Aching Silver
A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Novel
Amber Naralim
Aching Silver
Copyright © 2020 by Amber Naralim.
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations emboldened in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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http://www.ambernaralim.com
Book and Cover design by Designer
Pretty Pictures Ink.
ISBN:
First Edition: May 2020
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
The lunatics were the moon’s first children. Brimming with Prime, their beasts could not be bound by human flesh and so they spread by tooth and claw, victim begetting victim until their rage threatened to swallow the world.
Wild and mercurial, they were sculpted with the fingerprint of her rage. Make no mistake she burns white-hot with it. The sun hanging high in the sky is a benevolent ruler. Force his hand and he will scorch you. The moon offers no such warnings, only the chaos of her whim. Death, bloody and painful is the only answer the moon had for those who displeased her fickle countenance.
She created the Lunatics to bear her cruelty.
-A treatise on Lycanthropic Bloodlines by, Professor Maria Ornlock, Folk historian.
The wail of a woman drew the Moon to earth one night. She clung to the body of her dead child. The soul rending-pain of her loss touched the goddess and silver tears poured from her eyes. The goddess wept for what the malice of her rage stole from the woman.
The goddess took the boy in her arms and wove him together with light and shadow into a shackle of guilt. She hung it around the woman’s neck. And thus the Kin were given the gift of control. The Moon bade the woman teach the others the wisdom she was shown.
When the woman asked what to do with those who refused to learn, the Moon picked up a shard of her hardened tears and said, “Use my tears to send them back to me and I shall punish them.”
-Creation Myths of North American Werewolf Tribes by, Skald William of house Hawthorn.
1
Chapter
Blood strafed across the vanilla paint like a galaxy of stars.
The house had an eerie silence. No more screams. Where was everyone? Zoe couldn’t just keep hiding. Rallying her courage to go out there was a little easier than she thought it should be, in all honesty, though.
She twisted the knob slowly trying not to make a sound. Zoe grabbed one of several of Tate’s baseball bats, closing her bloodstained fingertips around it. Her hitching sobs were explosions in her ears. Fear twisted her stomach but it didn’t halt her step.
Her heartbeat slammed against her rib cage in a jarring rhythm, cringing at every creak the wood floors made. Her gaze jerked back and forth taking in every detail her frantic mind could hold onto.
Where did the monster go?
What happened to Tate?
They got separated. All Zoe could remember were his frightened expression and glassy blue glare as her father dragged him down the opposite hallway. She took the stairs two at a time to the main floor. A rectangle of silver quickened her pace.
Salvation! A way out.
Zoe gagged. The smell was putrid and sharp. Her face twisted in disgust, afraid to swallow. Worried she would spill the contents of her stomach all over the floor, just the thought had bile burning the back of her throat. She swayed with a wave of nausea. Her bare feet squelched and she froze, throwing her hands over her mouth to silence a yelp. The blood was still warm and thick oozing between her toes.
A husk of red meat sparkled with the beacon of the open doorway. She couldn’t look away. At first, her brain couldn’t make sense of what she saw. But slowly the pieces came together. A corona of blond hair hammered the final nail of understanding home.
Zoe fell to her knees sobbing next to what was left of the corpse of her stepmother. She reached out but hesitated, hand hovering above the flayed skin and crushed bones of what was once a pretty face. Maxine had told her to run. To hide.
Zoe just left her!
She left her and now Max was dead.
A creak from the stairs snapped her head toward them and left her inner turmoil to slosh against her insides. The sound killed her sobbing dead. Eyes wide, Zoe came up on her knees ready to bolt for the creaking door.
The blow to the back of her head was a total surprise. She collapsed to the floor with a meaty thud only outdone by the aluminum little-league bat bouncing and rolling toward the wall.
Unconscious.
A man materialized out of the shadows behind her, a Berretta M9 in his hand. He huffed out a breath, gaze bouncing around the struggle.
This was all his fault.
He had a job to do. A mission. And it all fell away the moment he looked at her face.
John huffed out a breath and hit the safety, slipping the pistol into the shoulder harness he wore. This family was dead. There was nothing he could do to fix that. The girl mewled, her head drifting to the right. Guilt dragged him down like he had pockets full of stones.
John made his choice.
2
Chapter
Izobel bolted upright a scream dying on her lips. Sweat beaded up and rolled down her back. She dropped her chin to her chest. Heaving breaths moved her body. Her lover rolled over pulling the sheets up.
“You all right?” Deklan asked.
She didn’t answer. Izobel leaned over, snatching her phone off the cluttered bedside table. She searched through her contacts with shaking fingers. Prophecy still coated her lips. It was all she could do to swallow it down without choking. Finally, she clicked on Zoe’s name and it rang distant on the other end.
“Come on. Come on. Pick up. Pick up damn it!”
“Izzy, it’s three in the morning,” Deklan said sitting up. He scrubbed both hands down his face like he could wipe the sleep away.
“I’m out doing fabulous things. You know what to do,” Zoe’s voicemail answered.
Izobel hung up and redialed.
Deklan threw back the sheets and padded naked to where his jeans lay on the floor. He slipped into them, giving her the time she needed to calm down and him the time to wake up before he tried again. He left the belt hanging open, the button undone. He bunched up his shirt and stretched it over his head. The red fabric settled over lines and symbols tattooed across his back and chest.
“Something’s wrong!” Izobel said more to herself than to Deklan.
He huffed out a breath and crawled back onto the bed. “She’s asleep, babe. It was a nightmare.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not your girlfriend,” she snapped.
Deklan’s jaw bunched. Deklan could taste the fear behind it and so he kept his tongue leashed rather than make it worse. Izobel was like a feral cat- all the more dangerous when she was hurt or afraid, and she could be downright lethal when she was cornered. He ran a hand over his spiky, sandy-brown hair working to keep his frustrations in check. He couldn’t let them spill over onto his expression.
Izobel climbed out of his bed. He rolled over to get out of her way and took a few telegraphed moments to slather delusions back over his damaged pride. Izobel pulled her tight black jeans over her thighs. She didn’t bother with a bra. She kept dialing and redialing the phone number.
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br /> “Damn it, Zoe, answer your fucking phone!” She yelled into the receiver. “I just really want you to be safe right now,” her voice softened with the last.
Izobel burgeoned on panic. Deklan crossed the floor and touched his hands to either side of her luxuriant black hair. He held her watery blue eyes.
“How can I help?” His voice was gentle. Serious. And even in the mood, she was in Izobel appreciated it. That look was how he managed to worm his way into her panties despite her better judgment.
She could see it in his face. He wanted this to be more than it was. Izobel needed the guidance of a teacher and his can-do attitude. What happened tonight was too much wine and not enough human interaction. She didn’t want to lose him. But Izobel didn’t know how to navigate the waters he’d plunged her into either.
“Can I borrow your car.”
“You’re planning on driving all the way to Augusta, Maine because she’s not answering her phone?”
“Something is wrong, Deklan! I can feel it. It’s coating my palms. I can taste her fear.”
“All right,” he said, hands up in surrender. Turning from her, he grabbed his shoes. He took that moment to let his expression rest, doing calculations in his head. “I’ll come with you.”
Izobel’s mouth dropped open. Last night was a mistake. She knew it then. She shouldn’t have led him on. Deklan was a standup-guy. But she didn’t want anything more than his body last night.
“I just need your car. I need to check on her. Them,” she corrected.
Twelve years and Izobel still hadn’t forgiven her father for remarrying. Zoe was too young to even remember their mother. She loved Maxine. Izobel couldn’t get past her blame. She liked Tate. He was a good kid. But she just couldn’t get close to her father’s new family.
Zoe was all she cared about.
Deklan opened his mouth to say something but snapped it shut again. He needed another way. He grabbed his car keys off the dresser and palmed a crystal. Deklan spent a few seconds whispering a chant with his back to her. The crystal deteriorated into gold dust over the keys. She’d already accepted them. The spell shouldn’t be noticed. He plastered a compassionate look onto his features and placed them in her palm with a sigh. He closed his hand over hers.
“Promise me you’ll call.”
“I’ll call,” Izobel promised.
He wanted to fight her on this. He was just afraid to push her. Izobel didn’t do well with challenge. She invariable rose up to fight it no matter what her best interests were. He nodded.
“Okay. I can have them ready if you need us.”
She gave him the smile he was hoping for. “Thank you, Deklan. I won’t forget this.”
Izobel slammed the door behind her and Deklan flopped onto the bed. His head fell back against his shoulders. He grabbed his phone and dialed Claudia’s number. The ignition rumbled through the open window and he thought once more about chasing after her.
Patience.
Patience was the only thing that worked with Izobel.
3
Chapter
John closed the door behind him. He crossed the tiles slowly, quietly. The bare bulb hanging from the ceiling shed a pool of dancing golden light painting his shadow larger than life on the wall. He set the tray down on a couple of stacked crates. Pulling at the blanket that hung from his shoulder, he draped it over her legs.
She was a pretty thing, delicate and thin, with skin pale and smooth as a china doll. Black hair puddled beneath her head. He plucked a rag from the tray and wet it in the bowl of water he brought. Johnny crouched next to her resting on the balls of his feet. He reached out for her hand but hesitated.
Johnny wasn’t ready for the guilt. He wasn’t ready for her fear. He wasn’t ready for the truth. Foolish a notion that he’d be able to keep it at bay was, he clung to it anyway. Johnny dabbed at the dried blood on her hands. His shirt was huge on her. He pushed back the sleeve. Johnny realized then that he’d gotten some of the buttons wrong.
What was left of her clothes were in the laundry but he figured they were toast. They’d have to do something about that eventually. Johnny brushed a swath of her shiny black hair back from her forehead. He liked the streaks of blue.
Her makeup was heavy. Purple eyeliner stained and smudged across her face. More dried blood in her hairline brought his attention to the swollen knot and gash he’d left. He hadn’t meant to hit her that hard. But unconscious was the only way this worked. At least, that’s what he told himself at the time.
Johnny huffed out a breath. He could hear them arguing upstairs in the kitchen. Nora did her level best to keep Abel from doing something stupid. Johnny didn’t hold out much hope for that either.
What was he thinking? Why didn’t he just do as he was told? It would have been kinder in the long run.
She mewled, her hand coming up to wipe at her nose and he had his answer. She was innocent. None of this was her fault. She didn’t deserve to pay the price for Isaak’s insanity or Johnny’s mistakes for that matter. He never meant to hurt her.
The dried blood on her hands screeched accusations. Any more of a price, Johnny supposed was a little more fitting to say. She had already been knocked off course by this. It was all he could do to keep her alive now.
Dust rained into the light. Abel’s heavy footsteps didn’t bode well. Johnny set the plate of sandwiches and glass of water next to her on the floor and made sure the door was locked behind him. He took the extra time to shut and lock the cage door and lay the heavy block of wood across it as an added precaution. The moon still hung high in the sky. But the Lunatic cry was finished for now. He closed his eyes. Steeling himself for the fight he was about to walk into, he straightened his shoulders.
“Calm down, Abel. It’s done,” Connor said tossing a grape in his mouth. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorjamb.
Abel turned on him, eyes on fire, mouth dropping open to scream. But catching sight of Johnny coming up the basement stairs he rushed across the floor, fists tight at his sides.
“You!” He pointed. “You had one damned job. If I can’t trust my brothers to do what I say what’s the goddamned point?”
“I told you, she broke free!” Johnny argued.
Abel narrowed his eyes, jaw bunching. He couldn’t gauge if John was telling the truth or just had the perfect excuse. Either way, someone had to do this.
“Move,” he commanded.
Johnny’s expression went hard. Determined. “We don’t have to do this.” John stood his ground.
“Tell that to the family that was butchered!” Abel bellowed.
“That’s not her fault. You want to blame someone. Blame Isaak.”
Silence stretched between them, so tense any movement at all might trip the bomb. Standing near the sink, her ample bosom heaving, Nora’s mouth dropped open to say something but Connor beat her to it.
“He’s right. Murdering his victims won’t stop Isaak.”
Abel glared Johnny down. He didn’t flinch. Abel growled turning from him, he knocked everything off the table in a violent swing of his arm. Abel stomped out the front door slamming it so hard the wood splintered.
Connor blew the breath he’d been holding free. “Well, that went well.” He slid his hands into his front pockets, shaking his head.
Johnny dropped his head against his shoulders.
“You have a plan, sugar?” Nora asked, ever the voice of reason.
Johnny made a face that was far from encouraging. “She broke free. I swear it.”
“That buys you a month. Maybe.” Nora crossed the floor and touched the side of his face. “I’ll talk to him. But you need to figure out what you’re going to do, John.”
He nodded.
She shot Connor the weak edge of a smile. “He’s just trying to do what’s right.”
Johnny couldn’t be sure who she was trying to convince more, them, or herself. He palmed the back of her head. Her blond curls spilled through
his fingers.
“This isn’t your fault either, you know,” he whispered. “Don’t let him use it against you.”
Abel was a good man but Isaak blinded him. Changed him. Abel lashed out at all the wrong people especially when he was hurting. Nora proved herself pack. He wouldn’t let Abel fuck that up too. Nora’s smile was a breathtaking thing, warm and sweet, and loving. She pulled him in for a hug they both needed.
“It’s going to be all right. It has to be.”
The phone on the counter rang. Again. Connor picked it up. His eyes swept the photo that popped up on the screen. The same shiny black hair as their hostage, though hers had a wave to it. The woman had classically beautiful features. A little older, but not much. Delicate cheekbones and a strong chin balanced out heavy eyebrows. They had the same striking, blue eyes.
Connor chewed on his bottom lip staring at it. The name Izzy showed one last time as the call went to voicemail. He sighed and shut the phone off. He was sick of listening to it ring.
4
Chapter
Izobel pulled the Jeep in close to the curb and shut the ignition off on Billie Holiday’s soulful croon. The house was dark. It was somewhere around one in the morning. The place had an eerie aura that coated her skin, thick and sticky. Her head ached with the echoes of divination.
She got out of the car. Every bone in her body told her to stay here. Don’t go any closer. Izobel exhaled, straightening her shoulders. She moved toward the house. The night was heavy. Darkness ate away at the edges of the world. Something fluttered in the distance.
Izobel picked up her pace.
“No,” she said aloud. “No, no no no no.”
Izobel ran the final few feet. She grabbed hold of the yellow police tape strung across the front porch and ripped it away. She shouldered the door. It wouldn’t budge. She stopped. Izobel forced herself to think through the panic bubbling up inside her. She turned, jumping off the porch. A tasteful border, decorated with rocks, fenced in the shrubs. She plucked a larger rock near the stairs. It was lighter than it appeared. Izobel flipped it over and pulled the spare key from its depths.
Aching Silver (House of Wolves Book 1) Page 1
