Legacy: The Niteclif Evolutions, Book 1 (38 page)

“You know what you’ve done, dragon,” she said in heavily accented English.

He glared at her.

“Do not get testy with me you giant reptile,” she barked. I liked her. Noticing I was awake, she smoothed her hand across my head and I relaxed some. “It will take days for you to recover, Niteclif. Your dance card was already full when death came calling, and it took you closer to the edge than a human has a right to go. Rest.” She rose and had turned away when a voice rang out through the night.

“Niteclif. I demand my justice. Either stand and face me in front of the coven, or I invoke my right for immediate reparation as per our agreement,” Hellion yelled so that everyone heard him.

Seriously?
I thought. I could hardly move. He’d kill me all over again, and dying freaking
hurt
. I wasn’t going through it twice in one night.

“No,” I croaked out, my voice barely above a whisper.

Bahlin hummed low in his chest, and I rolled my head to look at him. He shifted subtly, putting himself closer to me in case I needed him. But he let me have enough space to see Hellion.

“What did you say?” Hellion asked, incredulous.

“I said, no,” I croaked again. I tried to roll to my side, but things were still not working right and my whole body ached.

“I
demand
reparation,” he shouted.

“I can’t, Hellion. Give me a few days and we can talk about what happened to Gretta. But nothing we do tonight will change what’s happened.”

Bahlin huffed out a sigh, and I realized that my foggy brain hadn’t chosen its most diplomatic public voice.

Hellion’s head fell back, and he bellowed to the night sky, “You owe me a life.”

“But it won’t be mine,” I said softly. And then I looked at Bahlin. “And it won’t be his. I’m not guilty.”

Hellion raised his hands as if to strike from a distance, and Bahlin threw himself between us. He grunted when whatever magic Hellion had thrown at him struck his abused back, but he didn’t go down. Scooping me up in his arms, Bahlin shot into the night sky, cloaking us with the first flap of his wings. The ground fell away as Bahlin’s humming began, and I started to warm up.

Behind me I heard Hellion scream at our retreating forms, “Game on, Niteclif. Game. On.”

No doubt.

About the Author

Denise Tompkins lives in the heart of the South where the neighbors still know your name, all food forms are considered fry-able and bugs die only to be reincarnated in aggressive, blood-craving triplicate. Thrilled to finally live somewhere that can boast 3 ½ seasons (winter’s only noticeable because the trees are naked), her favorite season is definitely fall. It’s the time of year when the gardens are just about to pass into winter’s brief silence, and the leaves are out to prove that nature is the most brilliant artist of all.

A life-long voracious reader, Denise has three favorite authors. Why three? Because favorite authors are like chips: a person can’t have just one. Her little house was so overrun with books last year that her darling husband bought her an e-reader out of self-preservation. He was (legitimately) afraid she might begin throwing out pots and pans to make room for more books, and he didn’t want to starve.

Her debut novel,
Legacy
, is the first book in The Niteclif Evolutions.

You can find out more about Denise by visiting her website,
www.denisetompkins.net
, or by following her on Twitter,
@DeniseJTompkins
.

Trust no one…except the one who walks in the dark.

Key of Solomon

© 2011 Cassiel Knight

Relic Defender, Book 1

Anthropology PhD candidate Lexi Harrison never bares it all when she belly dances for a strip club crowd. She doesn’t have to—she’s that good. Every performance earns money toward her degree, and restores the sense of power that her painful childhood ripped away.

Something is different about tonight. A man whose silver gaze seems to touch her skin beneath her veils. When a rowdy customer crosses the line, he comes to her rescue with the speed of a falcon—complete with wings.

Mikos Tyomni has never seen anyone dance the raqs sharqi like Lexi. Trust his tormentor, Archangel Michael, to put him in close contact with the cause of his downfall: a mortal woman. Particularly this mortal woman. The Defender. He has only thirty days to win her trust before Hell’s deadliest demons attempt the mother of all prison breaks.

No matter how sexy the messenger is, Lexi’s career plans don’t include some crazy idea that she’s the last line of defense against the forces of evil. Until her university mentor’s murder leaves her holding the key to Hell. And fighting a losing battle against a passion with the unholy power to bring down Heaven…

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Key of Solomon:

Oh, shit! Lexi let out a startled squawk as he closed the protective distance she’d put between them until he was within a foot of her. His fists knotted as if he wanted to grab her, but he held back.

“How do you know Beliel?”

Lexi held up the
sanjiegun
, gesturing out a circle in front of her body Mikos was damn near to breaking. “Whoa, personal zone here.”

“Alexandria, this is important. Answer my question. How do you know Beliel?”

She cringed. Her full name again. “He showed up at my apartment earlier.”

Mikos jerked back. Fascinated, she watched his pupils and iris begin to spark again, the silver pinpoints of light widening. For Pete’s sake, what had she done or said?

“What happened?” he asked.

She shrugged, and looked down. With a sharp snick, she extended her
sanjiegun
, rested the tip on the floor and idly spun it like she was trying to start a fire. Christ. She suddenly had an urge to duck her head and squirm like a child caught doing something wrong.

“He made me an offer,” she said and lifted her head, her gaze sparring with his.

“What kind of offer?”

The phrase
an offer you can’t refuse
flashed into her mind. She didn’t let it out. Probably a smart decision based on the silver sparking in his eyes. Where the hell did he get that unusual ability?

Instead of uttering any number of smartass comments wavering on her tongue, she answered, “A normal life. One with a family.”

“A normal life,” he repeated. His tone sounded as if it had as much emotion as a rock.

Oops. Better scratch that. She actually knew a rock with emotion.

“Lexi, you must stay away from him.”

“Hey, I didn’t invite him. He just showed up.” She wrinkled her nose. “What’s the big deal?”

“You don’t know him. He’s dangerous.”

Lexi placed on hand on her hip and tapped her right foot. “So? I didn’t know you, but that didn’t stop you from interfering.”

Mikos’s eyes narrowed. “That is different.”

“Feels the same to me.” She paused. “Besides, all he’s done is show me another life.”

A life she’d always wanted. Sounded so simple. So easy. So confusing.

“For a price.”

Lexi shrugged again. “Everything comes with a price tag.” And everyone could be bought. The only variance was the dollar amount.

“What did he want from you?” Mikos continued.

“To give him some kind of book. A book I’m sure I don’t have.”

Mikos face turned to stone. No, not the Rocky-type stone, but hard, cold granite. “If you had the book, would you take Beliel’s offer?”

“I don’t know.”

She truly didn’t. As tempting as it was to realize she could have a family of her own, it bothered her that Beliel offered her a ready-made family. After all, if she really wanted a family, she’d have found herself a nice guy and made babies. Sure, and it was just that easy wasn’t it? Except, she wanted…

Something else.

Something special.

Something just for her.

So, she didn’t know what that something was. And while she wouldn’t admit it to Mikos, she wasn’t sure she’d want to pay the cost for whatever Beliel offered. She sensed it would be high.

Despite the set expression on his face, Mikos’s tone had a controlled lightness as he said, “Lexi, you are the only one who can do this. God expects this of you, and your race needs you. Do not make the mistake of thinking only of yourself. Too much is at stake.”

The critical and patronizing tone in Mikos’s voice punched like a sledgehammer at her chest. How dare he try to make her feel selfish? He had no idea of the life she’d led or things from her past. Damn right she was selfish. She had to be.

Growing up in the system and then on the streets had taught her if she didn’t look after herself no one else would. A hard lesson to learn at the age of twelve but she had, and no man, no matter how attractive he was, was going to stand there and make her feel bad about her choices.

Lexi shoved Mikos’s chest. “Where the hell was your God when I lost my parents? Where was your God when I was shuffled from home to home?”

She paused and took a deep breath. For the first time in as far back as she could remember, tears welled.

“And where were you and your God when my supposed father in the last foster home put his hands on me like no father ever should?”

She was tired, angry and mentally exhausted with the events of the last day. Otherwise, what the hell else could explain her opening her mouth and sharing such an intimate thing with a relative stranger?

Lexi barely suppressed a shudder at the memory. Her last foster father, Tom, hadn’t seemed to fit any profile of a child abuser. With no previous history of abuse in his own childhood, a gentle manner, no issues with drug or alcohol abuse, clean cut, a pristinely maintained yard and home, he appeared to be anything but a vile abuser.

It was only later did Lexi find out just how much of an abuser he was. Certainly, she would have found out if she had stayed around long enough for him to finish what he’d begun.

She still remembered the stark terror of being pushed against the wall of her bedroom while Tom groped and grabbed at her clothing. The smell of fresh paint from her foster mom’s remodel of the kitchen, the feel of the stucco on her backside.

Slightly damp, cold hands that left behind an unclean feeling, one she’d never be free of.

Lexi felt fortunate in that she had been strong and independent even at the age of twelve. One unfatherly touch from Tom, and she bolted from the house.

Looking up at Mikos, she realized that in her anger, she’d come within inches of his body. Major personal zone violation. Silver painted eyes looked down at her awash with an emotion she didn’t want or need.

She shoved him again. “Don’t you dare pity me. And don’t you dare tell me what God expects. I stopped caring about those expectations a long time ago.”

Maybe the thought of shoving him a third time had crossed her mind and shined in her eyes because Mikos moved. His hands come up to grab her wrists, jerking her forward and locking her arms against her sides. For the second time, her
sanjiegun
fell to the floor with another sharp clatter. Damn it, she was going to get a strap on that thing.

She pulled her knee up then thrust downward. Because of Mikos’s tight meld to her body, she couldn’t get enough momentum to do anything more than tap his foot. A hard tap, yet still not enough to break free.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.”

This close, his whisper danced across her neck. She sucked in a whistling breath as unfamiliar sensations rocketed through her body. When was the last time she’d felt any, even the most microscopic, attraction to a man? Each time she was around this man her libido went supernova.

Mikos’s body seemed to fit hers like a comfortable chair, one she wanted to sink back into then lose herself in the firm cushions. She inhaled, the warm, musky scent of masculine perspiration filling her nose. Did his skin taste salty? She eyed the pulse beating in his neck.

An inward yelp echoed through her mind. What the hell was wrong with her?

She let her shoulders relax as if she’d given up. He stilled. Maybe he hadn’t expected her to concede. Good. His stillness should have let her focus on breaking free.

It didn’t.

Demons in a feeding frenzy drive the world-weary Markhat to the brink…

Hold the Dark

© 2009 Frank Tuttle

A
Markhat
Story

Quiet, hard-working seamstresses aren’t the kind that normally go missing, even in a tough town like Rannit. Martha Hoobin’s disappearance, though, quickly draws Markhat into a deadly struggle between a halfdead blood cult and the infamous sorcerer known only as the Corpsemaster.

A powerful magical artifact may be both his only hope of survival—and the source of his own inescapable damnation.

Markat’s search leads him to the one thing that’s been missing in his life. But even love’s awesome power may not save him from the darkness that’s been unleashed inside his own soul.

Warning: This gritty, hard-boiled fantasy detective novel contains mild romance and interludes of suggestive handholding.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Hold the Dark:

I picked up the candle and followed.

The door wound down a long dark hall. Walls, floors and ceiling all bore water damage, but the warped pine wood floor had been repaired in two places. Recently, too, the nail-heads shone of new-beaten iron in the light, which meant they hadn’t had time to rust.

The hall abruptly ended. I stepped down, nearly stumbled, onto a cobble-brick floor, and my candlelight lost sight of any ceiling, and all the walls. It did illuminate the backs of four black-clad halfdead, who stood in a small circle a dozen steps away.

Evis and his dark glasses turned to face me.

“They are friends. They do not see you.”

“Wonderful.” My mouth was so dry I spoke in a ragged whisper. My new friends didn’t turn, didn’t leap, so I licked my lips and took a step toward them. “What is it we’re seeing?”

I wasn’t seeing a thing, aside from vampires and a flickering ring of shadows and floor-bricks.