Shadows and Sorcery: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

by Adkins, Heather Marie

  Her left fist flies at me, but I see it coming a mile away. I block the strike, my right arm thumping against hers, intercepting her attack. That’s when I retaliate, my knee connecting with her stomach, forcing her to flex forward. At the same time, I shove the baton backward so that her fingers open.

  I lift the weapon right out of her hand.

  Flipping the baton into my right hand, I spin past her and whack it against her shoulder, forcing her to the side. I hit her in the same spot that she hit me. She drops with a cry, grabbing at her arm.

  Huh. I didn’t hit her that hard. Nowhere near as hard as she hit me. I’m going to have a whopping bruise later, but for now the calm will keep me pain-free.

  I adjust my balance and my grip on the weapon as she twists to face me, drawing herself upright, her angry eyes meeting mine. Her glare tells me she isn’t going to let this go.

  But at least she’s forgotten Parker.

  I have her full attention.

  One of the soldiers in the line behind her shouts, “Let us know when you want help, Brenna.”

  She smirks back at him. “She’s nothing I can’t handle.”

  I turn the baton over in my hand, testing its weight and balance. Sure thing, honey.

  She launches at me, one fist flying at my face, the other at my stomach. I block the first and evade the second. When she tries to grab my right arm in an attempt to retrieve the baton, I swing my left, thumping her squarely on the cheek. She rockets backward, but lashes out when I follow. She lets fly with strike after strike but I block each and follow up with a clip to her head, again with my left hand, which doesn’t have the power of my right. This time when she swivels back to me, I spin and kick, my foot connecting squarely with her torso.

  She flies sideways into the grass, ducking and rolling at the last moment, shaking herself as she jumps to her feet. For a second, I think she’s going to stop, but she barges right back at me.

  I’m tired of giving her second chances.

  I swap the baton to my left hand and go on the attack, my right fist a blur as I jab at her face, shoulder, and uppercut her jaw, all while using my left arm and the baton to block her attempts to attack, finally sweeping her legs out from under her.

  She lands on her butt on the turf.

  I tower over her. “Stay down.”

  She tests her jaw, her face red, raw hatred blooming in her eyes. She definitely wasn’t expecting me to know how to defend myself.

  She yells at the men standing to her right, “Get her!”

  I brace for impact, swiftly assessing the potential onslaught.

  It takes me all of a second to realize that Brenna isn’t talking about me.

  She means Parker.

  Oh, hell no.

  I race after the three guys headed for my friend, clip the first across the shoulder with the baton, grab the second and pull him backward, and thump the third full in the face. They duck and roll, and three more men take their place, launching themselves at me in what looks like a practiced maneuver. A crowd attack.

  I block the first with a kick to his face, but the second guy—the biggest yet—gets hold of my arm in a solid wrestling grip, forcing me downward. Two more men pounce as soon as I drop, one pinning my other arm and the other kneeing me in the back.

  They keep me down long enough for Brenna to cross the distance, bend, and land a solid hit to my chin. Right on my stitches.

  It’s a low blow, a dirty tactic. The cut opens up and the pain makes me angry. Oddly enough, it’s not because it hurts. It’s because Cain went to a lot of trouble over that wound this morning.

  So far, I’ve kept the attackers away from Parker, and if I can achieve that, then it doesn’t matter how much I get hurt. I’ve suffered worse.

  But what really chills me is that all of this is a practiced maneuver. A four against one tactic, as if they are trained to gang up on others. Those are mob tactics, the kind I experienced when I was younger. These assholes aren’t expecting me to know how to deal with them. What’s more, the idiot holding my arm hasn’t tried to take the baton away from me.

  My right foot shoots backward, knocking into the shin of the guy behind me. Because he has one leg propped on my back, he loses his balance as soon as I hit his standing leg. I continue my sweep, dropping the guy holding one of my arms. From there, it’s easy to dislodge the remaining man.

  I jump to my feet.

  I’m done being cautious.

  It’s time to use the baton and to hell with the damage.

  7

  I thump the weapon against the chest of one of the guys who held me down, spin and kick the other guy, stomp my foot down on the third before he can get up, and then whirl back to land another solid kick to Brenna’s chest, propelling her all the way back into the others. Two more kicks, a stomp, and a full fist ensure that all of the men who attacked me are down for the count.

  As they groan on the grass around me, I assess the rest of them, my chest heaving. There are at least ten more men and women itching to attack me. I can tell from the way their hands twitch and their feet shift, weight forward, ready to run into the fight as soon as Brenna orders them to.

  I’ll fight them all if I have to.

  The next woman I hit lands close to Parker’s location.

  Parker has curled up against the side of the building, pressing against it. I have the chance to look at her for the first time since the attack started. She’s in shock, curled over her knees, her soft sobs reaching my ears. The sound wrenches my heart around. She doesn’t deserve to be exposed to this violence.

  But I have no idea how to make it stop. Every time I knock them out, they recover. Short of killing them—which I could do, easily—I’m not sure what to do.

  They won’t stop.

  I want to scream at them. This is a game to them—a game of dominance. But it’s real life to me, and it’s a nightmare for Parker.

  All she wanted was some sun on her face.

  The cut on my chin has well and truly opened up. When I swipe at it, my hand comes away coated in blood.

  I’m a mess.

  But I’m an angry mess.

  As I wait for the next attack, ready for it, running footsteps thud behind me.

  Cain.

  I’m not sure how I know it’s him just from listening to his footfalls. He is quick, agile. He steps lightly. His presence is like a force. Maybe it’s the assassin’s ring and the strange magic in it. Or maybe it’s purely him. Either way, my heart lifts. I tell myself it’s relief. At least there will be two of us now.

  My back is turned toward him, but the assassins are facing in his direction.

  One of them shouts, “It’s Cain!”

  Murmurs ripple through the rest of them. “Cain is back.”

  The assassins in the background stand to attention and the ones on the ground pull themselves upright, glaring at me as if I’m a bug they want to squash. The way they look at Parker makes my blood boil. It’s as if her vulnerability is disgusting to them. But what disturbs me most is the way they look between Cain and me.

  They’re gloating. It’s like they think I’m in deep trouble.

  Brenna hisses at me before she steps back. “You’re fucked now, Novice.”

  Cain’s footsteps halt abruptly.

  I don’t want to take my eyes off the assassins, but I need to see what he’s doing. I risk a glance backward.

  He has frozen in the archway, his focus on Parker. His eyes fly wide, then quickly narrow, his response rapidly hidden behind an expression that resembles granite.

  Parker’s head is tucked down. She doesn’t see him. She’s shaking in a way that tears me into pieces. I never wanted her to be exposed to a fight like this. Ever. And now I can’t help her. She’s in shock, but all I know is fists and violence.

  When Cain steps quietly toward her, she flinches, making him freeze all over again.

  He moves away from her position and turns to me.

  I try to cover the
blood on my chin but it’s too late.

  He takes in the sight around him: the gloating assassins, my ruined stitches, and the baton in my hand. Last of all Brenna, who smirks at me.

  Cain’s gaze meets mine and…

  Damn. His furious eyes tell me he’s mad at me. Seriously mad. He probably thinks I started it, provoked them somehow. After all, I am Archer Ryan. It doesn’t matter how many times he calls me “Grace,” he can’t erase who I really am.

  His gaze shifts from me to Brenna. His voice is calm, dangerously controlled. “Brenna? Explain.”

  She points at Parker. “That Novice bumped into me, so I taught her a lesson.”

  “How?”

  She inclines her head at me. “With the baton.”

  Cain’s expression doesn’t change. He doesn’t move. “With a weapon you no longer control?”

  She frowns. “Well, I did at the time.”

  He inclines his head at Parker. “You hit this woman with it?”

  Brenna shoots back, “I tried to.”

  “What stopped you?”

  Brenna’s accusing finger swivels to me. “That one got in the way.”

  Cain’s next question is softer still: “Did you ask them who they are?”

  Brenna falters for the first time, glancing between us, but she pushes on. “They’re trainees. They need to learn the hard way—”

  Cain’s deep roar makes the assassins flinch. “They are not trainees!”

  He strides toward Brenna, his ring glowing, power visible like streams of electricity around his body. His voice lowers to a dangerous snarl. “The woman you tried to assault is my sister.”

  The blood drains from Brenna’s face. She backpedals so fast that she bumps into the men behind her. They don’t help her. In fact, they close up so she has nowhere to go.

  Cain stops short of touching her. I have no doubt that if she were a man, he would have punched her lights out. It’s a double standard, that’s for sure. I’d have no trouble doing it for him.

  She stammers, “I’m sorry, Master. I didn’t know.”

  Master? I narrow my eyes between them. Cain said Slade was the Master of the Legion, which makes Slade incredibly dangerous. If Cain is the Master of the Horde … well … that would explain a few things, like how he fights like a panther and why he only had to glare at an assassin this morning to make him back off.

  Cain isn’t finished. “The woman who put you on your ass is Grace. She is not a Novice, either. In fact … Grace is my woman. And she had every right to defend my sister from your unwarranted attack. Be grateful that she did, because if you had harmed Parker, you would not see sunlight for a very long time.”

  Cain’s declaration echoes in my ears. His woman?

  I try not to appear surprised. I fixate resolutely on a spot on the turf, completely thrown by Cain’s description of me. I’m nobody to Cain. I met him this morning. He must simply be using the best label to get everyone to back off.

  Cain twists a little, turned in my direction, demanding my attention, a dangerous smile on his lips as he looks at me. The way his gaze travels from my eyes to my toes sends shivers down my spine.

  When the silence stretches, Brenna curses. I guess this didn’t go the way she wanted. Each of the men who hit me hustles away from her as if they don’t want to be anywhere near her—or me for that matter. As if they could hide the fact that they were the ones who came after Parker and me.

  Cain pins each of them with his piercing gaze. “You will all report to me after dinner for my verdict.”

  Heads down, they murmur, “Yes, Master.”

  Cain narrows his eyes at them, his tone unforgiving. “What?”

  They stand to attention. “Yes, Master!”

  “Dismissed.”

  As the gathering clears, Cain makes it clear he’s done with all of them. He stops beside me long enough to murmur, “Help me with Parker, please. I’ve disabled the security mechanisms around the Cathedral. We need to get her inside.”

  Parker’s defensive reflexes kick in and she struggles when he tries to pick her up. I shush her gently as Cain’s assassin’s ring glows; seconds later she slumps against the wall. He catches her before her head slides to the ground.

  Alarm spreads through me. “What did you do to her?”

  “I’ve created an illusion inside her mind. A peaceful one. It will calm her, soothe her fears, and help her recover.”

  He scoops Parker up into his arms, carrying her inside the building while I follow. I brace for the danger I felt before when I stood close to this building, but it’s gone now, making me wonder what kind of security mechanisms he disabled.

  So far Cain hasn’t said anything about the state of my chin, but I’m sure he’ll tackle that problem as soon as he knows Parker is okay.

  I’m still holding the baton. I can’t let go of it until I’m sure I can collapse safely. The usual adrenaline drop is seeping in regardless. It’s like this place is magnifying the effects. What’s more, my back is sore. A dull burn grows in my shoulder blades that I’ve never felt before and can’t seem to shake. I squeeze my eyes closed and open again, putting all my energy into staying focused. I stumble a little but cover it by pretending to examine our surroundings.

  Paintings cover the walls—all originals. In some of them, titans battle each other. In others, winged women tear each other apart on the battlefield, their wings glistening and metallic. We climb the stairs to the highest level and my senses buzz all over again as Cain leads me down a corridor to the only doorway.

  We enter a large room with an expansive lounge and a small kitchen at the side. It’s like a whole apartment in here. A hallway on the right gives me a glimpse of a smaller bedroom and a study. A door on the far left leads to a larger bedroom with an enormous bed.

  Cain heads straight to the couch that rests against the far wall, gently laying Parker on it and covering her with a blanket, tucking it around her. He presses his left hand to her forehead for a moment, and when he stands up her chest rises and falls evenly.

  He strides to the kitchen area, pulls out a dish towel and raids the fridge, talking as he prepares an icepack. “Parker will sleep now. I can’t erase what she saw or the fear she felt, but when she wakes, the memory will be dull and easily forgotten.”

  There are a thousand memories I’d like to forget. I wish he could do that for me, too. But right now, my anger is stronger than any whimsical wish to erase my past.

  “Who were those people?”

  He hands me the pack of ice, which I place against my chin with my free hand. He is too perceptive to miss the fact that I haven’t put the weapon away.

  He says, “I think you know the answer.”

  My voice is sharp with dislike. “Assassins. And what about this place?”

  His gaze flicks to my chin, but he doesn’t try to touch me. “It’s called a Realm. It’s created by assassin’s magic.” He points to his ring. “All assassins have rings, but I’m the only one allowed to wear mine in the Realm, which is lucky. Otherwise your fight might have gone differently.”

  I retort, “I don’t think so.”

  He ignores my arrogant response. Okay, it was a bit brash, but I’d rather believe that I could beat them than not.

  He continues, “All Realms are invisible to the outside world. The Horde’s Realm occupies the same space as the Texas Capitol. You can only enter it with permission, which I gave you when I brought you with me.”

  He gestures to the room around us. “This building is called a Cathedral. It’s the Master Assassin’s home.”

  He pauses. “It’s … my home.”

  I continue to press the ice against my jaw, exhaling my frustration about what happened. “Cain … you should have told me that you’re the Master. When those assholes tried to push Parker around, I could have protected her with words, not fists.”

  He is quiet. “You showed me that you’re willing to put your life on the line for Parker. I should have known you would,
after what you did for Briar this morning. You protected Parker and you saved Briar’s life. I owe you for that. I have a lot of secrets, but I should have trusted you.”

  My anger deflates. Since he’s being honest with me, I decide to push it one step further. “What did Lutz Logan mean when he said it could have been you?”

  Cain folds his arms across his chest, but the way his expression saddens tells me it’s a protective gesture, not an angry one. “When Briar broke our Code, one of us was required to carry out her assassination. It would have fallen to me if Lutz hadn’t stepped up.”

  I’m starting to think the code he follows is completely screwed up.

  I sigh. “Why did you bring us here, Cain? What reason could you possibly have to expose Parker to all of this?”

  His arms unfold. “I had no choice. The Cathedral is the safest place in the Realm, protected by magic that will incinerate anyone who tries to enter without permission. That’s why I had to leave you outside so I could lower the protective spells. It’s also why I had to bring you here. Grace … you need to know…”

  His voice fades. My ears buzz. I miss what he says as darkness bleeds into my vision and ringing fills my ears. I’ve ignored it for too long in my quest for answers and now it overtakes me with vengeance.

  I grip the baton harder, but it doesn’t work. Despite everything, I don’t want to be vulnerable in front of Cain. Stupid pride won’t let me ask for help. My stupid heart is worried he’ll see me as a burden. I’m nobody’s burden.

  His voice becomes far away. “Grace?”

  My grip on the baton fails. As soon as it slips out of my hands, the burn in my shoulders flares like someone has lit me on fire. I gasp in a breath, stumble, reach out in the air, and swivel left, dropping the ice pack as I go.

  Bedroom. Bed.

  My hand shoots up—stop—as Cain tries to follow me.

  His forehead crinkles with alarm, but I won’t let him come after me.

  I manage, “No. Leave me be.”

  I reach the door, catch the handle, push it closed, take another step, and hit the floor.

  So much for making it to the bed. But as my head touches the carpet, the darkness doesn’t overtake me after all.