Copyright © 2020 Iris Walker
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1: Prowling
Chapter 2: Taken
Chapter 3: Exposure
Chapter 4: Escape
Chapter 5: Retrieval
Chapter 6: Cain
Chapter 7: Pursuit
Chapter 8: Evasion
Chapter 9: Refuge
Chapter 10: Journey
Chapter 11: Magnus
Chapter 12: Caster
Chapter 13: Rescue
Acknowledgement
Chapter 1: Prowling
Lucidia
The alley was dark, somewhere on the bad side of L.A., flooded by orange lamplight. There were puddles every few feet; a leftover from last night’s showers, which had left the air muggy. Lucidia Draxos, one of the deadliest strongbloods from House Xander, stalked in the shadows, her hood concealing her face in totality; not that anybody would see her – she was far too quick.
She watched as the pale figure made his presence known.
The half-formed vampire slunk out from behind the dumpster, zeroing in on the young couple. He had pale gray skin and hideous hair. He probably smelled as bad as the trash heap where he’d come from.
Lucidia Draxos was already in motion. Gotcha. Her lip curled up in a smile, and she palmed her weapon.
With a swift movement, she closed the distance between them and brought her nightstick down on the creature’s back. A sickening crunch echoed out in the alley.
He let out a cry, turning towards her with rage in his coal black eyes.
The creature snarled. “You’ll pay for that!”
“And you’re going to make me?” she taunted with a wicked grin.
The couple had scurried off, running away from the monster and the strange figure wearing a hood and nearly all leather.
The half-form lunged towards her with fingers curled into claws, going straight for her jugular.
They always aimed for the throat. It was a brute move, and about as predictable as a popsicle-stick joke, but the repetition made her job a lot easier.
She dodged and his hand came sailing through the air to the left of her hood. She jammed the nightstick into his ribs, and he doubled over, knocked to the ground.
In another second, she had the creature’s head between both of her hands and pulled him up to his feet. She was only about five-five, but his hunch gave her the advantage. Even so, whatever she lacked in height, she made up for ten-fold in speed.
She felt the magic imbued within her rise as she readied herself to destroy a supernatural creature. The marks that encircled hands and traveled up her arms began glowing a fiendish red, outlining the magical runes that had been scribed onto her skin during the pledging ceremony.
“House Xander sends their regards,” she hissed in his ear.
With one twist, she broke his neck and a gruesome crack echoed out.
She released the creature’s head and wiped her hands on her leather riding pants. His body slumped into a puddle, splashing water on her thick-soled boots. She grimaced and stepped away from him.
The deed was done. Lucidia flexed her fingers, feeling the power subside, leaving her exhausted but still riding the high of exhilaration.
She pulled out her phone to make the call to Master Darian, standard practice after completing a job. Stalk, kill, call, clean-up. Rinse and repeat. Lucidia often thought that the Grand Houses considered strongbloods like her to be their all-purpose janitors. In reality, they were magical half-breeds, born with more power than a human but less than a true vampire, making them excellent assassins, built for killing. She’d grown quite accustomed to her unique talents but could do without the vampires lording over her. Nothing to do about that, though; for as long as time existed, vampires had been calling “slave” on anything with a pulse.
She listened impatiently as the phone rang.
He picked up but said nothing, a typical power move on Darian’s part.
“It’s done,” she said.
“Very well. Do clean up.”
She hung up, glancing around. Nobody had ventured near their little slice of the city.
Lucidia opened the red pouch secured in her toolbelt and sprinkled a pinch of the charcoal-colored powder over the body. She took two steps back, and then pulled out a matchbook, striking one and watching the fire dance in front of her before casting it onto the body. It went up in flames, and a burst of heat shot out. She shielded her face.
Flash powder burns like a dragon’s asshole.
That’s why strongbloods used it; vampires allocated only the best for their elite warriors. In a second, the half-form had been reduced to dust, clumping in the puddle and dissolving into nothing.
She surveyed the area one more time before slipping into the shadows.
Robin
If this guy mentions one more type of mushroom, I’m history, she promised herself, tapping her foot against the barstool and maintaining her fake-interested smile.
The blind date hadn’t gone well.
First, he was verging on forty, she was pretty sure, not to mention he had ‘crazy eyes’. She’d barely said a single word in an hour and was still sipping her first coke and rum. He, on the other hand, was making quick work of his third beer.
Another one on the list of duds, Robin decided.
It was a Friday night in Portland, meaning everybody had come out of their holes and embraced the nightlife. They were in a nouveau bar, the kind that served microbrews and fusion drinks.
Her date mumbled something to her and got up on stiff legs, wobbling off to the bathroom.
She gave him a dismissive nod and ran her hand through her thick, blond hair, lifting it off her shoulders and revealing slender collarbones. Robin was built tall and was often jealous of more fun-sized gals, but she wasn’t without curves. What used to be stick and bone had turned into a fairly decent feminine form. At twenty-five, she wasn’t doing
