Taken by Storm

by Anna Argent

  by

  Also by Anna Argent

  The Taken

  Taken by Storm

  Taken by Surprise

  Taken by Force

  Taken by Storm

  The Taken, Book One

  By: Anna Argent

  Published by Silver Script Media, LLC

  Copyright © 2016 by Silver Script Media, LLC

  ISBN: 978-1-945292-01-9

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests, contact the author at anna@annaargent.com.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art: phatpuppyart.com

  Photographer: Teresa Yeh

  Editing: Julie Finley, Modern Elektra Editing, emmyedits.com

  Dedication

  For the hero I married and the hundred little things you do every day to show me how much you love me. Every day spent with you is a gift.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  About the Author

  Books by Anna Argent

  Chapter One

  Oklahoma, January 15

  The wrinkled old man stayed crouched for hours in the same shadowy corner of the library where Isa Telwyn worked, which was odd, because it was obvious that he didn’t know how to read.

  The large encyclopedia looked tiny in his huge, warty hands. He hadn’t turned the page since he’d arrived, but he kept peering over the top of the book at Isa like he was trying to figure out if he knew her. His face was heavy with folds of flesh that weren’t quite the right color, but the really strange part was that he didn’t seem to realize he was holding the encyclopedia upside down.

  Closing time was minutes away, and he didn’t look like he was going anywhere soon. His bulbous body sat folded into a creaky oak chair that strained to hold his mass. The cowboy hat he wore was too small for his round head, but it shaded his face, leaving only an impression of sagging skin, wiry whiskers, and oddly-shaped eyes.

  Wind howled outside as the winter storm front closed in. Tiny pellets of ice clicked against glass panes that had protected the books for so long they were rippled with age. The smell of old paper and aging wood wafted through the building as the fierce wind worked its way in through drafty cracks in the aging brick and plaster walls.

  The buzzing fluorescent bulbs overhead hadn’t been replaced in years. There weren’t as many as there should have been, thanks to cost-cutting measures, leaving the whole space a labyrinth of shadowy mazes with high bookshelf walls. Even the utilitarian carpet on the floor seemed to absorb light as well as it did sound. Footsteps were muffled, but the creak of aging boards underneath was easy to hear all the way from the back wall to the check-out desk.

  Mrs. Bird, the library’s oldest employee, shuffled toward the front desk, eyeing the strange man. Her white hair had thinned, but she still twisted the little wispy bits into a bun that was more bobby pins than hair. She settled her crooked hands on the back of a rickety chair too large for her shrinking frame. “It’s seven,” she said to Isa, confusion clear in her tone. “Why is he still here? Everyone knows we close at seven.”

  “I don’t think he’s a local,” Isa said. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “In fact, I don’t think he can read. I bet he’s been sitting over there all day, trying to work up the courage to ask about our classes.”

  “Classes are on Saturday. It’s Tuesday.”

  Isa stifled a grin at the seriousness of Mrs. Bird’s statement. She’d lived in Silver Gulch her entire life, and after eighty-eight years had a hard time remembering there were other places on the planet where people could exist. This town—this library—was the center of her universe, and Isa feared that if she didn’t get out of here soon, she would end up just like Mrs. Bird sixty years down the line.

  “I’ll go talk to him,” Isa said as she moved around the aging desk worn slick with use. “You should get home. The freezing rain they predicted has already started to move in, and you don’t want to be out driving in that stuff.”

  A look of stark terror bleached Mrs. Bird’s papery skin. There were only two things the older woman feared: a fire in the library and bad roads. “Are you sure you’ll be okay to lock up by yourself?” she asked as she removed the knitted sweater she wore every day—cold or not—and hung it on the back of her chair.

  “I am. Do you want me to walk you to your car?”

  Mrs. Bird pulled on her coat and slipped her purse strap over her arm. “And leave the library unattended with that stranger in it? No, thank you. I’ll be fine. You protect the books.”

  Isa seriously doubted that a man who obviously couldn’t read would steal their relatively meager collection of books, but saying so would only hurt Mrs. Bird’s feelings, so Isa kept her mouth shut about it. Instead, she held up one hand as though swearing an oath. “With my life. See you in the morning.”

  The tarnished brass bell on the front door chimed as Mrs. Bird left, braving the oncoming storm.

  Isa glanced at the stranger again. He’d been here for hours. She couldn’t even remember him using the bathroom. Whenever she’d passed by, he’d hunkered down and hidden his face. An odd musty smell hovered around him. Maybe he was homeless, using the library as a refuge from the storm.

  A pang of sympathy swept through her, but she couldn’t let him stay here. Maybe she could drop him off somewhere on her way home—assuming he had somewhere to go.

  She felt him watching her from beneath the brim of his too-small cowboy hat. There was something wrong with his eyes. They were obscured by shadows, but even so, she could tell they were misshapen. Tall and narrow, glinting with a bizarre orange color when a bit of light slipped in beneath the brim of his hat.

  “It’s closing time,” she called out as she gathered her purse and coat. “We open again at nine.”

  The man’s head shifted slightly. He’d heard her, but made no response.

  She pushed on with her hints that he should leave. “
We have several adult classes if you’re interested. Genealogy, computer skills, basic reading classes. We’d love to have you join us. Would you like me to sign you up?”

  He stood, and she could see now just how huge he was. Easily as tall as the bookshelves flanking him, he lumbered down the aisle. He moved slowly, carefully, as though he was trying not to knock things over as he passed. The closer he came, the stranger he looked. In fact, she was almost sure that he was sniffing. That, combined with his heavy jowls, gave her the impression of some kind of hunting dog.

  Warning bells chimed in her head as he got closer. She’d tried not to stare at him, worrying that she’d hurt his feelings, but now she’d wished she’d taken a closer look, or that Mrs. Bird’s eyesight had been a bit better.

  Some deep, primal part of Isa screamed at her to turn and run. Only her sympathy for him kept her feet pinned in place. She knew how she’d feel if someone ran away from her, screaming.

  His clothes were strange, rough—almost like burlap. Mismatched panels were laced together with leather and stretched over his thick body. He wasn’t wearing shoes, but his feet were wrapped in some kind of fur that was held closed with cord around his ankles.

  The logical guess was that he was homeless, but her instincts were telling her that wasn’t the case. Something here was off. Way off.

  Isa tugged her coat on and clutched her purse. The need to back away clanged through her, leaving behind a jumbled pile of nervous energy. “Sir? Are you okay?”

  He wasn’t. There was something terribly wrong about him. And as he stepped closer to the desk where her lamp sat, she could finally see under the brim of his too-small hat.

  His skin had a grayish cast, hanging in loose folds around his mouth and jaw, like a hound. Black, corkscrew whiskers poked out of his face at wild angles. He wasn’t just suffering from some kind of birth defect or odd skin condition. His eyes told the real story. She hadn’t been seeing things. They were taller than they were wide, with narrow, orange pupils.

  The man wasn’t a man at all—at least not a human one.

  Isa stumbled back, a squeak of shock springing from her mouth.

  He sniffed in her direction, and this time, she knew she hadn’t imagined it.

  “Child of House Loriah?” the creature asked, his words clear despite the extra skin around his mouth. “Come.” He held out his hand, and she saw now that he wore tight, flesh-colored gloves to mask his gray skin tone.

  “Uh. No, thank you. I’m on my way out.” As she grabbed her keys, the need to get away pounded through her.

  “Come,” he insisted.

  Not in this lifetime.

  Isa vaulted over the worn wooden counter, ripping the back seam of her long skirt, and sprinted for the door. She pushed on the cold, rippled glass. The bell had just begun its merry jingle when she was jerked back hard. Her shoulder screamed out in pain. Even through the padding of her winter coat, she could feel the bruising force of his grip around her biceps.

  Her back hit his front, and the fleshy folds of his body cushioned the blow. They jiggled and lapped around her, shoving his musty smell into her nose.

  She gagged at the stench, but that was the least of her troubles. His hold on her was too tight to break, especially with her damaged shoulder.

  But she still had her keys in hand.

  Isa reached over her head, ignoring the searing pain in her joint. She shifted her hold on her keys to shove one out like a small blade, and jabbed for his eyes.

  He whirled her around and leaned back, so that his eyes were out of her reach. But the rest of him wasn’t.

  Fear clawed its way up her throat, making her screams come out like the howl of a strangled, mewling cat.

  “No pain to you,” he said. “Be calm.”

  A sour, metallic taste filled her mouth, just as it always did when someone lied to her. She wasn’t sure where the bizarre radar had come from, but she’d had it all her life, and she certainly didn’t need it now to know that this creature definitely did mean her harm. Lots of it.

  He was so freaking strong, taking control of her flailing hands as easily as if she were a child.

  As the seconds ticked by, she was running out of options. As doom spiraled down on her, rage bloomed from deep inside, shoving aside her fear long enough for her to think.

  If this was a male—and she sincerely hoped it was—it would have some kind of dangling male bits for her to target.

  Isa gathered her strength, channeling every ounce of her fear and rage to her legs. Her knee came up in a hard, fast hit, right between his fleshy thighs.

  He went still for a split second before a low, pain-filled moan erupted in a cloud of acrid stench. His hold on her arms loosened just enough for her to jerk free. The move caused a white hot flash of pain in her shoulder, but she didn’t care. She turned and ran, pushing her way out through the doorway into the frigid night.

  The sidewalk leading to the library had been salted in preparation for the storm, but once she hit the parking lot where her car sat in the distance, her feet slipped on the thin layer of freezing rain that had already accumulated and turned to ice. She slid right past her car, her pretty dress shoes no match for the ice.

  A giant, four door truck pulled into the lot, its headlights bouncing off the frozen grass and ice-coated twigs. It braked as the driver saw her, but the tires skidded along the ice. Her dressy shoes might as well have been skates, easing her over the pavement in an uncontrolled slide.

  Time stretched out, and she saw herself gliding right into the path of the oncoming vehicle. The timing was perfect. There was nowhere she could go to avoid the collision. She couldn’t slow herself down. She couldn’t even shift her weight so that she fell out of the way. Two seconds from now, she was going down under several thousand pounds of steel.

  A deep sadness shoved away every trace of fear. She wasn’t ready to die. There were so many places she hadn’t seen yet. G’ma’s last few years had left her frail and unable to travel. All those promised trips to Europe had necessarily gone by the wayside. Isa had never even seen the ocean she dreamed about nearly every night.

  She was twenty-eight, and she’d never fallen in love, never held a child of her own in her arms. She hadn’t made a single, lasting mark on the world. Only the few residents of the tiny town of Silver Gulch even knew she existed.

  And now she was going to end up squished, bleeding out on the frozen, cracked pavement of the town library. Assuming the monster behind her didn’t get to her first.

  She couldn’t accept that fate. Life was supposed to be more than this. Her G’ma had always said she was destined for great things, and G’ma never lied.

  The passenger door of the sliding truck shot open. A man flung himself onto the hood, holding onto the door frame by one hand. In a move so graceful he had to be an acrobat, he propelled himself off of the hood, his powerful legs bunching as he launched himself at her.

  He flew over her, lifting her from the ground as he passed midair. His arms curled around her body, and she felt him turn her as they flew toward the grass. He landed first, taking the brunt of the impact. Her jolt was cushioned first by his body, then by their controlled roll into the bare bushes.

  They came to a stop. She was alive, but she couldn’t breathe. The air had been knocked from her lungs, sending a spike of primal panic through her.

  She laid there for a moment, trying to calm down and let the shock of what had just happened sweep through her, hoping it would open her airway. Heat from the man’s body protected her from the icy rain falling from above, but the frozen grass was cold and crunchy against her back.

  He looked down at her, his eyes wide with concern. She swore she could see little pinpoint sparks winking in his dark eyes, but that had to be her rattled, oxygen-deprived brain talking.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked. His voice was nice. Smooth, with a faint accent she couldn’t place. She tried to concentrate on that, rather than her screaming need for air.


  Isa opened her mouth to take a small breath, but her lungs seized on the cold air, refusing to function.

  His concern deepened, and he palpated her head for injuries.

  She pushed his hands away and choked out a faint, strained, wheezing sound. “Can’t breathe.”

  He didn’t even hesitate. His mouth covered hers, and a rush of warm air filled her aching lungs as he breathed into her.

  Isa was stunned stupid. First by his actions, then by the feel of his mouth on hers. It was hot, firm, determined, making her think instantly of the kind of kiss she’d always longed for—the kind of kiss that not one single man in this town had the courage to give her.

  As oxygen filled her body again, and the panic of not being able to breathe evaporated, she relaxed under him.

  His head lifted for a moment, and then again his mouth covered hers and another puff of warm air filled her.

  Finally, her lungs functioned again, sucking in a gasp of cold air all on her own.

  He rose over her, his lips damp from hers. “Better?”

  She licked her lips, tasting him there—clean snow and mulled cider. Some primal part of her woke up shivered in response, leaving her unable to do anything but stare.

  He had long, dark hair that fell toward her in thick waves. Along his right temple was an intricate braid laced with vibrant blue silk. It tickled some distant memory, and associated with that were feelings of warmth, trust and complete safety.

  She reached for his braid, stunned and off-balance. How could something so simple evoke such strong emotions? She’d never seen him before. The good ol’ boys around here sure as hell never wore ribbons in their hair.

  As soon as she shifted her arm to touch the braid, her shoulder exploded with a sharp pain.

  In that instant, everything that had just happened, including how she was injured, came rushing back to her. With it, a heaping load of fear.

  Her voice shook as she spoke. “Call for help. There’s a stranger in the library. He’s not… human.”

  The man pushed to his feet with the same powerful grace he’d used to leap from a moving vehicle. “Get in the truck. Stay there.”