As long as Damon lived, Luc would not be amongst the lucky bucks. With goblins, it was not only physical trait that was passed on to the next generation, it was also temperament. And Dagon’s was absolutely foul.
“Last warning, Luc. Get the hell out of this realm.”
This time, Damon allowed just a touch of the incredible power that had cursed him to this job to show. It sucked the air out of the room. It dropped the temperature, icing over the windows. A wind picked up outside. And Damon’s eyes went from green to red to a flickering, telltale orange like fire.
Lucretius Dagon hesitated. His doubt hiccupped through the room, almost a tangible thing. At last, he bowed low, his massive horns scraping the floor as was customary. “At once, your majesty.”
He rose again, and his form began to ripple. A moment later, it vanished, pulled back into the Goblin Kingdom by an ancient spring-rope kind of magic that kept all of the Goblin Kingdom’s inhabitants returning. They were trapped there.
Damon sheathed his sword, took a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, and tried to regain some semblance of peace with himself. It had been a long night. The kingdom had become restless. They could sense something changing, like a moving of summer into fall. Trouble was coming.
Animals could tell when danger was on the way, and no animal reflected trouble like a goblin.
Damon made his way to the woman’s bed, looked down at her sleeping form, and waved a hand over it. The magic that Dagon had placed her under was instantly lifted.
A second later, Damon himself transported away.
Once he was back in his private chambers in his lone castle in his exiled kingdom, the Goblin King removed his weapons, shrugged off his leather jacket, and sank into his sofa to stare into the crackling fire.
As he stared into the fire, a face formed there, small and pixie-like with eyes that were smoke rings embedded in the fire, ears like candle flames, and a mouth filled with what looked like tiny burning charcoal squares. The face smiled a friendly smile. “Good evening your majesty!” he exclaimed, his voice a high-pitched crackling sort of thing that naturally felt warm.
Damon tried not to smile. It didn’t do to encourage fire elementals. “Evening, Pi.”
Pi squinted a bit as if considering him. “Long night then?”
Damon sighed, leaning back to stretch out his long legs and cross them at his booted ankles. He thought of the meeting of the 13, the battle with the doubles, and the uncertain future of the entire supernatural universe. “You could say that.”
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” asked Pi curiously, almost timidly.
Damon frowned. He thought he’d hidden it well enough. “Why would you ask that, Pi?”
“The Fire Elders are even talking about it. There’s a force rising, they say. One that threatens the entire magical world.” Pi hesitated, crackling away in silent, flaming thought. “Even us.”
Damon placed his fingers to his lips thoughtfully. He listened to a raven caw menacingly outside. And then he sat up and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together. “The 13 Kings are working together to protect our worlds, Pi. You can take that news to your elders and tell them to rest easy.” The last thing they needed was a bunch of nervous elementals causing environmental catastrophes in the mortal realm.
Pi jumped around a bit, perhaps from happiness-inducing relief, perhaps from agitated excitement at the thought of having good news for his elders. But whatever it was, it was short-lived before he settled down again and Damon could perceive him actually nodding. “Will do, chief. Oh – and a word of warning. The Duqar is playing with bad ideas again. They’re heading into the mortal realm tonight.”
Pi vanished. It was a sort of poof, a cloud of smoke, and a popping sound, and the fire in the hearth was suddenly a lot less animated.
Damon frowned. He’d been hoping to take the rest of the night off. But apparently the Duqar had other plans for him. They were nothing more than a racist and ruthless band of goblins that hated humans and loved wreaking havoc on the mortal world. Damon was growing very weary of them.
Most likely they’d hatched their latest insidious plan around a blazing fire bin, and hence Pi had come about the knowledge with ease. The king had informants like Pi everywhere. When you ruled over something as entropic and primally wild as goblins, extra measures of governance were not only a good idea, they were necessary.
The Goblin King sighed. He ran a hand through his thick dark hair and closed his eyes. They hurt. They literally burned with fire at times, the power inside of him was so strong, and when this happened, they naturally grew hot. They got sore.
Damon Chroi was too strong for his own good.
A very long time ago, so long ago that it predated human history, Damon had been banished here to this realm by the Fae Court. It had been a coup of grand proportions. Every last royal blooded fae in existence had gathered together, joined forces, and exiled him. Why?
Because they feared him.
Damon Chroi had been born with enormous power. This power, this magic that pulsed through him, stifling and unsettling, scared those around him. Some pretended to befriend Damon, choosing to side themselves with the thing they feared. Others outwardly distrusted him, shunned him, and gathered behind his back, scheming and planning.
Damon was well aware of it all. He knew what they thought of him, what they felt toward him. He’d never lifted a finger against any of them and had never given them any physical proof of a reason to believe that he would betray his leaders or his kind. But it didn’t matter. No one was willing to take any chances where he was concerned.
And so they murdered the former king of the goblins, and Damon was sent to the Goblin Kingdom to rule over a race so powerful, the Fae Court assumed Damon would be too busy trying to maintain control over it to return and rise against those who’d banished him.
They were right.
What they hadn’t counted on however, was that there would be another uprising altogether, one from within their own ranks.
A thousand years after Damon’s exile, twin brothers were born to the fae kingdom. They bore no royal blood between them, but grew into young men of such charisma and power, they earned the nickname “the princes.” Despite their very different appearances and preferences, they were nearly inseparable.
They were also apparently much better at hiding the immense amount of inherent power they possessed, because unlike Damon, they were not exiled. More than a thousand years after their birth, “the princes” overthrew the Fae Court, killing every single member among their tainted bureaucratic ranks.
The princes became the Sidhe Kings.
Their real names were never spoken and rarely known, as names held great power in the fae kingdom. Damon’s name was not real either. These were closely guarded secrets for their kind.
One of the fae kings went by the name Avery now, and his brother was called Caliban. Avery ruled the Seelie court, and Caliban the Unseelie. They’d reigned over the fae kingdom from these separate thrones for thousands upon thousands of years.
Damon had no desire to return and attempt to retake his place in the Court. He’d been betrayed once, and once was all it took for him to understand the way of his kind. However, if he had wanted to return, he was actually uncertain whether he would be able to defeat either king on his own, much less combined. Together, their power would be insurmountable.
And it mattered not anyway.
Damon, Avery and Caliban now occupied three seats at the table of the 13 Kings. It was important for them to band together, now perhaps more than ever. The crimes of fae past had no place in the ticking clock of present day.
The goblins needed a sovereign to keep them in line. The two facets of the fae realm needed their kings. Things had come to be as they were most likely meant to be.
Damon opened his eyes. No woman will want to live out eternity in this, he thought to himself. It was nearly impossible for him
to imagine a queen who would be willing to give herself over to him and to the responsibility he bore. She would have to bear it too.
Lalura Chantelle may have foreseen 13 queens on that chessboard, but Damon was dubious at best.
He rose from the couch and slipped back on his jacket and sword sheath. Then he made his way down one of his labyrinthine hallways to the weapons room. There was enough trouble in the world at the moment without having to babysit rogue goblins. It was time to deal with the Duqar once and for all.
He waved the room open, not even bothering with the enormous latch that governed the massive wood and metal reinforced double doors. They creaked apart, revealing the long chamber beyond.
It was lined with weapons of all kinds. Damon’s boots echoed on the cold, hard stone as he entered and perused the incredible, deadly collection. A shield he passed reflected a tall man, broad and very handsome with thick nearly black hair and green eyes tinged with both gold and orange as if they would burst into flame at any given moment. A strong chin defined his regal profile, darkened slightly by an oncoming need for a shave. A scar ran through his upper lip, hardening his expression, turning it slightly cruel.
Damon stopped, his gaze narrowing on the scar. It had been given to him by a goblin on his first night as king.
Goblins were a very hard breed to kill. They had always frightened the Fae Court, not because of their size or their sharp claws or sharp teeth or immense, incredible strength but because the magic flowing through their veins made them very nearly immortal.
It lent power to their attack, power to their defenses, healed their wounds, made them immune to the elements, strengthened their resistance to dark magic such as mind control and weakness, and worst of all, it protected them from every kind of death but one. For a goblin to die, its head must leave its body.
The problem was it was almost impossible to take a goblin’s head.
Damon turned away from the shield and strode to an ornately carved, highly polished long sword that hung more or less alone on hooks against the far wall. It glinted as he approached, looking wickedly sharp. He could almost hear it ping.
With a wry smile, the Goblin King grasped the weapon by its hilt and pulled it from the wall. He didn’t have to go through so much trouble to use the sword. It would answer his mental call at any time, in any place, appearing in his hand like Thor’s hammer. But it was a sword worthy of the ceremony, and Damon had time.
It was weighted perfectly and felt light in his grasp. He lifted the sword over his head and turned it in the moonlight shafting through a window high on the wall. It gleamed, reflecting something that wasn’t there, not in this realm.
There was only one way to take a goblin’s head. Damon had learned that lesson the hard way and had the scars to prove it. You needed a special sword to do it. A vorpal sword, in fact: the Atrox Ferrum.
Damon smiled grimly, sheathed the Atrox, and left the weapons room, his long stride fast with purpose.
(Stay tuned for book four in the Big Bad Wolf spinoff series, The Kings: The Goblin King. Release date, TBA.)
For a thrilling adventure with the series that started it all, enjoy Heather Killough-Walden’s critically acclaimed, New York Times bestselling Big Bad Wolf series, now available in one incredible tome of sexual tension, romantic suspense, and dark paranormal bliss! The Big Bad Wolf Romance Compilation is available as an eBook at Amazon and Barnes and Noble, as well as other eBook sellers. Four sizzling paranormal romances for $3.99!
“The Vampire King by Heather Killough-Walden is riveting and page-turning. Keep an eye on this author.” – USA Today
"The continued high-quality storytelling provided by Killough-Walden indicates she is a star on the rise." - Romance Times
"I was strictly a vampire girl until I came across this pack of big bad Alphas -- Killough-Walden has converted me! Sexy, daring, and action-packed from start to finish. Warning: if you have a faint heart, do not read this." (About the Big Bad Wolf series) - Dianna Hardy, paranormal romance author of The Witching Pen.
“Heather Killough-Walden happens to write books so brilliant, I'm a fan! (I was the minute I started reading Hell Bent.) There aren't many I'd give my crown to, but this lady is totally worthy of my adoration!” – Poppet, paranormal romance author of Dusan.
"Hold on tight as these big bad wolves take you on a paranormal romance ride you won't soon forget!" (About the Big Bad Wolf series) - Christine M. Butler, paranormal romance author of Moonlit Dreams
*****
The Heat, Book One of the Big Bad Wolf series
Lily St. Claire is a simple Southern girl who has no idea what she is in for when she decides to move back to her hometown in Louisiana after a decade of being away. But between the two very different alpha werewolves who instantly begin fighting to claim her as their mate and the serial killer who has her in his sites, she's about to find out.
*****
The Strip, Book Two of the Big Bad Wolf series (warning, contains graphic violence)
Green-eyed Malcolm Cole is a cursed werewolf, an alpha in the most powerful sense who has given up hope for any kind of happiness or peace in his life.
Until he catches wind of Claire.
Claire St. James, Charlie among friends, is an amazing young woman with an incredibly special gift. Cole recognizes this at once and swears on the spot to claim Charlie as his mate.
Of course, he isn't the only one with such plans. Charlie is too precious to let go without a fight, and one of the most powerful alphas in the world has already staked a claim, whether Charlie - or Cole - like it or not.
*****
The Spell, Book Three of the Big Bad Wolf series
Dannai, aka the Healer, has begun dreaming of werewolves. She'd always been able to hide the fact that she was a dormant, using her magic to shield her promising scent from the alphas she's been forced to work with. But now that they've invaded her dreams, her world has been turned upside down. For, though every dormant dreams of her intended mate - Dannai is dreaming of two wolves, not one. And neither one of them is good news. One is a notorious killer. The other is Lucas Caige.
Lucas Caige is a man with a haunting past. A warlock took his brother from him fifty years ago and he's spent his life outrunning that dark magic. But fate has a way of throwing sand in your gears, and just when Caige thought he could forever leave behind the magic that brought pain to his life, his path crosses that of the Healer. Dannai unwittingly casts her spell over him the moment he lays eyes on her. She's stunning, she's kind, and everything about her wreaks havoc on his senses. She's also magic incarnate.
But if Dannai thinks that's going to stop him from doing everything in his power to make her his mate, the little witch has another thing coming.
*****
The Hunt, Book Four of the Big Bad Wolf series
Byron Caige has been a prisoner for the last fifty years of his supernaturally long life. Just when he gives up hope of ever knowing freedom again, he is unwittingly rescued by the very same woman who only wants to see him dead. Katherine Dare – Kat – is smart, fast, strong and beautiful – but unfortunately she’s a Hunter, and she’s convinced that Byron murdered her father twenty years ago.
She’s also Byron’s dormant.
As war breaks out amongst the otherworldly of Earth and threatens the existence of entire races, Kat is faced with a terrible decision. Should she give up her cause and believe Caige when he professes his innocence? Or should she fight him and possibly avenge her father’s taken life – even while she forfeits her own?
In honor of the February 14th release date of The Warlock King,
- A short story by Heather Killough-Walden
“Wings in the Attic,”
a Big Bad World Valentine’s Day story
by Heather Killough-Walden
February 14th, 2013….
Lalura stopped in the open attic doorway, her small bent frame and surrounding dust motes outlined by the hall light behind her. Sh
e stood still for several long moments and gazed into the darkness. The stark blue of her eyes was hidden in shadow, just as were the remnants that waited in the corners and piles of the rickety shelter. It smelled of cedar and memories up here.
Cedar and dust and memories.
“Hmph.”
Lalura’s intelligent gaze narrowed on the darkness of the neglected room. It seemed a challenge, almost. There were whispers inside, from old friends and enemies; they pushed at one another for a chance at her ear. There were flashes of things she’d tried a thousand times to forget, like bits of torn movie reel flung before a projector light. There were old songs in there, and even now she could make out their faint notes, piano keys and violin strokes from long, long ago.
Lalura lifted her chin. She took a slow breath, filling her ancient lungs with both dust and courage before releasing her breath into the past once more. Then she spoke a harsh, magic word, and extended an arm.
An old-fashioned gas lantern appeared in her gnarled grip. Its yellow, flickering flame cast dancing shapes across the long floor boards in front of her. She stood there in the under-used doorway for several more long moments, and then took the first step past the threshold that she’d taken in seventy years.
At once, the atmosphere of the room changed. The dust lifted away, the darkness turned to light, and the past greeted her with the jubilance of an old friend. She moved through the attic, leaving behind her a trail of dancing couples and bridesmaids in a line and little girls learning to ride their bicycles. Winters, springs, summers and falls blossomed to life, froze to silence, and fell by the wayside with every one of the witch’s slow, steady steps.