishly, but I obviously wasn’t responding.

  “Put. Me. Back,” I said, my voice and posture uncompromising. “I mean it, Pops.”

  “Ah, you’re shitted. No, wait. That’s not right. Hmm. You’re pissed. That’s it. You’re pissed,” Tyr said, look pleased with himself for getting the slang right.

  “Yes, I’m pissed. Put me back or show me how to get back.” I turned and looked at Bahlin who continued with chest compressions, a new franticness taking over his earlier smooth efforts. Behind him lay the smoking remains of corpses. They were so charred and mangled, piles of limbs sticking this way and that, it was impossible to tell who had died.

  “Do you love him?” Tyr asked.

  “I do,” I said, pain beginning in my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t…

  “Do you believe he loves you?” Tyr asked. I didn’t answer for a moment, and Tyr asked again. “I need to know, Maddy.”

  “He does love me. I have to believe it,” I said, turning my back on Bahlin so I could answer Tyr without the distraction Bahlin presented. “I don’t want to die, Tyr.”

  “Then live.”

  I slammed back into my body with the force of a Mac truck wrestling with a squirrel. I was the squirrel. Everything hurt and Bahlin’s chest compressions felt like they may have cracked my sternum. I involuntarily arched my back off the ground, my mouth gaping as I sucked in air, falling back to the floor with a muffled thud.

  Bahlin shouted, then grabbed me and pulled me close. “This is goin’ teh hurt yeh like the devil, mo muirnín,” he murmured, “but there’s no choice for it.” And then he bit me. Fire breathed through my body, the flames licking at my raw, open wounds the same as wildfire consumes everything, with indiscriminate speed. I swear I saw light flicker behind my eyelids as I clenched them shut, trying to breathe through the pain. But it was too much and I began to struggle, screaming and begging and pleading with him to stop. It was so much worse than the last time…so much worse. My heart stuttered and I thought, Beat, damn you, and I focused on its rhythm, willing it into compliance. It was horrible. Bahlin lifted his head and I foolishly thought it was over, but he was just moving on to different wounds. It went on and on, with Bahlin shifting his bite now and again, renewing my screams and pleas. I quit struggling before he made it to my lower body, and passed out somewhere around the bite to my knee. This time Tyr didn’t visit me. Smart deity.

  I came to lying on the grass outside, Bahlin back in dragon form and crouched over me as a small woman I vaguely recognized from earlier went over my wounds. Bahlin was bleeding all over the grass and the night sky had swallowed the moon so there was no light by which to see his wounds. It must be late. I tried to lift a hand to him, but my arms weren’t working yet.

  “You know what you’ve done, dragon,” she said in heavily accented English.

  He glared at her.

  “Do not get testy with me you giant reptile,” she barked. I liked her. Noticing I was awake, she smoothed her hand across my head and I relaxed some. “It will take days for you to recover, Niteclif. Your dance card was already full when death came calling, and it took you closer to the edge than a human has a right to go. Rest.” She rose and had turned away when a voice rang out through the night.

  “Niteclif. I demand my justice. Either stand and face me in front of the coven, or I invoke my right for immediate reparation as per our agreement,” Hellion yelled so that everyone heard him.

  Seriously? I thought. I could hardly move. He’d kill me all over again, and dying freaking hurt. I wasn’t going through it twice in one night.

  “No,” I croaked out, my voice barely above a whisper.

  Bahlin hummed low in his chest, and I rolled my head to look at him. He shifted subtly, putting himself closer to me in case I needed him. But he let me have enough space to see Hellion.

  “What did you say?” Hellion asked, incredulous.

  “I said, no,” I croaked again. I tried to roll to my side, but things were still not working right and my whole body ached.

  “I demand reparation,” he shouted.

  “I can’t, Hellion. Give me a few days and we can talk about what happened to Gretta. But nothing we do tonight will change what’s happened.”

  Bahlin huffed out a sigh, and I realized that my foggy brain hadn’t chosen its most diplomatic public voice.

  Hellion’s head fell back, and he bellowed to the night sky, “You owe me a life.”

  “But it won’t be mine,” I said softly. And then I looked at Bahlin. “And it won’t be his. I’m not guilty.”

  Hellion raised his hands as if to strike from a distance, and Bahlin threw himself between us. He grunted when whatever magic Hellion had thrown at him struck his abused back, but he didn’t go down. Scooping me up in his arms, Bahlin shot into the night sky, cloaking us with the first flap of his wings. The ground fell away as Bahlin’s humming began, and I started to warm up.

  Behind me I heard Hellion scream at our retreating forms, “Game on, Niteclif. Game. On.”

  No doubt.

  About the Author

  Denise Tompkins lives in the heart of the South where the neighbors still know your name, all food forms are considered fry-able and bugs die only to be reincarnated in aggressive, blood-craving triplicate. Thrilled to finally live somewhere that can boast 3 ½ seasons (winter’s only noticeable because the trees are naked), her favorite season is definitely fall. It’s the time of year when the gardens are just about to pass into winter’s brief silence, and the leaves are out to prove that nature is the most brilliant artist of all.

  A life-long voracious reader, Denise has three favorite authors. Why three? Because favorite authors are like chips: a person can’t have just one. Her little house was so overrun with books last year that her darling husband bought her an e-reader out of self-preservation. He was (legitimately) afraid she might begin throwing out pots and pans to make room for more books, and he didn’t want to starve.

  Her debut novel, Legacy, is the first book in The Niteclif Evolutions.

  You can find out more about Denise by visiting her website, www.denisetompkins.net, or by following her on Twitter, @DeniseJTompkins.

  Trust no one…except the one who walks in the dark.

  Key of Solomon

  © 2011 Cassiel Knight

  Relic Defender, Book 1

  Anthropology PhD candidate Lexi Harrison never bares it all when she belly dances for a strip club crowd. She doesn’t have to—she’s that good. Every performance earns money toward her degree, and restores the sense of power that her painful childhood ripped away.

  Something is different about tonight. A man whose silver gaze seems to touch her skin beneath her veils. When a rowdy customer crosses the line, he comes to her rescue with the speed of a falcon—complete with wings.

  Mikos Tyomni has never seen anyone dance the raqs sharqi like Lexi. Trust his tormentor, Archangel Michael, to put him in close contact with the cause of his downfall: a mortal woman. Particularly this mortal woman. The Defender. He has only thirty days to win her trust before Hell’s deadliest demons attempt the mother of all prison breaks.
<
br />   No matter how sexy the messenger is, Lexi’s career plans don’t include some crazy idea that she’s the last line of defense against the forces of evil. Until her university mentor’s murder leaves her holding the key to Hell. And fighting a losing battle against a passion with the unholy power to bring down Heaven…

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Key of Solomon:

  Oh, shit! Lexi let out a startled squawk as he closed the protective distance she’d put between them until he was within a foot of her. His fists knotted as if he wanted to grab her, but he held back.

  “How do you know Beliel?”

  Lexi held up the sanjiegun, gesturing out a circle in front of her body Mikos was damn near to breaking. “Whoa, personal zone here.”

  “Alexandria, this is important. Answer my question. How do you know Beliel?”

  She cringed. Her full name again. “He showed up at my apartment earlier.”

  Mikos jerked back. Fascinated, she watched his pupils and iris begin to spark again, the silver pinpoints of light widening. For Pete’s sake, what had she done or said?

  “What happened?” he asked.

  She shrugged, and looked down. With a sharp snick, she extended her sanjiegun, rested the tip on the floor and idly spun it like she was trying to start a fire. Christ. She suddenly had an urge to duck her head and squirm like a child caught doing something wrong.

  “He made me an offer,” she said and lifted her head, her gaze sparring with his.

  “What kind of offer?”

  The phrase an offer you can’t refuse flashed into her mind. She didn’t let it out. Probably a smart decision based on the silver sparking in his eyes. Where the hell did he get that unusual ability?

  Instead of uttering any number of smartass comments wavering on her tongue, she answered, “A normal life. One with a family.”

  “A normal life,” he repeated. His tone sounded as if it had as much emotion as a rock.

  Oops. Better scratch that. She actually knew a rock with emotion.

  “Lexi, you must stay away from him.”

  “Hey, I didn’t invite him. He just showed up.” She wrinkled her nose. “What’s the big deal?”

  “You don’t know him. He’s dangerous.”

  Lexi placed on hand on her hip and tapped her right foot. “So? I didn’t know you, but that didn’t stop you from interfering.”

  Mikos’s eyes narrowed. “That is different.”

  “Feels the same to me.” She paused. “Besides, all he’s done is show me another life.”

  A life she’d always wanted. Sounded so simple. So easy. So confusing.

  “For a price.”

  Lexi shrugged again. “Everything comes with a price tag.” And everyone could be bought. The only variance was the dollar amount.

  “What did he want from you?” Mikos continued.

  “To give him some kind of book. A book I’m sure I don’t have.”

  Mikos face turned to stone. No, not the Rocky-type stone, but hard, cold granite. “If you had the book, would you take Beliel’s offer?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She truly didn’t. As tempting as it was to realize she could have a family of her own, it bothered her that Beliel offered her a ready-made family. After all, if she really wanted a family, she’d have found herself a nice guy and made babies. Sure, and it was just that easy wasn’t it? Except, she wanted…

  Something else.

  Something special.

  Something just for her.

  So, she didn’t know what that something was. And while she wouldn’t admit it to Mikos, she wasn’t sure she’d want to pay the cost for whatever Beliel offered. She sensed it would be high.

  Despite the set expression on his face, Mikos’s tone had a controlled lightness as he said, “Lexi, you are the only one who can do this. God expects this of you, and your race needs you. Do not make the mistake of thinking only of yourself. Too much is at stake.”

  The critical and patronizing tone in Mikos’s voice punched like a sledgehammer at her chest. How dare he try to make her feel selfish? He had no idea of the life she’d led or things from her past. Damn right she was selfish. She had to be.

  Growing up in the system and then on the streets had taught her if she didn’t look after herself no one else would. A hard lesson to learn at the age of twelve but she had, and no man, no matter how attractive he was, was going to stand there and make her feel bad about her choices.

  Lexi shoved Mikos’s chest. “Where the hell was your God when I lost my parents? Where was your God when I was shuffled from home to home?”

  She paused and took a deep breath. For the first time in as far back as she could remember, tears welled.

  “And where were you and your God when my supposed father in the last foster home put his hands on me like no father ever should?”

  She was tired, angry and mentally exhausted with the events of the last day. Otherwise, what the hell else could explain her opening her mouth and sharing such an intimate thing with a relative stranger?

  Lexi barely suppressed a shudder at the memory. Her last foster father, Tom, hadn’t seemed to fit any profile of a child abuser. With no previous history of abuse in his own childhood, a gentle manner, no issues with drug or alcohol abuse, clean cut, a pristinely maintained yard and home, he appeared to be anything but a vile abuser.

  It was only later did Lexi find out just how much of an abuser he was. Certainly, she would have found out if she had stayed around long enough for him to finish what he’d begun.

  She still remembered the stark terror of being pushed against the wall of her bedroom while Tom groped and grabbed at her clothing. The smell of fresh paint from her foster mom’s remodel of the kitchen, the feel of the stucco on her backside.

  Slightly damp, cold hands that left behind an unclean feeling, one she’d never be free of.

  Lexi felt fortunate in that she had been strong and independent even at the age of twelve. One unfatherly touch from Tom, and she bolted from the house.

  Looking up at Mikos, she realized that in her anger, she’d come within inches of his body. Major personal zone violation. Silver painted eyes looked down at her awash with an emotion she didn’t want or need.

  She shoved him again. “Don’t you dare pity me. And don’t you dare tell me what God expects. I stopped caring about those expectations a long time ago.”

  Maybe the thought of shoving him a third time had crossed her mind and shined in her eyes because Mikos moved. His hands come up to grab her wrists, jerking her forward and locking her arms against her sides. For the second time, her sanjiegun fell to the floor with another sharp clatter. Damn it, she was going to get a strap on that thing.

  She pulled her knee up then thrust downward. Because of Mikos’s tight meld to her body, she couldn’t get enough momentum to do anything more than tap his foot. A hard tap, yet still not enough to break free.

  “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

  This close, his whisper danced across her neck. She sucked in a whistling breath as unfamiliar sensations rocketed through her body. When was the last time she’d felt any, even the most microscopic, attraction to a man? Each time she was around this man her libido went supernova.

  Mikos’s body seemed to fit hers like a comfortable chair, one she wanted to sink back into then lose herself in the firm cushions. She inhaled, the warm, musky scent of masculine perspiration filling her nose. Did his skin taste salty? She eyed the pulse beating in his neck.

  An inward yelp echoed through her mind. What the hell was wrong with her?

  She let her shoulders relax as if she’d given up. He stilled. Maybe he hadn’t expected her to concede. Good. His stillness should have let her focus on breaking free.

  It didn’t.

  Demons in a feeding frenzy drive the world-weary Markhat to the brink…

  Hold the Dark

  © 2009 Frank Tuttle

  A Markhat Story

  Quiet, hard-working
seamstresses aren’t the kind that normally go missing, even in a tough town like Rannit. Martha Hoobin’s disappearance, though, quickly draws Markhat into a deadly struggle between a halfdead blood cult and the infamous sorcerer known only as the Corpsemaster.

  A powerful magical artifact may be both his only hope of survival—and the source of his own inescapable damnation.

  Markat’s search leads him to the one thing that’s been missing in his life. But even love’s awesome power may not save him from the darkness that’s been unleashed inside his own soul.

  Warning: This gritty, hard-boiled fantasy detective novel contains mild romance and interludes of suggestive handholding.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Hold the Dark:

  I picked up the candle and followed.

  The door wound down a long dark hall. Walls, floors and ceiling all bore water damage, but the warped pine wood floor had been repaired in two places. Recently, too, the nail-heads shone of new-beaten iron in the light, which meant they hadn’t had time to rust.

  The hall abruptly ended. I stepped down, nearly stumbled, onto a cobble-brick floor, and my candlelight lost sight of any ceiling, and all the walls. It did illuminate the backs of four black-clad halfdead, who stood in a small circle a dozen steps away.

  Evis and his dark glasses turned to face me.

  “They are friends. They do not see you.”

  “Wonderful.” My mouth was so dry I spoke in a ragged whisper. My new friends didn’t turn, didn’t leap, so I licked my lips and took a step toward them. “What is it we’re seeing?”

  I wasn’t seeing a thing, aside from vampires and a flickering ring of shadows and floor-bricks.

  “Blood was spilled here. Spilled in such quantity that it rushed onto the floor.” He indicated the area, which the halfdead surrounded. They pulled back a few steps, and Evis motioned me forward. I took my guttering candle and went.

  All I saw were bricks, just like all the others—black and smooth and rounded over with age and wear. Half the old buildings in Rannit were built over even older roads, just like this one. The builders merely scraped the dirt off the cobbles and called it a floor.