Kiera Hudson & The Adoring Artist (Kiera Hudson Series Three Book 3)

by Tim O'Rourke

  Murphy would come looking for Potter. When neither of us returned and Murphy had regained his strength, he and the rest of The Creeping Men would come in search of us. Perhaps at first they would think us hurt or injured. But how long would it take for them to grow suspicious? How soon would it be before Uri and Phebe raised the alarm that I had not returned to my room at the Crescent Moon Inn? Christ, they interrogated me about my whereabouts and plans at every opportunity.

  But I couldn’t return to the inn. I couldn’t take Potter back there. The inn would be the first place that they would look. And even if it wasn’t – where could I hide a man that had become a wolf – a dangerous killer – lurking deep inside of him. Where could we both shelter safely until I had figured out what to do next? And what of Sophie? She was carrying Potter’s baby. They were soon to be married. Something told me that she would never stop looking for Potter. But where was I to hide him? I knew no one in this where and when. I had no allies and no friends. I had no safe place to run to. I couldn’t think of anywhere that I could keep Potter restrained and unable to hurt anyone until I had figured out…

  …but there was somewhere. How hadn’t I seen it?

  Stooping low, I heaved Potter up into my arms. The hair covering his body felt coarse. With the stars still scattered across the sky overhead, I looked up and closed my eyes. I pictured the Vampyrus in my mind. She strode forward, hair long, black, and shimmering blue. Her wings fluttered about her bare shoulders as they now did mine as I raced up into the night sky, Potter held tight against me.

  I dropped out of the night, soaring low over the wall that encompassed Bastille Hall. I flew close to the ground, wanting to be unseen. Through the trees, Bastille Hall sat on the far side of the vast lawns in darkness. There were no lights burning from within and I guessed that both Ms. Heather Locke and Miss Amanda Lovecraft lay sleeping inside. The last time I had been in the woods surrounding Bastille Hall, I had been saving Miss Amanda from being taken by the creatures known as the Leshy. She was one of them and they had wanted her back. But it wasn’t the cover of the woods I was searching for. It wasn’t in the shadows that the trees offered where I planned to hide until I had figured out what to do next. I was heading for the outhouse at the edge of the treeline where Edmund Lovecraft had kept his daughter chained like a prisoner so that she couldn’t cause harm to herself or anyone else. Just as Potter now struggled with the creature that dwelt inside him, so too had Miss Amanda. She had been consumed by the Leshy. But she had learnt how to master that beast so they could share the same body and soul. Potter would now have to learn how to do the same.

  Landing in the dark at the edge of the treeline, I carried Potter toward the unused outhouse. I looked back over my shoulder, just to make sure that I hadn’t been seen. When I felt sure that I had reached the outhouse undetected, I opened the door and crept inside. The bed where Miss Amanda had once been chained to by her father was still in the corner, as were the chains. Bending at the knees, I carried Potter to the bed. I laid him on it. He murmured something to me but I couldn’t quite hear what. Taking the chains, I placed them to his wrists and ankles then locked them tight. Satisfied that he was secure, I looked about the room. It was perfect. Before his death, Sir Edmund Lovecraft had covered the windows with wooden boards and they were still fixed firmly in place. No one would be able to see in. I looked down at the hatch in the floor that led to the tunnel which in turn led back up into Miss Amanda’s bedroom. I doubted that she still used the secret passageway. Why would she ever want to return to the place where she was held captive like an animal for so long? Surely that horrific chapter in her life was closed forever.

  I turned around at the sound of chains rattling and looked back at the bed. Potter was sitting up, his back against the stone wall. His eyes shone bright again and he was grinning. But it wasn’t like any grin I’d ever seen on Potter’s face. This grin looked cruel and unkind.

  “You were wise to chain me up, Kiera,” he said, his voice a low snarl. “But you can’t keep me chained up here forever. And when you do set me free, the first thing I’m going to do is to rip your fucking heart out.”

  With his eyes burning into mine in the darkness, Potter released a cruel and heartless chuckle. And in his crazy and wild looking eyes, I could see the pain and the misery he wanted to cause me. I could see him slowly torturing me, I could see him…

  I looked away. I couldn’t bear to look into Potter’s eyes and see the brutal death he had planned for me.

  To be continued…

  ‘Kiera Hudson & The Secret Identity’

  (Kiera Hudson Series Three) Book 4

  Coming Soon!

  Pre-order now from:

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  Want to read more about Jack Seth in his pushed world, flip the page to read the first three chapters from ‘Hollow Pit’ (The Jack Seth Trilogy) Part One!

  Hollow Pit

  (The Jack Seth Trilogy)

  Book One

  BY

  Tim O’Rourke

  Copyright 2013 by Tim O’Rourke

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Story Editor (Hacker)

  Lynda O’Rourke

  Book cover designed by:

  Tom O’Rourke

  Copyedited by:

  Carolyn M. Pinard

  Carolynpinardconsults@gmail.com

  For Jack’s Fans!

  Authors Note

  After the publication of ‘Dead Push’ (Kiera Hudson Series Two) Book 7, I was surprised by the number of emails I received asking if that was the end for Jack Seth. I honestly had no idea how many people really enjoyed reading about him. Ever since he made his first appearance in ‘Vampire Hunt’ (Kiera Hudson Series One) Book 3, I had always enjoyed writing about him. I enjoyed the character so much that I decided to have him play a major role in ‘Kiera Hudson Series Two’. I think Jack is one of those characters you either love or hate – or perhaps it’s more a case that you hate to love him. He really is a despicable guy with very few redeeming qualities – but there is something about him – and like all those people who emailed me or left messages on facebook – I wasn’t quite sure if I’d had enough of Jack either. I wanted more Jack too!

  There are several characters, in both Kiera Hudson Series, I enjoy writing more about than others (although like my own three sons, I love them all equally, but perhaps for different reasons). Some of those characters I have wanted to take further and look more into their backgrounds and understand them better. I have certainly taken that opportunity with the novellas I have written about Potter. So, as I wrote the last few lines for Jack Seth in ‘Dead Push’, I had the nagging feeling in the back of my mind that there were more stories about Jack that I could tell – his story wasn’t quite told. I had explored his past in great detail in ‘Dead Seth (Kiera Hudson Series Two) Book 4 – but what about his future? Where would he go, who would he meet and what would he do once he had strayed away from that railway station at the end of ‘Dead Push’? I had to know and I guess some of you did too.

  I didn’t want to take Jack back into the current Kiera Hudson Series and he didn’t want to go back either. He was quite glad he had been pushed. I think we both felt that he had done all he could in that particular layer. Jack felt he left the series on a
positive note after trying his very best to redeem himself. But for me that was his story – his further redemption was in his future and not in his past. So, Jack would move on into a different where and when from the other characters in the Kiera Hudson Series.

  So this novella is the first part of Jack Seth’s search for redemption and to finally rid himself of the Lycanthrope curse that has plagued his soul since he was just a boy. That has been his struggle, his demon and his story. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons why so many people out there like him so much, despite his horrendous flaws - because we all struggle with our own demons every day of our lives. Jack just struggles more than most.

  I have tried to write this novella so that if this is your first visit to Kiera Hudson’s world (this is just a thin slice of it) you will be able to enjoy this story without having to have read any of the previous books. For those Kiera Hudson junkies out there who just can’t get enough (and that is probably the demon you’re struggling with) there are certain things you will read and notice in this novella that I hope will give you a real kick and a knowing smile.

  Either way, I wanted to thank you for reading this book (what would be the point in writing any of them if I didn’t have you guys to share them with) but most of all, I really hope you enjoy reading further stories about our anti-hero, Jack Seth, as he explores this new where and when.

  Take care and keep pushing

  Tim O’Rourke

  Chapter One

  My name is Jack Seth and I’m a killer. I have a monster living deep within me and it’s a wolf. Sometimes that wolf comes to the surface – it kinda gets the better of me – takes over. Sometimes it’s difficult to find the right words, so you’re gonna have to bear with me. You could simply just fuck off and put this book down or delete it from whatever reading device you’re holding in your hands – but where would the fun be in that? We all secretly love a good killer; that’s why we name them. We big them up. Jack the Ripper. The Night Stalker. I heard about a cannibal who was nicknamed ‘Peckish Pete’. What the fuck is that all about? Whoever came up with that name must get their kicks hanging out in the emergency room. No fucking joke. Like I said, I’m one of those freaks you guys love to name. Besides, for all I know, you could be a killer, too – perhaps you’re ‘Peckish Pete’ – if you are, take that spleen out of your fucking mouth and pay attention. I don’t want to be a killer no more. Without wanting to sound too much like a Michael Jackson song – I want to make a change. Why? Because no one came up with a nickname for me. No – I’m just yanking your chain. That’s not the real reason I don’t want to go on raping and killing – the real reason is that I got shown another way. I don’t know if it’s a better way – it’s just different. And who showed me this different way? I don’t know if that really matters, and besides, I don’t want to talk about her. Not because I don’t love the girl, but because I don’t want to think too much about the past. I fear that if I do, I might slip back into my old ways. You know, the ripping and the tearing, the fucking and the torturing. No, I really don’t want to go back to that. That old life – that old world is gone now. I got pushed out of it and I’m so fucking glad about that. Everything about this new place is different. It feels different – looks different – and there is something new about me, too. I don’t know how to describe how I feel. Like I said – sometimes I struggle to find the right words. And if I think about things too much, then my head starts to hurt and I get to feeling a bit crazy. That isn’t a good thing – I know that for sure. Crazy isn’t good because I get thoughts in my head. Those thoughts are too nice, and that’s what scares me. Yes – I can feel fear, too. I’m scared for all you fuckers out there, because if I had the chance, I’d jump right out at you and fuck with you… see what I mean? My mind runs away with me and I have to be quick to pull it back. And that’s the difference. That’s how I feel kinda new. Because in the old world, the one I stepped out of, I had no control. Those crazy thoughts would pop into my head and I would go with them. They would take over and that’s when I was at my best… sorry… worst. That’s when the wolf would show itself. At first I didn’t notice the changes within me. I saw them in my younger brother first. I saw a change in Nik’s eyes.

  Nik had arrived at the station before me. He had died in the other world, just like I had, and found himself waiting at the station. He waited for me. You don’t need to know how he died, because if I told you I would have to think about her again and I don’t want to do that – it kinda hurts, and when I’m hurting… well, you can guess what happens… other people start hurting, too. What matters is that we both died trying in our own way to make amends for the many fuck-ups we had made. Whether either of us really made a difference by sacrificing ourselves, we will probably never know – but we tried, and that’s got to count for something. All you really need to know – to understand – is that death ain’t like you believe it to be. I’ve died twice now, and so has my kid brother – but I have yet to have the lights go out. A beautiful werewolf once told me that there are many different layers, and that dying is just like having the rug pulled out from under your feet. When you’re no longer standing on the rug, you fall into another layer. Some describe it as slipping through a crack, others stepping through a doorway, falling down a hole – I guess there are too many to mention here. For me, I pushed on some levers at a desolate railway station. That’s how I died, pushing on some signal point levers while a pack of bloodthirsty wolves tore my head clean off. But it wasn’t only the levers that got pushed – I got pushed too. And that’s another thing – dying isn’t just called dying. There are many different names for that, too. I like push or pushed – she liked that one too. Others prefer slipping, sliding, cracking, stepping, falling – the choice is yours, I guess, when you finally have the rug pulled out from beneath your feet and you end up in a different layer.

  As for the layers – each one is different – but not so much from the last. I’ve heard the layers being referred to as reflections. I like that – it kinda makes sense, as each layer is a distorted image of the last. They are not true mirror images – it’s like they have been tweaked – altered – somehow. Slight differences, but big enough for you to notice them. And although this new layer me and my brother Nik find ourselves in looks the same as the last – there are those subtle differences poking you in the ribs telling you that things aren’t quite the same as the last.

  Like I said, it’s not just the world that is different. People are different, and you will be, too. Sometimes the changes in you will be for the better – sometimes for the worse. For me and my brother this time around, I’m hoping we’ve changed for the better. I think I might be right about that. Why do I think that – hope that? It’s in his eyes. And mine, too. At first I didn’t notice, I was too busy trying to take in the new world we’d been pushed into. We stood together on the desolate platform, the wind blowing tendrils of dust over the cracked landscape stretched for as far as I could see in all directions. The station was similar to the one I’d been pushed from; it was constructed of wood, and had a small waiting room and ticket booth. Both had a sign out front attached to a wooden pillar that towered high above. In both worlds the sign groaned on a set of unoiled hinges as it swung back and forth in the wind. In the world I’d come from, the sign had read: The Great Western Railway. Here, the sign read: The Great Wasteland Railroad. They’re the subtle differences I was telling you about. Subtle – but there all the same.

  I looked up at the brilliant sun that seemed to spin high above. Its brilliance was so bright that the sky was white, as if saturated of all its colour. There wasn’t even a wisp of cloud. The earth looked scorched – like it had been set on fire and the flames had been left to rage until there was nothing left to feed on. The ground was cracked and blistered; the only thing bright on this flat, monotonous surface was the set of railway tracks that cut across the desert floor. They glimmered like two lines of silver as they stretched away from the front of the railway station
.

  The door to the station suddenly blew open, caught in a hot gust of wind. The sound of muffled chatter could be heard from within the waiting room. Those seated inside looked confused somehow – lost. Perhaps this was the first time they had fallen – got pushed – through a layer. They’d soon figure it out, I thought, turning back and looking at the railway tracks that disappeared into the distance. Untying the red bandanna that was knotted about my throat, I mopped the sweat from my narrow brow. My lips felt cracked, as dry as the desert.

  “What do you reckon?” Nik asked, standing beside me, kicking sand and grit from his worn boots.

  “About what?” I said, retying my bandanna and pulling the beak of my baseball cap down over my eyes.

  “This place,” he said.

  “Not much,” I said back, stepping down off the platform and onto the tracks.

  “Where are you going?” Nik called after me.

  “I’m going to follow these tracks,” I said, not glancing back, but looking into the distance. All I could see was where the white sky met the red scorched earth.

  “Why don’t we wait for a train?” he said, the sound of his boots clomping along the platform ledge.

  “I don’t think there’s been a train passing along these tracks in many years,” I said, pointing out to him the dry-looking weeds that grew between the sleepers and ballast.

  “”So what are those people waiting for?” he said, hooking his thumb back in the direction of the waiting room.

  “Fuck if I should know,” I shrugged. “I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”

  “Figure what out?” Nik asked, jumping from the platform and onto the tracks. Chips of ballast sprayed up from beneath his boots.