by Amanda Fleet
Old memories and fears made me hesitate too long. Stephen closed the gap faster than I thought he could move given his shape, and he yanked me backwards by my hair. I drove my elbow backwards, to little avail, then grabbed his thumb, wrenching it back until I almost dislocated it. The sword dropped from his grip to lie tantalisingly close on the turf. Before I could grab it, Stephen pinned both of my arms back, gripping them at the elbows and wrenching them until my wrists were at the small of my back. I tried to stab him with the dagger in my hand but he twisted me, making pain shoot through my whole arm and shoulder. A thin, cruel smile settled on Aegyir’s lips and he stepped forwards and plucked the dagger from my hand, dropping it on to the short grass alongside the sword.
“Open the portal, Aeron. Invite me in.”
“Never.”
He took a long look at me as if weighing up options, and punched me in the face, forcing me back against Stephen. He might not be able to kill me, but he could certainly inflict considerable damage on me.
“Perhaps I should get your brother to kill you. I know he wants to.”
“He is not my brother.” I turned my head and spat blood. “Hit me all you like. I am not inviting you anywhere.”
Aegyir shrugged. “Regardless. He would happily kill you even without instruction from me, but I think you would choose death.”
“And I’m no use to you dead, am I? A dead Guardian can’t open the portal. And as you say, I don’t see any other Guardians around here.”
“You surprise me, Aeron. Betrayal has been one of your defining characteristics. Yet now, after all these years of banishment and all the hatred The Realm has shown you, you still will not say four simple words.”
“No. I will not.”
In the corner of my eye I could see hi-vis jackets on the track across the field. Polly had called the police. They weren’t going to get here for a good few minutes. I needed to kill this fucker before then. All those years of Finn teaching me self-defence were not going to be for nothing.
As I looked back at Aegyir, he made a small motion with his head towards Stephen. Stephen hurled me down on to the boulder as if I weighed nothing and splayed my right arm and hand across its smooth surface.
“Aeron the Guardian. How well do Guardians function with only one hand?”
Aegyir crouched and picked the sword up. My breath shuddered as he positioned the sword. If he leaned on the hilt, the blade would slice down through my wrist, like a butcher jointing a carcass.
“Invite me in,” he snarled. “Or lose your hand.”
My eyes darted to the police. How long could I hold out? Aegyir tilted his head to one side.
“You think I would not?” he said, his voice silky.
A scarlet line was already beading along the edge of the blade. Still my head was screaming at me not to meet his request. In the corner of my eye, the rock face shimmered. Stephen shifted his weight fractionally and I sensed a chance.
Before I could act, pain ripped through my right hand and I howled. The little finger from my right hand lay on the grass next to the rock and blood poured from my hand.
“Do not make me wait, Aeron. Next time it will be your hand. Invite me in.”
“No,” I sobbed, watching the stream of scarlet coat the boulder.
My scream had galvanised the police and the hi-vis jackets were now bobbing up and down at the edge of my sight-line as they ran up the path towards us. It was now or never to dispose of Aegyir. And if Stephen took the blame for my finger? Good.
I reached down with my left hand, my palm sneaking between the boulder and my stomach, and then on between my legs. Stephen was pinning me down with his weight, too focused on keeping my right arm stretched out across the boulder to concentrate on my other hand. I grasped at the soft tissue at his crotch and twisted as hard as I could. Stephen bellowed with pain and yanked me upright. I wrenched his scrotum harder and he released me. Clutching my right hand, I dodged backwards, twisting to the side to avoid a bone-crunching blow.
I grabbed the dagger from the grass, spun on the spot, and buried it to the hilt in the left side of Aegyir’s chest. Close enough. Black smoke began to pour from him and his face distorted into a twisted snarl. With Stephen still clutching his balls, I snatched the sword up. Pain screamed from my mutilated hand, but sweet revenge dulled it. I whirled the sword with an agility I didn’t know I possessed, the blade aimed perfectly. It sliced cleanly through Aegyir’s neck, with the softest of hisses.
“That’s for Finn, you fucker!”
Aegyir’s body was dissolving into smoke.
I turned to grab the jar from the gorse bush, just in time to see Stephen aiming a punch at my head. I ducked, but not nimbly enough. With a roar, he grabbed me by my jacket with his left fist while his right slammed into my face, his knuckles crunching into my cheekbone.
Stars danced and I reeled from the blow. Before I could recover, Stephen picked me up and hurled me head-first at the rock face behind us. Fleetingly, I wondered what it would feel like when my neck snapped. I closed my eyes, waiting for the impact, dimly aware of the column of smoke that was all that remained of Aegyir, dissipating into the air.
29
Pain ripped through me as if I was being sliced in half, and I fell to the floor, gasping, curled into the foetal position, my hand pouring with blood, my head ringing. My vision pulsed and I rested my forehead on my knees. The pain ebbed away, and I breathed more easily. I peered around. I wasn’t in the sunshine on the grass and I didn’t think I’d smacked my face into the rock and broken my neck. Where the hell was I? Fuck me gently, was this the Realm?
The floor beneath me was smooth stone: cold, hard, unforgiving. I heaved myself up until I was sitting, remnants of pain searing channels in my body. I was in a dark, narrow passageway with smooth walls on either side of me. In the gloom ahead I could see a faint green-gold light. The silence was oppressive, crushing me to the floor. My teeth began to chatter and not just from the cold.
I shouldn’t be here.
I clapped my palm around my right hand and let my forehead sink back on to my knees, sticky blood beginning to congeal against my fingers, pain screaming from the stump.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Who had whispered that? It had sounded right in my ear. My heart hammered against my ribs and I stared wildly into the murk.
“You shouldn’t be here. Aeron.”
The voice was insistent; the final word snarled. I tried to focus on my breathing the way Finn had taught me. Slow… Slow down. There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. It’s a dream. You’re unconscious and this is a dream.
I scraped my feet under me, my legs threatening to go from under me. Finn’s voice murmured to me: check your three-sixty. I took two long, shaky breaths and turned on the spot. The rock face behind me had disappeared, replaced by the same smooth walls that lined the long hallway. The roof of the place could have been two metres above me, it could have been two miles. The light, such as there was, showed nothing. How had I got here? Stephen had hurled me against the rock face. Was that the portal? How had I passed through a block of rock? Was it one-way? Could I go back? The police would be there by now. I’d be safe. I peered at the wall but it was featureless and I turned back to the hall.
Where the hell had they come from?
I froze. Standing in front of me were two tall, dark-haired men. They glared at me. If the place had felt unwelcoming before, it had suddenly become malevolent. They were dressed in brown leather trousers with medieval-style leather jackets on the top. One pointed a sword at my chest; the other wielded a knife. They were identical to the guys who cuffed me in my dreams.
“Er, hi,” I said, hearing the squeak in my voice with shame. “I’m—”
The guy on the left said something utterly unintelligible. He reached forward to take my arm, but I snatched it from him, whirling on my back foot and landing a kick to his ribs. I might as well have kicked a boulder. I heard the swish of a b
lade, ducked sharply and brought my elbow up under the guy on the right’s chin, before slamming the heel of my hand into the base of his nose. He staggered back, and I turned to deal with the guy from the left again. His fist drove into my face, sending me sprawling. I tried to get up, my head hanging, my vision swimming, only to fall back to my knees. The man I’d kicked grabbed my arm and there was a soft click as he cuffed my right wrist. He hauled me to my feet by the cuff, the metal biting into my skin. He growled another string of words I didn’t understand, though in the midst of it, I heard “Aeron.”
“Uh. My name is Reagan. Reagan Bennett.”
The other man brushed his hands over his body, looking at me as if he would happily murder me. His nose seeped blood, and he wiped at it brusquely.
My captor clicked the cuffs around my left wrist then grabbed my hair, forcing my head back. The cold of a metal blade rested against my neck.
His cheek rasped against mine and another string of gibberish spewed forth.
“I have no idea what you’re saying!”
He didn’t respond, propelling me along the narrow hall towards the greenish light at the end.
Christ, I was sunk. They thought I was Aeron, the traitor.
Who would be hanged if she ever returned to The Realm.
The End
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Aeron Returns
Guardians of The Realm: Book 2
Thrown through a portal into a world she thought only existed in her dreams, Reagan Bennett finds herself in The Realm: a place where everyone thinks she is the warrior Aeron. Unfortunately, Aeron was a traitor who was banished, and forbidden from ever returning to The Realm. No one is pleased to see her. Not even her husband, Faran, a man Reagan has dreamed about, but never met.
With no choice but to stay, Reagan has to fight not only the demon Aegyir, but all those in The Realm who are determined to be rid of her forever. Can she survive long enough to protect not only The Realm, but the world she once knew – Earth – from Aegyir’s murderous intentions?
Lies That Poison
Whose side are you on? Alys’s or Hannah’s?
When Tom Bowman moves to Yorkshire to start a new life, he meets two women who will change his life.
Alys is a young woman with a troubled past. Her ‘rules’ have kept her safe for the last few years, but as a relationship develops between her and Tom, is she prepared to break them?
Hannah is an elderly woman who is frequently confused, muddling the past and the present. She hates Alys and warns Tom that he’s in grave danger from the woman he’s falling in love with.
Tom has to choose who’s lying to him.
Believing the wrong person might make the difference between life and death.
Praise for Lies That Poison:
***** “Wow, wow, wow loved this book! One of the best books I've read this year! Couldn't put it down. Had me guessing all the time - is Alys a liar and a poisoner or is the old lady senile? The book very cleverly takes you back and forth giving you little clues drip by drip. Is Tom in trouble or not? Who does he believe - the woman he loves or the old lady he is fond of?
The storyline is thrilling and believable. The characters are well written and believable. A very enjoyable read.
If you like a well written psychological thriller go for this- you won't be disappointed!”—Kindle Customer—Amazon
***** “A gripping tale which kept me engrossed from beginning to end. I couldn’t put the book down.”—Barb Dee—Amazon
***** “A brilliant story that I didn’t want to put down. I don’t give 5* very easily and this one deserves it in spades. Stunning.”—Misfits Farm—Amazon
***** “I fell in love with Tom straight away and wanted to protect Hannah. This is a great story that you must read. I couldn’t put it down.”—Shamiela Ahmed—Amazon
The Wrong Kind of Clouds
Patrick Forrester is in trouble. Deep trouble. Someone wants him dead. In fact, lots of people want him dead, but one of them has taken him hostage. As he’s being bundled away, he manages to call his ex-lover, Summer Morris, and begs her for help.
Summer Morris, an award-winning photographer with synaesthesia, hasn’t spoken to Patrick for months. With good reason. But, he begged her for help, so she’s trying to help. Along with an off-duty police officer, Detective Sergeant LB Stewart, she gets swept into Patrick’s world of lies and deceit, in a desperate race against time to find him alive. Trying to unpick the knot of Patrick’s life takes them from an affair that could help bring down a government, to the dust and heat of Malawi, and a whole heap of trouble in between. If only they knew who wanted him dead, they might find him alive.
The trouble is, almost everyone wants Patrick dead.
Praise for The Wrong Kind of Clouds:
'Love your book! Lovely twists and turns and red herrings that kept me guessing right to the last. I do hope there are others in the pipeline. A series perhaps? Summer and LB are such good characters I would love to see them again.' —Alex Gray * author of the Detective William Lorimer series *
'A great read. I really enjoyed this book. Plenty of twists and turns and storyline threads that have you wondering right to the end, An interesting storyline set between Scotland and Malawi, a brilliant 1st novel and leaves you hoping for a sequel.' —Lisa Davies - Amazon review
About the Author
Amanda Fleet is a physiologist by training and a writer at heart. She spent 18 years teaching science and medicine undergraduates at St Andrews University, but now uses her knowledge to work out how to kill people (in her books). During her time at St Andrews, she was involved with two Scottish Government funded projects, working with the College of Medicine in Blantyre, Malawi. While in Malawi, she learned about the plight of the many street children there and helped to set up a Community Based Organisation that works with homeless Malawian children to support them through education and training—Chimwemwe Children’s Centre.
Amanda lives in Scotland with her husband, where she can be found writing, walking and running.
If you want to keep up to date with all of the latest news, go to
www.amandafleet.co.uk
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@amanda_fleet1
Acknowledgements
The Guardians of The Realm Trilogy has been a labour of love since 2014, one way or another. There are a lot of people who helped me cope with all the blood, sweat and tears along the way and I apologise profusely to anyone I miss out here. First and foremost, I need to thank my amazing editor, Fiona McLaren for all her advice, encouragement and work on all three of the books. Thank you. For telling me when things needed work (and how to fix it!), but also for telling me all the bits you loved. I also need to thank the fantastic circle of writing friends I have, who have held me together and supported me when things have been difficult, and who have been there to celebrate the successes. There are too many of you to list individually, but I do need to thank Jackie McLean and Tana Collins in particular. I also need to thank my writing buddy, Stuart Lennon, for all his advice and help (and for keeping me supplied with notebooks!). My wonderful beta-readers, Lisa Davies, Gerard McCabe, Jackie McLean, and Stuart Lennon helped both with early and late drafts. My thanks also to MiblArt, who did such a great job with the covers. And last but most certainly not least, my love and thanks to my husband, Colin, without whom none of these books would have happened.
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