Queen of Storms

by C. N. Crawford

  Queen of Storms

  Institute of the Storm Fae: A Demons of Fire and Night Novel

  C.N. Crawford

  Katerina Martinez

  Copyright © 2019 by C.N. Crawford

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 1

  The assassin showed up while I was showering, my peach hair full of peppermint suds. I’d left my clothes in the bedroom. This plan was not working out exactly as I’d hoped.

  My spine stiffened as floorboards creaked outside the bathroom door. What, exactly, am I supposed to do next? My thoughts whirled.

  I’d known the assassin was coming. In fact, I’d lured him here, and it’d been easy, too. These people actively hunted witches, and I’d used enough magic to catch their attention since I’d gotten here. I just hadn’t planned to be stark naked when he arrived.

  A bit of apprehension skated up my spine as he drew closer. Most people were terrified of the Storm Fae—the powerful, lethal killers who used magic to keep control over much of Europe. They called themselves “knights,” like they were noble. Ha. As far I was concerned? They were murderers with no moral code.

  Right now, I stared down at my body as I worked out a plan. Soap slid over the constellation of tattoos that whirled around my arms. I’d be facing the killer in nothing but a towel … assuming I could even get to the towel. The doorknob started to turn, which meant I had about two seconds to— Not enough time for the towel.

  Mentally, I chanted a quick prayer to the God of storms. Only he could protect me now. Taru, give me strength….

  As the door opened, my pulse raced. Steam curled around me. I couldn’t see the intruder through the shower curtain.

  I ripped the plastic curtain off its rings, hastily wrapping it around my body. Then, I stared up into the eyes of the enormous Storm Fae. Bloody hells. They grew them big here. The assassin barely fit in the tiny bathroom, his body thickly corded with muscle. Golden hair hung to his shoulders.

  Taru, you sent me a beast of a fae.

  He’d come armed to the teeth, every inch of him strapped with glittering steel. His deep blue eyes bored into me, and he stood with that preternatural stillness found only among ancient fae—those who belonged to the wild forests and not to civilization. Tension tightened his jaw. If I made the slightest unpredictable movement, he’d have a blade at my throat. His powerful magic whispered around me.

  For just a moment, I had an image of what I must look like in his eyes—the naked, soapy female in a dingy bathroom with cracked green tiles. Prey. The mildewed shower curtain covered in cartoon monkeys was wrapped loosely around me. Sodden little wretch.

  Truth was, I had more power in me that he probably realized. But I’d be keeping it hidden for now, all that power trapped deep down in my belly.

  As we stared at each other, hot water streamed from the showerhead onto the side of my face. With my eyes locked on the intruder, I turned the knob. Keep your wits about you, Cora.

  “What are you doing here?” I feigned ignorance.

  He cocked his head, the movement precise. Then, his gaze lowered down my body, as if he were peering right through the curtain. Whatever the case, he was unnerving me.

  “Cora Thursday,” he said in a voice that filled the room. “Do you know what the punishment is for unlawful use of magic?”

  “Death.” Everyone knew that.

  Silence filled the room again, and goosebumps crawled over my skin. His very presence seemed to ice the steam out of the air, and yet I needed him to get into the Storm Fae’s Institute. The sheer, rocky fortress was completely impenetrable. Getting captured was my only way into their dungeon.

  Here’s what had happened: a few weeks ago, the assassins had imprisoned my oldest friend, Wren. I’d seen it all in my scrying mirror. I’d seen her sitting in the Institute’s dungeons. Unless the Storm God spared her, she’d be executed by these monsters in two weeks.

  I didn’t really have a lot of options right now. So, my plan was simple: One, get thrown into prison with my bestie. Two, bring her the medicine she needed to live. Three, use my powerful magic to blast us out of there, killing whatever Storm Fae we needed to kill on the way out. Four, return to London to gorge on pizza and beer, and forget all about this sad little episode.

  And that’s how I’d ended up in this shitty situation, wrapped in plastic and facing off with a muscled maniac.

  The killer narrowed his eyes at me. “Do you know how our captives are killed at the Institute?”

  Oh, for crying out loud, can we just get on with things?

  I didn’t actually know the specifics, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t plan to let them kill me. “All I know is those who resist the Storm Fae are sacrificed to Taru on the spot. Those who go willingly are thrown into a dungeon and slaughtered. But the good news is, the Storm God spares a few per year.”

  “Good girl. And do you know why we kill those who disobey our laws?” His voice was rich and deep, and trembled up the bare nape of my neck.

  “Yes.” I clutched the shower curtain tight to my body.

  It took me a moment to realize he wanted an actual answer.

  “Oh, you want me to…? Okay, I don’t usually have conversations with strangers while I’m naked. It’s a little awkward.”

  His keen gaze pierced me, prompting me to go on. He really did not care about the awkwardness.

  I cleared my throat, ready to trot out my knowledge. “The Storm Fae knights of the Institute hunt supernatural outlaws to keep order in the human realm. You keep supernaturals in their respective worlds where they belong, to prevent the anarchy and magical wars that ravaged the earth decades ago,” I recited like a schoolgirl. “And to keep the peace with humans, with whom you have an alliance.”

  His powerful magic thrummed over my body, making me shiver. I could actually feel his disgust for me along with his magic. “And who are the only creatures in the human realm permitted to use magic?”

  “The knights of the Institute, such as yourself.”

  “So, you’re not completely ignorant,” he said. “You live in a filthy hovel like a simpleton, but you apparently have some ability to think.”

  Yes, well … best throw me in your dungeon, then.

  He sniffed the air, then took a step closer. He seemed to be … examining me. He growled, and the low sound rumbled in my gut, sparking a primal urge to flee. There would be no running, though. I had a mission, and I’d see it through.

  He flashed his canines, a threat of domination. “You’re fae. Your magic feels powerful. You don’t belong in this realm. That means you’ve broken our
laws.”

  I swallowed hard. “I got locked out when the worlds closed. I can’t open the worlds, can I? Only the Institutes can do that. I’ve just been lying low, bothering no one.”

  “Not only are you fae,” he went on, “but I can feel the strength of your magic. You’re a fae sorceress. You deserve the most painful of deaths.”

  “I’ll take the dungeons, thanks.”

  His eyes bored into me. “Let’s see it, then.”

  I blinked. For a moment, I thought he wanted me to drop the shower curtain. “See what, exactly?”

  “I want to see your magic in action.”

  What? No. He was just supposed to take me to the dungeon so I could rescue Wren. I didn’t want to put on a display of my magic. “I will go willingly to your prisons. I’ll pray for Taru’s mercy. I think that’s the best course of action.”

  “Show me an attack spell.”

  I frowned. “If I attack you, you’ll kill me right now. I’d prefer the dungeon, if it’s all the same to you. Taru could save me.”

  “It’s not all the same to me.” He drew his sword. “If you don’t attack me with your magic, I will kill you right now.”

  What the actual hells…?

  This was not part of the plan.

  He pointed the sword at me, and it crackled with powerful gray storm magic. “Attack spell or immediate death.”

  Was there any way I was actually going to make it out of this alive?

  “Now!” he barked, the tip of his sword at my throat, his voice rumbling through my gut.

  Adrenaline surged. I uttered one word, and Taru’s power filled my body. A bolt of electrical energy raced down my arm, along my fingertips—and it struck the fae in his chest. His enormous body slammed back against the wall, cracking the tile, smashing the ceramic sink. The scent of burning flesh curled through the air.

  Panicking, I scrambled out of the tub, still clinging to the shower curtain, and stumbled into the hall. I’d be able to think more clearly with clothes on.

  Sadly, though I had many impressive skills, running in a shower curtain wasn’t one of them.

  I reached my bedroom, still gripping the plastic as I searched for my one clean outfit. Now that I was seeing my place through the eyes of a fancy knight, I could understand why he’d called it a hovel. Cracked concrete walls, a stained carpet, a single mattress on the floor, and dirty laundry all over the place. Total shithole.

  I was crouched down, one foot in a pair of clean knickers, when the knife at my throat stopped me cold. The shower curtain had slipped, exposing my tattooed back, and chilly air rippled over my skin.

  I froze as I waited for his next move. If it weren’t for my powerful magic, I’d be completely vulnerable.

  My gods, he’s recovered fast. I should have hit him harder.

  I spoke slowly, gaining control so I wouldn’t stutter like I sometimes did when stressed. “I will go with you willingly. I just want to get dressed.”

  I tried to shove down the fear that I was about to die wearing nothing but a monkey shower curtain. Wren. I’m doing this for Wren.

  The killer leaned in closer, crouching over me to whisper in my ear. “I could kill you now if I wanted to.” Heat from his body warmed me.

  “But you won’t.” Good. This was promising. To the dungeons with me.

  He took a long time to answer, his blade pressed right against my jugular. I stopped breathing for a moment. One way or another, these would be my last moments in the little hovel.

  “I’ll go to the dungeons,” I breathed, “to await the execution and pray for Taru’s mercy.”

  “Stand, then, prisoner.”

  And there we were. A success, at last.

  “Fine.” I exhaled. “I just need to get dressed.”

  He pulled the knife away, but still loomed over me. “There’s no time for dressing up.”

  “What?”

  His magic crackled on his sword once more, an unspoken threat.

  Wren awaited me in the dungeons, and I didn’t have a choice.

  Gritting my teeth, I snatched a coat off the floor. It would have to do. Most importantly, tucked in one of the pockets was the medicine Wren needed to survive.

  Chapter 2

  The bastard hadn’t even allowed me to get shoes on before we left my flat. Just the belted coat, which came to mid-thigh, and a pair of knickers. I was basically walking around like a barefoot flasher right now.

  Had this been London, I’d have been freezing my tits off the moment we stepped outside. But this was Gibraltar, a sunny little British rock on the southern tip of Spain, where the bitter cold of the north didn’t reach.

  I shoved my hand into my pocket, smiling slightly as it brushed the little plastic bag full of herbs. Right now, Wren would be gasping for breath in her cell, but once I got the herbs to her, she’d be breathing clearly again. By Friday of next week, we’d be back in London, getting buzzed at a roller disco.

  “Prisoners walk behind the knights,” the assassin snarled.

  “Seriously?”

  He shot me a look that suggested he might rip out my lungs. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

  No, you look like someone who tries to fill the empty, loveless void of your life with aggression. You arm yourself with phallic symbols because masculinity and possession of a penis are what define you in the absence of real relationships. You’ve basically strapped yourself with a dozen metal dicks.

  But instead of saying that, I just sullenly said, “No,” and walked barefoot over the pavement behind him. I guess he wasn’t worried that I might escape, because I wasn’t cuffed, and his eyes weren’t on me.

  I squinted in the sunlight. I hadn’t known what to expect when I came down here to Gibraltar to look for Wren. I’d heard “the Rock,” as the locals called it, was British with a flavor of Spain. That they were just as comfortable eating a paella as they were eating a Victoria sponge cake. I’d imagined a quaint little place.

  Instead, I’d arrived to find a loud, busy mini-metropolis crammed with an international airport and tall buildings. I found more cultures and faiths crammed into one spot than seemed safe. Somehow, though, the humans here all made it work—and the Institute ruled it with an iron fist from their craggy bastion of power up on the Rock.

  Gods only knew what had lured Wren here in the first place. She’d seemed a bit depressed in the weeks before she’d left, keeping to her room, sleeping during the day. But nothing to indicate she was about to go on the run.

  If she’d stayed with me in London, we’d be eating cereal and watching soaps on the telly right now. I’d also be wearing a bra and not walking barefoot behind a complete arsehole.

  Sir Metal Dicks moved swiftly. We were off the main street within minutes. As we walked, humans looked up at him with fear, scuttling away like bugs into the shadows. That could have been the weapons gleaming from every inch of him, or the fact that he was a seven-foot slab of walking muscle, or it may have been his irritatingly divine appearance. His golden hair shined against the grim sky. No one paid me a moment’s notice, despite my insane outfit.

  I tore my gaze away from him and stared up at the Rock. A craggy mountain that loomed above the city, it dominated the vistas around it; a stark exclamation point at the end of the European continent. A low, gray mantle of clouds hung over the top, reducing what should have been bright sun to little more than a suggestion.

  I’d heard the Rock itself looked a little like a resting lion with stony paws and haunches. From here, I could make out that shape; a proud, regal stone, roaring defiantly. And if I really strained my eyes, I could see the Institute’s black parapets and towers piercing the thick clouds above the Rock’s highest peak. Ice danced up my spine as I squinted at the forbidding spires. That’s where I was headed.

  For reasons I didn’t know, the Storm Fae used a powerful glamour to keep the Institute itself hidden from human eyes, but I could see it there, piercing the clouds. A dark, spindly crown on the lion’s hea
d.

  The scrying mirror had showed this exact fortress to me when I’d asked to see Wren. She’d been missing for two weeks when I tried the spell, and I had been shocked to find she’d ended up here. It had to be right, though. I’d used hundreds of scrying spells in my life, and never once had I screwed them up. I’d be with her in no time.

  The buildings around us grew older and more crooked as we passed into Old Town. Often, my view of the Institute would be obscured by the tightness of the back streets, but my gaze always gravitated back to that black castle. Wren’s prison. A glimmer of light glinted off one of the tallest windows, then a huge shadow crossed in front of the sun, like a dark god sweeping before it. I sucked in a breath of air, fear and shock causing me to shudder all over.

  What the hells was that?

  Maybe it had been a trick of the light, a shift in the way the clouds poured over the Rock. I tried to find it again, waited for it to show up, but it was gone. Had it been some sort of winged demon?

  Sir Metal Dicks shot me a sharp look. “Keep moving. We don’t stop until we reach the castle.”

  “What’s it like inside?” I didn’t imagine I’d see anything beyond the dank walls of the dungeon.

  “It’s entirely different than the filth you’re accustomed to.” His contempt for me could not have been clearer.

  “And the dungeons?” I asked.

  “Dirty, rank, and wet. Like you when I found you today.”

  My mind churned. Damp, probably full of mold. Wren would have a hell of a time breathing in there. She had a lung condition. From the fae language, it translated to something like the curse of breathlessness. Her windpipe would close, and the only thing that could help her was a special concoction of herbs that I’d figured out how to make when we were kids. With the right medicine, her lungs opened up.