by R. J. Blain
“From a copperhead bite?”
“Try eight bites.”
“You were bitten eight times?” Grabbing me by the back of my neck, my father dragged me into the kitchen and forced me to sit at the table. “Pauline, your puppy is trying to get himself killed. I thought you said you were going to teach him not to piss off the local wildlife.”
Glaring at me, my mother planted her hands on her hips. “Are you dying, James?”
“Do you want the answer that makes you happy or the truth?”
My mother growled. “James.”
“I feel like shit. I’ve been informed copperheads are members of the pit viper family, and as their bite is typically non-lethal, there’s no specific antivenin for them. Doctors prefer to treat the symptoms rather than risk the side-effects the standard pit viper antivenin may cause. They considered giving it to me anyway because I was bitten eight times. They were very impressed I hadn’t fallen over dead from so many bites. They think at least a few of them were warning bites without much venom. Copperheads can do that, apparently.”
“You were bitten eight times.”
“That’s what I said. Eight times. My partner fell into a nest of them. The first one got me when I pulled her out of it. At least they disliked me more than her. She got away without being bitten. The rest of its family joined in shortly after. Karma refused to let me go back to work.”
My mother pulled out her gun, dumped the magazine, emptied the chamber, and arched a brow. “James.”
“While I deserve being pistol whipped into next week, can you have mercy on me this once? I’ve had a bad enough day already. It’s a miracle I didn’t throw up on my partner, Mom. The damned bites are throbbing, you’ll try to feed me, it won’t end well, and I can’t focus my eyes worth a shit right now.”
Sighing, Mom placed her gun on the counter, approached my chair, and leaned down to kiss my forehead. “Poor puppy. Do you want us to stay the night?”
“If Karma finds out I wasn’t supervised, she may very well kill me. I’ve just gotten her to start trusting me, so I’d rather not ruin my hard work. She even offered to pick me up for our shift if I’m feeling a little less like death warmed over by tomorrow morning.”
“Go take a shower. You smell awful.”
“Thanks, Mom. You better go clean your mouth out with soap. You just kissed pond scum—garbage-infused pond scum copperheads were living in.”
My mother blanched and headed for the sink.
There was no way I was making it into work, and after watching me wobble around my new house with the coherency of a drunk, Dad seconded Karma’s edict I shouldn’t be left alone. My parents waged war over who got to take the day off to stay with me while I notified my partner I had supervision so she could do her job without worrying. I suggested she bother Roy and steal him and his partner if she needed to make a foray into the field to gather evidence or catch our runaway suspect.
If two mated Fenerec males from Baltimore’s secondary pack couldn’t keep her out of trouble, no one could.
An hour after I texted Karma I wasn’t coming in, my father won the argument, sending my mother out the door while she snarled complaints.
“You’re going to get fired, Dad.”
“Nonsense. I’ll work from here today. I even brought my laptop. The only people who’ll notice I’m not in the office are people I don’t want to deal with today, especially not when my puppy walked into a wall this morning. You can fill me in on the case that caused you to fall into a nest of copperheads while you’re at it. While I enjoy every chance to annoy you, I’d rather not be doing a bedside watch to make sure you keep breathing overnight.”
I grimaced and rubbed my head, which had taken the brunt of the collision. “At least I know what I’m going to do if Gary pranks me again. I’m going to hunt down some copperheads and give them to him as a gift.”
Our pack’s Second enjoyed yanking my chain far too much.
“Call me if he gets any worse,” Mom ordered, glaring at Dad before heading for the door. “I’ll be back in time to make dinner. Don’t let him get into any trouble, Sebastian.”
“We’ll be fine. If he gets worse, I’ll take care of it—and call you.”
“You better.” With a parting curse, she left.
Dad and I sighed our relief.
“Don’t mind your mother. She misses fawning all over you. I spoke to the pack doctor, and she says your symptoms are in line with what a Normal with a bad bite has, so you should be fine in a day or two. If you’re still feeling bad tonight, she promised to bring over some morphine so you can get some rest. You can go to work tomorrow or the next day.”
One day, maybe someone would explain why medicines simply didn’t work well on Fenerec—and why I was one of the rare, lucky few who could get some benefit from the drug. “Did she explain why shifting didn’t help?”
“The toxin isn’t like alcohol. You might have sped up purging it, but likely didn’t do anything other than spread it when you shifted. Then she started making sounds like she wanted to come over, do some blood tests, and otherwise experiment on you, to which I said no.”
“I appreciate that.”
“I thought you would. Now that your mother isn’t hovering, why don’t you tell me, in detail, how your partner ended up in a copperhead nest in the first place.”
“I’m going to need coffee for this talk, Dad.”
While Dad made coffee, I dug out my work laptop and checked my email. Karma had made good use of her time yesterday, and I found a dozen or so emails from her with new information on the Dulaney and Hamilton cases. While tempted to call her for an update, Dad would attempt to talk to her himself, and the last thing I wanted was to give my parents a chance to interfere with my partnership.
If I had my way, they wouldn’t meet her until long after I erased any of Karma’s doubts I was the one and only partner she’d ever need.
One thing I liked about Karma’s work method was her habit of emailing me with all of her theories, even the harebrained ones I couldn’t make sense of. Most of those were junked without deliberation. Sometimes, however, fact proved stranger than fiction, and those creative, crazy ideas turned out to be the truth. So, I discounted nothing until I could definitely prove it was impossible.
Neither one of us had figured out who had stuffed Mike Dulaney’s brother up in a tree after giving him such a thorough cleanup the forensics guys couldn’t give us any usable evidence or clues. However, with the connection between the Dulaney and Hamilton cases, it was possible we might get a two-for-one solve special.
Mike Dulaney had been cleared for his brother’s death, but would he come clean if we investigated him for the Hamilton case? Considering how fast he’d run after we’d showed up to ask questions, I doubted it. How did it all link together? Why had Dulaney’s brother been killed?
Why had the Hamiltons been killed?
The pictures Karma had discovered due to the murder of Hamilton’s former secretary might lead us somewhere, in time. My gut instinct screamed we were missing something that would link them all together, and when we did, we’d solve both cases in one fell and dangerous swoop.
That was the problem with violent crimes. They started with violence, and far too often, they ended with violence, too—violence I wanted nowhere near the tiny woman so determined to dive headlong into danger to make a difference in the world. I doubted Dad would be able to offer any insights, but as I had from the first day I’d joined the FBI, I started at the very beginning and laid out the case for him in the slim hope I’d discover something new that would make all the pieces fall together.
One day they would. I would see to it one way or another.
From the Requiem for the Rift King World
Kalen and Breton are the main characters from Storm Without End and Storm Surge, the first two novels of the Requiem for the Rift King quartet.
At current, Kalen and Breton’s story can only be found in the Requiem for the
Rift King box set. These novels are among the first I ever wrote, and as such, they’re just not as good as more modern stories.
The next time you see Kalen and Breton, the rest of the series will release in another box set along with the conclusion of the Fall of Erelith story.
These books are a labor of love.
I hope you enjoy them anyway.
Rockslide was written as a glimpse of Breton’s life with the young Rift King before the events of Storm Without End.
Gifts Fit for a Queen was written as part of a fun little Black Friday hop I participated in years ago. I thought it would be fun seeing what sort of trouble Kalen could get into before he’d been saddled with the mantle of the Rift King.
Please enjoy.
One
Breton: Rockslide
“Breton, wait! You’ll trigger another…”
Breton vaulted off Perin’s back and hit the ground running. Without slowing, he dropped off the edge of the trail and plummeted down, riding on a bed of loose rock and pebbles. The collapsed bank slid under his feet, dumping him at the bottom in a cloud of dust.
“…rockslide.”
A shower of small stones and dust threatened to choke him, and shards pierced his legs. The cliff above groaned and more pebbles bounced off him.
He staggered over to where Tavener lay buried in dust and stones, save for the once proud head and broken neck. His knees buckled and he hit the ground hard.
All he could see of Kalen was his lone hand tangled in his stallion’s mane. The rest of the Rift King was buried beneath the rock, loose gravel and dirt, and his horse. The breath he held exploded from his chest when he uncovered Kalen’s face, shrouded beneath the long, black strands of Tavener’s mane.
Blood from several cuts on the young man’s face stained his skin; the blood was already cracked and turning brown.
“Get a witch and healer!” Breton bellowed up at the four other Guardians waiting above. He sat back on his heels and stared at the unconscious form and the debris from the landslide. That Tavener had somehow fallen on top of Kalen had saved his life. Breton’s eyes burned. The stallion hadn’t just protected Kalen in life but had protected that life even through death.
“Thank you,” he whispered. His hand shook as he stroked Kalen’s hair away from his bloodied, pale brow. “Don’t make me do it, Kalen.”
The Rift King was alive; the cold sense of dread in his belly remained. The risk and threat to the young man’s life hadn’t diminished. The wrench he’d felt upon Arik’s death hadn’t happened yet.
Kalen was still alive.
“Gorteth is going. How is he?” Maiten shouted in reply.
“Buried. Get down here!”
“We’re coming.”
Unlike Breton, the three Guardians were more careful about their descent. Maiten went first, sliding down with more caution than Ason and Joris. Breton shielded Kalen’s head from the stones bouncing down from above. Maiten staggered to a halt at his side.
“Oh hellfires,” the red-haired man muttered.
“He’s still alive,” Breton said, as much to convince himself as to tell the other Guardians.
“I know. Hellfires, hellfires, hellfires! I’m not even sure how. Ason, Joris, we need to get these rocks moved, quick.”
Breton sat back on his heels and stared at the pile in front of them. It was easily taller than Perin, spread out from the cliff, and covered most of the ledge. Tavener and Kalen had been tossed to the fringe of the slide, with the horse’s corpse taking the brunt of the fall. Kalen lay pinned between the horse and boulders strewn near the edge of the ledge.
“If he was as big as you, he’d be dead,” Ason said. The Guardian pointed at the rocks. “If we move the rocks off them, the rest of the pile will collapse.”
“We’ll have to work from the top down. Throw them over there,” Maiten said.
“Watch above,” Breton warned.
If the trail collapsed again, they’d all die. He cast a long glance over the edge. For all the ledge looked stable enough, he didn’t trust it to hold the weight of even more stone falling from above.
“We’ll take turns watching him. Breton, will you…?” At Maiten’s words, all the Guardians stared at him with pale faces and wide eyes. Maiten’s gaze dropped to Breton’s sword.
Breton gripped the hilt, closed his eyes, and drew the weapon. The question pained him and he struggled to draw breath.
The Rift King always, always died by the sword. It should have been his sword that had supped of Arik’s life. Breton leaned the weapon against one of the boulders and stared down at the still figure at his feet. “Yes.”
“Your watch first,” Maiten whispered.
“No, I’ll watch,” Ason said. The younger man clapped Breton’s back before squeezing his shoulder. The next words were spoken in a whisper. “I wouldn’t want to sit, watch, and do nothing if he were my foal.”
Breton brushed Ason’s hand away, nodded in acceptance of the words, and got to work.
If they dug him out fast enough, if they didn’t trigger another collapse, there was at least a chance Kalen would survive.
Breton focused on flinging each stone aside as quickly as he could. If he hadn’t been blind to the ever-growing piles of missives and work, if he had been paying more attention to the Rift King’s growing anxiety, if he’d just made the offer to go with him, Kalen wouldn’t have been alone on the trails.
Maiten joined him where the pile was the tallest and started tossing rocks aside. “It isn’t your fault. Things like this happen in the Rift. Even to the Rift King. If you’d been here, you’d be just as dead as Tavener, and Perin dead with you. So stop looking like this is your fault.”
With the cold feeling of dread still in his gut, Breton threw aside another stone.
When it came his turn to watch, he shook his head and continued to work, ignoring the sweat stinging his eyes.
The healer and witch arrived when the last rays of the sunset fell upon them. With a word, Crysallis summoned a globe of light that drove away the shadows of the night. Breton staggered to a halt and wiped the sweat from his brow.
They were almost there. Almost finished. The twisted ruins of Tavener’s legs stuck out from among the bloodied stones.
“My turn,” the witch said, sliding down from the trail as though she were nothing more than a feather on the wind. “Back away, back away.”
Maiten grabbed hold of Breton’s elbow, and he fell back. He shook his head. His muscles burned from exertion and each breath ached in his chest. “Are you fine?”
Nodding hurt, and Breton struggled to keep his expression neutral.
The witch stared at the rocks and made a displeased sound in her throat. “To dust!”
The air was sucked out of Breton’s lungs. He shuddered. The stones still piled over Tavener’s corpse trembled, creaked, and erupted into a cloud of fine powder. He coughed and covered his mouth with his sleeve.
Breton wasn’t sure who the healer was; she was clad in a dam’s white robes of mourning with a black veil over her face. The breath refused to be freed from his throat, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears. All he could do was stand, watch, and wait.
Ason had the right of it. All he could do was stare at Kalen’s still face and hope he didn’t imagine the rise and fall of the young man’s chest as he breathed.
“Wake him, Crysallis,” the healer ordered.
It was Yuris’s voice. It was Yuris’s voice, which meant there was hope.
If the witch could wake him, Kalen would live.
The breath left his lungs in a rush.
Yuris didn’t heal the hopeless. She refused to touch the dead. Kalen would live.
Maiten was laughing. Not only was the Guardian laughing, but Breton’s name was rasped out on desperate gasps for air. His friend’s face was blurred when Breton opened his eyes, but he could see tears streaming down his face.
“W-what?” The word came out slurred, and Maiten howled, stagger
ing back and clutching his hands to his sides.
“Maiten!” Ason scolded. “How many fingers am I holding up, Breton?”
The young Guardian stood over him and waved three of his fingers in his face. Breton scowled. “Three.”
Ason pressed his lips together into a thin line, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. Maiten sank to his knees, silenced but shaking with the need to chortle.
“You fainted,” Maiten choked out.
Breton lurched upright. “What?”
“You fainted,” the Guardians chorused. Ason laughed with Maiten.
“So glad you could rejoin us,” Crysallis said, mirth lacing her every word. “It is not often I have to wake two people so soon together. Please don’t do that again.”
“Kalen…?” When he tried to stand, Ason stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
“He’ll be fine, Breton. You can sheathe your sword,” Yuris said. The healer, at least, didn’t laugh. Either that, or she was much better at hiding it. “He sleeps.”
Breton stared at the woman and was glad he couldn’t see her face through the veil. “I fainted?”
“It was very elegant and dignified, but most certainly a faint,” the healer confirmed.
He let his head drop forward, and he groaned.
Maiten clapped his shoulder. “I look forward to the day I need to remind you of this moment. You should be grateful His Majesty was in too much pain to notice your very dignified and most elegant sprawl.”
“You should be more grateful Maiten caught you so you didn’t crack your head open,” Ason said.
“Please forget this happened,” Breton replied.
His request was met with more laughter. Yuris knelt next to him and patted his cheek with her bloodstained hand. “They’re just relieved, Breton. We almost lost him that time. Let’s take him home, shall we?”
Maiten and Ason held out their hands to help him to his feet. Breton swallowed back what was left of his pride and let them jerk him upright.
