At the mention of her twin brother, Tate shifted her gaze to the training paddock. Located within equal walking distance of her family’s home, her Aunt Olivia and Uncle James’ home, and her Aunt Amber and Uncle Gabriel’s home, the paddock was used by all three families. Tiege even now trained with Uncle James in the use of the blessed kamas gifted to him by the elders. The sickle-like weapons gleamed white in the sun as he worked through his weapon forms under their uncle’s careful eye. A number of their siblings and cousins also performed various stages of training with her Uncle Gabriel and Aunt Amber. The younger children were at school and engaged in studies with Aunt Olivia at this time of day.
When she opened her mouth as a thought struck her, her father said, “And no, I won’t let you go even if Tiege is with you.”
Deflated, she now did allow her face to fall into a pout. “Fine,” she huffed. She turned to stride down the slope leading to the paddock, figuring she’d work off her irritation in a contest with her brother.
“Tate.”
She stopped and glanced back at her father. Even if he hadn’t been standing higher on the slope than her, she’d have to look up to meet his gaze. His sculpted Gloresti musculature combined with his height made him a very imposing figure. She had always found that comforting, however. And when he now gave her a knowing look and waved her back up the slope, she felt a layer of her irritation slide away.
Giving up, she walked over to him and let him draw her into a consoling hug. He had never allowed one of his children to walk away on a harsh or angry word. Since she knew she pressed him more than any of her siblings did, she could only appreciate that.
Even if she did think he was being ridiculous and overprotective.
“I’m eager for you to find your wings, too,” he said, the sound of the words a rumble in her ear where it rested against his chest. “You’re my firstborn. I can’t wait for you to experience what it is to fly…to achieve another milestone of your existence. But it’s only a few more weeks.”
More composed now, she pulled away from the hug and caught his gaze. “I know, Dad. You’re just trying to look out for me. And I love you, too.”
This time, when she pulled away and headed toward the training paddock, he let her go.
“How did our babies suddenly get to be approaching their eighteenth birthdays?”
Caleb kept his gaze on his daughter’s retreating figure as his wife, Skye, walked up beside him and took his hand. He watched the sparkling, fluffy, knee-length skirt that Tate wore over her cargo-style pants spring up with every step, just as her multi-colored, beaded curls bounced in their high ponytail. She had the tall and curvy build of a grown female, but many things about her remained achingly young.
In response to his wife’s question, he just shook his head and gave her hand a squeeze, having no answer. It did seem just yesterday that he was a neurotic mass of nerves awaiting the births of Tate and Tiege, and now here the twins were, mere weeks from learning to fly. The time had passed much too quickly, even for a being who didn’t physically age.
Tate, in particular, was growing up more quickly than he could handle. As his firstborn child, she certainly held a special place in his heart. And her free, uninhibited spirit so resembled her mother’s that he couldn’t help but love her all the more for it. But she worried him, too. Where her twin was content to follow the rules, she consistently bent them.
“I had the dream again.”
Now he looked down at Skye. Her light blue gaze was centered on the paddock. As usual, she wore her long, softly curling brown hair down, and it caught in the breeze, allowing the sunlight to reflect on its beautiful red and gold highlights. Her fitted, knee-length sundress formed a swirl of rainbow-bright hues centered right over her round belly. Their next set of twins was due in about two months. Unlike her sisters, Skye was prone to multiple births. This would be their third set of twins.
I know, he thought, taking advantage of their ability to share thoughts as an avowed couple. I had the same dream.
Tate asked you if she could go with Quincy and Sophia, didn’t she? Skye thought.
He nodded. “I told her no, of course,” he said.
“And we’ll keep an eye on her tomorrow?”
“Of course. As always.”
Such concern when expressed by other parents might have seemed overprotective, he supposed, watching Tate join Tiege’s training session. Her blessed nunchucks whirled and winked in the light as the twins sparred.
But then, most parents didn’t dream of the future.
The dream he shared with Skye had been recurring more and more regularly ever since their niece, Clara Kate, transitioned to the human plane a couple of months ago. In the dream, Tate was alone and outside the area of protection that surrounded their homeland. An unseen attacker took her off-guard, grasping her in a brutal grip and disorienting her. When she finally realized what was happening, her terror was devastating.
But it was the end of the dream that caused Caleb to wake up in a cold sweat with an agonized cry in his throat. It had his normally positive and cheerful wife looking sad and worried. And it served as the reason why they absolutely couldn’t let Tate have her way when it came to her request to venture out with Quincy and Sophia.
For they had both foreseen their firstborn daughter’s death.
Please enjoy this Excerpt from
The Vessel book 2 in the White Aura Series
by Felecia Tatum
Scott
Livvie had been missing for two months and twelve days. I’d never even heard her scream when she was taken. I’d flown down the stairs to find her gone. I was with her less than 24 hours and lost her. I’d been searching ever since. And her parents…I still didn’t know what happened with them. The whole house was a disaster area and there was no sign of them. It could have been a burglary, or a bad business deal, or someone from the magical world. Grandma was looking for clues that led to one or the other, but she kept coming up short. Something very strange was going on with the whole situation.
I enlisted Juniper and Mark to help me. My whole family were doing all they could. Juniper was a huge asset with her newfound powers. She knew Livvie better than any of us, and having her heightened senses was going to be wonderful if we ever got a lead on her whereabouts.
All of us were on edge. We couldn’t figure out who would take her. The Crimson Calamitous was injured so badly he wouldn’t be hurting anyone any time soon. So either he was working with someone before, or there was another enemy after us.
I couldn’t visit her in her dreams. When I tried to espy her, my spirit was sent flying back to my body with such force that I was bruised all over. Whoever held her hostage was magical, and they had her in some sort of protection force field; or they had cast a spell to make connecting with her impossible. I could only imagine how frightened she must feel. I must find her. We had to save her.
Olivia
My captor finally spoke in a deep, threatening tone. He came in early this morning and released my hands. He spoke much deeper than was natural, leading me to think he was masking his true voice.
“Quiet. Don’t make me regret letting you move around freely,” he demanded.
I was too weak to run as it was. I didn’t need any other bodily harm. I waited until he left to slowly peel the blindfold off my eyes. The light blinded me and I had to squint until I adjusted.
When I finally pulled myself together, I sat up. Everything around me spun and blurred. I grasped my head in an attempt to stop the movement, but nothing worked. My temples ached and my neck felt too weak to hold me up. I gradually leaned back down to rest, trying not to make myself physically ill.
I laid in pain when I remembered the groan from yesterday. I looked to the left but there’s only a small window too high for me to look out of. But on my right…I noticed another bed. A body was there, broken and mangled. The chest on the body slowly rose, so I knew whoever this was, was alive. The sight of the injuries ma
de me queasy. The smell of sickness filled the air. This person was lying there, dying.
I forced my body up and swung my legs over the side. My feet felt weird on the floor. It’d been so long since I walked. I doubted I could move them completely, but I had to try. This person needed help, and I couldn’t just let them die when I might be able to assist. I gripped the side of the bed and stood unsteadily. I paused to let my legs strengthen but they couldn’t. I slid my body down into a sitting position, and rested for a moment. I scooted my body across the floor, slowly inching my way to the other bed. I slid my body, then, rested. My breathing was labored. This required much more energy than I expected.
Finally, after twenty minutes of moving and stopping, I made my way there. I pulled myself up to my knees, and gasped at the horror in front of me. A broken, tattered body lay in front of me, the face too battered to be recognizable. The hair was matted in blood and dirt, the clothes torn and frayed. I slowly reached out to touch the limp hand in front of me.
Warmth.
This guy was definitely still alive.
I mustered enough strength to find supplies to help me. I rose unsteadily and leaned against the footboard to regain composure. I looked around to see if there was anything in this room that could help me. I saw a small dresser by the door, so I inched closer. My feet shuffled loudly because I was too weak to actually lift them off the floor. I forced my body, doubling over in pain with each movement. The only thing that kept me moving was knowing I may save this person’s life. As I got closer, I became more and more disoriented. I was about a foot away when I fell forward. Luckily I was able to brace my fall with my hands and the dresser caught me. Panting, I stood for a few moments. My limbs were heavy, and my chest tight. I finally caught my breath enough for the room to stop spinning. Then, I searched the drawers. I found clothing and sheets in the top, towels in the second, the third was locked, and the fourth held the gold. There was a small first aid kit and some gauze laying there. I grabbed it and a towel before I realized it may be too much for me to carry back. I just threw them at the area near the headboard before the return journey.
When I eventually made my way back to my destination, I’d grown tired from all the movement. Being held captive for so long had made my body unable to function properly. I gingerly cleaned the guy’s hair with water and the towel. I worked carefully to not hurt him when I removed the dirt and dead skin from his face. He didn’t move, but I heard a small groan when I touched his cheek. The more I worked, the faster my heartbeat became. I knew this guy…very well, actually. This broken and mangled body before me was Aiden.
Please Enjoy this Excerpt from
The Deaths of Me
By Cydney Lawson
***
There’s nothing wrong with you that reincarnation won’t cure.
--Jack E. Leonard
Rory couldn’t scream anymore if she tried. She held as still as possible which wasn’t very. Stop, stop, stop, she silently prayed. The incisions were everywhere and they were deep. Every inch of her skin was either bleeding or covered in blood.
A nervous, overly-bronzed young woman rushed in and squatted next to a man who called himself a doctor. Yes, Rory had seen her plenty of times. She was the appointed ‘nurse’. Tendrils of dark hair had escaped from her white hood. Nervous blue eyes flitted to Rory’s face as she snapped out, “Are you sure we shouldn’t give her something for the pain?”
“PLEASE!” Rory cried out into the chrome room. Her voice was a broken gospel.
The ‘doctor’ glanced over his shoulder at the worried woman and shook his head before making another incision with a new silver blade down her thigh. Rory choked back her whimpering gasp. The fluorescent light glint off of the sharp instrument as if it were mocking her. “No,” he said, and his voice was law. “We can’t chance it. The Phoenix must remain alert.”
The fear and exhaustion clashed in Rory’s brain, so that the pain was almost an afterthought. For the third time since being kidnapped, she was going to die. Rory knew it and still the panic came fresh and tangible. She begged, bartered, threatened; anything to get the man to stop what he was doing. Humans weren’t supposed to be this ruthless. They had to know better.
Then it came. Death for Rory was never swift. Death for Rory came in a torrid cycle of flames. First, two fiery wings sprouted from her shoulder-blades and yanked up into the air almost immediately. The flames burned her skin as she flapped her graceless, wounded wings. The burning was the only thing that didn’t hurt anymore. The fire started from her feet and ripped fierce ribbons around her calves and thighs, shooting up her body and scorching her nerves. All she could see was red shadow. Her arms shot out streams of fire afterward, nearly setting the entire room ablaze. But the humans were clever and had learned to use steel cabinets and counters: nothing flammable.
And at last, Rory’s hair set itself alight, claiming her soul and her body to ashes, as she whispered, “Please.”
Hurting people is my business.
--Sugar Ray Robinson
A cold drop of water hit Ivy’s bright red hair with an audible plunk noise. Even a sound as small as that echoed ominously in the murky, sunless cave. It was hard to believe that somewhere, above the caverns Ivy was standing in, Atlanta traffic crept, inch by agonizing inch. Ivy’s black steel-toed boots thundered as she made her way up to the Council. Her knees did not shake. Her lip did not quiver. And of course, her heart did not beat. Vampires couldn’t show signs of nervousness, and so Ivy was stoic as she approached the stone steps. Even though her mouth was dry and her mind was whirring like a slot machine.
She dared a quick look at the ceiling. Nothing but hanging stalagmites and shadows. Ivy thought it was disgusting that Underdwellers like herself had to meet secretly in the hollowed-out underbelly of the city to avoid the humans when they wanted to gather in bulk. What could humans really do to most Underdwellers? It was by her own conscience and carefully practiced patience that she didn’t slaughter at least one pimply pre-teen a day. Humans, for the most part, were pathetic and—ironically enough—beneath her. They walked around in the sun, ignorant to what lay just beneath them, waiting.
Snapping herself out of her daily mental loathing, Ivy came upon the cave’s opening. Suddenly, the room beyond the dank hallway she’d been walking down swelled out into a grand cavern. Candles hid in the natural nooks and crannies of the old walls, lending a leering glow to the otherwise gloomy domain. She would have shuddered if she could have without being noticed. Though the chamber was at least twenty feet high, her boots ceased to make sound at all as she approached the lone bench in the room. Behind it were rows and rows of benches, made for rare occasions when a plethora of Underdwellers had something urgent to discuss. Ivy stopped walking and stared down at her feet before stomping. No sound at all.
Ivy hated enchanted rooms.
She looked back up and paced forward, ignoring the eerie stillness of the chamber. She nearly let out an annoyed hiss as she came upon the dozens of wooden crosses making up the perimeter of the panel. The simple symbols made her veins constrict and her mouth dry out. She turned her contemptuous gaze instead to the Council of the Covenant, and stared each of them down. These were the people who had demanded her presence, never mind she’d been vacationing in Prague.
At the far left there was the robust and friendly Pompeii Leodus, the most well-known diplomat from the largest pack of werewolves in recorded history. But then, Ivy thought smugly, when were the lycanthropes ever prone to honesty? The man was not hairy, and from what Ivy could tell he didn’t stink like many of the dogs tended to, but it made him no better than the rest. Treaty or no treaty. His bright eyes were set square in the middle of his face, too close together for Ivy’s liking. She certainly didn’t trust his slicked-back raven hair.
Then on the far right there was Queen Cayleigh, a fairy if Ivy had ever seen one. Around her pointed face, her hair was an auburn mess, intertwined with branches that seemed to grow directly f
rom the roots. Ivy did not bow to her.
Sure, now she was protected by the Treaty of Nature and Dark, but Ivy would never forget that the Queen had been the last to sign her people into alliance with all other Underdwellers. The Queen seemed unusually excited; her eyes were bright with dark mirth, and Ivy wanted to be the first to smack that self-righteous grin off of her face. Her kind had taken away the closest thing she’d ever had to a brother. A debt Ivy would love to repay.
And in the very middle was Marcus, the leader of the Blue Moon clan. Ivy sighed internally, visibly relaxing at the sight of him. The Blue Moon vampires were the Full Moon vampires’ sister clan. Ivy was a Full Moon vampire and had the tattoo in elf’s blood on her wrists to prove it. Marcus had recruited Ivy into the Covenant, basically saving her life. His hazel eyes, broad shoulders, and propensity for laughter were branded in her head and her heart. He was like the uncle she never had. Finally, she thought as she caught the twinkle in Marcus’ eye, someone with some sense. This meeting was anything but expected, and Ivy was not a fan of being blind-sided.
Queen Cayleigh spoke first, and Ivy reluctantly turned her attention to the fairy monstrosity.
“Ivy Parker, you have been summoned by the Order of The Covenant—”
“I solemnly swear and all that crap to protect, serve, kill for the cause of all Underdwellers and freaks.” Ivy smirked inwardly, keeping her cool on the outside. She couldn’t hide it; she got her kicks by pressing buttons. After five-hundred years nothing else was really fun anymore. At the disapproving look of the Council, she amended the vow, this time reciting it correctly: “I solemnly swear to uphold the Standards of the Covenant by any means necessary. May all humans remain under the realm of my protection or may I commit my soul to eternal torment.”