Out of Shadows
N.J. Walters
Companion to “Shadows Stir” from Dreams of the Oasis IV anthology and Beyond Shadows
Dovina Horne has arrived in Sleepy Hollow to study the legend of the horseman. She believes it’s only a myth until she’s threatened by a horse and rider while walking on a deserted trail in the woods. Only the sudden appearance of a warrior saves her from the horseman’s sword. She feels an instant connection, both sexual and emotional, to this protective stranger.
An immortal warrior of the Shadow Realm, Hadeon’s mission is to protect Dovina at all costs. He knows the horseman is not what he seems, but something more powerful and sinister in disguise. The longer Hadeon spends with Dovina, the more he wants her. He finds his way into her bed and her heart, but their relationship is doomed. He is an immortal from the shadows and she is a human filled with light. But when the final battle comes, they must use all that is between them if they hope to survive.
An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Out of Shadows
ISBN 9781419929212
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Out of Shadows Copyright © 2010 N.J. Walters
Edited by Shannon Combs
Cover art by Darrell King
Electronic book publication August 2010
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
OUT OF SHADOWS
N.J. Walters
Dedication
For all the readers who have come to love the Shadow Ryders as much as I have, this one is for you.
And for Gerard, who encourages me to dream and to reach further with each book I write.
N.J. Walters
Prologue
The Shadow Lord felt a shift in the air and grunted with satisfaction. Another candle lit in the hall, lending its flickering light to push back the shadows. A human would not even notice the difference, but the inhabitants of the Shadow Realm did. He sensed his Shadow Ryders stirring in the gloom. He took their restlessness as a good sign. It meant the apathy that had gripped them for hundreds of years was lessening.
He had no idea how long he’d lived in this castle of shadows. Civilizations had risen and fallen, thousands of years had come and gone in the blink of an eye. Even his name was lost in time. He was the Shadow Lord, immortal and powerful. A leader of men who, like himself, had been powerful warriors in their own times. Men of unequalled skill, determination and conviction.
He had gathered his men to him over the long years. One at a time, he had gone to each of them as they lay dying and offered them a chance to right the particular wrong done to them. He did not promise vengeance, but justice. Many times he had met Death as that dark figure had come to claim a warrior, but always with the chosen few, Death had stepped back and allowed the Shadow Lord to make his offer. If the fallen warrior declined, then Death took them on their way to the other side. If they accepted, they became warriors of the Shadow Realm. Soldiers of justice.
At least that is what they had been. The shadows that had been their salvation had become their curse. Before Gideon’s departure into the world of man, it had been several centuries since any of them had bestirred themselves from this realm or shown any concern for what was going on in the world from which they had all sprung. Now Blade, too, had gone forth on a mission and succeeded in his task, lighting another candle in their darkness and bringing hope to them all.
The Shadow Lord could feel the curiosity and interest growing among the men. That was good. It meant they were coming back from the brink of living death. But there was still a long way to go.
Once, they had trained daily, keeping their skills sharp so they were ready when they needed to face down evil. Now the greatest evil they faced was their own apathy. They could not die unless beheaded or exposed to complete daylight without shadow. But they could drift into this sea of never-ending gloom for eternity. And while the Shadow Lord was no longer concerned about himself, he did care about the men who had sworn allegiance to him.
His eyes pierced the darkness, seeing everything it sought to hide. For far too many years the men had lounged on benches and stared into nothingness. Seldom did they 6
Out of Shadows
eat, drink or laugh anymore. At one time, laughter had rung freely though the hall. Now if he listened, he could almost hear its mocking strains still echoing. Many men were missing, lost in the cloak of darkness. Only a dozen had answered his original call. There were dozens more out there. He would search them out and haul them back, kicking and screaming if necessary. He did not know if they could be reclaimed, but he would not rest until he had fought for each and every one of them. The atmosphere in the darkened chamber had changed these past days. There was an air of energy, of expectation, that warmed his soul and quelled the bitter regret burning in his gut. The warriors were waiting for his word. It was time to send another of his men out into the world.
His deep, fathomless eyes skimmed over them one at a time. No detail was too small or insignificant for him. One never knew where the key to salvation might lie. All tall, all strong, all warriors. From different periods of time, from different cultures and countries, they had formed a brotherhood all their own. Bound by their word and their bond to one another, they had fought together, lived together, celebrated and mourned together for thousands of years.
Determination filled him anew as he stared out over the room, searching every dark nook and cranny. Eyes, dark and black, saw right though every man and straight to his very soul.
His gaze paused on one warrior and a sense of satisfaction flowed through him. He crooked his finger at his loyal Shadow Ryder.
Hadeon paused for the briefest of seconds before striding forward. The Shadow Lord smiled inwardly at his warrior’s slight rebellion. He leaned back in his massive chair at the head of the table and waited. Hadeon’s blond hair gleamed in the dim light as he moved closer. His name meant destroyer, and in another time he’d been a warrior of great renown, a mercenary feared by all. He was the perfect man for the job ahead.
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N.J. Walters
Chapter One
Dovina Horne placed her hands lightly atop the grave marker. The stone, weathered by several centuries, was smooth beneath her fingertips. She smiled. She couldn’t believe she was finally here. After years of yearning, she was finally in Sleepy Hollow, New York. She barely suppressed the urge to laugh and spin in a circle. But that wouldn’t be dignified or respectful considering she was standing in the Old Dutch Burying Ground outside the church.
The wind gusted, spinning the dried leaves at her feet. The moon was a little more than ha
lf full, lending its light to the world below. A shiver skittered down her spine. Even though modern civilization surrounded her, it was easy to believe the legend of the headless horseman on an evening like tonight. Her colleagues at the university would scoff at her if they could read her thoughts. Thankfully, she was adept at hiding her childlike enthusiasm and love of legends behind a guise of academic scholarship. Even this trip was being made on the pretext of doing research for an article—In the Shadow of Sleepy Hollow: Intertextuality and the Headless Horseman. Or at least that was the working title. It was based on the accepted idea that the meaning of an artistic work wasn’t found in the book itself, but by the reader and the knowledge he or she brought from other books they read and films they’d seen.
Personally, Dovina didn’t care about the validity of the concept one way or another. She was simply thrilled to be here. Her personal observations would go in her journal. She eventually planned to write a book on myths and legends and how similar ones sprang up all over the world. In the meantime, she’d write the occasional academic article in order to keep herself relevant to those who did the hiring at the university. It was all about publishing in the insular world in which she worked. She was currently on a one-year contract at the University of New York. That post had enabled her to finally travel to Sleepy Hollow.
As an army brat, she’d lived all over the world, going wherever her father had been posted. She’d attended eight different schools, finishing high school in Texas when her father had retired from the army and moved the family back to his hometown, a small town that was barely a speck on the map.
Dovina collected myths and legends from all over the world, but for some reason, she’d been drawn to the one about the headless horseman. Maybe it was because her family was from Texas. They had a legend of their own of a headless rider, a beheaded horse thief, which had an actual basis in fact. But like most legends, it had taken on a life of its own. Then there was Dullahan, a headless horseman from Irish mythology. It was a common theme in many cultures.
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Out of Shadows
But it had always been the Washington Irving story— The Legend of Sleepy Hollow—
that had captured her imagination. She’d read it as a child and it had filled her head with visions of a wild black horse being ridden by a warrior, the Hessian soldier from the Revolutionary War who was decapitated by a cannonball, or so the story went. It had led Dovina to get a degree in literature, focusing mainly on gothic literature. She’d minored in folklore and gone on to get her master’s degree and finally her PhD. She was happy for the most part. A studious child, content with her books, she’d easily taken to studies at the university. She’d always been shy and had found it difficult to make friends when they’d moved so often. She’d eventually given up trying, burying herself in her books.
Wind tugged at her hair, pulling a lock of her unruly red curls from the clip that held it away from her face. Her hair was the bane of her existence. Long and red and wild, it tended to do whatever it wanted. She kept it long only because it was easier to pull back in a clip or scrunchie. When it was short, it was impossible to manage. She hooked the escaped curl over her ear and sighed.
She shouldn’t have come here this late, but she hadn’t been able to resist taking a quick peek at the famous church and cemetery. She’d come back tomorrow and read the names on the headstones and take pictures. Taking rubbings of the grave markers was forbidden. They were old and if everyone who visited tried to transfer their writing to paper, the names and dates would have disappeared years ago, worn away. An owl hooted in the distance and Dovina glanced around. The few people who’d been here when she’d arrived were gone. She was alone in the cemetery. Most people might have been afraid, but not her. As her daddy always told her, “You have more to worry about from the living than the dead.”
She smiled as she thought about him. He was so proud of her, even if he didn’t quite understand her need for so much schooling. Every time he said as much, her mama would just smack him on the arm and tell him to hush up. Her parents had settled on a ranch that had belonged to her daddy’s family for more than a hundred years. They were now happily raising horses and a few head of cattle and loving every minute of it. Her mama supplemented the family budget by working part-time at the local grocery store.
Dovina knew they’d want to know every detail of her trip the next time she called them. She took one last look around and promised herself she’d be back bright and early in the morning. She’d been unable to book a room at any of the local bed-andbreakfasts. October was a busy month for tourism here. Plus, they were pricey. Instead, she’d taken a room at one of the chain hotels a few miles from town. Not ideal, but close enough.
“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. She was here and that was all she cared.
“Ma’am.”
The voice startled Dovina and made her jump. She whirled away from the headstone and came face to face with a young woman with thick blonde hair captured 9
N.J. Walters
in a braid that fell almost to her waist. She was dressed in a long skirt, blouse and shawl, period clothing from the eighteen hundreds. Dovina blinked, unable to believe the apparition in front of her. Then the woman thrust a pamphlet toward her.
“Here’s a list of some of the sights and the events upcoming over Halloween.” On closer inspection, Dovina realized the woman was more girl. Probably a high school student earning some extra cash by participating in the town’s tourism program.
“Thank you.” Dovina took the pamphlet and stuffed it into her coat pocket. “I’ll be sure and check out as much as I can.”
The girl glanced nervously over her shoulder. “You shouldn’t be here by yourself after dark.”
She smiled inwardly at the girl’s acting abilities. She really seemed frightened. “I wouldn’t want the horseman to get me,” she joked.
The girl shivered and took a step toward the gate. “Joke if you want. But I’ve heard him.”
All humor fled and Dovina clicked back into academic mode. “Really.” She thrust out her hand. “I’m Dr. Dovina Horne and I teach literature at the University of New York.” She usually didn’t use her title, but found it sometimes helped in situations like this. Made her seem more legitimate rather than just a kook. “I study legends such as the horseman. You say you’ve heard him?”
The girl shook her hand, looking impressed at first and then sheepish. “Anna Van Herk. I’ve heard something. Walking here after dark, I’ve heard the sound of a horse hooves pounding in the distance.” The girl kept glancing into the dark, so Dovina took her by the arm and led her toward the entrance. The girl visibly relaxed.
“Once or more than once?” Dovina wanted as much detail as she could get. “And where exactly?”
“Only once, but that was enough. And it was over by the bridge. I know a few other folks who’ve heard him too. My granny said she saw him once when she was a girl. It was back in the late nineteen forties.”
“Do you think she’d talk to me?” Dovina was thrilled with the possibility. Anna bit her bottom lip, obviously thinking about it. She shrugged. “Maybe. I could ask her.”
“Wonderful.” She dug in her coat pocket and came up with a slightly tattered business card. “I’ll be in town a few days. She can reach me on my cell phone.”
Anna took the card and squinted in the dim light as she looked at it. “Okay. She might not do it,” the girl warned.
“All I want is to ask her about her experience. Nothing more.”
The girl shrugged again. “I’ll ask.”
Dovina knew she’d pushed hard enough. She smiled and pulled out the pamphlet and waved it in front of her. “Thanks for the information and for sharing your experience.”
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Out of Shadows
“You’re welcome.” A horn tooted and Anna glanced over her shoulder. “I have to go now. That’s my dad.” Before Dovina could say anything else, her new friend was gone.
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She chewed on her lower lip as she looked off into the distance. The Headless Horseman Bridge wasn’t too far from here. It wasn’t the real bridge from the story, but a footbridge built in the most likely spot. It wouldn’t hurt to take a quick peek at it.
“Then I’ll walk back to the car and go to my hotel.” She’d checked in earlier and dumped her bags and laptop, but she hadn’t unpacked a thing. Her stomach growled, reminding her it had been hours since she’d eaten. “You could do without a meal,” she told it. At only five-four, she had a tendency to put on weight around her hips and butt. Curvy, her daddy called her.
She snorted. “Curvy, my ass.” She laughed again. Her ass was part of the problem. Still, she was twenty-eight years old and had long since accepted the fact that she was never going to be skinny. The walk to the bridge wouldn’t hurt her in the least. Decided, she started walking. She heard laughter in the distance and caught a glimpse of a group of people moving toward the parking lot. She was perfectly safe. It wasn’t late. She glanced at her watch and confirmed it was only seven o’clock. But it was dark. Night closed in early this time of year.
She dug into the fanny pack she was wearing and pulled out her car keys. There was a small penlight attached to the key chain. She flicked it on. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep her from tripping.
The night was alive around her. She took a deep breath, inhaling the cool, crisp autumn air. The branches of the trees danced and swayed in the wind as it whistled though them. Dovina followed the route she’d studied on the map she’d purchased online in anticipation of her trip. The walk wasn’t difficult and she soon found herself on the path to the bridge. She could hear the gurgle of water not too far in the distance and knew she was close.
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