The Men of Otherworld: Collection One

by Yasmine Galenorn

  The Men of Otherworld

  Collection One

  Yasmine Galenorn

  A Nightqueen Enterprises LLC Publication

  Published by Yasmine Galenorn

  PO Box 2037, Kirkland WA 98083-2037

  THE MEN OF OTHERWORLD

  Collection One

  Copyright ©2014 by Yasmine Galenorn

  First Electronic Printing: 2014 Nightqueen Enterprises LLC

  Cover Art by Tony Mauro © Copyright 2012-Yasmine Galenorn

  Cover Design by Yasmine Galenorn

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any format, be it print or electronic or audio, without permission. Please prevent piracy by purchasing only authorized versions of this book.

  This is a work of fiction and is entirely the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, or places is entirely coincidental and not to be construed as representative or an endorsement of any living/existing group, person, place, or business.

  A Nightqueen Enterprises LLC Publication

  Published in the United States of America

  Introduction

  The Hunger

  Chasing Sharah

  Ink Bonds

  Blood Ties

  A Purr-Fect Weekend

  Biography and Complete Book List

  Introduction

  For a long time, people have asked me what happens between the novels in my series, or they want to see more of some characters, or hear about a scene referred to but never written into the story line. Until now, there wasn’t much I could do about that—there’s a word limit in my contracts and when you stray too far from the main focus, the book gets muddy. But with the ability to self-publish short collections like this, I can now offer my readers some of what they’ve been asking for. So, I have decided to write and sell short collections on my own. Some of these will be set within the worlds I’ve created—Otherworld, the Indigo Court, etc.—and yet others will be from ideas you haven’t seen yet.

  In this collection I am offering you a closer glimpse at the men who share the lives of the D’Artigo sisters. I’ve indicated the time period or setting in which these take place before each story. These scenes are canon because I wrote them to fit into my worlds and timelines.

  There will be a second collection for the men—this one would have been too long for me to publish otherwise (I cannot offer full size novellas or books on my own at this point due to existing contractual obligations), but never fear—Smoky, Morio, Vanzir, Carter, and Bruce will have their stories coming in January 2015.

  Please visit my Website for information on the books, my forums if you want to interact with other readers, and my blog for my daily ramblings. And see the booklist included for my complete bibliography. These stories do NOT appear in the books, and you will not find the adventures in the books involved here.

  These stories are dedicated to you—my readers. I hope you enjoy them.

  Bright Blessings,

  Yasmine Galenorn

  November 2014

  The Hunger

  I’ve often thought about Rozurial’s marriage to Fraale, and that fateful day when Zeus and Hera forever changed their lives. It’s a story that haunts me, and I finally decided to write it out and see just what happened.

  The wild roses were blooming in the garden, which meant that before long it would be time to gather the honey and start harvesting apples. Rozurial loved this time of year when everything was still warm and golden with the afternoon sun, but autumn was clearly beckoning from just over the hill. As the sun crept over the horizon, streaking the early dawn with golden tongues of fire, Roz sat on a slope near his home, chewing on a piece of grass, as he contemplated what chores he needed to finish before nightfall.

  Fraale, his wife—the love of his life and the one constant in his world—was baking bread in the garden oven. It was still too warm to heat up the house, so she had been doing all the summer cooking outdoors. She had shooed him out when he stopped to grab a roll and some meat for breakfast, laughing and cussing out the loose bricks that were making the day’s cooking precarious.

  Now, stomach full for the morning, Roz stretched back, hands under his head, and ticked off a mental list of chores that lie ahead of him. Milk the goats, harvest vegetables to dry under the sun for winter. The starberries were ripe and Fraale wanted to get to her jam-making soon, so he needed to pick a basket of those. He also needed to mend the fence in the southern pasture before the goats broke it down and ran amok.

  With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet. The sooner he got busy, the sooner he’d get done. As he stood there, the morning light glinting off his waist-length hair that coiled down his back, a shadow cast across him from a nearby tree. A sudden chill raced up his spine and he let out low growl, dropping into a crouch, squatting as he scanned the horizon for any sign of movement. But the only signs of life were the insects and birds that filled the meadow, and the raggle-taggle herd of goats that had followed him up from the lower pastures. Frowning, he eased himself back to his feet.

  “It can’t be him,” Roz whispered, trying to reassure himself. “It can’t be Dredge. Not in daylight. Not at sunrise.”

  The last time he’d felt this same, sudden fear, he’d still been on the hunt and his instincts had been keen. At times, Rozurial feared that life with Fraale had blunted them—that withdrawing from the relentless pursuit of the vampire who had killed his entire family had been a mistake. But most of the time now, he was happy. And when the memories swept down to fill his nightmares, Fraale was there to wake him up and hold him until he could breathe again.

  He scanned the horizon again. Nothing.

  Roz exhaled slowly. Fear was dangerous. Fear was more dangerous than the adversary you were afraid of. Fear could kill.

  When his pulse had stopped racing, he closed his eyes and listened. There were no silences in the bird song, there was no sudden cessation of insects thrumming. The wind felt the same—no sudden shifts, no scents other than what should be there. Finally, he opened his eyes and glanced down as one of the goats ran over to nuzzle his side. He patted her head. Trika stared up at him, then followed him as he started down off the slope.

  “You’d think by now I could let the past go. It was long ago and far away...but I still hear them screaming. I still hear my mother begging Dredge to leave my sisters alone.” He pressed his lips together into a thin line, then forced himself to take another deep breath. “You know, Trika, sometimes the monsters of the world turn our memories into monsters on their own. Sometimes, the worst way to hurt someone is to make their entire life a living nightmare that won’t recede.”

  Trika let out a bleat, as if answering him.

  “You bugger, you. Go on with you, get to the herd and fill your belly.” He shooed her off, trying to laugh. Dredge couldn’t be here. Vampires slept during the daylight, even the strongest of them. And Dredge wasn’t the hunter, not this time. No, Dredge wouldn’t know him from a rock. Because Dredge was halfway to insane, and the only thing that mattered to him was the current kill, the current prey. Rozurial had hunted him across the world and back again before giving up to settle in and have as normal of a life as he could. Last he heard, Dredge was tracking through Ceredream, feeding off the whores and the homeless—castaways who wouldn’t be missed. No, it wasn’t Dredge who had set him on alert. Just who it was, he didn’t know. But not Dredge.

  Stopping in at the house to pick up his lunch bucket and to give Fraale a kiss, Rozurial found her cussing out the summer oven yet again. She had burned two loaves of bread thanks to the uneven heating and
now she swung around, hands on hips.

  “You promised me you’d repair this. I can’t do up the harvest preserves until you fix it.” She was pretty—plump and round, with brown hair and eyes that flashed when she was angry…and when she wanted to make love.

  Roz swept her into his arms, his lips pressing against hers. She was warm and soft, cushioned in all the right places, and as he buried his nose in her hair, all he wanted to do was sweep her into the bedroom and kiss his way down her body. But she pushed her way out of his embrace, laughing.

  “Chores first. The fields will not till themselves, and the fruits won’t fall into the baskets on their own accord. Now, when are you going to fix my oven?” But her eyes danced as she slapped her hand against his chest.

  He grinned. “Tonight. I promise you, I’ll fix both the summer oven and the fireplace. Now, give me my lunch, woman, and make me some cookies today? Please?” Again, the boyish smile flashed as he gently smacked her on the ass. Even if settling down had dulled his senses, it was worth it—the sun on her hair, the smells of home around him. The sense of family he’d lost thanks to Dredge in childhood, he’d regained when he met Fraale.

  She pushed a bucket into his hands. “There’s bread and cheese, meat and cake, and a bottle of milk. Go on with you, then.”

  And so, Rozurial headed off to build and mend and harvest and generally take care of business.

  He was partway through the afternoon when he got the feeling something was wrong. The same shiver he’d felt in the morning hit him again. He shaded his eyes. From the pasture in which he was standing, the house was barely visible—a faint protrusion on the horizon. He was a twenty minute walk from home, on the highest hill of their property, staring through the fields of corn and root vegetables. Trying to ignore the feeling, he went back to shoring up the last boundary marker that was leaning precariously. But, unable to shake the worry, he decided to head back home early.

  On his way, his walk became a jog became an outright run. Roz was in good shape, and by the time he came to the fence that divided their house from the gardens, he slowed, hoping he wasn’t making a fool of himself. Fraale would probably laugh herself silly at his expense—there were no signs of fire, no signs of trouble. He debated whether he should just turn back. He could finish bringing in the wagon filled with berries and fruit, and carrots and corn that he’d picked during the afternoon. But an odd noise—one he didn’t recognize—made him pause.

  Slowly, he edged around to the side of the house. There, tied to the gate, stood a white stallion—huge and gleaming in the late afternoon sun. No saddle…so whoever owned it must have either been leading it by the bridle, or riding bareback. The horse was restive, pawing the ground, and he thought he could see a puff of steam come out of its nostrils, but that made no sense. He drew his hand across his eyes to clear them.

  At that moment, a sudden scream from inside the house broke through his thoughts and he whirled, racing toward the door. As he burst into the parlor, the first thing he saw was a Fraale, trying to escape from the clutches of a tall, white haired man who was attempting to kiss her. Roz leaped forward, grabbing hold of the man’s arm to pull him off his wife.

  With one shrug, the man tossed him aside like he was a limp rag. Roz shook his head, sitting up dazed. What the hell? He was strong—the man looked older, how could he have...? And then he noticed what the man was wearing. A white cloak over a white and gold gown, belted by a golden sash. A faint bluish glow surrounded him, and when he turned to look at Rozurial, his eyes were the glow of early morning sky.

  “Zeus…” Roz slowly stood up. “Zeus?” he whispered again.

  The god let out a grumbling sigh and, taking his hands off Fraale, turned to Rozurial and crossed his arms. “Doesn’t anyone ever kneel anymore?”

  Roz’s eyes narrowed. When he was very young, he had hidden away, watching his family forced to kneel at the feet of a monster. He had never knelt to anyone, no matter who they were. And he didn’t plan to start now

  “Leave my wife alone. Leave my house. Go now, and we part in peace.’

  Zeus glanced at Fraale, who was adjusting her dress. She backed away, skirting towards Roz, the expression on her face one of mingled terror and disbelief.

  “Fine way of showing hospitality to a wandering stranger.” Zeus’s words were mildly slurred and, as he hiccupped, the scent of wine filled the air.

  Great. Not only a lecherous god, but a drunken lecherous god. Roz knew better than attack him again—he no longer had the element of surprise, and the truth was, now that he realized it was Zeus standing before him, he was scared shitless. Gods didn’t play by mortal rules and while they could be killed, it would take someone far stronger than Rozurial to manage it. Not to mention the fact that, should he manage to actually hurt the god, the rest of the Olympians would be on his ass and he’d be toast.

  Fraale was almost to Roz’s side when a whirl of wind swept through the door and a woman suddenly stood at the entrance, glaring at Zeus. She too, wore white robes and gold adornments, and her hair was coiled on her head in golden ringlets. Her eyes narrowed as she glanced from Zeus to Fraale, then back again to Zeus.

  “I knew it. I knew you were gallivanting again. And what do I find? You, slumming with the dregs of the Fae. You can’t even keep yourself to our station—the nymphs would be better than this! Look at her—she’s not even pretty.”

  Hera. It had to be Hera. Which meant they could be in one hell of a lot of trouble. Zeus was bad enough but the two had a marriage made in hell, and rumor had it that if you ended up between them when they were arguing, you might as well kiss your ass goodbye.

  Roz slowly reached out for Fraale’s hand and, once it was secure in his, began edging his way toward the door. If they could make it outside, they might be able to hide until the divine couple patched things up and left. At worst, Roz thought, they could just leave town and start over somewhere else.

  His plan might have worked—they almost had managed to reach the door—when Hera spun around, breaking off from browbeating Zeus who was listening to her with an Oh, fuck, here we go again look on his face.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Hera was suddenly in front of them, moving in a blur of speed. “I did not give you permission to leave.” Her eyes were steely blue, and Roz’s stomach lurched at the wave of anger rolling off the goddess. It raced like a tidal wave, surrounding both him and Fraale, forcing them to their knees. Roz struggled against the pressure, but found himself unable to move or speak.

  Fraale let out a whimper as Hera stepped closer and reached out to cup her chin. “So, you are the girl who captured my husband’s attention this time, are you?” Her voice had become very soft, which was more frightening than when she was screaming.

  Roz struggled, still holding Fraale’s hand. She squeezed tightly, and he could feel her fear through their contact. He desperately wanted to break free, to drag her outside away from all of this to safety, but his body refused to obey.

  Hera leaned down, staring into Fraale’s eyes. “You wish to seduce the husbands of other women so badly? Then I’ll make it easier for you.”

  Fraale whimpered again, and managed to eke out a whisper. “No…I did not…I didn’t touch him—I didn’t ask…”

  “Oh, none of you touch him. None of you ask for his attentions. I’ve heard it so many times I might as well commission a sad song for you. But still, I find him in your house, and his scent is on you.” Hera’s eyes flashed with a dangerous light. “His hands were on you.”

  “Leave the girl alone.” Zeus seemed to break out of his stupor and came striding forward. “We’ve been through this before. You know my eye wanders. You knew this when you agreed to marry me.”

  “Your eye may wander, but your hands and body follow and therein lies the problem, my husband.” Hera shook her head, a pained look crossing her face. “How many times have you apologized and then I find this…again and again. I will not stand for it. I will not stand by
and watch you cavort with some mortal trollop.” She turned abruptly, slapping him across the face. “I ask for so little. I ask for respect and for honor. If you’re going to take lovers, at least take them from those worthy of the attentions of a god. Not some…some…succubus.”

  “Hera, you are my wife and the mother of the gods—compose yourself!” Zeus blustered up, and a roll of thunder split the air outside. Through the window, Rozurial could see one hell of a bank of storm clouds race in as rain began to lash the ground.

  But Zeus’s order fell on deaf ears. Hera sputtered, then, glancing back at Fraale, she let out a snort. “I said trollop. You want to seduce husbands away from their wives? Then do it right, at least.” And with that, she reached out and brushed her hand across Fraale’s forehead. In a flash of light, the goddess vanished, a trail of laughter echoing behind in her wake.

  Fraale let go of Rozurial’s hand. She dropped to the ground, screaming. Roz tried to go to her, but Zeus reached out, held him back.

  “Do not touch her, boy. Not yet.” The god stared at Fraale, his voice a whisper. Roz tried to break free but Zeus held him steady.

  Fraale was convulsing, frothing at the mouth as her eyes rolled back in her head. She let out one long, piercing scream as Roz began to weep. He was losing her—he knew it. She was dying and he couldn’t even comfort her.

  But instead of collapsing, the fit began to pass. Fraale lie there, her eyes closed, but she was breathing. Zeus let go of him then, and watched as Roz fell to his knees beside his love.

  He felt for her pulse, which was rapid but steady, and then brushed her hair back away from her face. There seemed to be something different about her. She was the same and yet…something had changed. As she slowly opened her eyes, the glint in them made him nervous.