by Anthology
Rachel felt the heat of a blush rise in her cheeks. “Uhm.”
“I should go,” Max said. He pointed to the porch where a very stern-looking man and woman stood, arms crossed, and obvious disapproval written all over their faces. “You should get inside.”
Her dad, a first generation Norwegian-American, was tall and stocky. He dressed in his standard blue jeans and a button down shirt. He had neat, short blond hair and dark blue eyes. A sharp contrast to her mom, who was short and curvy in both hips and breasts. She wore her dark brown hair tied up in a loose bun, and even without make up, she was beautiful.
The wind chill had to be ten below zero, but her mother’s stare was colder, and Rachel didn’t want to say goodbye to her handsome hero. “Maybe I could go with you.”
Max chuckled. “Parents first. Family’s important. Even when they’re overbearing.”
Rachel sighed. “Okay.”
He climbed on the snowmobile and started the engine, his broad shoulders as wide as the machine. With a short glance back, he nodded once then cranked the handle and buzzed off over the snow.
Callie tugged her arm. “Come on, you little vixen.”
Rachel allowed her BFF to drag her toward the house as she stared down the street after Max. She rarely let herself regret, but already she regretted not taking full advantage of alone time with such a sexy man. She regretted not being the vixen Callie thought she’d been. What if she never saw him again?
Her mother gave her a quick, perfunctory embrace when she stepped up on the porch.
“Callista brought your bags over this morning.” Her lips were stretched in a tight smile and her light blue eyes, the same as Rachel’s, were hard. “They’re up in your room. I hope you remember the way.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. She wanted to say, “Why don’t you draw me a map,” but instead, she simply nodded her head. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Rachel,” her father said when she got to the door. “It’s good to have you safe at home.”
* * *
Max drove until he was just out of Rachel’s sight. She had tasted of coffee and brown sugar. Since she’d only had black coffee, the sweetness had surprised him. He wanted more. Max’s phone rang—apparently, the cell towers were working again—and he pulled it from his coat pocket. He looked down at the number and shook his head.
It was Destan, the oldest of the triplets. Eustan had been born second and Max last. Because of birth order, they sometimes treated him like “the baby” instead of a man who arrived mere minutes after them.
Max sighed. He slid his thumb across the screen and put the phone to his ear. “Hey, Desty.”
“You got anything, Bro? Grayman wants the lowdown.”
Grayman was another name their father used. Mythology had turned Myron Gray into the boogey man of the fae world, and he’d found the reputation useful when he’d led the rebels against King Garrick, the murderer of Max’s aunt.
“Tell Dad I’m fine. Nothing to report right now, but I have a lead to follow. I’ll check in later if anything pans out.”
“Check in even if it doesn’t.”
“Aww. You’re worried about me.”
“Me? No way. If anything happens to you, I become Mom’s favorite.”
Max laughed. It was a running joke between the three brothers. Their mother, a lodai or noble among draganos, was passionate about their father, but she wasn’t always the picture of motherly love.
“I’ll check in.”
“Everything okay, Max?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Fine.”
“You want me to come?”
“No. I got this.”
“I could grab Eustan, no prob. He’s sitting on a mound of royal paperwork right now. I’m sure he’d love a chance to get away for a few days. We haven’t got to play Wonder Triplets in a while. Could be fun.”
“I’m good.” Max didn’t want Destan to think he wasn’t capable, and he’d be damned if he’d admit he wanted his brothers by his side. They were the two people in the world he trusted above all others to have his back. As a trio, they had the ability to communicate via telepathy when they were within a mile or two of each other. Max’s head felt almost empty without them. They had been the only people he could “talk” to for years after what Garrick had done to him.
Max sighed. Now that he had a new concern, Rachel’s safety, the back-up would have taken some of the pressure off. But he’d told his father he could handle this mission on his own. He needed to put Rachel out of his mind, but he couldn’t. She made him want to roar fire and carry her off to his cave.
“Max,” he heard Destan say. “You still there?”
“Yep.” A red SUV passed him. A driver and four passengers. He recognized the man in the front passenger seat as Thomas Ritter. Another truck, this one with three men in front and eight men carrying rifles in the back bed, followed. Both trucks were heading toward Rachel’s home. “Shit. I have to go.”
“Max,” his brother said. But Max hit the end button and pocketed the phone. When it rang again, he ignored the call, started the snowmobile’s engine, and took off after the vehicles.
4
“Is this how it is now?” Tawny Campbell said as she put the tea kettle back on the stove. Rachel sat silently watching her mother put two brown sugar cubes into her cup and stir. The boiling water turned a deep, rich caramel color.
“Well?” her mom said, suddenly looking up, her gaze full of judgment.
“Hi, Mom. How are you? You doing okay? How’s Dad? Work going well?”
“Stop avoiding the question, Rachel Ann.”
“Was there really a question there, Mother?”
Her mom sipped the tea. “I don’t understand why a talented athlete would waste her life as a gallivanting show girl.”
“First, I’m with a prestigious figure skating troupe, not a stripper in some seedy joint. And second, I’m a woman, not a girl. Third, I don’t gallivant.”
Tawny Campbell crossed her arms and harrumphed. “I think your little display out on the front lawn says otherwise.”
“Oh God,” Rachel groaned and rolled her eyes.
“Don’t take that tone with me.” Her eyes darkened with worry. “What happened to you last night?”
Rachel’s eyes widened. “Don’tcha know? I picked up a stranger at a bar and we gallivanted.” She winced as the words left her mouth.
“You’re safe now,” her mom murmured. “That’s all that matters.” The older woman’s face caught the light from the north facing kitchen window, highlighting the dark circles under her eyes.
Guilt flooded Rachel. Callie had said her mother had searched for her all night. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“When I heard you—” Her mom’s voice quivered. “I...I feared the worst.”
“Heard me what?”
Suddenly her mom’s eyes looked hollow and haunted. “We have to talk, Rachel. Maybe I should have told you sooner, but I had hoped it might never be an issue. Your father and I both thought it best to keep my past and lineage a secret from you. To protect you.”
“You’re starting to scare me.”
“Your scream scared me.” Her mother shuddered as if chilled by the memory.
“You heard me scream? The house is five miles away from Lars’ Bar.” She was expecting a lecture about responsibilities to her skating gift, her natural abilities on the ice. She hadn’t expected a cryptic confession about past secrets. “I’m adopted, aren’t I?” She looked way too much like her mother to take the question seriously, but... “Dad’s not my dad? You had an affair? Oh my gosh. That explains so much.”
“Rachel Ann,” her mother snapped. “Nothing of the sort. Of course your father is your father. He’s the only man I’ve ever slept with.”
That was more information than Rachel needed, but she did feel a small sense of relief. “Then what?”
“I’m a jotnar.”
She stared at her. “Is that a religi
on?”
“No, Rachel.” Mom paused and wiggled her pursed lips, a thing she did when she was trying to find the right words. “My ancestors were jotun. Humans call us frost giants.”
Either her mother was crazy or she was teasing Rachel. Since Tawny Campbell had no sense of humor, it left only crazy. “Who are you? And what have you done with my mom?”
“Don’t you remember me talking about frost giants when you were young?”
Rachel recalled the tales of frost giants protecting the Norse gods during battle against other supernatural foes. They used their booming voices to shake their enemies to the ground and paralyze them for a brief moment. When they had their enemies helpless, they would blow the horns of their ancestors to temporarily strip their foe of all their power for minutes. Long enough to ensure their defeat.
“You’re saying we’re like the creatures in those stories?”
“Yes.” Her mom grabbed her shoulders and squeezed. “What happened last night?”
Her mother’s behavior was rattling her, so Rachel blurted out the whole story, what she could remember anyway, along with what Max told her.
“I am going to kill him!” Her mother’s voice echoed through the house, both Callie and Rachel’s father popped their head through the door. “Go!” she boomed at them both.
“We’re fine,” Rachel said.
After Callie and Dad exited, Mom clenched her fists and seethed. “That Thomas Ritter will pay for what he’s done to you.”
Rachel breathed a tiny of sigh of relief that her mom wasn’t talking about Max. But the tone in her mother’s voice and the homicidal look in her eyes frightened Rachel. “We should call the police and let them handle it.”
“The chief of police is Tommy’s uncle,” she said, as if that was that. She paused and steepled her fingers as if formulating a plan. “Are you certain the man said his name was Max Gray?”
“Yes.” Rachel saw a kind of recognition in her mother’s uncomfortable shift in position. “Do you know him?”
“Of him, but I only hear a little these days.” She tapped the dimple in her chin. “If he’s who I think he is, then there is more going on in our little area than I’m aware of.”
The sound of glass shattering was quickly followed by a hair-raising scream. She tried to maneuver around her mom, but the woman was really strong and shoved her aside. “Stay back, Rachel.”
The sound of rough male voices, shouting and barking orders, from the living room kept Rachel in place. Her mother’s head fell back and piercing cry poured from her mouth. She turned to Rachel. “That will stall them for a few seconds, but not for long.”
Already, the noise had picked up in the other room. Crashing sounds. Her father’s shout.
“Oh God.”
“We don’t have time. Run, Rachel.” Her mom pushed her toward the back door. “You have to be safe. Leave now.”
“No, I can’t leave you. I can’t leave all of you.”
“I can’t do what I need to do while you’re here. So, run!”
Rachel skittered toward the door, turning back once in time to see her mother’s body shimmer with a pale blue light as she grew. And grew. “What the hell?”
Thomas Ritter smashed through the kitchen door with five men on his heels. “Tranq her before she turns all the way!” His red eyes turned to Rachel, jagged teeth, pointed like a sharks, flashed with his sneering smile.
Her mother’s head now brushed the eight-foot ceiling, her dark brown hair turned a light blue, but a shade darker than the gray-blue of her skin. Large spiral horns grew from either side of her forehead. She turned to Rachel, her eyes flashing with terror. “Run!” she roared as Tommy’s men all fired their rifles in her direction.
There were too many of them, and soon they would shift their focus to Rachel. She couldn’t save her mother or her father. Or Callie. A sob left her throat as she stumbled out the door and into the snow.
* * *
Max parked the snowmobile four houses away and ran, using the neighbors’ back yards as cover until he reached Rachel’s house. By his assessment, there were at least sixteen men. He wanted to chase them down and take them all on. Whatever it took to keep Rachel safe. But to barrel into the situation without good intel or weapons was stupid, and his father hadn’t trained him to be stupid.
He tried to shift to his dragon form, but the roar from the house buckled his knees and stopped the transformation. Damn it. Max had always been calm in a fight, ready for anything coming at him. He’d accepted there were things he couldn’t control, but he’d never allowed trepidation to hinder his ability to act. But then again, he’d never felt the distress of a draganos for his mate.
He stumbled forward tripping over a child’s wagon half-buried in the snow when he heard the command to “Run!” Before he could decide what to do next, Rachel fell out of the back door. Max raced to her and helped her to her feet.
“They’re coming,” she said. “I don’t know... I’ve never seen...”
“I’ve got you,” Max told her.
“Don’t let her get away,” a man shouted from inside the house. Max could hear the hard footfalls of several men.
“We have to go, Rachel.”
“I can’t leave my family or my best friend.”
He pulled her up into his arms. “There are too many, and I don’t have my weapons. We’ll come back, I promise. But for now, we have to move before they capture us too.”
Rachel nodded. Tommy and his guys burst through the back door, rifles drawn. “It’s too late,” Rachel said. “How can we out run them?”
Max shook his head. “We can’t. But we can out fly them.” He held her closer, as he felt his wings cut through his T-shirt and slide from the hook and loop fastened slits in his overcoat. The process took two seconds. “Hold on,” he said. When her hands locked behind his neck, Max launched them into the air. Several projectiles zinged past them, and one pierced the webbing of his right wing. A dart, not a bullet. Luckily, his wings had little blood flow, so he didn’t feel any effect from the drug.
“What are you?” Rachel asked breathlessly as she clung to him.
They were a hundred feet in the air over the small town and climbing. The air grew colder around them, and once again, Rachel didn’t have a jacket on.
“Your skin is like ice,” he said. “I have to get you somewhere warm before you freeze to death.”
Her eyes widened as if something had just occurred to her. “I never feel cold. Never.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Oh God. We’re flying.” She looked around as he glided over the forest near the town’s namesake, Silver Lake. “It’s so beautiful up here.”
Max was staring at Rachel now. “Yes, it is.”
She turned to him, her skin reddening in a blush. “You came for me.”
“I did.”
“You rescued me. Again.” Her fingers stroked his neck, her thumbs grazing his earlobes.
“Uh-huh.”
“Your eyes,” she said. “They’re silver like mirrors. What are you?”
The clearing up ahead exposed the cabin he’d rented. He landed with three easy steps toward the door. Was Rachel ready to hear what he was? Would the knowledge frighten her?
Without any more debate, he set her down and said in a formal tone, “I am Maxtan Alexander Gray. I am draganos. Son of Lodai Lorna Gray. Son of grayman, brother to Destan and Eustan Gray, and I am a shadow warrior, a protector of the realm.”
He pulled the keys to the cabin from his pocket as his wings shrunk and retracted back into his human form. He ignored her awe-struck expression as he unlocked the door and ushered her inside. He shook his head, and if he could have, he would have shaken his entire being. What the hell was wrong with him? The only time he’d ever introduced himself in that way had been when his mother had presented him and his brothers before the draganos court.
It had been their name day ceremony, a ritual their mother had insisted upon so that they might some da
y claim their rightful place among her kind. For a woman who showed very little emotion, Max remembered the pride in her stance as she watched her sons, only twelve at the time, proclaim their lineage. But instead of shadow warriors, they’d used the lodon at the end—the male word for noble in their mother’s native language. He hadn’t felt like a noble then, and certainly not now. Shadow warrior felt right.
“What’s a shadow warrior?”
“We are all that stands between the Triune and their enemies.”
“Triune?”
“The queen and her two husbands. They are the power in Caledon. The rulers of our people.”
“Our?” Rachel asked. “There are more of you?”
Max smiled, but he didn’t feel happy. He’d blown his cover twice. Rachel’s family was in extreme danger. And he’d broken the one code you never break: he told a woman with no knowledge of their world all about their world. He strongly suspected she was at least half-OW, even if she didn’t know it, but it was obvious she’d been raised as a human.
“There are many of us.” He remembered the way Ian had explained it. “When man crawled up from the mud and began his evolution, there were a few species of humans to develop as a result, and contrary to popular beliefs, scientific or otherwise, they did not all die off, and leave only modern man in their stead. They changed, they adapted, and they evolved to become the legends of mythology. We often refer to ourselves as other worlders, even though we are of this world, and we’ve learned to hide ourselves, our abilities, our wars, and our politics from humans. Unfortunately, there is a new resistance among our kind that is making our hiding more and more difficult. I think Thomas Ritter may be involved.”