Suddenly, the world around them spun in a dizzying circle, catching them up in a whirlwind, tearing them apart. He reached for her, but the second their fingers touched, he disappeared.
“No!” she shouted to the whirling wind, feeling as if she were being ripped apart. “No! You can’t take him! HE’S MY HEART’S DESIRE!” she screamed.
She landed on the beach next to her bag, where Yodo yipped at her. She was clothed again, dress, jacket, shoes—even her thong, which had been floating in the pool the last time she saw it.
“OZZ!” she called, immediately searching for him. He stood under the waterfall, naked, his back to her—a back with no scars. “Can you hear me? What happened?”
He turned, smiling, stepping from the shower of water. “I think you broke the curse.”
“How?”
He rose up out of the water and came at her as he did before and didn’t stop until his erection brushed the silk of her dress. “Mysteria Falls is a magical place, but it would seem your heart’s desire has a magic of its own.”
“Or maybe the seeds of love are stronger than curses and magic.” She grabbed his hips pressing harder against his hot arousal. “Are you sure the curse is broken?”
“Let’s go find out.” He swung her up into his arms and she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“By the way,” she said, as he strode across the sand. “What is your name?”
“The truth?”
“Yes.”
“My mother, being a naughty witch with a wicked sense of humor was like you. She was anorgasmic until she encountered my father, a wizard with an unmatched reputation in the bedroom. She named me after that encounter. Later in life I added the T-O-N to Zex and Zinclair.”
Dorothea gasped. “She didn’t.”
“She did.”
“She named you Orgasmic Zex?”
He reached the huge, cushioned lounge chair and dropped her on it. “I’d thought you’d never ask.” He stripped her in seconds and in minutes proved himself worthy of his name. “Happy Birthday,” he whispered as she orgasmed.
This time no pain followed the pleasure.
She snuggled into his arms. “Don’t forget, it’s Valentine’s Day, too.”
“I haven’t forgotten. The magic has just begun.”
Dorothea had found her wizard, her heart’s desire, and her home.
Look for more Phantoms in 2015
in Awaken the Night by Jennifer St. Giles
Book One of her Into the Twilight Series.
Awaken the Night
Jennifer St. Giles
(Uncorrected Excerpt)
Chapter One
Hindu-Kush Mountains
Naraka, Tartarus, Di Yu, Jahannam, Sheol, Hades, whatever the name, Hell was Hell, and Scott Morgan had lived in it for centuries. He thought he’d insulated himself from the pain, but tonight’s mission had memories burning inside him. The rest of Alpha Team 1--Jason Santoro, Flint McCray, and Ryan Beck—didn’t look to be in any better shape. Clenched jaws, hard gazes, and oozing tension made the air too thick to breathe. As did the half dozen special op gorillas spitting fire at them across the belly of the MH-47G Chinook chopper.
SEAL Team 7 wasn’t happy to see Alpha 1. They were torqued about Operation Mother Hawk and so was Scott’s Alpha team, but for different reasons. In fact, the whole world sat on a razor’s edge over the international incident spurring tonight’s mission. Like a ticking bomb, the copter blades sliced through the air, pounding out the seconds to the execution of the British Prime Minister’s eldest son.
Will Wellington’s beheading was at high noon today, and that same death knell would then ring for each of the remaining kids every seventy-two hours unless Britain kowtowed to the kidnapper’s impossible demands.
“You yoyos mess this up and I’ll see you buried,” said Chris Dietz over the chopper’s comm. system. Blazing with the anger in the SEAL leader’s gaze was a boatload of concern, telling Scott the threat wasn’t bruised ego talking, but a deep worry over the outcome of the mission.
“We’ll get the hostages out,” Scott said. “You can bank on it.”
Deitz wasn’t the least bit assured and Scott couldn’t fault him or his team. SEAL Team 7 had been totally psyched for the mission, geared up, and ready to load into the Chinook when Alpha 1 sauntered in and took over. Scott, too, would be ticked if someone hijacked an Alpha mission minutes before takeoff.
If the Brass had listened to Scott two days ago and had tagged Alpha 1 for the mission, then the teams wouldn’t be boring holes in each other across the Chinook’s belly. Unfortunately, Scott had to eat the Defense food chain all the way to the White House before he got results in the eleventh hour.
It was one thing for an Alpha Team to show up on a FUBAR mission and pull it out of the toilet and another for the Brass to replace a SEAL team at the last second; effectively shoving it in their faces that Alpha 1 would do a better job. The SEALs were only along for back up and Scott could see the frustration pulsing in the men’s do or die expressions—an invincible mug every warrior worth his weapon carries into battle, human or paranormal.
It sucked for the SEALs, but the mission was too vital, and if paranormals were involved, then chances of a human completing and surviving the operation were zero despite being dressed to the combat nines with MP55D SMG’s (sub-machine guns), grenades, pistols, pig stickers, loads of ammo and high tech body armor.
Phantoms didn’t need the military’s bells and whistles, but they were a necessary pretense in keeping humans ignorant of paranormals in the world. Yet when the stakes were as high as tonight’s mission, Scott’s vow of secrecy to the bloodcovenant dropped low on his priority list. He’d already given Alpha 1 the green light to use whatever paranormal means necessary to get the job done. He’d deal with the fallout later, and it would be big. Both U.S. and Britain had this area of the map under a satellite microscope.
“Damn it,” Dietz said. “We’ve been in this hellhole part of the world for two years now. Do you know shit about lay of the land or the bastards you’re up against? Do you even know the names of the kids?” He had a white-knuckled grip on the barrel of his SMG, as if he could crush the metal in his fist. That he wanted to be pounding Alpha 1 with it was clear.
“We know,” Scott said. Considering he and the other Alphas had been on the job about six hundred years, they knew more than they could ever tell. There wasn’t a place in the world that they didn’t know inside and out. “As for the kids, William is the oldest. He’s ten, likes American football and flying model planes, and—”
“Harry is nine,” Jason interrupted. “Rides every day on a horse named Zorro.” Jason’s dark expression and sharp tone were more deadly than usual. The man religiously wore black and carried a matching attitude that sent most folks away with their spines shivering in dread. Ever guarding Scott’s back, Jason made his displeasure at the SEAL very real.
“Wendy’s seven and sings like an angel,” said Flint. The Texas-sized phantom’s drawl was deceptively soft to the lethality of his bite. The average height for a phantom ran about six-six of mean muscle, but Flint topped them all by a head. That he wasn’t slumped down and chilling to the tunes of his latest Country Music Angel as usual before an op, spoke volumes about his edginess over the mission.
“And Maddie is bloody five years old,” Ryan added, his Aussie accent thick as he named the youngest of Prime Minister Hugh Wellington’s children. “I’m going to the string the bastards up and feed them a piece at a time to my pet crocs back home.” Ryan wrestled with salt water crocs like most people played fetch with their dogs. He even named the beasts.
Dietz’s eyes widened with a hint of surprise. He obviously didn’t expect the detailed info or the impassioned response. This went deep for Alpha 1 and it showed.
After a moment, Deitz slowly nodded and loosened his grip on his gun. The rest of the SEALs followed suit, relaxing a little. Unfortunately, Scott’s tension grew as the chopper ate up
the miles over the rough Hindu-Kush mountain terrain to their insertion point. The memories were never far from him, always lurking beneath the surface, waiting to rise up on nights like tonight and leave his soul a wasteland of unrelieved pain. He had no illusions about what drove his unquenchable thirst for justice. It was revenge and that sometimes made him no different than the killers he sought.
You going to tell me what’s eating you raw before we have to blow this joint?
At the mental blast, Scott shifted his gaze to Jason, his best friend and right hand man. With everyone in the MH-47G Chinook chopper connected to the comm. system, the only privacy was telepathic.
What isn’t? Scott answered. The future. The past. Pick your poison. At the moment the memory of two pairs of blue eyes are staring sightless at me in death.
Jason shut his eyes and shuddered. Don’t go back, man. We put them to rest when we wiped out Dominion and the ParaTribunal entombed Plagam. What you need to focus on is getting the bastards who kidnapped the Wellingtons.
That’s worse, Scott said, knowing his rage from the past was feeding his fury over what was happening to the Wellingtons now.
Hundreds of years ago, Plagam, the Demon Overlord of Death, had led a brotherhood of evil paras known as Dominion in a war for supreme power. He’d wanted to rule both the para and mortal realms. One of their tactics had been to kill the phantom warriors’ wives and children. Scott had lost his wife and his daughter. I keep telling myself that every para gone bad deserves a chance to present their case before ParaTribunal but I’m not feeling it tonight at all.
Neither am I, bro, Jason said. The sons of a bitches behind this are going down.
Without giving them a fair shot before the ParaTribunal, we’re just vigilantes with the law on our side. Not much different from what they are.
Jason shook his head. Taking out paras evil enough to be behind JIMAS’s planned execution of the kids deserves nothing but death and is worlds apart from what we do. We take out the bad, not murder the innocent.
Maybe you’re right, Scott said.
I know I am. You think too much, Jason replied then leaned back to adjust a loose strap on his SMG.
“Get ready, boys. DZ in ten,” said one of the pilots from the cockpit. They too were highly trained men from a special Army unit known as Night Stalkers, men who could fly blind anytime, anywhere.
Ten minutes to the Drop Zone. Scott met Dietz’s gaze. “We’ll get those kids. Just make sure you’re at the pick-up.”
“We’ll be there,” Dietz said.
Scott glanced at his watch. Alpha 1 would reconnect with the Chinook at 0600 some five miles to the north of the insertion point and deeper into JIMAS’s territory, better known as the Hell Zone. They had two hours to extract the Wellington kids from the monsters and make the meet. Very little time for the miracle needed even taking into account Alpha 1’s hidden talents.
In top hard-body shape, the phantoms prided themselves in accomplishing the impossible without their paranormal abilities. They had to. High concentrations of certain electromagnetic waves drained their powers and they never knew when they’d have to get by without them. So they always did things the human way first, something that gave every phantom a healthy respect for mortals and the feats they accomplish.
All too soon the Chinook dropped altitude to a hundred feet, readying for a fast in an out. The crew door slid open, clearing out the acrid scent of Eau du Military transpo—oiled weapons, Gortex, and sweat, both human and phantom—and the time clock for Operation Mother Hawk began ticking.
Flint went first. Ryan and Jason followed.
Giving Dietz a final nod, Scott slid into the black night, thankful for the familiar feel of the wind whipping his face. Human flight couldn’t hold a candle to the super-sonic free-flight that the phantoms relished and repelling sucked, but he held the line despite his impatience to move faster.
Dark clouds had snuffed out the stars and few lights littered the war ravaged terrain below him. The night was as near a blackout as Mother Nature could deliver, and an ace in their pocket. Hitting the ground, he rolled into position as the Chinook revved up into the darkness. Jason, Flint, and Ryan had already spread out into defensive positions, so hidden even Scott couldn’t separate them from the desert terrain.
The team sat silent until they were certain the insertion site was clear of the enemy then they moved out, eating up the mile to the target area in deadly silence. Ahead, in the snake-like valley, beneath the rubble of several bombed buildings, lay an underground bunker. The desert and the mountains were riddled with hideaways and caves that gave vermin too many places to carry out their evil plots.
Senses on para-high alert, the team raced across the rugged terrain, tuning into every sound, scent, or creature hidden within the arid breath of the night. They easily slipped past JIMAS’s outer ring of watchdogs. The humans’ fear polluted the air so strongly that Scott could taste it. The bastards knew someone was coming to get them. Nobody got away with the kind of crap they were trying to pull. Not on his watch. Scott smiled, ready to rock hell and every demon in it.
“Mums! I want my mum—”
The rest of the little girl’s distant plea was stifled, but the British accent was enough to stop Scott and the team in their tracks. The cry had come from the far right where a cluster of clay huts rambled at the base of the mountain. The heard of goats surrounding the make-shift shelters stank to high heaven, but not so bad that Scott couldn’t pick up the underlying scent of a paranormal.
Flint sniffed hard. “You called this one right, chief. A male bloodsucker. No doubt he has a pal or two on board.”
“I’m betting they’ve split up the kids,” Scott muttered, casing the area with a keen eye. “They could be anywhere in the valley now.”
Insider intel as of two hours ago had placed all of the Wellington kids together under the bunker’s airtight security. Scott didn’t doubt JIMAS would kill the children at the first sign of a rescue.
“I say its time to fade and vade even if it puts the Baby Brass’s camos in a wad,” Jason muttered, ready to go invisible and invade enemy space.
“Ditto that. The faster we dust the rogues the sooner we get those kids home. Screw the Brass’s jockeys.” Flint and Jason’s frustration echoed Scott’s.
The “Baby Brass” was the combined U.S. and British Intelligence whose satellite microscope this area was under.
As soon as the Alpha team dematerialized, they’d lose radio contact and would disappear off the infrared heat detectors. Then the “Baby Brass” would presume Alpha 1 dead and send in the SEALs chomping at the bit in the Chinook. The result would be a totally FUBAR operation.
“They won’t send reinforcements with just one of us off the map,” Scott said. He nodded to Jason. “You lead the team to the bunker while I check out the valley. I’ll blast you if I find any more paras or kids and we’ll take if from there. If the rest of the valley is clear, then let me know when you’re in position and we’ll hit the targets simultaneously.”
“Roger that,” Jason replied, moving out.
“Rock and Roll’em, chief.” Ryan said, giving a thumbs up before he and Flint followed Jason into the black of the night.
Scott feigned a radio glitch with the “Baby Brass” overseeing Operation Mother Hawk before he turned off his communicator and dematerialized into the air. After searching the area and finding nothing, he slid into place outside the hut. He kept to a partial fade to avoid alarming the goats with his scent and waited for Jason’s blast. Now that Scott was closer, he could identify this para’s particular scent.
Rothschild! That silver spoon sucking son of a bitch. Surging anger and disgust filled Scott. Refuse from his own backyard was polluting the world. For centuries the elite family had shown compliance to the bloodcovenant—the Paratribunal’s rules for living within the mortal realm and honoring the sanctity of human life. Josephine Rothschild, the matriarch, reigned over her clan with an iron club in one h
and and was the South’s leading, charity do-gooder with her other hand. Scott had investigated Adolf and his cousins, Nero and Judas last year over the disappearance of three mortal women. Clues had lead to the Rothschilds and Scott felt they were guilty, but he never found the bodies and hadn’t been able to pin anything on them.
Seething, Scott materialized into the hut the moment he received Jason’s blast to strike. He eased into a fighting stance with a vamp dusting titanium stake in his hand. Luck was with him. He’d managed to land between Rothschild and the black-robed human who had an AK-47 pointed at the little girl’s head. The vamp was looking out a peephole at the valley, unaware of Scott’s presence.
Scott’s gut twisted as he ran his glance over the little girl. Petite with curly blonde hair like a bowl of sunshine on her head. They’d gagged her. She lay on a straw pallet, her hands and feet bound. Tears had cut streaks down her dirty cheeks and her eyes were closed as if she’d fallen asleep from exhaustion, but her chest still shuddered from the depths of her cries. It was a damn miracle that she hadn’t choked. She looked to be about five. That would make her Madeline, “Maddie”.
Sucking in air, he fought back the memories of Amara. He’d known from Maddie’s pictures that she’d look a lot like his daughter. But they hadn’t prepared him for the full impact of their resemblance.
Uncaring of the damage, he sent a powerful mental blast to Machine Gun Charlie’s mind the second the man veered his gun away from the child toward Scott. He incapacitated the bastard in a heartbeat. The terrorist’s hold on the gun went slack and he slumped back against the wall. Medically, they’d likely find the guy had suffered a massive stroke from the energy Scott had hit the terrorist’s mind with. The man would live, but recovery would be minimal and he’d never be able to point a machine gun at an innocent child again. Killing humans went against Scott’s vow to the Bloodcovenant, but sometimes circumstances thrust everything into so gray a void that he became tempted, especially when evil had taken up residence inside the heart.
Tales From Mysteria Falls Page 9
