by Kelly Meding
The Night Before Dead
By Kelly Meding
In twenty-four hours, everything they know will change forever.
Evangeline Stone has died twice, survived dozens of wounds that should have killed her, bled to save innocent lives, and she’s still standing while so many of her friends are in the ground. With one final confrontation with the Fey brewing and an end to the constant battling in sight, Evy is ready to fight one last time—and then she’s done. She only has to get through one more day.
Wyatt Truman has loved Evy secretly for years, and openly for only a few months. Their time together has always been fraught with death and blood and fear, but they have overcome all odds and defeated every enemy in order to earn their happily ever after. And once again, Wyatt is putting his trust in an elf in order to secure that future.
Brevin’s plan to stop the Fey will require a leap of faith for everyone involved, as well as the potential loss of life for the three Therian men who volunteer to host and control a Tainted—a demon from the place where magic began. Creatures of emotion and instinct whom Brevin insists can be controlled if summoned correctly and into the right vessel. As time ticks down to the summoning ritual and Dreg violence breaks out all over the city, both Evy and Wyatt find themselves torn between doing what’s right and following their hearts.
Also by Kelly Meding
The Dreg City Series
Three Days to Dead
As Lie The Dead
Another Kind of Dead
Wrong Side of Dead
Requiem For The Dead
The Night Before Dead
The MetaWars Series
Trance
Changeling
Tempest
Chimera
Writing As Kelly Meade
The Cornerstone Run Series
Black Rook
Gray Bishop
White Knight
The Night Before Dead
Copyright © 2016 by Kelly Meding
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition, 2016
ISBN: 978-0-9899188-3-1
www.kellymeding.com
Cover Art by Robin Ludwig Design, Inc.
Prologue
If you'd have told me a week ago that I would be sitting across a conference table from an elf, about to listen to what he had to say, I'd have told you to go to hell. Might have even punched you in the mouth for good measure. Elves had been nothing except trouble in the brief period of time that they'd been a part of my life.
An elf set me up to die. An elf tricked my boyfriend into making a bargain that traded his free will for my life. An elf tried to bring a demon across the Break and into our world, which would have been a complete and utter disaster. I don't trust elves. And vampires, of all similarly untrustworthy creatures, helped us stop that particular elf.
Now our vampire allies have fled the ranks of the Watchtower—the initiative of humans, weres and vampires that try to protect the city from the darker races—leaving us at half-strength. Erratic half-vampires were rising in numbers, the Fey were plotting against us, and there was enough dissention among the thirteen Therian (shapeshifters) clans to keep everyone involved in the Watchtower on their toes.
I used to think my life as a Dreg Hunter was complicated. That old life is a fucking fairy tale compared to life as I know it right now.
The conference room was our War Room in the Watchtower—which isn't really a tower at all, it's more of a metaphor. We'd overtaken the skeleton of a defunct mall and revamped it to provide housing, training rooms, a cafeteria, showers, and a gymnasium. An obstacle course was under construction in one of the old department stores, and I couldn't wait to see that finished.
At the moment, work was at a stand-still while we dealt with the elf on our shelf.
Okay, so we he was sitting in a chair at one end of the conference table, surrounded by three guys with guns.
Like guns can do much against a fucking elf. Tovin plucked a bullet from the sky.
This particular elf was as calm as Tovin had been insane. Brevin, as he called himself, had been brought to us by one of my dearest friends in the world, Phineas el Chimal, an osprey-shifter who'd left us almost six weeks ago to seek out others of his kind. Brevin wasn't what anyone expected him to bring home as a souvenir of his travels.
Phineas towered over Brevin, who was about the size of a middle-schooler, skinny as a rail, with white hair and pointed ears. His sharp eyes didn't seem to miss a thing, and he’d been exceptionally polite about being asked to spend the night in one of our jail cells. Apparently Phin had explained our last encounter with an elf, and Brevin didn't seem to mind the fact that we were terrified of him.
Not that we'd ever say so out loud.
"We have quite a lot to discuss," Astrid Dane said. The co-leader of the Watchtower, she stood at the far end of the conference table with Gina Kismet on her left. Astrid was a spotted jaguar shifter, and had been leading the Watchtower since its inception. Kismet was a human, a kick-ass fighter, and had only stepped into the role when the vampires left and Adrian Baylor (another human ally and co-leader) was killed.
I didn't envy the pair their positions, and I certainly didn't want to be in charge. I was a soldier, not a captain. Point me at something and I'll fight it. Ask me to make a plan of attack, and we're probably going to be in trouble.
"We certainly do," Brevin said. His voice was deeper than expected, considering his frail shape, and carried a kind of authority found in few creatures surrounded by their mortal enemies. "Thank you for hearing me out."
"We trust Phineas's judgment," Kismet said.
I held back a smile, impressed she hadn't sprained something admitting that.
Okay, so most of we humans in the Watchtower still had trouble admitting we trusted the Therians. As Hunters, we'd been trained to distrust nonhumans on principle. Period. They were bad, we were good, end of story. Except our lives had too many shades of gray for that philosophy to stand, and now we were allies with the very creatures we once hunted.
Weird, huh?
I never expected a shifter to be my best friend and confidante, just like I never expected my lover to be half-Lupa. On my left, Wyatt Truman observed the scene without comment. Born completely human, Wyatt had been bitten and infected by a Lupa over a month ago. Lupa were wolf shifters and thought to be completely extinct, killed off by other Therians because their bites could infect a human and cause them to go insane from fever before dying a painful death. Wyatt nearly died from his bite, but in surviving, he was forever changed.
Human, Lupa, or something in between, I still loved him with my whole heart—something I never thought possible until recently.
"Brevin sought me out," Phineas said. "I believe we should give him the benefit of the doubt."
"I know you do, that's why we're here," Astrid said. "Forgive me for being leery of his motivations."
"I am not offended by your lack of trust," Brevin said. "Phineas explained what Tovin did, and I can assure you my intentions are more transparent than my kin."
"And what are your intentions?"
"Preventing Amalie from declaring all-out war on the world."
I glanced at Wyatt, unsurprised by the statement. Wyatt only had eyes for Brevin. On my other side, Marcus Dane watched the production with barely contained impatience. Astrid's brother and a fierce fighter, Marcus held an unofficial second-in-command position to our pair of leaders. He was
a brawler and a force to reckon with, skin or beast, and he looked like he'd rather go tear some throats out than sit around and listen to elf stories.
Not that he was in any position to rip anyone's throat out. A few days ago he'd battled to the death with a Bengal tiger shifter named Vail, and he'd come out of it with some pretty serious gashes on his chest. The fight had left its scars on all of us though. One of my very best friends, Tybalt Monahan, had been killed during the ordeal, and we'd only buried him yesterday.
I need a fucking vacation from my life.
"We already know Amalie and the Fey are our enemies," Astrid said. "She's the one who manipulated a madman into raising Lupa pups and unleashing them on us."
"I know." Brevin turned his head to meet Wyatt's gaze. "You are no longer yourself."
Wyatt growled softly. He had a damned good reason for distrusting elves.
"Can we stay on topic, please?" Kismet asked.
"All of the Fey are not your enemies," Brevin said. "The Apothi have retreated from this fight, as have many of the Earth Guardians.” Gnomes and trolls, respectively, and both formerly loyal to Amalie and the Fey Council. “I am one of three elves still alive, and we oppose Amalie."
That was news.
Two more elves in the world made me all kinds of nervous.
Brevin added, "Gargoyles are not Fey, but they oppose Amalie as well, despite leaving the city for the northern mountains."
I beat back a pang of regret at the loss of several allies. Max had been a gargoyle informant I'd used to gather intel on various Dregs, back when I was still a Hunter. He'd left the city with his fellow gargoyles ages ago, because they didn't want to get involved. He'd also saved my life when I was held and tortured by a madman named Walter Thackery. I owed Max.
A gnome named Horzt had saved Wyatt's life months ago with a healing crystal, and he'd given us a magic powder that had saved hundreds of infected vampires from a horrible death. I owed him too.
And Smedge. A bridge troll friend. Part of the earth, he'd often come up in the sandy ground beneath a train bridge. And yes, he'd saved my life once. Wyatt's, too. I owed my continued existence to so many people. I didn't know how to even begin repaying my growing debt.
"We know there are other creatures who oppose Amalie in theory," Astrid said, "but who among them is willing to stand with us openly?"
Brevin shook his head. "Very few, I am afraid. That is why I come to you now."
"You got an army up your sleeve?" I asked, breaking the promise I'd made to myself about joining in the conversation. I hated elves with a fiery rage, and Brevin was no different—not until he proved himself trustworthy. Even then I'd probably still hate him on principle.
"In a manner of speaking, yes."
"Really?"
A silent statue this entire time, Phineas shifted his weight from foot to foot. The were-osprey didn't fidget, so something was majorly up with him. He knew what Brevin was bringing to the table, and he didn't like it. I knew Phin well enough to see it in the blank expression that was working too hard to be remain neutral. It sharpened his already angular features into something fierce and feral.
And scary.
Brevin took a moment to look around the room at the people interrogating him. Astrid and Kismet, me and Wyatt, Marcus. Next to Marcus, Rufus St. James watched with the sharp care of a man used to being tricked. He sat perfectly still in his wheelchair, fingers steepled in front of his face, green eyes fixed on the elf.
No one else knew Brevin was in the Watchtower.
Sneaking him in and keeping him hidden from a mall full of Therian noses hadn't been easy, let me tell you.
Astrid crossed her arms, her long black hair pulled back in a sharp bun that made her look battle-ready. "What kind of army?" she asked.
"The kind that Amalie won't see coming," Brevin replied. "An army led by demons."
The silence in the War room was deafening.
Fuck me sideways.
As much as the idea terrified me, I stood still and listed as Brevin explained.
Chapter One
23:59
The warm body blanketing me from above snuffled. The arm around my waist pulled taut, pressing me back into Wyatt's belly. He exhaled hard, breath ruffling the hair on my cheek. Everywhere our naked skin pressed together was hot, damp, and so incredibly perfect. Even after waking up like this for the last two weeks, I still marveled at how wonderful it felt.
I never thought I'd find this kind of love and acceptance, or be so comfortable in bed with a man—especially not Wyatt.
Almost five years ago, I’d joined a secret organization called the Triads. Teams of three Hunters, lead by a Handler, we hunted and fed justice to the darker races that dwelled in the city: half-Blood vampires, goblins, rule-breaking shifters, and various other things that go bump in the night. Seven months ago, I was murdered and brought back to life, and then everything went to hell in a hard cart.
The Triads have since been destroyed, the tattered remains folded into what became the Watchtower. Wyatt had been my Handler for four years, and until my very brutal murder, my feelings for him had been pretty platonic. When I was resurrected into the recently-dead body of Chalice Frost, I found myself entertaining a whole host of attractions and feelings I'd never experienced before.
Our road toward being lovers had been long and rocky, but I'd never been happier than with Wyatt Truman.
"Dad?"
Damn it. I dragged a pillow over my head and ignored the sound of Mark's voice outside of our bedroom door.
"What is it?" Wyatt said, his voice one octave below a bellow.
"John and Peter want to go to the gym. Is that all right?"
He tensed. I didn't have to turn or ask to know why he was hesitating. The three boys were the last full-blooded Lupa in existence. Once there had been six, and ever since our discovery of the remaining brothers, Wyatt had become a surrogate father and pack leader to them. They'd also accepted me as his mate and as a quasi-mother figure.
The sudden change from single Hunter to step-mother of three teenagers had been a mind-fuck, let me tell you.
Everyone at the Watchtower knew who John, Peter and Mark were, and they knew the boys were under our protection. It still didn't stop old prejudices against Lupa from affecting the attitudes of the other Therians. Lupa had been all but eradicated because they refused to follow Assembly laws, and they infected humans for sport. While one of their dead brothers had been responsible for Wyatt's infection, neither of us blamed the three red-headed teens that had been thrust into our lives. They were desperate for love and acceptance, and I could relate to that.
Everyone deserved the chance to have a family. Even one as fucked up as ours.
"For an hour," Wyatt finally replied.
"Thanks!"
I rolled to face Wyatt, unsurprised to see apprehension lining his forehead. I smoothed my hand through his thick black hair, then down his neck to rasp against the near-permanent stubble on his cheeks and chin. He leaned into the touch, eyelids dropping down over black eyes now permanently flecked with silver.
He nuzzled my palm, his free hand tracing gentle circles on my lower back. I nudged my thigh against his groin, unsurprised to find a semi-hard on. Lupa were incredibly sexual creatures, often aroused even when nothing remotely sexy was going on. I was still getting used to it, and Wyatt constantly reminded me that just because he was sporting wood, he didn't expect to have sex. It was a thing we were still working out, a push-pull battle between his ingrained desires and his unwillingness to accidentally hurt me.
"Morning," he said.
"Good morning, hot stuff."
He rolled me under, settling between my thighs. The gentle weight of his belly pressed close to mine reminded me I was wanted and loved. So much of my past was violence and hatred. Having these moments with Wyatt was worth more than I could ever measure in words or gold. The hot length of him pressed against my core, and I lifted my knees, cradling him there. Arousa
l curled through me, driving away the last remnants of sleep and leaving me wanting.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
I couldn't lie to him. We'd gone at it for over an hour last night. "A little sore."
The flash of regret was there and gone quickly. He started to pull away, but I locked my ankles behind his back.
"Not that sore," I said.
"You sure?"
"Positive."
Wyatt snagged a condom from the box next to the bed. Because full-blooded Lupa bites were incredibly infectious to humans, we were careful about how we kissed and made love. And since there hadn't been a half-Lupa in centuries, no one knew if the same antigens in his blood would transfer through semen, and our on-staff doctor couldn’t be sure. Wyatt wouldn't take any chances with infecting me with the Lupa virus, so we used protection every time.
I loosened my hold long enough for him to put on the condom, then pulled him inside of me. He swallowed my groan, mouth locking over mine in a searing kiss that made my toes curl and my insides ache for him. For everything we were and could ever be together. He moved in long, hard thrusts that made the bed creak and sent the frame slamming into the wall, and I didn't give a shit if our neighbors heard. We belonged to each other, and I would never be ashamed of that.
In my old life, sex had been a way to blow off steam. I hadn't cared who, as long as I got off, and some days the rougher the better. And then I was kidnapped by goblins and raped to death, and sex became something scary. Something used to hurt me. Wyatt's patience and love had turned a horror into a beautiful thing, and I loved him more every single day for what he'd given back to me.
Pleasure lashed through me, heating my blood, and I thrust up against him. Often times old fears prevented us from making love like this, with Wyatt engulfing me with his bulk, on my back. This morning I was enthralled by it. I took everything he gave me, demanding more. Sweat beaded his forehead and shoulders, and it slicked the skin between us.
I grabbed his ass and urged him on, harder, faster, to end the kind of quickie we rarely indulged in because it never felt like enough. I wanted all of him, to lick and suck and stroke, not a simple wham-bam roll in the hay. But today was the day that our lives changed, and I wanted every moment I could get with my lover.
