Duality

by Renee Wildes

  Hedda’s Sword

  A love transcending race and culture…a secret that could cost everything

  The Wolf’s Sister

  © 2008 R. F. Long

  Elite Fey’na warrior Shan is driven only by hatred for Gilliad, the Lord of River Holt, the human responsible for the brutal slaying of his innocent sister. Vengeance will be his as soon as he can find a way to confront his enemy. His mind is set; his path chosen. Then he meets Jeren…

  Jeren of River Holt flees for her life, desperate to escape the clutches of her brother, Gilliad, before his misuse of magic consumes what remains of his sanity. She finds safety and protection with Shan…but only so long as she hides her kinship with the Lord of River Holt. As they are pursued across the northern snow pains, their deepening trust turns to love.

  A love that could shatter when he learns who, and what, she is.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for The Wolf’s Sister:

  Shan knew he should have left the girl there in the wreckage at the foot of the cliff. He should have kept on walking. Then he would never have become involved in the vagaries of the Holters’ world.

  But Shan’ith Al-Fallion had never been able to abandon a soul in trouble. The silver wolf padding at his side, once a starving cub lost in the snow, gave testimony to that. Her breath misted the evening air, and she nuzzled his hand in an effort to distract him from the shattered carriage.

  “Stop Anala,” he said. “I’ll just take a look.” The wolf growled but remained with him, pawing impatiently in the snow.

  They were all dead but for the girl, and she wouldn’t be long in joining her companions. The marks of the Snow Child cast blue tones in her skin.

  He knelt at the survivor’s side, aware of her shallow breath, the feeble rise and fall of her chest. He hesitated before touching her—a Holtwoman and, judging by her delicately embroidered clothes, one of some standing. Silver threads depicting jasmine and ivy encircled her throat and wrists, sewn into the deep green velvet by an expert hand. Girl was probably wrong too. She looked old enough to be judged a young woman by the Holters’ terms. And a beautiful one at that, fine-boned and elegant. But to his people—the Fair Ones, the Fey’na—most humans never reached an age where they would be considered adults.

  Voices carried on the breeze from men climbing down from the road. Relieved to be free of the niggling sense of responsibility for the girl, Shan readied himself to dart into the safety of the trees. Then his sharp ears caught what the men were saying.

  “Bloody stupid misadventure. Who’d survive a fall like that, anyway? They’re already dead, I tell you. No one’s going to come back from that drop.”

  “We have our orders,” said another voice. “Make sure they’re all dead.”

  Shan frowned and glanced towards Anala. Part totem animal, part companion, the wolf knew what Shan’s soul told him to do, and she liked the idea even less than he did. She heaved out a breath, shaking her head rapidly. But that didn’t change anything.

  If those men reached the girl, she would die.

  It never paid for any of Shan’s people to deal with humans. The cost was always too high. Had not one the humans counted as a great leader, a lord of many tributes, murdered Shan’s sister, Fa’linar?

  But what choice did he have? Leave her here, helpless, to die?

  Shan’s own nature conspired against him. He lifted the girl like a bundle of old rags, her chestnut hair tumbling over his shoulder. She felt so light in his arms, like a bird. He retreated with swift but cautious steps, retracing his own footsteps through the snow, until a copse of trees hid him. The green of the girl’s travelling dress aided him, merging with the shadows.

  The wolf’s look branded him an idiot. Still, she followed him, nose to the ground.

  More men arrived, taking the narrow path which wound sedately down from the road rather than the sheer climb undertaken by the first pair. They carried torches, the light staining the snow with ruddy tones.

  Shan grimaced. He could not remain hidden here for long. “Can you find some shelter, Anala?” he whispered to the wolf. “Somewhere safer?”

  With a whine of pure frustration, Anala whirled away and bounded through the snow-laden trees.

  Four heavily armed guards laboured through the snow surrounding a man cloaked in ermine. A jagged wound ran along the left side of his jaw. Though unencumbered by armour, he clearly held command. He scoured the wreckage with flint-like eyes.

  “The girl’s missing,” the first assassin reported. “If news of this reaches River Holt…” The underling’s fear reeked, pungent on the night’s air. It was like watching a lesser wolf before a lead male.

  Flint-eyes studied the trees, as if aware that he too was being watched. Shan resisted the urge to move. He became part of the trees, part of the snow, concentrating on invisibility, or at the very least, camouflage. It wasn’t enough.

  “They’re in the trees.” Flint-eyes’ voice was as remorseless as his eyes. “Over there! Get Lady Jeren back, or you’ll all be sending my greetings to the Death Goddess.”

  Shan fled, slinging Lady Jeren over his shoulder. She cried out at such rough treatment, but he ignored her groggy protests. The need for speed outweighed all others. A shape in the snow ahead gave him a single hope.

  “Anala! Shelter, safety, now!”

  The wolf launched herself forwards, throwing up snow in her wake. Shan ran, tearing madly across the snowfield, making for the rising hills. Fluid as shadow, Shan followed Anala, trusting the wolf’s instincts even above his own.

  Behind him, guards scrambled through the trees, hampered by snow. Shan bared his teeth in a tight grin. They were weak, slow. He was not.

  An arrow grazed his face, so close he could swear he felt the brush of the fletching against his cheek.

  Pain erupted in the back of his leg. His knee buckled and he went down with a cry, Jeren underneath him.

  A voice rang out across the snow. “He’s winged, my lord!” Flint-eyes didn’t respond.

  Another arrow punched into the ground by Shan’s face and he threw himself back, rolling to his feet once more. His leg almost went beneath him, but he knew if he stopped now they’d both be dead. Jeren struggled against him as he lifted her.

  “Hush, little one,” he murmured as gently as he could through his clenched teeth. “Trust me now.”

  Wounded and carrying her over his shoulder, he didn’t know where he found the strength to run. Anala dwindled to a black speck in the distance, heading north towards home. Shan fixed his eyes on the wolf, ignoring the sounds of pursuit. He could outdistance any man, but even a trickle of blood would leave a trail a child could follow.

  The hills were the key. He knew them well. Up there, where the land was riddled with caves and tunnel, he could hide, dress the wound.

  Right now, he couldn’t think.

  I need rest and warmth, that’s all.

  Pain lanced up his leg again, and he felt the barb of the arrow deep inside the soft flesh. Only his own kind could help him. If he didn’t find someone to get the arrow out, it would kill him.

  The wind rose and Shan felt his determination falter. Anala had vanished. He could smell the snow coming, the air sharp and bitter. And when the weather broke…

  It happened far sooner than expected.

  The blizzard clawed at his limbs and tore at his braided hair. Only Jeren’s warmth kept him alive at this point, just as his body sustained her. They were one, dependent on each other, breathing as one, moving as one. He could hardly recall a time when his arms had not held her, when her arms had not held him. The nagging sense that she belonged there grew on him second by second. He pushed such foolish thoughts away with a determined will, putting it down to the cold and the wind addling his wits.

  Shan could run no longer, even if he could see where they were going. It became harder to put one foot in front of the other. As the last of his strength slipped away, he dropped to his knees.

  “I’m sorry, l
ittle one. There’s no more in me.” Her grip tightened for a moment. A brief surge of comfort passed through him. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling a scent like spring flowers in sunshine. As quickly as it came, the comfort bled away, replaced by wind and snow. “Who are you really?” he murmured. “Why did they want you dead?”

  Human for half a month, dragon for the other half…

  his salvation lies in the hands of a young, broken thief.

  The Dragon of Ankoll Keep

  © 2007 K.S. Augustin

  Seeking a mythical treasure in a far-off land is, at best, a risky venture. And that's before Gamsin discovers an enchanted man/dragon thrown into the mix. He extends his hospitality, and generous spirit, to her. But, as Gamsin knows from bitter experience, there is always a price to pay.

  Ankoll has been dragon-cursed for five hundred years and is desperate for someone to help him end his enchantment. Where Gamsin sees only hurt and pain, he sees a woman of depth and strength.

  In his search for the master sorcerer who punished him in the first place,

  Ankoll and Gamsin travel to the isolated Twilight Ranges and confront an evil previously banished from the world. Will Gamsin, a broken young woman, be strong enough to give Ankoll the support he desperately needs? And what of the man-dragon who begins to realize that a hated form may be the only salvation for their world?

  Enjoy the following excerpt for The Dragon of Ankoll Keep:

  Gamsin sat up in bed, gasping, her hand moving to her throat, feeling the soft cotton of her nightdress against her skin.

  Nightdress?

  She looked down at herself. She was in her bed, the blanket covering her. Around her, the furnishings of her chamber looked ordinary and mundane. One of her window’s shutters was open, spilling bright morning sunlight into the room.

  Sunlight?

  But shouldn’t she be at the top of the keep? And what happened to the dragon? She frowned, trying to concentrate. She remembered the dragon, remembered it turning into Ankoll and him approaching her. Oh, she had tried to do as he asked. Truly, he was an exceptional specimen of manhood and she wanted to show her gratitude for all he’d done—extending his protection and the peace of his keep to her. But he’d chosen the wrong deliverer. She was too weak and too broken to aid him and had said no.

  What had happened then? She wished she knew, but a fog descended on her recollection.

  Did they mate? Did he—?

  Frantically, she moved a hand between her legs, but felt no betraying wetness. No, no man had found his own pleasure inside her body last night.

  But if she had turned Ankoll down, who moved her to her room and changed her clothing before settling her peacefully in bed?

  Gamsin threw back the covers and got up, dressing quickly. Hopping, she pulled on her boots then opened the door, flying down the stairs. She stopped on the second level when she heard sounds emerging from the kitchen, and approached warily.

  “Greetings.” Ankoll smiled, turning at the sound of her quiet footsteps. He was carving a loaf of bread, laying thick slices on a platter, next to wedges of ham and yellow farm cheese. Beside the platter stood two mugs of ale. Despite herself, Gamsin’s mouth began to water. She’d tried her best for the past two weeks, but had to admit she didn’t have a tenth of Ankoll’s culinary skills. It was all she could do to hack off some inexpert pieces of ham and wolf it down just to keep the hunger pangs away. In truth, she’d never eaten so well as when she dined with him.

  “Breakfast will be ready in minutes,” he told her.

  She moved to a bench and sat, still eyeing him with suspicion.

  “You’re back to being human.” It was obvious, but the only thing she could think of saying.

  He nodded his head agreeably, a smile playing on his lips. He looked the same as always, dressed in his usual open-necked shirt and dark breeches. His fingers were their usual lean lengths, not even slightly resembling flesh-rending talons. But Gamsin could not forget the night visions that had confronted her at the top of the keep.

  “Will you…turn back into a dragon?” she asked, watching him.

  Ankoll brought the mugs over to the rough wooden table, followed by the platter.

  “No,” he paused. “Well, I don’t really know. Perhaps not.”

  He helped himself to some food.

  “But we didn’t…” Gamsin faltered. “I don’t remember…”

  “We…came to a different resolution. The first part of the curse is lifted, I know that to be true. But I can still feel the spirit of the dragon within me.”

  The spirit of a dragon…the sharing of one consciousness between two entities…

  “What’s that like?” Gamsin asked, chewing on some bread. He’d made her two loaves before he changed, but they had only lasted a week and got hard and dry near the end. Now Ankoll was back, and she gratefully devoured a slice of the fresh, light loaf.

  “To be a dragon?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s a fearsome beast, ruled by twin passions of greed and hunger. It’s difficult having such an unbridled spirit rule you for half of your life.” He drank some ale. “It frightens me to admit that such licentiousness can be liberating, until you hear the cries of people and realise that you’ve struck down one of their loved ones, or spirited away their only food for the winter.” He swirled the liquid around in his mug, watching it. “Maybe that’s what the sorcerer Beltrin had in mind all along when he laid such a curse on me—to show me the folly of ignoring my own people and putting my own needs above theirs.”

  “But if the curse is lifted, then you can be ruler to your people again,” Gamsin countered. “You can bring the castle and your lands back to greatness.” It made her heart sink to say each word, but it was the truth.

  Ankoll smiled and shook his head.

  “I am centuries past doing this. My blood kin are all dust and my lands now belong to another lord. It is only the isolation of this castle—and the barriers I have put to its access—that keep me safe here. No, I have another task and that’s to find Beltrin.”

  “The sorcerer who did this to you?”

  “The curse is not fully lifted, I can feel this. I need to find him.” He lifted his blue gaze to Gamsin’s. “Will you help me?”

  “I? Help you?” Surely she was the one responsible for the curse continuing instead of lifting. Hadn’t she done enough damage? “How could—”

  “You are brave and smart, young Gamsin. You are also of this world and know more of its workings than I. My knowledge is centuries old and pitiful.”

  “But how can you be sure Beltrin is still alive?”

  Ankoll took a deep breath. “I can feel him still in this spirit world. His trace is faint, but I can track it. Tell me you will help me.”

  She looked at him helplessly. Her, help a sorcerer? Surely he was jesting! But, then, how else could she make up for her betrayal?

  “You have helped me once before,” he pursued. “You showed courage when none others, in hundreds of years, did. Help me again, Gamsin Thief. Please.”

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