The Men of Otherworld: Collection One

  Yugi’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

  “You’re in luck.” She stopped by one of the hall phones. “Let me call upstairs and have Arralyn bring it down.”

  Yugi motioned Chase aside. “I’m so sorry for interrupting your evening. I just wasn’t sure what to do and—”

  “No worries, man. I think we both welcomed the interruption.” Chase hadn’t intended on spilling the beans, but he was so disappointed that he couldn’t keep it out of his voice. “I don’t think the date was a good idea.”

  Yugi cocked his head. “But you guys are great together. You get along, you have a similar sense of humor, and I know Sharah’s attracted to you.”

  “That’s all well and good but we had nothing to talk about—shush. Here she comes.” Chase stopped talking as Sharah returned to their conclave. “Arralyn on the way?”

  “Yes, he’s bringing down several doses. Be very careful—if even a drop of this stuff gets in the blood stream of someone who’s still alive, it can paralyze the lungs. Which translates to: deader than a doornail.” She suddenly stopped and turned toward the door of the morgue. “Guys, we have company.”

  At that point, the door burst open and three zombies shambled out. They were definitely dead, that much was obvious, and it had happened not all that long ago. Chase started to reach for his gun but then remembered that zombies didn’t respond to being shot. They were already dead, for one thing. At that point, Chase also realized that the hallway wasn’t all that big and there were only two exits—through the other side of the morgue to the stairwell, or back up the elevator. The former would require going through the zombies.

  “Unless one of you has an axe, I suggest retreat!” He grabbed Sharah’s arm and turned to race toward the elevator. Yugi was right on their heels. But the zombies were too fast and the elevator seemed to be hung up on one of the upper floors.

  Chase swore. Damned zombies seemed to be getting faster every year. He glanced around. There were two doors in the hallway—one to a restroom, the other to the janitor’s closet. Yugi was already hightailing it for the janitor’s closet, but one of the zombies was too close. If Chase and Sharah tried to join him, they’d be within striking range. Sharah grabbed Chase’s hand and made a mad dash for the restroom. As soon as they were inside, she hit the lights on and locked the door, leaning against it as one of the zombies began to beat against it.

  “Thank gods this is a one-person bathroom,” she said, looking around. “Otherwise it wouldn’t have a lock on it and we’d be hip-deep in trouble.”

  Chase looked around. Usually bathrooms in medical facilities had phones, but this was the morgue level, where the patients usually didn’t need help. He looked around for someplace to sit, but the only choice was the toilet and somehow, that seemed so indecorous.

  Sharah seemed to notice his predicament. “Oh go ahead. Sit down. I don’t care.”

  Grateful, he lowered the seat and sat on the john. “Thanks. I guess I’d better call upstairs for some help.” He pulled out his cell phone and punched in the front desk’s number. A few minutes later, he glanced back at Sharah, who was studiously ignoring the grunts on the other side of the door. “They’ll be down as soon as they get the manpower back in the building. Right now, nobody upstairs has ever fought a zombie and Arralyn isn’t about to come down here without an escort. So we’re stuck for awhile.”

  Sharah let out snicker. “Well, you have to admit, this is turning out to be one of the worst dates on record.”

  Chase winced. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened at your place. I choked, I guess. Everything seemed so strange and awkward.”

  Sharah laughed. “You felt that way too? I thought it was just me. All I could think about was, oh my gods, I’m dating the man who hired me and how the hell can I compare to his last girlfriend?”

  Chase blinked. It never occurred to him that she would compare herself to Delilah. “You’ve got to be kidding. You’re worried about me comparing you to Delilah?”

  Sharah glanced down at the floor and her smile vanished, replaced by a nervous twitch of the lip. “Well…she’s…look at her. She’s incredibly athletic, she can turn into a cat and a panther, and...she fights demons. I’m just an elfin medic. I can’t help but wonder why you guys broke up? Why did you ask me out?” And right there, her voice cracked and she covered her face. “I can’t believe I just said that. You must think I’m horrible—but…”

  Chase slid down on the floor next to her, his nervousness forgotten. “I had no clue you felt that way.” He reached out and took her hands. Outside the door, the zombies were at it again, thudding against it like a herd of demented elephants. Chase shouted at them. “Will you shut up out there, you freaks?”

  Sharah laughed, then. Not much but it was a start. “I don’t think they’re going to pay any attention to you, even if you do have a badge.”

  Chase snorted. “No surprise. Not that many people do, anyway.” He sobered. “Seriously, I wish I had known you felt this way. I could have set your mind at ease. Okay, ask me whatever you want. Please.”

  She blinked, and the blue of her eyes touched his heart. They were soft, and caring, and he realized just how incredibly sexy she looked with her hair streaming down the sides of her face. She was blonde, like Delilah, but she was also…different. Sharah had a vulnerability that she couldn’t hide.

  “Okay. Why did you break up with Delilah?”

  Chase licked his lips. “I haven’t told anybody this. The only one who knows is Delilah herself—and probably her sisters. What one knows, the others do. Sharah, I love those girls—all of them. I really do. But Delilah needs someone who isn’t going to constantly wish he could run to her rescue. I always want to be that guy. Don’t get me wrong, I love and respect strong women, but I don’t think I can ever be the guy at the front of the pack with her. I’m human. I’m a cop, not a warrior. Even with the Nectar of Life, I’m still so…weak compared to her.”

  Sharah nodded, soberly. “In Elqaneve, we have a saying. Thinkers plan the wars. Warriors fight the battles. Without one, the other cannot function. Both are necessary, and both have their places. But it’s hard for a thinker…a planner…to match pace with a warrior. And vice versa.” She paused, then cocked her head to one side. “Is that the only reason?”

  Chase smiled gently, taking her hand. “No, I didn’t break up with her just because I can’t run to her rescue. I’d be a poor excuse for a man if that were the only reason. Ever since I was given the Nectar of Life, I’ve been changing. The future seems so nebulous now. Before, I had it all planned out and now—conceivably, I have a thousand years ahead of me. I have no clue what that might bring. It’s not that I don’t want to commit to a relationship, but Delilah…a thousand years with her? I don’t think it would work.”

  “If your heart tells you that it was the right decision, it’s good thing you paid attention.” She paused, then shook her head. “Wait…did you say you broke up with her?”

  Chase grinned. “You thought she broke up with me, didn’t you? You were just too nice to say so. You think that I’m nursing unrequited love and regret?”

  Sharah blushed and covered her face with her hands, laughing. “I admit it—yes, I did. I thought I was—”

  “A rebound fling?”

  “Something like that.”

  Chase scooted over so that he could slide his arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him and it felt like a perfect fit. “Sharah, I never ask anybody out on the rebound. And I never ask anybody out that I don’t find attractive, or interesting.” He tipped her head up so she was staring him in the eyes. “I asked you out because I like you. You’re lovely and talented and…I asked you out because I wanted to do this.”

  Slowly, he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. As he sunk into the kiss, the scent of orange blossom and honeysuckle coiled around him and he lost himself in the feel of her soft body pressed against his. Eventually, someone would come destroy the zombies, but for n
ow, he thought, the morgue bathroom seemed like the perfect place to get to know one another.

  Ink Bonds

  There was a point where Trillian realized he needed to find Camille again, and this time, he would never let her go. This story takes place shortly before Witchling.

  Trillian strode through the city. Y’Elestrial hadn’t changed a lot since he’d last been here, but he had changed. Last time he left, he swore he’d never return. When Camille had rejected him, he’d pursued her, begged her to reconsider, but she had shut him out and refused to see him. Even though they were connected by an unbreakable bond, she’d pushed him away and sequestered herself in her house. So, he had walked out of the city, angry and seething. That had been twelve years ago, and during all that time, he had thought about her every day. Every time he touched another woman, he saw Camille’s face. Every time he heard a throaty laugh, he would turn around, hoping to see her standing there. But he never thought he would actually step back through the gates of Y’Elestrial. Until he was hired by Queen Asteria for a mission that he couldn’t refuse. One that might give him the chance to find the love of his life. Again.

  Trillian stared up at the palace, then back at the orders in his hand. The last name on the paper brought back good memories. The first one? Bad memories.

  Darynal clapped his back. Trillian had asked his blood oath brother to come with him because otherwise, he wasn’t sure he’d have the courage to go through with the job.

  “You okay? You still want to do this?”

  Trillian nodded. “Yeah, but to tell you the truth, I have no clue what I expect.” His gaze rose, following the spires of the ostentatious palace. “I don’t even know if she’s working for the Y’Elestrial Intelligence Agency. I seem to remember her telling me she was being transferred to another department the last time we were…on again. And if she is here, will her father even tell her I want to se her? He sure as hell won’t be happy to see me. The man hates my guts.”

  “How long has it been since you and Camille talked?” Darynal crossed his arms over his chest, shivering as a gust of wind blew past. The day was chilly. Autumn was well under way and within another moon, the snows would begin to cover the land.

  Trillian let out a soft sigh. “Which time? We got back together and broke up so many times I think we both lost count. The last time—before she shut me out completely—was about three…four years ago. We always met in secret before that, after the initial breakup. Her family would have had a fit and the same with mine. But we couldn’t keep away from each other. Finally, though, she left me for good. Fucking backgrounds worked against us.” His heart ached with the loss. He’d never gotten over her, though he wouldn’t tell anybody. But Darynal could sense it and Trillian knew it was safe to confide in him. Darynal and he walked the same path—both outcasts, though it might not appear so to those who weren’t privy to the inner workings of the Svartan race.

  Darynal nodded. “What are you afraid might happen when you go in there?”

  That was an easy question. “That I won’t find her. That her father will turn me away.” Trillian paused, then his voice softened. “Maybe…That she’ll be there and I’ll talk to her and…” And…what? What did he really fear? Was he really afraid that Camille would refuse to hear him out? Or was he afraid that she might say yes and might listen. That their passion might come cascading back? Because he wasn’t sure that he could go through another breakup. The last time had been almost too much.

  “There’s only one way to find out, man. Come on.” Darynal started walking toward the palace.

  After a moment, Trillian joined him. He’d taken on the mission and been paid, half in advance. And Trillian honored his oaths. The message he carried was dire and had to be delivered, so he might as well get it over with. The papers weighed heavily in his hand, and not just because they were addressed to Sephreh ob Tanu—Camille’s father. No, the information in the message spelled a change for both Otherworld and Earthside. Trillian had been over through the portals a few times, and he knew more than he let on about the world they had left so long ago.

  Though the message was supposedly sealed, Trillian had managed a peek. He was very good with ferreting out information when he needed to, and from the start, he had felt he needed to know what was was going on. In a way, he was sorry he had found out—now he was privy to information that could shake the foundations of two worlds, if they knew.

  “What did your father say when you hired on with Queen Asteria?” Darynal knew the best way to take Trillian’s mind off his impending meeting, and that was to bring up something conceivably worse.

  Trillian gave him a scathing look. “What do you think he said? I was already walking on thin ice. It was bad enough before I met Camille and it’s gone downhill ever since. Even after we broke up, my father told me that I had brought too much shame to the family name. When I accepted the commission with Elqaneve last year, he told me to leave and never darken his doorway again. He revoked my standing, erased me from the family tree, and took away my name. That’s why I started using Zanzera—my aunt Leelee said I could take her name. She was cut off by the main branch of the family, too.”

  Darynal nodded. “I met Leelee once, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, when we stopped at her house for dinner on that hunting trip out in the Southern Veil? Remember I asked you not to mention it to my parents? If they had known that I stepped over the threshold to Leelee’s house, I would have gotten the hiding of my life.” Trillian wiped one hand across his eyes. There were so many politics to worry about at home. It had almost been a relief when his father had turned him away for good and Trillian had left the Subterranean Realms.

  They were standing at the foot of the palace. Spacious and ornate to the point of being gaudy, it reflected the queen within. Lethesanar liked her opium, and she liked her bling, and the more addicted she grew to the drug, the more lavish her spending became. The stirrings in the underground were that civil war was in the offing. Rumor had it that Tanaquar—Lethesanar’s sister who had vanished some years back—had banded together with an army and that they were planning a coup. But rumors could be wrong, and best to work with the powers that be, rather than the powers that might never come to the throne. At least until the changeover.

  Trillian was a pragmatist. He’d watched friends get mowed under when they gotten caught up in ideals, when they chose the wrong cause, the wrong side, the wrong battle. And now that Svartalfheim was readying itself to relocate to Otherworld from the Subterranean Realms, everything was up in the air. Turmoil was the name of the game, and he watched every move he made. That was the way to survive, and Trillian had made it through some dicey spots before.

  As he and Darynal lightly ran up the steps to the central doors, Trillian flashed back to the last time he’d seen Camille—their last parting.

  “I can’t believe you are doing this again. How many times do I have to tell you, I am not like the rest of my people?” Trillian couldn’t believe they were here, in this place, again. How many times had they stood at this point, and how many times had either he or Camille stormed out, ending their relationship for good this time?

  “I know how your family feels about me—about us. Eventually, you’re going to get tired of running from them. You’re going to want to go home and claim your inheritance. And I can’t go with you. I can’t live in the Subterranean Realms, and I can’t…I can’t live with people who hate me. I get enough of that here from my own relatives.” Camille dropped into a chair, rocking as she hugged herself tightly. Her hair trailed down her back, a cloak of raven curls. She gazed up at him, her eyes pale and flashing. She had been running magic heavily the past month, and the violet of her irises was almost eclipsed with the silver flecks.

  Trillian wanted to tell her that his father had thrown him out, once again. He wanted to tell her that he hardly ever saw his family, that they had turned their back on him. But his pride was still stinging, and the truth was, he wanted her to accept
him as was, with all his flaws, including his family. After all, he accepted her father and sisters hating him. He had ignored their taunts all the way through the time when he and Camille were openly dating. When she begged him to “Just give it a little longer, they’ll come to love you like I do.”

  He let out a long sigh and dropped to the bench opposite her. “You know I would never cast you off. I know what this is about. It’s about Rona, isn’t it?”

  Rona…the name weighed heavily on his thoughts. Rona was the woman his family had chosen for him to marry. They had made it clear that he was of age now and if he ever expected to be accepted back into the family and to inherit his share of the family fortune, he would return home and marry the King’s niece. His mother had even gone so far as to tell him, “Your father says you can bring your half-human whore, if you like, but make no mistake: She’ll always be part of your stable. You can never marry her and you’d better accept that now. Just come home, marry Rona, and fences will be mended.”

  So, Trillian had run back to Otherworld once again, seeking his fortune, hoping to stave off the argument till later. He hadn’t bothered to mention the incident to Camille, hoping to keep her from worrying. But neither had he counted on how cagey his mother was. And his mother had decided to take matters into her own hands. She had sent a messenger to Camille, telling her about the impending marriage, making it sound like Trillian had agreed. And she had informed Camille that she could never expect to be anything but Trillian’s lower-caste mistress.

  And now, here they were.

  Camille stared at him, tears trailing down her face. “I never expected to be monogamous—I don’t know if I can be. But I will never settle for playing second fiddle. And I will never live in a house that considers me a common whore.”

  Trillian reached out to wipe away the tears but she flinched. “I have no intentions to marry Rona. Or any other woman except you. But I can’t live here either, not with your father’s scorn. Come away with me. We’ll make our home somewhere free from family and duty.” Even as he said it, he knew it was a death knell to their relationship, because he knew Camille.