Warrior
By
Lori Brighton
Copyright 2019 Lori Brighton
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Young Adult Books by Lori Brighton:
The Chosen Ones Series:
The Beautiful Ones: Prequel (Ebook is free!)
The Chosen Ones: Book 1 (Ebook is free!)
The Forsaken Ones: Book 2
The Mind Readers Series:
The Mind Readers: Book 1 (Ebook is free!)
The Mind Thieves: Book 2
The Mind Games: Book 3
The Mind Keepers: Series Ending Novella
The Matchmaker Series:
Make Me a Match: Book 1
For my mom, a true warrior who taught me to dream big, and to never give up.
Warrior
Chapter One
Shay
Thunder in winter wasn’t common, but it happened.
Still, the sudden growl that rumbled across the city and shook the very fire escape where I sat, startled me. I glanced up at the night sky and frowned. Nothing. No lightning. No rain or flurries. Strange.
In the alley below, the remaining snow that was piled in banks along the street had turned to brown slush as it did so quickly in the city. Annoying sludge that stained and soaked shoes and jean cuffs, and refused to come out in the wash no matter how hard I scrubbed. Christmas was over. As was hope, joy, belief in something more. Back to reality. The high had definitely become a low. Depressing.
Thunder rumbled again. This time the glass in the windows rattled.
“You know what that means?” Mrs. Carlise called from her window above, where she hung over the sill. Gray ribbons of smoke curled from her cigarette, blending into the darkness. “Storm soon. Going to snow. Mark my words.”
She flipped her cigarette butt toward the ground three stories below, a tiny glowing torch that twirled through the air before landing with a hiss in a puddle. Her window screeched shut, leaving me alone with the city.
I snuggled down on the fire escape, tucking my hands in my pockets, and looked out over the bleakness. I could not escape the cold any more than I could escape the scent of garlic wafting up from Romano’s Italian Eatery next door. A familiar scent that seeped into my clothes at work and managed to pierce our window in the afternoons until I thought I would never be free of the odor.
I wasn’t ready to go inside, although the fire escape metal was chill and my jeans a pathetic barrier from the weather. Christmas was over. The thin jacket I wore my only gift. Something dropped off by the local church. A place we didn’t even attend. They’d gotten my name from school, no doubt. I should have been grateful. I wasn’t.
“Screw them,” I muttered. “Bored witches trying to buy their way into Heaven with a good deed.”
Not like they cared. Every other day of the year they didn’t give a shit if we had food, clothing, rent. But on Christmas Eve they’d appear at our door, a smug smile upon their faces, a basket of food in hand, and some gift for me. If it was truly about being generous, they would have left the gifts anonymously. But that wouldn’t boost their saintly egos. Sarah would simper and smile, and accept the basket. The moment the door closed she’d curse at them, saying what I said only in my mind. Oh, the fun of being a charity case.
“Shay? Damn it, Shay, where the hell are you?”
I sighed and glanced over my shoulder. What little peace I’d found crumbled under her shrill cry. Sarah stumbled through the living room, her red hair a matted mess of unwashed locks. Dark smudges marked the area under her eyes. A hangover or lack of sleep? Probably both.
She didn’t rest much. She was too anxious. Something terrifying lurked in the shadows of her mind. Something only she could see, hear, feel. Only drinking seemed to make the nightmares go away.
When I’d been little, she’d worked two jobs that had kept us in a nice suburb, a pretty little duplex. She’d never been affectionate, but she’d been almost content. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment she’d given up. Maybe it had been the first time she’d hit me. A full slap across my mouth when I’d been eight and had dropped my slice of pizza on the floor. Maybe it had come on slowly, piece by piece, harsh life chipping away at her reserves. All I knew was that at some point, she’d grown to hate me.
“I know you’re in here, you ungrateful bitch!” She gripped my cover and tugged it off the sofa where I slept in the living room. “You stole my money, you leech, and I’ll have it back!”
I slid my hand into the pocket of my jacket and felt the stiff twenty-dollar bill. The money she’d made selling the leftovers from the church basket. Twenty dollars would buy her a bit of second-rate heroin that would more than likely kill her rather than get her high. Not tonight, at least. Unless one of her guys came through, took pity on her and offered some of their stash…for a price. Always a price. I didn’t want to know what she did for that money.
“Shay, where are you?” she screamed in her thick accent, her voice piercing the frost-covered glass.
As if sensing me, she spun around, staring hard at the window. I knew she couldn’t see me in the darkness, but that didn’t prevent me from dropping down to the ladder in my haste to escape. I couldn’t deal with her tonight.
My fingers grew numb as I gripped the rusty rungs and lowered myself toward the dumpster below. Could I make the jump, or would this be the time I’d break my ankle? I could barely feel the metal, my hands were so cold. Above, the window opened, making the decision for me.
“Shay!”
Sarah’s thick accent echoed through the alley. For the most part, she ignored me. I’d once been gone for three days, roaming the streets of New York, and she hadn’t noticed.
“Shay!”
“Shut up!” someone yelled from the floor upstairs.
“You shut up!” Sarah screamed.
The window slammed shut. She’d given up on me. But she’d find a way to get her drugs. She always did. I released my hold and dropped to the dumpster. A broken ankle was better than dealing with my mother. The lid dented under my weight.
“Hell, Shay!” Mr. Romano called out as he waddled forward with two bags of trash in hand. “You dented my dumpster again!”
“Sorry, Mr. Romano.” I jumped to the alley, just missing a puddle of slush…or worse. Ugh, sometimes ignorance was bliss. “You know how she is. I had to get away.”
He sighed, tossing the bags into the dumpster. A rat screeched, the shuffle of tiny feet skittering across the metal floor of the trash bin. “Get your GED, leave school. It’s a waste, si? My Johnny will help you study. Come work here full-time.”
I pretty much already worked full time. A soft meow had me kneeling to pet the local stray. I itched him under the chin as he purred. Scrawny thing covered in scars from his tu
rf wars. “Tempting offer, Mr. Romano.”
Mr. Romano worried about me. He was a good man, but the only thing his Johnny wanted to do was get into my pants.
“Well?” he called out.
I stood and started down the alley. “No, thanks, Mr. Romano. Maybe soon.”
I loved the anonymity of the city. How different everyone was in this corner of the world. A variety of cultures, celebrations, and just about every language spoken on the planet right here in my backyard. It was amazing, and inspiring all at once, to realize what was out there, waiting to be experienced. It gave me hope.
“Hey, send up a dish to my mom, will you? Take it out of my paycheck.”
I didn’t wait for his response, but darted around the corner. I wasn’t ready to give up on school, even though it was near to impossible to pass with the many hours I worked at the restaurant. Why didn’t I just let it go? Maybe because I only had a year and a half left. Or maybe, just maybe, I wanted to accomplish something, anything, in my pathetic life.
Sure, I wasn’t going to college. How could I? I’d end up getting a crappy apartment with a few roommates, while working the rest of my life in an equally crappy job. And I’d enjoy every minute because I’d be away from her…Sarah.
I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jacket, wishing the women from the church had brought me something thicker and not so stylish, and darted across the street. A cab slammed on its brakes, skidding to a halt some five feet from me and honking its horn. I lifted my hand, giving him the finger. He honked back, cursing out his window. I grinned.
It was a carefully orchestrated musical. Every evening when Sarah returned, I’d evade my mom. Romano would try to get me to work more hours. A cabbie would honk and curse me out. The music of the city was my soundtrack. There was something incredibly comforting in the familiar. No one really belonged here, yet somehow, we all fit.
When I’d asked my mom where we came from, she’d said old Europe. I never had been able to identify her accent, although I’d listened for it on the streets. It wasn’t as if I hated my mom. I didn’t. In fact, I felt sorry for her. Especially when she’d been drinking and cried herself to sleep, talking about the good old days back in her country. She despised it here. Every minute, every day. Life wasn’t great, which meant her homeland must have been bad, really bad for her to remain here.
I pulled open the door of the corner shop, the bell overhead announcing my arrival. The scent of heating hotdogs and lemon cleaning supplies made my nose wrinkle. “Hi, Mr. Yarlagadda.”
He watched me warily through his dark eyes. He’d been robbed too many times to trust anyone. I grabbed a snickers and Cherry Coke and headed toward the counter. Dinner of champions.
“Lovely evening, isn’t it?”
Mr. Yarlagadda merely grunted in response. I bit back my grin. He’d never said a single nice thing to me. Still, I tried. I was determined to get a smile from him before one of us died. A yellow canary chirped and fluttered its wings from the cage behind him, as if asking for help. Such a beautiful bird, I hated seeing it trapped.
“Might snow tonight.”
Before he could grunt out a typical response, the bell above the door called out cheerfully, stark contrast to the owner in front of me. Apparently, my one-sided conversation with Mr. Yarlagadda would have to wait.
The convex mirror above the counter warped the new shopper’s features, making it difficult to put the pieces together. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark blonde hair half-hidden under a baseball cap that shadowed his face. He paused and cocked his head to the side, as if attempting to fine-tune his senses. What was he looking for?
Bemused, I took in everything at once, from his dark cloak, black pants, thick, dark boots. Strange clothes. Either Comic-Con was late this year, or someone had escaped his padded cell.
His gaze found us. I didn’t miss the way Mr. Yarlagadda slid his hand toward the silent alarm under the counter, his attention pinned to the new arrival. A shiver tip-toed along my spine. The guy moved down an aisle, disappearing from view.
“Go on now, leave,” Mr. Yarlagadda whispered, jerking his chin toward the door.
I didn’t need to be told twice. I grabbed my change, my snacks, and bee-lined it toward the exit. The urge to bolt overwhelmed me. Running would draw attention to myself. Instead, I kept my steps sure and steady as I pushed open the door with trembling hands, and darted into the cold night. I had no doubt Mr. Yarlagadda had already pushed the panic button. I should go home.
But what if Mr. Yarlagadda hadn’t pressed the button in time? What if it didn’t work? Damn my guilt. I darted into the alley, and pulled the cell phone from my pocket. No reception. Cheap shit.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I shoved the phone back into my pocket. Surely Mr. Yarlagadda had rung the alarm. So why didn’t I hear any sirens? Why hadn’t any police arrived? There was a district just two blocks away.
The area grew oddly quiet. Still. It was as if the very earth paused, waiting with me. Maybe in all of our cynical city nature, we’d misjudged the strange guy. I rested my head against the brick wall of the building. Maybe he’d gone into the store to buy something, and it was that simple.
A snowflake landed on my cheek, a kiss of cold that startled me. Mrs. Carlise had been right, it was going to snow. I tilted my head to watch the whirlwind. Pretty flakes that danced like confetti upon the breeze, twisting and twirling.
I tucked my candy bar into my pocket, and placed the coke bottle on the ground. Those flakes were a spot of magic in an otherwise desolate landscape. I held out my palm, watching as the snowflakes landed on my skin and melted. Gone, as quickly as they’d appeared. But not white snow. Bemused, I narrowed my eyes. Gold? I brought my hand closer. Yes, they were golden. I jerked my gaze upward.
Golden light pierced the gloom, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. The shades swirled from the skies, morphing around me, in and out of focus, as if I stood in a kaleidoscope. Even as a gasp of awe left my lips, the fine hairs on my arms stood on end warning that something was…off.
“Rallora Rybengotten,” someone called out, the male voice echoing against the brick and startling me.
I cut my gaze toward the mouth of the alley; the magical light momentarily forgotten. “I’m sorry?”
A tall man stood at the entrance, half-hidden by the shadows, so that he seemed part of the very darkness. “Rallora Rybengotten, you must come with me.”
He held out his hand, as if he expected me to take it. The long black cloak he wore snapped in the chill breeze, jerking me from my stupor. Realization hit all at once. The man from the store. What had he done to Mr. Yarlagadda?
“Hurry,” he demanded. “We haven’t a moment to lose. They’ve followed me.”
I inched my way along the brick wall, my instincts screaming at me to run. “You have the wrong person.”
Frustration marred his features as he started toward me, his heavy boots thudding against the asphalt, beating in time with my heart. “My name is Brynjar Meade and I’ve come to take you home.”
The closer he got, the more his features came into focus. Sharp, gleaming eyes, scruff along a square jaw. He’d lost his hat, and his hair hung in wavy locks around his broad shoulders. Twenty? Twenty-two? I supposed he could be a cop. Had Mom sent him?
“Listen, I don’t know what she told you, but she’s got issues. Major issues.”
His brows snapped together in momentary confusion. “You are Rallora Rybengotten?”
What the hell kind of name was that? I shook my head. “No. Actually, I’m not. You have the wrong…”
He wasn’t alone.
Another man stepped into the alley behind him. He lifted a sword, the blade flashing under the streetlight. I had only a moment to realize what was happening. My blood went cold. With a graceful lunge, he surged forward.
“Watch out!” I screamed.
Brynjar spun around, ducking under the blade as it swung wide.
; I stumbled back, almost tripping on my coke bottle.
Before I had time to regain my balance, Brynjar had found his footing and faced the man head-on. “Makaiden, how lovely to see you.”
“And you…I’m sorry,” Makaiden sneered. “I don’t generally tend to bother with the names of lowly soldiers.”
In response, Brynjar reached into his cape and pulled out his own sword. Apparently, swords were the new winter accessory, and no one had told me. How embarrassing.
Good god, these men were insane, and I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or run for it.
The blades clashed, the sound of metal clanging against metal vibrated down the alley, and drew the attention of a man scurrying by.
“This has got to be a joke. Hello!” I called out, skittering to the left to avoid their sword play. “Can you call the police, please?”
But the guy raced away, not wanting to get involved.
“Damn you!”
Makaiden spun around, almost barreling into me. Startled, I flattened myself to the brick wall. He paused only a foot away, his warm breath stirring the hair around my face. His gaze met mine and for one long moment neither of us moved.
He was…cute, I realized with some disbelief. Green eyes, strong jaw and a handsome face. Dark hair with the slightest wave, locks that shimmered under the streetlight. The scent of male and sweat whispered to me, making my stomach tighten in a way that left me breathless. Hell, I was just as crazy as them.
From the corner of my eye someone shifted. Brynjar, weapon raised, headed straight toward us. My panic turned chillingly real. “He’s coming!”
Makaiden spun around just in time. Their blades clashed, sparks flashing. A cold sweat broke out between my shoulder blades.
I wasn’t about to wait around to find out if this was some stupid prank. There had to be a way to escape. My heart thundered against my ribcage, warning that if I didn’t get moving, it would flee without me. Frantic, I spun around, searching the brick wall. Too high. No dumpster to climb atop. “Come on! Every freaking alley in New York has a dumpster!”
Warrior Page 1