Magic After Dark: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

by Margo Bond Collins

  They made their way over to the bar where Teresina was saying good-bye to the guys as they walked over to the other side of the pub, double fisted with beers.

  “We came to join you for one last drink,” Kasha said with a smile, tucking the ugliness under the rug. She wasn’t going to let it ruin their last night.

  “Sounds good. Oh, hey, I think I see him.”

  “Him who?” Jean asked.

  “The promoter. I forget his name, Nick or Nate.” Teresina stood up on her tippy toes. “I think that’s him over by the pool table.”

  Kasha looked over, but there were so many people in there that she had no clue who Teresina was referring to. And half of them had their backs turned in her direction.

  “I don’t see who you’re talking about—” Kasha stopped to take her phone out of her pocket. She had set it to vibrate, but didn’t expect any calls. She knew Gram should be sleeping and the only other people that had her cell phone number were at the party.

  She didn’t recognize the actual phone number, but knew the area code and exchange was local to Santa Fe. An overwhelming sense of despair rushed over her. Maybe it would have been a better idea to go to the restroom or outside to hear better, but she knew something was wrong and it couldn’t wait.

  “Who is it?” Jean asked.

  “Hello?” Kasha answered the phone without answering Jean’s question.

  “Kasha Alexander?” a stern, dry male voice questioned her on the other end.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I am Sargent Stone from the Santa Fe Police Department. I am sorry to inform you that your grandmother, Magenta Alexander, has been in a fatal accident. She had you listed as her next of kin.”

  “What?” The word barely made it out of her mouth. There was no chance he heard her over the roar of the crowed and the live band playing in the background.

  “Ma’am, can you hear me?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. I’m at a party and it’s hard to hear. Can I call you back at this number in a few minutes please?”

  “Of course, just ask for Sergeant Stone. I am truly sorry for your loss.”

  Kasha lowered the phone from her ear. Her face was drained of every last bit of color.

  “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Jean asked her, rubbing her arm to soothe her obvious distress.

  “It’s Gram. She’s dead.”

  The End

  Continue the Breaking the Darkness Series

  Taken (Book One)

  Marked (1.5)

  Betrayed (Book Two)

  Delirium (Book Three)

  Unleashed (Book Four)

  TBA (Book Five)

  Breaking the Darkness Series

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  About the Author

  Felicia Starr was born and raised in New Jersey. She has been an avid traveller starting at a young age taking magical adventures exploring scenic and historic sites across America with her grandparents. Lover of all things paranormal, urban fantasy and science fiction.

  Her days are spent counting down the minutes until her next cup of coffee, preferably with a caramel swirl, her nights are filled with reading and quiet meditations drawing inspirations for her stories. Reading for fun, writing for passion… always thinking and dreaming in scenes.

  Read More from Felicia Starr

  www.feliciastarr.com

  Omega Marked

  Legend of the Sibyl – Book 1

  Nathan Squiers and Rebecca Hamilton

  Omega Marked © copyright 2017 Nathan Squiers and Rebecca Hamilton

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Omega Marked

  As an omega, she wants to help. Carrying the mark makes her want to kill. She’ll need magical help to do the right thing—if she can remember what that is.

  When Ana walked into the Ceremony Hall, she expected to be named the next leader of her people—even if she didn’t want the job.

  She didn’t expect to end the day carrying the mark of an evil power that whispers dark thoughts of death and destruction to her at every moment. And she certainly never thought she’d be banished from the Sybii, her people.

  Now, if she wants to overcome the dark magic she carries, she’ll need the help of a young mage who can banish curses and the sibyl boy who’s loved her for years.

  If only they can keep from destroying this world—and others—in the process.

  Prologue

  “Not here,” Alexis whimpered as she vaulted over the hood of an incoming SUV, throwing a little too much magic into the push-off and cringing as the metal dented beneath her palm.

  “Oops. Sorry,” she muttered more to herself than to the driver, who threw the vehicle into park and was already starting to yell angrily after her.

  She was already gone, though.

  Though an accident, the magic-propelled leap over the hood was enough to carry her over two more lanes’ worth of traffic. The spectacle, if anybody cared to appreciate it, of the enchanting brunette—layers upon layers of long, multicolored material that billowed and flowed behind her like an exotic bird’s feathers in flight—was short lived, however, and the fourth-and-final lane of the busy city street came up to meet her. More sensing than seeing the approaching car, Alexis’ magic began to react again. Alexis prayed this time would be less destructive.

  Her prayers went unanswered.

  The roof of the sedan crumpled beneath the force of her magical barrier, angering yet another driver. The awed onlookers fumbled with their cell phone, seemingly eager to record footage of the moment for the inevitable police reports.

  She uttered another meek “sorry.” Were it not for the figure already weaving his way through traffic like a snake through a sugarcane field, she would have liked to stop and offer more. Though she didn’t have much to offer, she was certain the magic—if it would simply behave—might make things right. But if roads were paved with good intentions, then Alexis’ own personal route was likely condemned to be as angry and dented and congested as the street she was already putting far, far behind her.

  “Not here.” The words heaved out more as labored breaths than actual speech. “Not here. Not here, not now.”

  “Believe it, witch,” her pursuer called after her, his words seeming to fall on deaf ears except her own. “This ends here and now.”

  Down the alley, she instructed herself. Mind the homeless man sleeping behind the trash cans—hide him from the others to keep him safe—and climb the dumpster to—

  “No.” Alexis nearly toppled as the dumpster she was about to jump onto vanished from existence.

  Still carried by the momentum of her plans, she watched as the chain link fence that divided the two sides of the alley grew closer. Growling at her situation, she repeated “No,”—the word sounding every bit as much like a curse as it was—and watched with a rising sense of satisfaction as the chain and padlock holding the gated portion of the fence began to melt.

  Careful to avoid stepping through the still-molten steel at her feet, Alexis let her body hit the unforgiving surface with the full force of her would-be fall, then slammed through to the other side.

  Don’t notice the homeless man. Please—

 
A barely conscious life force snuffed out of existence behind her.

  “Bastards,” she hissed, and the magic started to respond. “No,” she whispered to it. “Not like that. I won’t do it like that.”

  “I admire your nobility.” The voice was closer now, calmer. “But far more noble have fallen victim to the power, and you know full-well we can’t allow—”

  “Leave me alone,” Alexis cried as she waved her left arm back, swatting toward the voice as though it would be as simple to shoo the source away as a common housefly.

  A startled grunt and a pained whisper of “you’re only delaying the inevitable” sounded behind her, the words growing distant as the man was pushed back into the fence.

  Not dead.

  The words sounded in the witch’s head twice—once as her own, satisfied and relieved, and once as the power’s.

  Sprinting out through the mouth of the alley and into the hustle and bustle of the next street, Alexis worked to ignore several people as they cried out at their evening being interrupted by the frantic, wide-eyed woman.

  The “sorrys” and “not heres” had begun to bleed together as she continued to whisper to herself, and one older woman seemed shocked (and offended) as the words “not…sorry” were heard instead.

  No point in trying to correct herself.

  No time to even bother.

  “Witch.”

  Alexis felt her spine go ramrod straight as the call, far more demanding and enraged than before, hit her with the same impact as the car she’d left dented in the previous street. She didn’t bother trying to vault the incoming traffic this time. The power was every bit as eager—as desperate—and, though she hated to admit it, it was faster and more reliable than trying to be polite.

  Two lanes of busy traffic came to a screeching halt. Not a single driver knew why. Nor did they know why their cars suddenly shifted into ‘Reverse’ and shot back far enough to open a path for the bird-like woman.

  A few paces behind, her sugarcane snake of a pursuer ran across the street.

  “Screw it,” Alexis growled, already giving in to the power and focusing its energies. “I’ve already gone this far, right?”

  The man, likely catching sight of her running headlong toward the brick wall of Starbucks in front of them, shouted “Don’t do it, witch.”

  But he was too late.

  Alexis, barely hearing the last half of “witch” passed through the “door” she’d created and emerged several blocks back.

  “Hope you hit that wall like the coyote chasing the roadrunner, you jerk,” she said in a huff, ignoring a stunned onlooker who was probably still trying to make sense of where she’d come from.

  Though she would have sooner emerged somewhere else entirely—Fiji sure sounded nice—the power could only take her somewhere she’d been recently—somewhere still fresh in her mind. And, in many ways, somewhere that still held some memory of her, as well.

  But the city and its streets weren’t what held the memory of where she’d been, and there were, as it turned out, more snakes in the sugarcane field than Alexis could have ever imagined.

  “There,” one called, and Alexis felt a swell of energy as the predators caught sight of their prey.

  “Get her,” another responded, drawing closer.

  Do they all have the same voice? Alexis asked herself as she swallowed her fear and took off in the opposite direction. Who in the blazes are these—

  “Oh hell,” she said aloud, interrupting her own thoughts as a third man cut off her path a few paces ahead.

  Traffic to the left, and to the right…

  The power had the door of the small café out of her way in the blink of an eye. It hadn’t opened the door for her or even torn it out of the frame. The door had simply ceased to exist. In much the same way the power was pushing Alexis to make them stop existing.

  “No no no no no,” she echoed to herself, unsure whether she was responding to the power’s influences or her situation.

  And then the snakes were upon her.

  Someone’s feet swept out beneath her. Alexis sailed a short distance before crashing down on a small, wooden table and tumbling over. Pain engulfed her as she hit the floor, one of her skirts tangled in a chair that was likely faded and dinged-up long before that moment.

  A flash of silver caught her attention and pulled her back to the moment in time for her to roll free of a twisted, angry-looking dagger as it came down where her leg had been. The table erupted into splinters.

  Whimpering, she yanked her tangled outfit free and used the power to propel herself to her feet. Another man was waiting behind her to kick her back down. More daggers flashed their furious silver streaks as they cut through the darkness, whispering their thirst as Alexis narrowly evaded them. For every blade that didn’t find its mark, however, a foot or a fist did. And this, along with being held back for so long, fueled the power.

  It was soon too much for Alexis to handle—juggling the dark demands of the magic within her while also fighting to stay alive.

  Then the power struck.

  In a flash of sickly green light, three of the men seized up—the choked potentials for screams caged within their locked jaws—and, like the café’s door, they were suddenly gone.

  “And there it is,” whispered the voice, sounding as satisfied as the power felt within Alexis.

  Then a dagger found its mark.

  Alexis, trembling around the explosion of pain and cold that instantly enveloped her, struggled to stay on her feet as she turned to face her killer.

  Somehow she wasn’t surprised to see the man who’d been chasing her all along.

  “It’s not…going to end…with me,” she coughed out, a hot moisture trickling past her lips and down her chin. “It…it’s not.”

  The man moved his arms to her waist, holding her as a lover might, to keep her standing in front of him as he retrieved his dagger from her back.

  “Of course it won’t,” he whispered into her ear.

  Then he put the dagger back.

  “Shall we begin scouting for the new carrier,” she heard one of the other men ask.

  “No need,” the first answered, still looking down at her and absently wiping his dagger clean with a stolen café napkin. “I already have my suspicions as to who it will choose.” He paused to inspect his dagger and, pleased with what he saw, slid it back into concealment at his side before turning away. “Let’s go.”

  As Alexis’ vision blurred with her impending death, she strained to follow her hunters’ movements. Death, she was finding, was not unlike that night—not unlike the life she’d had ever since the Magic found her.

  As Alexis felt her life drain away, the power gave what she interpreted as a sigh before it, much like her spirit, was gone from her body.

  In some ways, they would both pass on to their next life.

  In every way, they were both trapped.

  Chapter 1

  Trapped.

  For someone who travelled as much as Ana, the feeling of entrapment never seemed to leave. Perhaps it was because, as they said, wherever you go, there you are. And Ana only ever went where the rest of her Sybii camp told her to go.

  It had nothing to do with being “free” to wander, either. It had to do with escaping the persecution of their entire race. Ana resented her group, in order to survive after doing so, now spent their days doing the very things they’d wrongfully been accused of doing in the past.

  Truth was, they were capable of so much more, and Ana wanted that more than anything. Instead, she’d have this life—if you could even call it that. A life as a sibyl, one of the Sybii people—or, as some called them more simply, fortune tellers. But that wasn’t what she was really was.

  Ana rolled her eyes—another of many eye movements to add to this morning’s collection: eyes wide at the time upon awakening, narrowed at the realization of what was upon her, clenched against the awareness of what this meant, and—all throughout—teary from
being wrenched open against their owner’s wishes.

  But the stinging of her eyes unsettling or not, it was a distraction from the reason she had been awakened in the first place, and that made it a blessing, right?

  Ana sighed. Truth was, she was late enough as it was, so she could hardly be upset with the bird’s cries for waking her. And while she may have resented every moment of prying herself from bed, it was time to face the real tragedy of getting up this morning. And that wasn’t eyes that stung from lack of sleep—it was the day itself, and what it meant and would possibly bring for her.

  Still under the foggy swirl of not-enough-sleep, she dressed in her layered skirts and top, slipped on more bracelets than she needed—she’d sell some right of her wrist, if given the chance—and hurried out the door.

  It was no secret that the payoff was always better when their visitors were younger and, better yet, in a group. When youth and numbers were the driving force, it turned out, it didn’t take much to make a sale on much of anything. College kids were no exception. Hand-crafted goods, oddities promising this-or-that, and the ever-popular mysticism that had lines forming with bouncing bodies waiting to be seated at an elaborately decorated table. All to hear a simple “you will find love” or a casual “success is on your horizon.” It was all about the emphasis, it seemed, creating a sense of certainty for something that nobody had any right to declare any sense of certainty toward.

  Or maybe it was only Ana who felt that way. She couldn’t bring herself to be certain of much of anything. In that sense, she supposed, she was likely jealous of both the outsiders who were offered a sense of solidarity between what they wanted and what would be, and the fortune tellers in the camp who made it look so simple.

  Maybe that was why she was running late. Uncertainty. It was such a crippling thing. It made her feel so…