And Marius had sealed his own fate.
Now Steven Lazarus, the half-Akyri former detective was the new Akyri King. This king stepped back and watched through wary, ready eyes as Marius’ body began to rise off the ground.
Thane’s heart sank into his stomach. A tremendous feeling of foreboding stole over him.
Marius’ body continued to climb, and as it did, it took on an eerie glow. It floated higher and higher until it nearly reached the ceiling. The glow thoroughly encompassed the body, flashing so bright, it resembled the light of a transport.
Thanatos squinted and turned his head just a little. The light receded and faded, leaving behind empty space and a sinking certainty that Thane and his companions had just done something very wrong.
The laughter was gone now. The heaviness in the air was lifting. Now the metal that remained was in Thane’s gut.
“It was a set up,” said one of the kings. Thane turned to see the Dragon King, Arach eyeing the blood-soaked ground and slowly turning in place. “We were brought here to be observed,” he continued. His eyes were still in dragon form, but as he met Thane’s gaze, they settled back into their human charade, though still intensely vivid in color. “We were played. And none of this was real.”
“He’s right,” said the Unseelie King, who wore a grim expression.
Thane was inclined to agree. And if anyone would recognize a set-up, it would be the Unseelie King, Caliban. The man was a veritable expert in the darker side of artifice and strategy.
“We’re up against more than we predicted, gentlemen,” said Roman.
“No shit,” said the Goblin King, whose hooded eyes shifted from a muted jade to glimmering emerald and back again. He smiled grimly. An ancient battle scar shot like lightning through his upper lip, lending the smile a cruel lay and allowing the tips of his fangs to peek through. “We have no idea what the fuck we’re doing.”
Thane looked from him to the other kings and then looked down at Siobhan. He was inclined to agree with that as well.
*****
“I can’t believe we did that,” said Siobhan as she came into the kitchen and took the offered ice-cold beer form his hand.
“Believe it,” he told her. “You’re a talented young woman.” He winked at her, and she blushed before she tried to hide it behind her beer as she took a swig.
She and Jason Alberich had worked together that morning to resurrect two bodies, one of which Thane was almost certain wasn’t going to be resurrect-able. Both the mother and the father of the victimized family from Pier 36 had been brought back from the dead. The Healer, Dannai Caige, had managed to save the son. The high witch, Lalura Chantelle had used her incredible magic to rid the resurrected of their need of a phylactery for their souls. And now the entire family was reunited – and mind-wiped by Roman D’Angelo so that they wouldn’t remember a thing about the attack. Though Thane suspected they would all have unaccountable aversions to the Embarcadero in San Francisco. And maybe to fish.
The threat of something horrible hung over everyone in the supernatural world, a power none of the kings could fathom was taking hold, and more than a few of them had been personally touched by it.
It lent a solemn feel to the everything and muted the pride Siobhan should have felt about what she and Jason had accomplished.
“So Steven is the Akyri King now,” Siobhan said after she’d finished swallowing. “I didn’t see that coming.” She raised a brow. “But then, I didn’t see any of this coming, so I guess my perceptions don’t count.”
Thane smiled and took a long pull off of his own beer. She was beautiful when she was self-deprecating. Hell, she was always beautiful.
“Thane, can I ask you something?”
He lowered his bottle and said, “Anything. Any time.” She was making him weak. In time, he would never be able to deny her anything.
“Alberich said that it was rare for a warlock not to use magic against someone. That this set me apart from other warlocks.”
Thane waited. A vein in her neck pulsed, and the crotch of Thane’s jeans felt tight. His gums tingled.
“So…. Does that mean that I’m not a good warlock any more? That I’m like all the others now? Am I turning evil, or whatever?” She shook her head as if she didn’t know how else to say it.
Thane set his beer down on the counter. “Why in the realms would you think that?” he asked.
She shrugged, obviously feeling self conscious. She pulled her honey brown eyes from his and looked out the window at the vast expanse of Purgatory. Her fetching profile made him edgy. His fingers just itched to touch her. “I attacked you,” she said. “I used my magic against another person.”
Thane shook his head. “Siobhan, you thought I was there to kill you. You thought I was evil.”
She turned away from the window to look back up at him. “What difference does that make?” She looked so earnest, so guile-less, it was really adorable. It was about to be her undoing.
“You used your magic to fight evil, my queen.” And then he smiled a smile that would have terrified any reasonable young woman with half a brain. “You can’t fight evil with evil.”
Siobhan’s eyes widened as he moved in. But she wasn’t going anywhere.
Epilogue
The night was long and dark, despite the early June date. It was as if time had stopped in the absence of the sun, and now the world would very slowly freeze.
In this night, the crickets were still, the wind slept, and a young vampire queen dreamed. A voice whispered to her, powerful and deep. It called to her, coaxed her, and made promises. It chuckled, dark and delicious, when she tried to turn away. It was no use. Where did she think she could go?
*****
In this night, a young female werewolf and healer among her people dreamed of ancient symbols, of eclipses, and of walking along the banks of a river. She dreamed of ancient gods, unrequited love, and cataclysmic revenge. She dreamed of her twin children, the medallions of protection around their young necks, and the city that waited on the river’s west bank… quiet and dead.
*****
In this night, a force archaic, dark and cold enjoyed a quiet victory. He’d wanted the 13 Kings together in one place. And he’d succeeded. Love – and the fear of losing that love; they would work every time.
Now thirteen codes simmered within him, growing and strengthening. All he needed was time… and unintelligible amounts of magic.
The latter he would have thanks to the radiant treasure he kept in the next room, locked up safe and sound in a forced slumber.
He had promised his brother that she would be his, one way or another.
He always kept his promises.
*****
In this night, a ginger cat with intelligent gold eyes paced patiently around the base of a cold stone sarcophagus. Nothing else moved in the secret, locked chamber. Hieroglyphs several thousands of years old crumbled along the walls. The flames in the torches burned low but steady.
Like the eternal companion and guardian that it was, the cat came to the foot of the tomb, sat down, and glanced up at the heavy lid as if hoping it would slide to the side. When it didn’t move, the cat calmly curled its tail around its paws and waited.
Catch the heart-pounding continuation of the unfolding saga in book three of The Kings series, The Warlock King, release date to be determined.
Check out Heather’s critically acclaimed paranormal romance series, The Lost Angels, rated 4 ½ stars by Romance Times:
Always Angel
Avenger’s Angel
Messenger’s Angel (June 5th, 2012)
Death’s Angel (January, 2013)
Warrior’s Angel (TBD)
The Last Angel (TBD)
Read on for excerpts from these tantalizing treats.
Excerpt from “Always Angel,” the ebook-only introductory novella for the Lost Angels series, by Heather Killough-Walden
Angel crossed the room, her eyes glued to the screen whe
re several news crews and reporters crowded around a limousine and the man getting out of it. She tossed the remote onto the couch nearby and stood still at the center of the living room, her breath catching as the man on the screen straightened to his full impressive height and scanned the faces of the people around him with stark, stormy gray eyes.
He was dressed as she’d always seen him of late, in a crisp charcoal gray suit, tailored to perfection. His tall, strong frame fairly towered over those near him, his ash-blond hair in stark contrast to the dark material of his clothing. He was painfully handsome. He always had been.
But now, draped in the finery that his wealth afforded him and highlighted by the luminescence of the street lights on the sidewalk, he was living, breathing charisma. Angel found it hard to look at him. Her chest felt tight, her mouth dry, her throat constricted.
His jaw was strong, his nose Roman, his chin darkened lightly by a touch of scruff he had yet to shave. The lightning in his eyes sliced across the crowd, and Angel knew he was taking everything in. A more keen gaze had never existed.
They shoved microphones in his handsome face – but not too close. They asked question after question, but not too demandingly. The world wanted to know; they wanted to suck up every tiny piece of information they could about Samuel Lambent. This man. This glorious, gorgeous, larger than life man.
“Samael,” Angel whispered, not even realizing she’d done so. As if he had heard her – clear across town and before the television news crews, Samuel Lambent stilled, his gaze cutting to the camera whose angle now aired the picture before her. For the tensest of moments, it appeared as though he looked right at her.
Through her.
She held her breath. It was meaningless and ridiculous, but it was impulse. A heartbeat passed. Another. And then Lambent was once more glancing away, his attention apparently caught by one of the multitude of questions the public was hurling at him.
((Always Angel is available now.))
Excerpt from “Avenger’s Angel,” the first full-length book in the Lost Angels series
by Heather Killough-Walden
Now Ellie turned to face Daniels, who was still leaning against the bookshelf, watching her. In the next split second, he straightened from the shelf, closed the distance between them with two purposeful strides, and pinned her to the customer service desk, one strong arm braced against the counter on either side of her.
Eleanore inhaled sharply and her heart did a somersault in her chest.
“I have to go to a big party Thursday night. Come with me,” he said. He was so close, his breath whispered across her lips—it smelled of licorice and mint.
“W-wha . . .” she stammered. Then she dry swallowed and tried again. “What?”
She heard a faint cracking sound and glanced down to see that his grip on the desk behind her had tightened. She turned back to face him and watched as his gaze flicked to her mouth and back.
“Ellie,” he said, as if testing her name out on his tongue. “Here’s the thing,” he continued softly. “I need a date to a big promotional party in Dallas. A gala. I don’t know anyone in Texas. You were kind enough to let me hide in the women’s restroom.” He smiled an incredibly charming smile. “And I appreciate it,” he added. “So I would be honored if you would consider being my date next week on Thursday.”
Eleanore took a few seconds to digest this. There was a part of her that simply couldn’t believe her position at that moment. She was being cornered by Christopher Daniels, against her own customer service desk, and asked out on a date. But despite the impossibility of it all, she knew she wasn’t dreaming. This felt too real.
He was so big. So tall and . . . he looked hard—everywhere. And his nearness was doing strange things to her. He smelled good. The leather of his jacket and whatever aftershave or shower gel he’d used were a heady, highly tantalizing combination. There wasn’t an ounce of him that wasn’t pure masculinity, from the set of his jaw to the smooth, determined sound of his voice.
“You’re not answering,” he said, once more glancing at her lips as he’d done before. He seemed to be leaning in closer now, and Eleanore was finding it more difficult to breathe. “Does this mean you’re considering it?”
Christ, I’m falling for this jerk. I’ve barely met him and I’ve already got it bad.
She tried to swallow past a spot in her throat that had gone dry. She wondered then, as she gazed up into those impossibly colored eyes, how many women he’d done this to lately. He was good at it.
He’s an actor, she told herself. Of course he’s good at it.
That was a sobering thought. She blinked and felt her own gaze harden. He seemed to notice, because something flashed in his eyes and his gaze narrowed in response.
“You’re serious,” she said in a low voice. “You don’t know anything about me and you want me to just agree to go out on a date—in another city—with you.”
“I know enough,” he told her plainly. “And yes. I want you to go out on a date with me.” He paused and then added meaningfully, “Very much so.”
((Avenger’s Angel is available now.))
Excerpt from “Messenger’s Angel,” book two in the Lost Angels series
by Heather Killough-Walden
Juliette’s head cocked to one side when she heard a motorcycle’s engine draw closer outside. She paused in her work and listened. The roar of the bike didn’t die down; it got louder as it approached, obviously turning onto the side street that ran to her cottage.
And then it shut down altogether and she froze in the following silence. Someone’s here. Cortisol and adrenaline flooded her blood system, putting her stomach in her throat and momentarily causing her heart to race. Footfalls, determined and certain, made their way across the gravel driveway to the sidewalk. Juliette swallowed hard and looked toward the small windows of the cottage bedroom. But she was on the second floor and they would show her nothing.
She thought fast. There were no weapons in the cottage. In fact, other than the two guns she’d seen on Chief Inspector Angus Dougal, Britain gave the impression of being firearm free. An entire bloody kingdom and not one weapon.
Juliette’s heart was hammering. She turned to the door as the footfalls made their way up the outdoor flight of stairs and came to stand on the threshold on the second floor. There was a hard rapping on the sliding glass doors.
Juliette ran her palms along her jeans; they’d begun to sweat in her fear. Was this an Adarian? It wasn’t the inspector. He drove a car. It wasn’t Lilith. She hadn’t made any sound at all after she’d left, and had probably just used some sort of magic.
The rapping at the door came again, a touch more insistent this time. Juliette had no idea what the emergency number in Scotland was. Not knowing what else to do, she picked up her cell phone, dialed the cell phone number that Angus Dougal had given to her, and left her thumb hovering over the “talk” key. Then she stepped through the door of the bedroom and into the living room beyond.
Gabriel Black stood on the other side of the glass doors. His pitch-black, wavy hair looked wind tossed. He wore motorcycle boots, black jeans, and a tight black sweater beneath a black leather jacket. He stood tall and dark and his eyes were hidden behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses.
The sudden image of him there, only a few feet away, with that touchably messed-up hair and all that leather had a strange effect on Juliette. She stopped in the living room and watched him warily, even as her stomach warmed and her legs grew wobbly. Gabriel reached up with a gloved hand, and as his perfect lips curled into some secret sort of smile, he pulled off his shades.
Quicksilver, Juliette thought. His mercury gaze shot through the glass doors to nail her to the spot. His smile broadened and she heard his chuckle through the thickness of the glass. It was a delicious sound.
Before she knew what she was doing, Juliette found herself walking across the living room to the doors. She hesitated only a moment, glanced up at him as he continued t
o smile down at her, then unlatched the door and slid it open.
“Good day, lass,” Gabriel drawled, his eyes sparkling like diamonds. “May I come in?”
((Messenger’s Angel releases June 5th, 2012 and is available for pre-order right now!))
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Heather Killough-Walden, The Phantom King (The Kings)
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