Urban Mythic: Thirteen Novels of Adventure and Romance, featuring Norse and Greek Gods, Demons and Djinn, Angels, Fairies, Vampires, and Werewolves in the Modern World

by C. Gockel

‘Skye Sawyer,’ intoned Zeus, ‘we ask you here, on the steps of Olympus and in front of this gathering of family and friends to make your vows to Cupid.’

  Startled, Skye turned to Coop. He knelt down on one knee and took her hand. She was aware of her mother gasping next to her.

  ‘We don’t normally do it this way,’ he said, ‘but in your case I’m willing to make an exception.’ His eyes searched hers, warmth, love and something that looked a little bit like nervousness reflected in them. ‘Skye Sawyer, will you marry me?’

  For a moment it seemed to Skye that she’d forgotten how to speak. Or breathe. Then she found her voice. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes.’

  Coop pulled her to her feet and kissed her until she felt dizzy, then he laughed.

  ‘I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you,’ he whispered.

  ‘Skye Sawyer,’ continued Zeus, smiling, ‘as the wife of Cupid, you are welcomed into the family of Olympus. The same rights and privileges are granted to you as to other gods. Your humanity, kindness and compassion leave me with no alternative but to proclaim you as the Goddess of the Soul.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Skye, bewildered.

  Aphrodite frowned at her. ‘You mean you didn’t know?’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘That by becoming his wife, you become one of us?’

  Skye stared at her dumbly, shaking her head.

  Aphrodite sighed and glared at her son. ‘If you’d told me that sooner, we could have been spared a lot of time. She hardly had ulterior motives to get her hands on immortality if she didn’t even know it was possible.’

  ‘Immortality?’ Skye paled.

  ‘Can we damn well get on with this?’ snapped Zeus. Everyone fell silent. ‘Very well, then. Skye Sawyer, you are now a goddess of Olympus.’ He extended one index finger and pointed it at her. The top of his finger sizzled and there was a crack of thunder, then several gasps.

  Skye felt a warm glow spreading through her body. Her skin tingled.

  ‘Your wings!’

  Puzzled, Skye half turned, then gaped at the soft feathers extending from her back. They weren’t snowy white like Coop’s; instead there were many multi-coloured hues, glimmering in the sunlight.

  ‘Oh,’ she said weakly.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Coop touched her face.

  ‘We’ll be together forever.’

  ‘That we will,’ he said. ‘You know, “the wise want love.’’’

  She smiled faintly. ‘Shelley? “Those who love want wisdom”. I think I understand you now. I understand how you feel about true love.’

  Coop looked pained. ‘That’s because I didn’t think it was real.’ He drew her close to him. ‘Now I’ve got you, I see that it is.’

  ‘When did you know you felt that way?’

  He looked into her eyes. ‘It was creeping up on me for so long, I hardly realised. But that moment at the beach when Apollo tried to hurt you then he threw you into the sea? That’s when I knew. Because if anything happened to you, I wouldn’t want to live.’

  ‘We had to work for it.’

  He laughed. ‘That we did.’

  ‘It wasn’t just a sudden bolt out of the blue. Maybe,’ she paused for a moment, then took a deep breath, ‘maybe it’s sweeter now because it wasn’t instant. Because we had to fight for it.’

  ‘What are you saying, Skye?’

  ‘I helped Styx,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to, but I did. He’s in love with Lethe although he won’t admit it yet. I helped him see the light.’

  ‘And you did it without a magic gun.’

  She nodded. ‘Maybe you don’t need to shoot people. Maybe you just need to help them along a little bit. Get them to make the moves themselves instead of doing it for them.’

  ‘You mean sort of like a dating agency?’

  ‘A bit. Just one where you know they’re actually meant to be together.’

  ‘It might work,’ he said slowly. ‘Let’s put it to my mother and see what she says.’

  ‘Together?’ squeaked Skye.

  He kissed her deeply then smiled. ‘Together.’

  ~FIN~

  Lyre, Olympiana Book 2, is available at your favorite retailer.

  Learn more on the author’s website, or click here to sign up for her mailing list.

  THE WILD HUNT

  Faerie Sworn Book 1

  Ron C. Nieto

  Dark and Enchanting.

  Lily has a problem. She has just discovered that faeries are real, dangerous, and out to get her. She doesn't trust her savior, she doesn't understand his rules... but if she doesn't play and win, death might be the least of her worries.

  Magic still lingers in the mist-covered corners of the world, wherever the Old Ways are remembered. However, as civilization and reason scoff at the Fair Folk, the paths to power have been forgotten by all but a few.

  Lily Boyd was meant to become a faerie doctor, a warden of humans and a keeper of balance, until disbelief and pragmatism led her away from the hidden world and into a mundane life. But truth has a way to be heard and she will be forced to face it if she wants to save her family.

  Armed with nothing but her childhood memories and protected by a debt of gratitude she doesn’t understand, Lily must decide who to trust while she navigates a world that is darker and more twisted than she is prepared for.

  And should she make the wrong choice, should she mistake friend and foe...the eternal balance between the Faerie Courts may shatter, and then there will be more than Lily’s life on the line.

  License Notes

  This book is a work of fiction. Though some actual cities, towns or locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner. Any similarities of characters or names used in this book to any person past, present or future is coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people without express permission of the copyright owner. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  Acknowledgments

  As usual, my family gets the first and hugest “thank you.” Their continued support through every new bookish adventure is both humbling and amazing.

  Many thanks to my friend Carmen for beta-reading this one and telling me she loved it.

  Many thanks to Mathia Arkoniel as well for designing the best cover ever, taking my comments and giving me something that was exactly what I asked for, nothing at all what I imagined, and a thousand times better. Every time I hit a creative bump I would zoom in on Troy’s eyes, and somehow, that got me writing again with renewed enthusiasm.

  Thanks to my wonderful editor, Amy Eye, who encouraged and reassured me while making sure everything was perfect.

  And of course, always, thank you. There would be no point to my spinning of tales if you weren’t there.

  Prologue

  The beast howled and the gruesome lament drowned out the crack of thunder. The wind echoed the call, and in response, the blinds of nearly every house in the glen clattered shut.

  A long time had passed since the beast’s warning had been heeded. Its time upon the world was nearly past. Humans conquered their fears with their detached disbelief in anything but themselves, and knowing this, the beast had fallen silent for years.

  But now, while rain fell in sheets over the small village where the beast resided, it felt the shift—the air became too cold, the lightning struck too viciously and the sky turned a sick, roiling purple that had nothing to do with a late spring storm. Its ears perked and its deep, red eyes stared into empty air. It sniffed. It smelled death. It chose to warn the cowering mortals one last time.

  The beast howled again, and again the potency of its voice overtook the fury of the elements. The sound awoke people from their slumber, their limbs entangling in the bedding and cold sweat drenching their skin. Children cried and old people trembled, fearing the creature raised its voice for them. It sent shivers up and down every spine, for while
they might have tried to forget the Grim from their graveyard, a primal part of their soul knew that the beast had not forgotten about them and could come howling to their door one day.

  Only one little woman in one of the houses remembered the beast and paused in her task to listen to its desperate warning.

  “Oh dear,” she said. “Poor Grim has his fur tied up in knots, he does.” She kept working, selecting strange implements from different boxes stored in her attic, paying no mind to the storm.

  And yet, unaware as she seemed to be, she counted the howls while she gathered her things. She measured the cadence, the rhythm, the intervals. She even paid attention to the tone. Then, in a bout of silence following a roar of thunder that made the house’s foundations shake, she nodded to herself.

  “Not inescapable. Not quite yet. There’s a little time left… I can always use some more time.”

  She went to her ladder and double checked to make sure it was properly set. Then, she went down with her things and sat at her kitchen’s table, where she proceeded to prepare a cup of tea, not minding the late hour or the dark weather.

  While it steeped, she sat primly at her table and ran her gaze over the stove, the gas jet, and the appliances that were plugged in, in spite of the blizzard. Her expert eye looked for accidents waiting to happen, but there seemed to be none. She frowned in confusion and then took a sip from her tea.

  “Oh dear,” she said, muttering to herself. “The taste isn’t nearly floral enough. Where is the touch of sunlight? The spices of warmth? The tang of St. John’s Wort?” She drummed her fingers upon her table and thought back to the Grim’s howling and its meaning. Could it be connected? “Well, well. You wouldn’t think summer’s coming right around the corner after drinking this tea. Something needs be done… I should probably prepare some biscuits and see if that doesn’t bring forth the heat.”

  She got up again and went to her bedroom. There, she rummaged in a drawer of her bedside table where she kept an assortment of items. Her fingers slid over a four-leafed clove and three tiny copper bells, glided thoughtfully over a stone as smooth as silk, and finally selected a leather pouch. Inside, there was a beautifully wrought silver necklace with three charms hanging from it. Each charm was a detailed rose in full bloom and, touching them, she felt comforted by their cold edges. The jewelry contained a life debt thrice extended and it would save her three times, one for each rose. The storm raging outside would help, too, because if it came to it, the pouring water would do nothing but strengthen her savior. She put it on before heading back to the attic to gather the implements she needed to prepare her special biscuits.

  The woman selected bowls, spoons, and batterers. She had almost everything she needed when she heard it. A scurrying sound, nails rasping against wooden floors. She frowned. Of course there were fay living in her attic; she knew that. They kept her house clean and tidy as long as she told no one of their hard work. But they loved anonymity, and it was odd for them to be moving about so close and so openly.

  Something moved up in the rafters, casting a flickering shadow upon her, and a box was pushed off from her neatly organized shelves. Startled, she stumbled back and her feet tripped over an old book that hadn’t been on the floor a moment before.

  She fell.

  In a moment of clarity before everything went black, she realized her head was going to hit the shelf behind her in a most convenient angle.

  A perfect accident, of course. They do love their accidents so.

  The old woman came to her senses, startled by a sharp pain in her lower leg, but her head felt fine. The shelf she had careened into had fallen, all its boxed contents scattered around her, but strong arms encircled her shoulders, protecting her and propping her up in a sitting position. A cold drop of water fell on the tip of her nose.

  “So you made it,” she said. Her hand reached up and patted his forearm.

  “I gave you my word,” the man replied. “However, I must admit I had expected to have fulfilled our bargain many times over by now.”

  “These old bones are still quite resilient, I’ll have you know,” she said, attempting to push away from the man’s chest. A jolt of white hot pain radiated from her leg and she gasped. “Although perhaps not as much as they used to be,” she admitted. “I suppose you couldn’t have avoided that, could you?”

  He shifted and helped her sit on her own, taking care not to move her too abruptly. “I swore I would save your life, within my ability, three times until my debt was settled. Pain was not mentioned in the exchange, I fear.”

  “You and your love for literal words.” The woman scoffed, but couldn’t keep from smiling. “You could at least get me downstairs.”

  “Not provided for in our contract, either,” he said. But even as he pronounced the words, he gathered her in his arms and crossed toward the trapdoor, ignoring the mess on the floor. Someone else would sort it out later.

  He maneuvered her down the ladder without jostling her then settled her on her couch. The living room lighting was better than the attic’s and she took the chance to study him.

  He hadn’t changed since the last time they’d met. He was tall and his lean body moved with the fluid ease of a man in his prime. His pale skin contrasted his dark hair, which had been wet each and every time she had seen him. He possessed a sort of temporal beauty, like a statue, and only his eyes belonged to a living, feeling person. The vivid green reflected an easy camaraderie at the time, though she had seen them gleam with mischief, wickedness, curiosity, and laughter. She’d also seen them go very, very still, like cut emeralds—just as hard, just as cold. It was those eyes that made him look like either a young man or an old soul, for the rest of him was ageless.

  “These past sixty years have treated you well, I see,” she said after a moment.

  “Sixty-six years, in fact,” he replied with a small smirk. “You look well, too.”

  She smiled. Her hair had gone white, her skin showed how much she liked to laugh and her joints didn’t want her to spend the nights wandering the countryside anymore, but she knew she had aged well. She had been happy all her life, after all.

  “I would have expected you to be wiser, doctor,” he said after a long silence where they just took each other in. “After the warning the graveyard’s grim howled tonight, you should have known death waited for you and taken precautions.”

  “I did take them, boy. Why do you think I wore this tonight?” she asked, motioning to the necklace.

  “Boy, indeed,” he said, the irony of the endearment not lost on him. He didn’t look bothered by what other fay might have considered a slight and Mackenna chuckled. The slight movement caused another pulse of pain to wreck her leg, and she sighed wearily.

  “I should probably call a real doctor now.”

  He considered it, head tilted to the side as he listened. The storm outside was abating and the grim was silent, so he nodded.

  “And I should probably go.”

  He nodded to the woman and turned away with purposeful strides. He’d entered by the front door, but left through the kitchen, likely to avoid the iron horseshoe hanging on the porch.

  “Don’t be a stranger for another sixty-six years, Troy,” the woman called after his retreating back.

  If he heard her words, he made no sign of it. She sighed and picked up her phone, exhausted after the incident and with no more adrenaline left to ignore the pain. Emergency services would be overwhelmed because of the storm, so she might have to wait longer than usual for an ambulance.

  While the line connected, she felt a chill at her throat. One of the rose pendants from her necklace wilted, the silver being re-wrought by invisible, frozen hands, and a drop of water fell from it as the petals dried.

  Chapter One

  Lily had forgotten the village. Only the picturesque home of her grandmother remained in her memory as an idyllic retreat from the prying eyes of the community, hiding behind tall, ancient trees and overlooking the still waters o
f the loch.

  She frowned and let her suitcase rest on the dirt path twisting off the main road and into Grandma Mackenna's front garden. In her memory, the place had acquired a children’s picture book quality with whitened walls, square windows, and a steep roof of red gables. It had been a safe haven, a place where her mum and dad sent her when summer holidays came along and she was too young to stay alone while they worked. In spite of the wet, chilly climate of Scotland, those days had always been bright and full of laughter and games—and those games never, ever involved knives.

  It was planted on the side of the path, threatening to be devoured by the greenery. It was almost unobtrusive, nonchalant. And clean.

  Lily took a step closer and poked the knife with her toe. It didn’t budge. Whoever had done it had set the handle deep in the earth and packed it tight afterward. The blade protruded, standing like a sentinel in the path and reflecting the feeble rays of an early July sun. Fighting back a shiver, she grabbed her suitcase again and hurried down the lane. She would come back later and get that knife out, but first she wanted to say hello and perhaps catch a break. The train ride from Manchester to Aberdeen had been long, and the bus she had caught from there hadn’t made the trip any more comfortable.

  The house itself appeared after a bend in the path. It didn’t look as she remembered. The white walls were a dab gray and the bright red gables didn’t exist—the roof was covered in blue-black slate. However, Grandma Mackenna was exactly as Lily recalled her.

  “There you are!” She had been sitting in a rocking chair in the porch, angled just so to get a better view of the newcomers. Even in the distance, Lily could see her smile causing a network of tiny wrinkles to surround her vibrant eyes. The gesture erased at least five years off her age.

  “Grandma!” Lily ran, her luggage bouncing against her side, and met her on the stairs of the porch. “Don’t get up,” she protested as she hugged the thin body of the old woman. “You’re not supposed to walk around.”