The Death Skull: Relic Defender, Book 2

by Cassiel Knight

  “I do not need a soothsayer to tell me of my destiny. I have the pretender’s Vessel. Soon I’ll have the Key. Then I’ll take the spirits’ power as mine. Nothing can stop me. Not Lucifer, not Heaven and certainly not a cowardly traitor.”

  A malignant secret could turn her mountain sanctuary into their tomb.

  More Than Magic

  © 2014 Donna June Cooper

  Books of the Kindling, Book 1

  DEA agent Nick McKennitt is sure magic exists—a dangerous drug called Smoky Mountain Magic that’s wreaking havoc in Atlanta. He’s also sure that locating and eliminating the source will kill him.

  When he arrives undercover on Woodruff Mountain, the beautiful, owner’s awkward attempts to scare him off tell him something’s afoot, and it’s not her secret patch of ginseng.

  As her dream of seeking medicinal plants in the Amazon fades away, Grace Woodruff struggles to come to terms with a magical gift she didn’t want, and searches desperately for the meaning behind her late grandfather’s final, cryptic message.

  The last thing she needs underfoot is a handsome, enigmatic writer recovering from a recent illness. Until an accidental touch unleashes a stunning mystical force and Grace senses the wrath of a malicious blight at the heart of the mountain. Now Grace must choose between her need to hide her gift from the world…and her desire to save Nick’s life.

  This book contains a fiery redhead whose magic cannot be contained and a handsome DEA agent whose final case might give him a second chance at life.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for More Than Magic:

  “Grace!”

  Grace turned around wearily as the gray-haired charge nurse came around the counter. What was her name? Marcie? No. Maggie? Grace resisted the urge to shake her head to clear out the fog. She needed more caffeine, but her stomach was already sour. What she really needed was some sleep, but she hadn’t slept well since—

  “Or is it Dr. Woodruff now?” The nurse glanced at Grace’s casual jeans and sweater.

  “Not officially. Awaiting all the formalities.” If I can manage to live through the next week or so. “Just visiting today.”

  “Well, I wanted to tell you I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. I—we appreciated the donation. I hope you got the thank you card.”

  “We did. It’s up on the board over there.” She motioned to the nurses’ station. “I know—I mean, Tink talks about you and your Pops and your mountain all the time so I know how close you were to him.”

  Grace managed a nod.

  “Well, I’m glad that you came by today.” The nurse moved closer and Grace read her name tag. Margaret. Maggie. That was it. “I need to warn you,” she said. “Our Tink isn’t doing so well.”

  Grace sighed. “How bad is it?”

  Maggie sighed and shook her head. “Well, you just enjoy this visit with her to the fullest. She’ll be thrilled. She’s been asking about you.”

  “Thanks for telling me, Maggie,” Grace replied, heading toward the room.

  “And it is good to see you. We’ve missed that laugh of yours around here.”

  Grace nodded. That was Maggie’s indirect way of telling her to lighten up a bit before she visited Tink. Grace reached up to check that all her hair was still somewhat secured by the clip she had jammed into it earlier, pinched her cheeks quickly, and mustered a smile as she stuck her head around the doorframe of Tink’s room.

  Tink’s real name was Isabella, but her father’s nickname of Tinker Bell had apparently stuck, and she insisted on Tink. And when you are barely seven years old, insistence can be loud and repetitive.

  However, as Maggie had warned, Tink wasn’t the slightest bit noisy today. She lay quiet in the hospital bed, her face pale beneath the bright pink kerchief tied over her bald head.

  Grace nodded at Tink’s mom, ever present and hopeful in the chair next to the bed. Her mother smiled back, but it was easy to tell that despite Grace being a welcome visitor, things weren’t going well.

  “Hey Bink.”

  Tink’s eyes flew open and, for a moment, the pale face was transformed by a joyful grin, soon replaced by a practiced frown. “Tink. You know it’s Tink, Dr. Grace.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Pink.”

  A dimple peeked through, but Tink was trying hard to maintain their routine. “Not Pink! Tink!”

  “Yes, sorry. How are things today, Dink?”

  “Tink! Like Tinker Bell. My name is Tink!” She folded her arms and lifted her chin.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t see the wings! Obviously you are Tinker Bell! My deepest apologies, Your Fairyness.” Grace curtsied.

  Tink sniffed. “Well, I’ve missed you lots and lots, so I forgive you this once.”

  Grace smiled and looked over at Tink’s mom, who nodded gratefully and left the room for a much needed break. Grace’s visits had been a welcome diversion now that she was off clinical rotation.

  Settling carefully on the edge of the bed, avoiding tubes, wires and monitors with practiced ease, Grace folded one leg beneath her and leaned close.

  “So, may I have my sprinkle of fairy dust, madam?”

  There was a tentative nod, then Tink dusted her carefully with a handful of sparkling nothingness.

  “Oh! Not too much!” Grace grabbed at the railing. “I don’t want to float up and get stuck on the ceiling!”

  Tink looked up at the ceiling, her face solemn. “Is that what I’ll do, Dr. Grace? Daddy says I’ll float through the ceiling right straight to heaven. But it’s solid.” Her fingers curled into Grace’s sweater. “Did your Pops float up that way? Did you see him?”

  Grace nearly gasped at the sudden pressure in her chest. It was too much, too soon. She would not lose anyone else, especially not this vibrant little being who was hanging on to life with both fists.

  It was difficult to get the words past the painful constriction in her throat. “Well, Pops was on his mountain under a beautiful blue sky, so he had a pretty good shot at heaven without any ceilings getting in the way.” Grace took a deep breath. “Besides, fairies don’t have problems with ceilings. And if you float off, who’s going to sprinkle me? I haven’t gotten the knack of this flying thing yet!”

  “But I’m not really a fairy. I’m a girl.” The lower lip was out now. “And I wanna go home now. I don’t want to go to heaven yet.”

  Damn it, damn it, damn it. Had Brian been right? Should she have come back from the funeral, grabbed her diploma, and headed off with him to the Amazon? Turned her back on everything else, everyone else?

  No. She took a deep breath. “So, is your tummy upset today? Is that what’s wrong? Or are you hurting—”

  “You can fix me so I can go home, Dr. Grace. I know you can.” Tink’s voice trembled, but she leaned forward to whisper. “Your mountain sang to me.”

  “My—my mountain sang to you?”

  “You know. It sings.” The pink kerchief bobbed with certainty. “About the magic.”

  Grace tried to recall what she might have told the little girl about the mountain that would have spun this tale.

  “Go ahead and fix me. I won’t tell anyone. And I—I can be home in time for my birthday.” The little hand trembled as she held it out toward Grace.

  “Wha—”

  “It’s like fairies. You just believe in the magic.”

  Grace couldn’t do anything but take the little hand between her own. “I do?”

  “Say it.”

  “What?”

  “Say you believe.”

  “I—I believe, but sweetie—”

  “You have to close your eyes.”

  “Of course.” She closed her eyes, playing along, “I be—”

  Inky black nothingness, poisonous and vile, smothering the last vestiges of bright glowing life of Isabella, of Tink, like some malignant fog, choking her.

  “—lieve.”

  Grace started, opening her eyes. Tink was lying back on her pillow, eyes closed, one han
d wrapped around Grace’s fingers, murmuring fervently, “I believe, I believe, I believe, I believe, I believe.”

  She knew it was only a vivid hallucination brought on by her lack of sleep and emotional exhaustion—just like the oily blackness she had seen in her nightmares that suffocated Pops before she could reach him. But this had been so…real, so present. She tightened her grasp on Tink’s hand and glanced around the room, taking a shaky breath.

  Poor Tink expected Grace to be the funny student doctor whose touch always made her feel better, but instead she got this mournful, demented echo of her. And Tink looked so hopeful, sitting there with her little face screwed up in concentration, her eyes tightly shut. It wouldn’t do to have her open them and find Dr. Grace sitting there looking nervous—not even trying. Grace could at least pretend. So she obediently squeezed her eyes shut once more.

  Which was a mistake, because this time the image was more intense. She knew it wasn’t real, but she fought the urge to retreat—and the darkness rolled away from her. She nearly opened her eyes in surprise, but then she caught a sense, a feeling, a hint of bright sweetness—light and innocent—beneath that foulness. Tink. She knew it was Tink. Like sweet sunlight behind the churning black of a storm—a storm that boiled around the edges of Grace’s vision, crowding in, malevolent and possessive. She reached for that sweetness and the smoky stain slunk away again, but then coiled upward over her head, like some noxious living thing.

  This was too much like her nightmares, reaching for Pops only to see him swept away by the blackness. But Tink was alive and breathing and real, ready to sprinkle her magic fairy dust on anyone who came within reach.

  You just believe, Tink had said. Believe in magic and mountains that sing. Believe in fairy dust. But she couldn’t believe in any of this. She couldn’t trust any of this. She was a doctor. A scientist. Yet when she looked down, in this strange dream of hers, her hands were full of the sparkling stuff. No. It was impossible. Impossible. And half in anger, half in frustration, she flung it at the blackness around her. Shimmering gold cascaded out in a wide arc, dissolving the smoke the way the sun melted away fog on the mountain.

  But there was too much of the darkness, boiling away into crevices and cracks, crawling off to hide from the brilliant corrosion. Death and disease and shadow. This was what had taken Pops from her, and now it threatened to drain the bright life from Tink. And nothing made a difference. Not science. Not magic. Nothing.

  There was a roar in her ears that might have been music, if it weren’t so raw and penetrating. And suddenly it was as if she had become light, pouring from somewhere that wasn’t here, throbbing with power. She could only aim it at the darkness, scrub at it, obliterate it, and cancel it out. But she could feel her strength starting to fail before the task was finished. She had to hang on until nothing remained but glowing life.

  Yet, when she opened her eyes once more, she still sat on the edge of the bed clutching Tink’s hand, and it seemed scarce seconds had passed. Only now Grace was sweaty and dizzy and nauseated, and Tink lay pale and unnaturally still against her pillow.

  There was a scream from somewhere, as Tink and the room and the world spun away from Grace into gray smoke.

  The Death Skull

  Cassiel Knight

  Reluctant allies; dangerous lovers.

  Fallen angel Marisol Asheni Fell when she unwisely chose to follow Lucifer. Unlike many of her fellow angels, she has no desire for redemption. Instead, she prefers fighting the followers of the Dark when they step over the line. Except, in the deepest part of her soul, she longs for a reason to stop fighting.

  Jackson’s only loyalty is to himself and his mother, but even he has boundaries he won’t cross. When his last job threatened the life of a young woman, he tossed aside the lucrative pay, and finds himself fighting evil. He’s attracted to Mari despite her hard, seemingly emotionless edge. And while Mari finds the tall human reluctantly appealing, she has no intention of finding herself in a relationship with a human.

  Brought together by the Archangel Michael, they must find and destroy the crystal Mayan Death Skull before the son of Lucifer uses the skull to destroy the world’s leaders and throw the world into chaos to begin Hell on Earth.

  Their search for the Death Skull takes them from Chicago to Central America to the lost city of Lubaantun in Belize, the heart of the Mayan civilization, and into a battle for their souls.

  Warning: This title contains a kick-ass fallen angel with only one weakness: a man who makes her crazy in the best—and worst—possible ways. The hero? Picture Indiana Jones, even sexier, who isn’t going to let a little hellfire get in his way.

  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B

  Cincinnati OH 45249

  The Death Skull

  Copyright © 2014 by Cassiel Knight

  ISBN: 978-1-60928-868-6

  Edited by Holly Atkinson

  Cover by Kanaxa

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: May 2014

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Look for these titles by Cassiel Knight

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