by Jen Pretty
“How dare you take over my life and flush it down the toilet?” I replied in the same tone.
“Now, ladies, this is…”
“Shut up,” we yelled in unison at Shiva.
“Lark, Vincent will see the error of his ways. He is to be the king. He will see.”
“He looked pretty sure of himself when he told us never to come back again. That was my home! All my friends are there!”
“He can't stop us. We will return once we have slain Mahishasura and he will welcome us.”
“He won’t!”
“You still have your Warlock,” she countered.
I threw my hands up and turned away from her. It didn’t matter, anyway. This whole discussion was ridiculous. Vincent wasn’t mine. Neither was Frankie. My life was killing vampires, and that was all. I would be alone forever because that was the life they handed me. Everyone close to me died. It was better this way.
The sneaky smile vanished from Durga's face as I turned around, but I saw it. I knew she had read my thoughts. Fuck her. I didn’t care anymore. I would kill vampires and forget about everything else.
✽✽✽
“You with us?” I was lying on the ground in the tunnel. Drew stood over me.
I nodded and reached up to rub the sore spot on my head. I guess I could thank Durga for that since she apparently pulled me into meditation while I was still on my feet. I would just add it to the list of pain caused by the stupid ancient deity.
Drew helped me to my feet, and Singh rubbed his head on my stomach. Luckily Drew hadn’t let go yet because I nearly toppled back over with the rough handling by my lion. I wove my fingers into Singh’s mane.
“At least I’ve got you, eh, buddy?” His purr grew loud enough to echo down the tunnel, and I laughed unhappily at the thought of spending the next hundred years with my lion companion. I could be the crazy cat lady.
His head tipped up, and his fat, abrasive tongue ripped across my chin.
“Ouch, you shit,” I said wiping my face on my sleeve. That would definitely leave a mark. “Let's get out of here. I need to sleep for a week and drink a lot of good Russian vodka.”
Drew nodded and turned to lead us out, but Singh’s low growl filled the tunnel, and a figure stepped out from the shadows.
“Please?” Alex said, his hands raised in the universal sign of surrender. I tried to call my knife to my hand, but Durga, of all people, held me off. “I want to explain.”
“Explain why you double-crossed me and locked me in a cell to die?” I asked, rage burning through my veins.
“It was part of the plan. It had to be that way. I had no choice.”
I stared at him in shock. “You are trying to tell me that was part of the plan? You know what? I don’t even care. Durga doesn’t want you dead, so just get out of my sight.”
“I promise it will all make sense, eventually. We will meet again,” he called to my back as I walked away.
I strode on, honestly not caring. I wanted to sleep and drink and then go slaughter as many shitty vampires as I could find. This was my life. I would live it.
Back on the street, we were miles from the Red Square so took the metro back downtown. Vilen gave me his coat to hide the bloodstains on my shirt, but I still felt conspicuous in my hip waders. People stared at me.
A little boy across the train from me kept waving every time I looked at him. He reminded me of the boy in vision the witch had sent me. Elliot. He had the same soft hair and big eyes, but that was as far as the resemblance went. This boy didn’t have Vincent's features or mine. He didn’t look at me like I was his entire world. My heart broke a little more. I would never know a boy that looked like that.
I was still thinking about Elliot as we reached the hummer. I looked up to find Frankie leaning against the back bumper, his arms crossed over his chest, one boot crossed over the other in his classic bay boy stance. The look on his face was different though. Like he had seen a ghost.
“Hey, how did you find us?” I asked, but he continued to study me.
“Who is Elliot?” He finally asked.
Of course, he would pick up on that. Damn mind reader. I didn't want to talk about it yet. It was like a raw wound. My mind had trouble accepting I didn’t lose my little boy because I didn’t have one.
“There was a witch in the tunnel, and she used a spell to make me think I had a son.”
Frankie looked away and bit his lip.
“What is it?” I asked, stopping in front of him. I wanted to curl up in his arms, but he had them crossed over his chest and didn't reach out to me. The team went about loading their things into the trunk and climbing into the vehicle.
“Had you just woken up, Lark? Did she catch you in between?”
“No, I was just walking down the tunnel.”
He nodded and rubbed his hands over his face. “He looked like Vincent.”
I stared at him for a minute. He was acting weird, and I did not understand what he was… then it occurred to me.
“It wasn’t a spell?”
“It was a vision. She showed you the future. Your future.” Frankie pushed off the side of the Hummer and walked away. I watched him in shock until he disappeared around the corner of the alley we had parked in.
I didn’t know what to do with that information. I wanted to chase down Frankie and do something. Say something. Instead, I stood in the cold ally beside the hummer until Drew got out and ushered me into the back seat, carefully closing the door behind me.
The implications were huge. Elliot looked like Vincent. Could vampires even have children? I had never heard of anything like that. It would be a miracle. Frankie must be wrong. The witch had used some weird magic. Even as I tried to convince myself it was all just a spell and not some vision of the future, my heart cried out for my sweet little boy.
Tears welled in my eyes and blurred my vision. Singh’s arm came around my shoulders, and I turned my face into his chest as sobs wracked my body. I cried for my boy and a bit for Vincent. The stupid vampire was under my skin and the idea we would have a son someday. A beautiful boy with soft eyes and so much innocence — it broke my heart. Durga tried to rise and steal my sadness, but I shoved her down and let every emotion pour out of me. She relented and drifted into her place inside me to wait out my sorrow.
When the hummer stopped, doors opened and closed, and I tried to pull myself together. I took deep breaths, but before I got it together, the door beside me opened, and Drew’s arms slid under me, lifting me off the seat. I turned my face into his chest, and he carried me. I peeked back and realized he was taking me into Vaughn’s mansion. The guys had already gone ahead in, and Singh was back in lion form, swaggering along beside us like a predator on the prowl.
“What’s happened?” Vaughn’s accented voice came from the foyer.
I pushed at Drew’s chest, and he set my feet on the ground. Vaughn took in my face and appearance.
“Is it over? Is my brother dead?” he asked, his face serious.
I looked down. I didn’t want to be the person to tell him I had killed his brother. I was sure he would take it the same way Vincent had and reject me, kick me out of his house.
He scooped me up in his arms and swung me around. “Thank you, Durga, for freeing my brother from his pain.”
I tried to look at him, and he set my feet down. My confusion must have shown.
“He was a good man and a gentle soul before he fell. He tried to lead us all on the right path,” he said. A tear fell from his eye, and he smiled sadly. “He was a good man. I am glad he is finally free.”
“Is Vincent here?” I asked. Not sure what to say to Vaughn. His reaction was unexpected.
“My brother stopped by to say goodbye and then left for home about an hour ago,” he said.
I nodded and moved to go up the stairs. Drew had gone that way, I wanted to find a bed and sleep in it for a few days.
“He will come around,” Vaughn said from behind me. I stopped my
foot on the first step and looked back at him. Vaughn blinked at me with the same eyes as Vincent; as Elliot. I felt a stab in my chest at the thought. I took a deep breath and smiled at Vaughn though I didn’t feel happy. I didn’t want to rest all my hopes and dreams on one vampire. It was too much, but if that witch had shown me the future, Vincent would have to forgive me someday. I climbed the stairs and followed the sound of my lion snoring to a bedroom with a big plush bed. I hoped it was a spare room and Singh hadn’t just stolen someone's room as I kicked off my shoes.
I peeled off Vilen’s jacket and my bloody T-shirt. My sports bra wasn’t too disgusting, but my pants had to go. My broken leg had soaked my pants with blood. I grabbed the first thing I found in the closet and took a shower. It was harder than I imagined scrubbing the dried blood off my skin as tears blinded me. The clothes from the closet turned out to be a giant sweater, I pulled it on and crawled into bed with Singh, curling into his warm back. I couldn't sleep, but laying down with my eyes closed felt good. My muscles ached, but mostly my heart. What a ridiculous life I was living. After about an hour of watching Singh twitch in his sleep, I got up.
There were no pants in the closet that would fit me, but the sweater hung almost to my knees. I could apologize to whoever owned the sweater I had stolen, but the size suggested I was in Vilen or Ninel’s. I had met no other vampires as big as them here.
I wandered through the house towards the kitchen. Several vampires were in the dining room as I went by, but when I walked into the kitchen, Kelly was the only one around.
“Oh, you look like shit,” she said. I felt like shit, so it wasn’t a surprise. I laughed though. The laughter soon turned to sobs and her thin arms wrapped around my shoulders. I cried on her shoulder for several minutes as she rubbed my back.
“It will be ok, Lark,” she whispered when my sobs turned to sniffles.
"I’m sorry," I said, straightening and noticing the tear stains I had left on her shoulder. Shit. "I'm sorry."
“Don’t worry about it. Why don’t we get out of here? You could probably use a drink.” I think I loved Kelly at that moment. She picked out some clothes for me and shoved me toward a shower. I hadn't done a great job in the first shower, so I took my time and got clean, washing my hair and then brushing it too. I put on a cute tight dress and heels. Not my typical clothes, but I wasn’t feeling my typical self anymore. I wanted to be someone else for one night.
When Kelly stopped her car in front of a nightclub with music pounding, I knew I loved her.
We walked in, and eyes followed us. We nearly matched in our outfits. The fog of sadness faded. A few drinks later, I forgot my sadness completely. I danced and drank the night away. Feeling young and normal. Durga left me alone, but I felt her sadness under the surface occasionally when I was too sober. A few more drinks and I forgot all about Durga too.
By the time the club was closing, Kelly and I were laughing and chatting with some cute Russian men. Well, Kelly was talking, I was ogling and didn’t hide it.
“Lark,” a voice said behind me. I froze. I knew the voice and knew, deep down in my bones, something had happened, and I wouldn't like it.
I turned to look at Drew’s serious face. Singh and Ninel stood behind him.
I considered making a run for the ladies' room so they couldn’t say the words I didn’t want to hear.
Too late, he was right in front of me.
“They are reporting the slaughter of an entire village,” he said. Ruining my night completely and bringing me back to the real world. I looked at Kelly. She was still talking with the Russians. Laughing. Oblivious. Her life was so much simpler. I wished for her life.
I walked back over and said goodbye.
She hugged me and told me to be careful. I turned back to the team.
“All right, let's go to India,” I said.
At least it would be hot there.
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More books by Jen Pretty
Black Crow Chronicles
One for Sorrow
Two for Mirth
Three for a Funeral
Re-Vamping Las Vegas
Goddess Durga Series
And a Meadowlark Sang
A lark in the Night
Mourning Lark
Wings of a Lark
Origins of Morgana Le Fay
Darkness Sleeping
Darkness Chasing (companion novella)
Darkness Deceiving
Darkness Creeping
Alexandra Everest Series
Fae Magic
Fae Power
Fae Queen
Fae Magic Box Set
Harlow’s Demons Series
Gargoyle Huntress
Half-demon Huntress
Demon Huntress
Harlow’s Demons Box Set
Mourning Lark Copyright © 2019 by Jen Pretty. All Rights Reserved.
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 permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Cover designed by Kudi-design
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Jen Pretty
Visit my website at www.jenprettyauthor.com
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing: Jan 2019
ISBN-9781775290667
Wings of a lark
Goddess Durga Series book 4
Jen Pretty
I am what you designed me to be. I am your blade. You cannot now complain if you also feel the hurt.
—Charles Dickens, Great Expectations
CHAPTER ONE
I pulled off my shoe and dumped sand back into the giant sandbox I had been travelling through for the last few weeks. Singh lay stretched out in the small patch of shade under a wispy tree. The feeling of something evil had been pulling me across the Indian desert, but now, it felt further and further away like a mirage. I was also chasing a literal mirage. I ran out of water the day before, and since then my lips had cracked, and my mouth was full of grit.
“Singh, I need water,” I croaked. “I will die.” We had already established that I wouldn’t literally die. Durga wouldn’t let me. The bitch.
Singh huffed and dragged his lazy ass up out of his shady spot. He was enjoying our desert adventure too much. He would catch gazelles and drag them back for me. A few times I cooked up some, and it was almost as good as bacon but really bloody. For a while, we travelled along a path that local villages used, but it went straight through small communities, and a white lion didn’t blend in. So, we wandered the desert aimlessly.
The first village we passed through gave me clothes that were better suited for the desert. The people celebrated us and decorated Singh with some paint made from plants. It smelled terrible, but the work was intricate and beautiful. It had mostly worn off, but you could still see it in places.
I followed the lions switching tail through a grove of bushes and past more tall trees. Birds circled above. I wasn't sure if they were vultures, but they were big and soared effortlessly. They occasionally blotted out the sun.
Finally, we cleared a sandy hill and below was a small village. Women were pumping water at a cement well. They wore bright-coloured saris that made them brilliant against the desert background of muted beige. They filled silver pots and carried them on their heads back towards the village, their clothes flowing in the wind behind them.
My sari was blood red. Durga had preened when I put it on and checked my reflection in a small mirror. She thought we finally had something lovely to wear. I admit it was much cooler than the clothes I arrived in and I hadn’t had a sunb
urn since I wore it.
Several camels congregated around the well, drinking from a long trough. They stomped at flies and watched our approach. There were always flies. The sun was setting, and the low angle of the fading daylight made the sand that floated on the soft evening breeze looked like mist. Some goats bleated and wandered about between the straw-roofed huts. Men in turbans sat around in circles laughing and speaking rapid-fire Marwari, which a girl at a small village told me was the most common language in this area. The camels moved away from the well as Singh, and I approached. Their long legs, bending and their toes dragging through the sand as they took each slow, lumbering step.
Singh sat in front of the trough and waited for me to pour more water into it, but I drank right from the spout, standing on the cement platform as I pumped the water. With my stomach distended, I filled the canteen I had been dragging empty for the last day and a half and then hopped down to rinse my hair in the trough. I wrung the water from my hair and replaced my scarf. A scream behind me had me spinning to find a woman staring at us. Singh stopped lapping at the water and blinked at the woman. She wore a turquoise sari, her black hair partially covered in a pink scarf. Others came running, joining her in staring at my lion friend.
“Come on Singh. Let’s get this over with.”
We walked towards a group of people, men, women and children. They bowed their heads, babbling words I couldn’t possibly understand. Singh rubbed up against my hip as we walked through the now crowded village. People offered us gifts and food, so I sat down on a tree stump near a fire and ate some of their food. Singh lounged in the sand, the air was cooling as the sunset, and it felt nice to be around people, even if I didn’t understand them.
