Hidden Realms

by Dean Murray

  She glanced down, palm sliding over the pale silks and jewels that draped her. Krea had made a gown for her. For their queen.

  “It won’t last,” Hunter told her, letting the silk slip between his own fingers. “The things they’ve brought over aren’t forever.”

  She could never go back, she had to know that. The crushing force of the gateway had shown her without a doubt that that other world was gone to her.

  He could see the questions in her eyes though. She was wondering what she’d gotten herself into, if it would be unbearable.

  “They say you miss things,” he said. “The taste of fruit, the warmth of sun.” His gaze trailed the line of her gown, entranced by the pattern where it met with waves of her dark auburn hair. “But you will get past that. You will live.”

  For a moment, she looked relieved, almost as if she might be able to forget there was another world out there. And if he and Mackenzie were all there was, Hunter might have been able to stay there too.

  But they were fooling themselves. Because on the other side was an entirely new threat. In her realm waited fire and war.

  “Where is Riley?” she asked.

  Hunter stood, slipping a hand beneath Mackenzie’s arm as she made it to her feet. She was doing well, but based on their last trip here, she was leaning on him as much for physical support as anything else. He led her to the balcony that overlooked the city, opening shuttered doors to the bright haze of outside.

  On a platform far below waited a mass of newly turned Iron Bound, rows upon rows of kneeling men and women from her human world. They knelt facing the castle walls as if in prayer, each of them under the thrall of this realm’s energy.

  Peaceful.

  “What’s happening?” she asked.

  “They rest there so that the energy can work its way through them. Unlike you, this is their first encounter with the power.” He let his gaze fall with hers to the men outside. “It’s the safest way.”

  She studied the group for the longest time, this reality settling in her mind. It would feel strange to her, he knew, but in truth, Hunter had struggled with the idea of the reaping his whole life. Seeing it come to pass hadn’t changed his feelings on the matter.

  “There are no children,” she said.

  His arm slipped further around her to draw her more securely to his side, and he could feel some of the tension melt away as she let her still-mending body rest against his. “The Iron Bound do not bring over any who are too young, or who are with child. It is one of the oldest of our laws. They would not survive the transformation.” His voice was low, but he let the gravity of it come through. “That is why the code is so important, Mackenzie.”

  What he didn’t say tightened in his chest. That is why I never should have broken it. That is why the penalty is above all others.

  She looked up at him, understanding passing over her expression. But she didn’t see it all, she couldn’t know the full truth of it.

  “When the gateway was open,” he explained, “the king and his men slipped through.”

  “To our world?” she said. “To that side?”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t realize,” he told her. “I knew they were planning something, I knew I’d have trouble to deal with if I made it through the reaping. But long before the alignment, they’d been arranging this scheme. The king isn’t willing to give up the undying lands.” Hunter’s jaw tightened even now, knowing it was too late to change any of it. His mistakes had been costly, but what was to come was far beyond the breaking of code. What the king was planning was not written in any law. “He found a way to open the gateway, Mackenzie. All he needed was me, the key to get through.”

  She swallowed hard, evidently aware of what that would mean for her world.

  “I will have to reopen the gateway. To go back and see what can be done.”

  “But no one can go with you,” she whispered.

  Mackenzie would be trapped here. Stuck in the dying realm as their queen.

  He brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek, the energy already clearing away the discolored bruise beneath. “We will bear our troubles bravely,” he promised. “And let what comes be our guide.” She closed her eyes, pressing into his touch, and he said, “What matters is that you are both alive.”

  She sighed. “I should have told you The Hunter and The Woodman. You know, no, thanks, I’m only in search of his tracks, not the actual lion.”

  He smiled as she opened her eyes to look up at him, and Hunter said, “You are the bravest person I’ve ever seen.”

  You can find more of Melissa's writing here.

  About the Author

  Melissa is the author of the Frey Saga and Descendants Series. She is currently working on the next book, but when not writing can be found collecting the things she loves at Goodreads and Pinterest. Subscribe to her mailing list here and never miss a new release!

  Xoe never thought she’d be the type of girl to contemplate murder. Of course, she never thought she’d be dealing with werewolves on top of her own strange, budding powers. She’d also never considered the possibility of her long lost father being a demon. Everything comes crashing down at once when her best friend’s life is put in peril, and Xoe will do whatever it takes to save her. On top of it all, there’s Jason. He might be tall and handsome, but she doesn’t trust him as far as she can throw him. Given that he’s a vampire, she’ll have to be able to catch him first.

  Xoe

  Book One of the Xoe Meyers Series

  by Sara C. Roethle

  Copyright 2009 by Sara C. Roethle

  Chapter One

  I stared up at the moon, partially obscured by ominous looking clouds. I brushed a loose flake of ash from my hair as I tried to forget the overwhelming, acrid stench of smoke that had nearly overcome my lungs. I shivered. At least I was still alive. I blearily thought back over the past week, knowing my life would never be the same again.

  Another year at Shelby Heights High School in not-so-sunny Shelby, Oregon . . . oh joy. Shelby isn’t exactly a small town, but it’s definitely not a city. I’m not much of a “people-person”, so the size is one of the few things I like about Shelby. That, and the woods that surround it. Tall pine trees are never out of reach. I’ve always been outdoorsy. My dad took off shortly after I was conceived and my mom raised me on camping trips and hiking. My name’s Alexondra Meyers, by the way. I know, it's pretty horrible. Mercifully, the few friends I have call me Xoe.

  Back to the matter at hand . . . junior year. I am not a fan of high school, or the teenage experience in general. I don’t consider myself antisocial, though most of my fellow students might argue that point. Really, I just don’t like to waste my time with pretense. Why bother being nice to someone I secretly dislike? Why engage in small talk if nothing meaningful is accomplished? I’d rather have a few real friends than a bunch of fake ones.

  I trudged toward the towering, gray brick monstrosity that was Shelby High, feeling morose. Where there wasn’t sidewalk or asphalt, the ground was covered with lush, green grass. Shelby is always green and moist, which is nice, except for the mold and mildew that tend to grow if you’re not careful. Once my mom got a new car windshield that wasn’t sealed properly. Within weeks the insides of her windows had grown algae.

  I forced my sneakered feet to continue forward, concentrating on the sound of my footfalls, one foot in front of the other. As I approached the dreaded double-doors, my best friend Lucy joined me. We usually walked to school together, but Lucy always arrived at school early on the first day. She liked to “prepare” her locker and map out all of her classes beforehand. She’s a bit of an over achiever, to put it mildly.

  Lucy and I pushed through the double doors together. I held onto my door long enough for a girl with a mass of brown curls to grab it and keep it open for herself. See? Not antisocial. I glanced down at the top of Lucy’s dark-haired head as we made our way down the hall.

  Lucy and I are complete opposit
es when it comes to appearance. I’m a giant compared to her. Well, not really a giant, but her petite 5’1” frame makes my willowy 5’8” seem excessive. Her long, dark, glossy hair is in complete contrast to my shaggy, shoulder-length, white-blonde mop. Lucy’s skin is deep olive all year round, whereas mine is pale, and at times, a little pasty, what my mom kindly refers to as porcelain. Did I say that I’m a little jealous of Lucy? If I didn't love her so much, I would probably hate her.

  Lucy had chosen dark wash jeans with a pale blue button-up blouse for her first day attire. The tips of conservative brown shoes peeked out from the bottom of her jeans. Lucy’s sense of style errs on the side of caution. Her pin-straight hair was parted down the middle to cascade nearly to her waist, framing her fine-boned, delicate face, void of make-up.

  Lucy’s almond-shaped brown eyes peered up into my large green ones, waiting for my whining to begin. She’d had to deal with my complaining on the first day of school every year since second grade. We’d become friends when my mom and I first moved to Shelby, as Lucy’s family lives just down the street from us. Alone and friendless, I had gone exploring in the woods behind my house, against my mom’s strict commands, and Lucy was doing the same. We both had a stubborn independent streak that constantly ordered us to disobey our parents. How could we not be friends?

  I glanced out the windows at the other end of the hall as we moved to stand in front of Lucy's locker. To add to my first day misery, the sky above Shelby was an angry gray, promising rain. Black clouds rolled ominously in the distance. So what else was new? I hate the rain. I’m not like a girly-girl that’s afraid to get my hair wet or anything, but I’m at my happiest when I’m outdoors, and it’s not terribly pleasant to be outside when it’s raining. So, despite my pallid appearance, I much prefer the sun. I took a deep breath of the ozone-scented air that flowed in every time the doors opened. Let the whining commence.

  “It’s not that bad,” Lucy consoled, taking in my grimace. “We have three classes together and you have two more with Allison. That leaves only one class to trudge through without us.”

  Allison was another on my short list of friends, though I'd only known her since freshman year. Lucy and I had met her during our first lunch at Shelby High. Allison's family was new to Shelby, so she didn't know anyone. Rather than taking a seat at one of the loner tables, she had marched right up to where Lucy and I sat, slammed her tray down, and began chatting away like she had known us for years. I was skeptical of Allison's blunt style of friendship at first, but she turned out to be genuine. Plus, she adds a little bit of girliness to our small group.

  “A small consolation at best,” I replied sullenly as I looked up at the numbers on the wall of lockers, wondering where mine would be that year.

  Lucy hummed happily as she opened her locker and pulled out the book needed for her first class. Her eternally sunny attitude could be quite vexing at times. Though, if she were a pessimist like me, the complaining would never cease. Lucy’s glass half full philosophy made my glass look empty, dirty, and cracked.

  Turning to me to take in my dejected expression, Lucy frowned. “I’ll see you in French.”

  I managed a small smile, despite my misery. “See you then.”

  We parted ways as the first bell rang, and ran toward our respective classes to the sound of clanging lockers and hurried see you laters. I still hadn't found my locker, but it would have to wait.

  I trailed my fingertips across the aged walls as I walked, in no real hurry to get to class. Shelby High is old, and I mean old. I could feel the bumps of countless layers of peeling paint beneath my fingers. The newest layer of paint was a pale yellow that was trying hard to be cheery, but fell a little short. I went past a row of faded green lockers, then took a left into my classroom.

  My first class of the day, which I had with Allison, was biology. I scowled as I entered the classroom. It was simply too early in the morning for science. The room boasted lab tables instead of desks, making the space feel even more small and cramped than normal classrooms. The buzzing of the fluorescent lights mixed with the din of murmured voices made me feel instantly claustrophobic. I searched across the tables, which were set up to seat two people, with a little sink and electrical outlets in the middle, until my eyes landed on Allison. She waved me over to the table she had reserved for us at the back of the room.

  I liked sitting in the back of the class. I don’t enjoy the feeling of people’s eyes on the back of my head, and teachers usually tend to call on people in the front of the class, ignoring the back. It’s not that I don’t understand the questions, I just prefer not to answer them. Allison was more than willing to sit in the back of the class with me.

  Lucy was a whole other story. I always tried to lure her to the back, the Dark Side as far as she was concerned. We ended up front and center every time, where she could be sure the teacher called on her when she raised her hand to answer every question. But hey, she diverts the teacher’s attention from me, so I can't really complain.

  As I approached, Allison looked me up and down, ending with a look of distaste at my ratty old sneakers. “Xoe, we are going shopping this weekend, no arguments.”

  Smirking, I looked down at my dark blue, vintage Doors tee and holey jeans, then at her blue sundress with strappy dark brown sandals, artfully applied makeup, and perfectly styled, long, honey blonde hair. Unlike me, Allison embraces the blonde. She is the master of the hair flip. I’ve never felt like a “blonde”, but I’m too pale to pull off much of anything else, so I just try to ignore it.

  At 5’6” Allison almost reaches my height, though she has a few more curves than I do, perfectly accentuated by her dress. She was still staring at my outfit with a perfectly arched eyebrow raised. Maybe Allison had a point. Maybe.

  “Sure Allison, whatever you say.” I was keeping the sneakers no matter what clothes she tried to put me in. They were my tried and true favorites, perfectly broken in and shaped to my feet. They had started life a solid black, but had faded to what I considered a rather pleasant gray. Allison took one last look at me, pity in her blue eyes, then turned toward the front of the class.

  A throat cleared, bringing my attention to where our teacher, Mrs. Sanders, was waiting. Mrs. Sanders taught both biology and microbiology at Shelby Heights. She was a short, dare I say dumpy kind of woman with a horribly monotonous voice. She stared at me in mock exasperation until I slumped dejectedly into my hard plastic chair.

  Mrs. Sanders went on to drone for an hour about her syllabus and all that other nonsense, with occasional pauses to straighten her lumpy pink cardigan. I drew on the cover of my notebook and tried to ignore her. By the time class was near its end, my notebook was covered with a mish-mash of nonsensical doodles.

  Impatient for the bell to ring, I shoved my books back into the green backpack I used every year, throwing my pencil in haphazardly on top. I watched the clock, counting away the final seconds of class.

  Finally the bell rang, and it was off to my next two hours of torture: French and World History. Even though I’d be with Lucy, I knew time would creep by at an alarmingly slow rate. I’m horrible at French, the pronunciation is simply beyond me, and World History is, well, World History. When I entered my French class, Lucy was already sitting front and center. Her new navy blue backpack was sitting in the seat next to her, waiting for me to take its place. After what seemed like days of words I didn’t understand, followed by a lengthy discussion on “the cradle of civilization”, it was finally time for lunch—my brief reprieve from the monotony.

  The cafeteria is one of the few spacious areas in Shelby High. The brightly lit fluorescents are diffused by the copious amount of natural light that pours in from several large single-pane windows mounted in two of the walls. My little group always claimed the same table at the beginning of each year. It was in a corner, so we only had to deal with two other tables near us, rather than four. We were also stationed directly below one of the aforementioned windows. Said
window looked out over the courtyard area of Shelby High, which is basically just a large square of grass with several picnic tables stationed in the center. On rare sunny days we would eat outside.

  Occasionally other acquaintances would sit with us, but most of the time it was just us three, and that was the way we liked it. Well, I liked it at least. Allison and Lucy are slightly more social than I am.

  Lucy and I waited at our usual table with our bagged lunches while Allison bought hers. Allison’s willingness to eat school lunches made me seriously question her sanity. Let’s just say they weren’t always identifiable as food products. Her justification was that she didn’t do lunchboxes.

  Bored, I scanned the lunch line for Allison, but a boy staring in my direction caught my eye first. He stood watching me with an empty tray in his hands, reminding me of a robot or some other mindless automaton. His short, near-black hair was styled to perfection. His pale blue eyes, emphasized by a deep tan, stared intensely at me. His stood at around 6’3” with a hulking frame that strained against a plain gray tee-shirt, topped by a simple brown leather jacket.

  As I observed him he continued to stare, pursing his full lips that I imagined would be stuck in a perpetual pout. Besides the lips, the rest of his face was the epitome of masculinity: high, sculpted cheek bones, defined jaw-line, and a strong nose.

  His heavy gaze sent a chill up my spine. What a creep. His husky-like eyes left me to land on Lucy, who he stared at just as intensely. I looked away with a scowl to finish scanning the lunch line for Allison. She had already paid and was walking toward our table.

  “Oh come on,” Allison said as she approached and noticed my scowl, “your day could not have been that bad.”

  Turning my scowl into a grin, I taunted, “Don’t worry Al, it’ll get better. We have gym next.”