by L. V. Lewis
“Then I’m going to need that left hand, beautiful,” he says.
I hand him my hand, almost forgetting that part in the thrill of it all. The ring is beautiful, not that I would have cared. Seeing him do this for me is more than everything I could ever want. He knows that my fans have been with me since the beginning of my career, and not they’ve been a part of my engagement.
He kisses me, and the screaming grows louder. It’s utter chaos in the audience, but I still hear him when he hugs me and whispers in my ear.
“I’ve been yours since we met, too,” he says. “I’m yours forever, Sky. Forever and long after that.”
That’s more than a woman like me could ever ask for from a man like him. His love for me and who I truly am is all I will ever need.
THE END
BONUS: EXCERPT – HEART OF KNIVES
DARK ROADS
“Hello, darkness, my friend,” Gary Locke whispers, half prayer and half plea.
He turns on the lights to his chambers and steps inside. His shoulders heave and slump, as he forces himself to relax. He creeps from room to room, turning on every light, reassuring himself there are no attackers on his home turf.
Returning to the kitchen, Gary pulls a beer bottle out of the fridge, cracks it open, and takes a long swig. You’re gonna end up giving yourself an aneurysm if you don’t learn to accept the reason for the Complex, he reminds himself.
“It’s not my fault,” he says out loud. “I’m surrounded by those I called the enemy a year ago.”
When he reaches the living room, Gary takes off the black button-up shirt with UAS emblazoned on the right shoulder. Uni Ama Security, the PI firm he works for, provides these uniforms to its personnel. After a moment’s consideration, he takes off his white T-shirt and gun belt, dropping them on the floor. Muscle ripples under taut, tanned skin as he lands with a thud on his couch.
“R-Toc, TV on, channel thirty-four. Set temperature up to seventy-seven degrees,” he calls to his apartment AI.
A screen on the far white wall hums to life, and a human newscaster from planet Raxu emerges from the static. Gary stares at the television, but the stories being reported don’t matter. Seeing the cities he fought for still standing calms his senses.
Absently scratching his right arm, he feels the roughness of the scar running on his forearm, and looks down at it. During the war with the Metas on Raxu, Gary fought an array of demons. Many of the protections Humans had at their disposal to use against them were runes drawn in human blood. Figuring out he would need to use his own blood while on the move didn’t take long.
Several runes are displayed on the front door of his apartment. Some have begun seeping into the white paint and need retouching. Gary reaches into his pants to grab his pocket knife, when a beep goes off in his right hand.
“Who is it, R-Toc?”
A soothing, robotic voice replies, “Climintra Master Sergeant Temera Wiles is attempting contact, Gary. Shall I set up holographic capabilities?”
“Yeah. Go ahead, R-Toc.”
Invisible beams digitize a 3-D model of Gary’s boss three feet from his position. The tall, black woman has a stern but beautiful face. Her uniform is on, still sharp, and her eyes take in everything without being obvious. Gary fought with her on Raxu and couldn’t have asked for a better leader in the bowels of hell. Now she’s a big muckety-muck at Climintra headquarters and oversees PI units Uni Ama Security here at the Complex. She’s the reason Gary has this gig, and, considering his condition, he thanks the hell out of her for it.
“Hey, Suge, looks like you were thinking of resting up a bit. Afraid that’s not in the cards for you.” Temera smiles.
“I clocked out for the day, Master Sergeant.” Gary holds up his beer. “I’ve been drinking. Can’t this wait till mornin’?”
“No. We’ve got a one-seven-one-nine red. You’re the only one I trust with it. Details are already sent. Get on it now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t give me any of your infamous lip, Sergeant. Wiles, out.”
The digitized model disappears, leaving Gary to his work. He throws his clothes and gun belt back on, then hurries over to his computer and pulls up the information the Master Sergeant sent him. It’s a Code Red—high level, important persons involved.
Reading through the files, Gary learns who the important person is and nearly drops his beer: Princess Amarie Vanyarin, the Elven ambassador here in the Complex. Two threats have been leveled against her—one written, one video. The person calling for her protection is Prince Erihstoll Habbernock, Fairy Prince and also an ambassador in the Complex. According to the files, the two are scheduled to be married in four months.
Gary takes a moment to watch the short video. On the screen, a black-hooded figure points at the camera, making sure the viewer can see brown fur and razor-like claws distinctly in the low light. The voice coming from beneath the hood is raspy and jagged, as though Seldova Com, or regular English as Humans know it, is not a language often used by the speaker.
“Prince Erihstoll Habbernock, Ambassador of the Complex, betrothed of Princess Amarie Vanyarin, listen well. All know you shall receive guaranteed kingship of the Fairies upon marrying. I vow to you, should you bind yourself to her, both of you shall die. Princess Amarie Vanyarin, your efforts to create peace with the Human filth has marked you as a prized target. The Complex cannot save you. Humans cannot save you. Peace cannot save you. Death comes for you, girl. It cannot be stopped.”
The video ends, and an imperceptible tremor cuts up Gary’s spine. Princess Amarie Vanyarin is one of only a handful of Metas speaking in favor of Humans. Most Metas still want us sent out of the Seldova System, if they want to see us alive at all. Even after the truce, extermination squads still roam the three Meta planets in this system. If Vanyarin dies, there is a good chance the other spokesmen will be cowed into silence . . . or outright rejection of an entire species will occur.
Gary smacks the microchip hidden in his right hand. “Call Master Sergeant.”
Temera Wiles’ hologram appears a few seconds later. “So, you all caught up, Suge?”
“Oh yeah. I’m going to need a kit, Temera. The whole deal.”
Temera’s eyes widen and her mouth drops open. “You know that’s not permissible in the Complex, Gary. Even Climintra are allowed only—”
“Do you want her to stay alive or not, Temera? I’ve only got so much blood to put into runes, and there’s a half-dozen demons alone that aren’t bound to it. Add the fact that they may not send demons at all, and that’s a lot of weaponry I don’t have. She will die without a kit, and you know it.”
Temera nods. “You have a point. I’ll see if I can get a full kit teleported here. Ama Seldova won’t like it, but now the politicians need to worry about one of their own. Be careful, Suge. Looks like the Complex is gonna be a wash.”
“Not yet, Temera. We’ve got a dark road in front of us though. The two of us managed to cross the last one.”
“Too true. Get on over to Princess Vanyarin’s home. She’s housed in the jungle biome. She’s going to need you, Sergeant. Wiles, out.”
BLACK, GREY, PINK
Magically grown vines wrap around Princess Amarie Vanyarin’s large apartment, giving her some semblance of the forest home she grew up in. Exotic flowers this planet never knew before the Complex’s construction create scattered, lovely arrangements along the concrete pillars keeping this Human architecture standing. Despite the Complex’s vastness, Princess Vanyarin continues to feel constrained and claustrophobic.
The threats leveled against her do nothing to assuage her nervousness. Years of war and Metas who cannot accept that their reality has changed, and is further evolving, are the reasons she decided to do the work she’s doing now—not to become a target. So many have died over ancient ideals, yet they cannot seem to wait for the next body to fall.
Amarie’s soul feels sick and turbulent because the body they are demanding now is her
own. This new enemy makes no demands of her, outside of no longer existing. There are no bargaining chips for her to use or exploit. In the video, they are certain she is already dead, which causes her to entertain the thought in some moments that make her feel like she is choking on dead twigs. Right now is one of those moments. It begins as just a twinge in her throat, then a small cough, and she falls to the floor, choking on invisible sawdust.
“Princess!”
From across the room, a pixie zips through the air on translucent, cyan wings. Landing next to Amarie, Sydney Yuuing grows from the size of a speck of dirt to human size in an instant. The princess seems to be choking, so Sydney reaches into her best friend’s mouth, but finds nothing in her mouth nor blocking her throat.
“Corilynn, help please!”
A half-foot tall blur comes rushing into the living room, skittering about Princess Amarie’s body, and then stops like it hit a wall. Holding aloft in midair, Corilynn raises her arms over her head and whispers inaudibly. Gold swirls appear in her hands and twist into semicircles, which waft slowly down to Princess Amarie’s nose. The princess inhales with a sharp breath, then relaxes.
“She’s fine, Sydney. No magic—just a panic attack. Poor girl, she needs to get out of her head. I put her into a trance so her body and mind can calm down.”
“Oh, thank the mihres!” Sydney exhales. “I’m not ready to lose her.”
Despite the fact that Corilynn is only five inches tall, Sydney knows the blue-bodied sprite is far more capable of protecting the princess than herself. However, she had hoped that with regard to keeping the princess healthy, Sydney would prove most helpful. Now it seems this, too, has been taken away from her. Oh well, she tells herself, the princess is safe. That’s most important. With plenty of care, Sydney lifts Princess Amarie back onto the couch, doing her best to ensure she will be comfortable upon waking.
Shrinking down to normal size, Sydney starts dancing around the apartment while humming a little tune. Corilynn watches and laughs. Give a pixie any reason at all to dance, and she will. Corilynn is less happy. If the princess cannot handle the stress of being threatened, how will she survive being attacked?
While thinking about this, a knock on the apartment door makes Corilynn jump. Okay, she thinks, so maybe I’m not on solid footing, either. Flying up to the door, she peeks into the spy hole and sees a sandy-haired, well-built fairy boy. He’s wearing the regulated uniform of sterilized pants and shirt—in this case, gray, with a bright orange “U” in conspicuous areas on each. White wings sparkle and wink in the overly-sunlit hallway.
Before opening the door, Corilynn wonders if the Princess will care if Prince Erihstoll eye-fucks her naked form tonight. Nope, still not worth putting the damnable, uncomfortable fabric over her skin. Besides, the boy has a live princess to stare at, not a dead one. Yeah, but . . . fairies are known for their voracious appetites, and not having the willpower to abstain from them.
Gold energy forms over one hand and moves to the doorknob as she makes the gestures of grabbing and turning it. Erihstoll hurries in, a worried look on his face. Corilynn smiles; at least he’s concerned about the princess. She touches the prince’s shoulder and points towards the couch in the middle of the room.
“Is my princess doing well?”
“‘Your’ princess is fine, Prince Erihstoll. A slight panic gripped her, and I put her to sleep,” Corilynn replies.
“I . . . thought elves weren’t supposed to sleep, just trance?”
“Sleep doesn’t hurt them, Prince. It’s just an unnatural state for their kind. She should wake up in a few minutes.”
The prince strides with grace to the couch, leaving Corilynn and their conversation in his wake. Corilynn’s red birthmarks glow with intensity for a moment, anger attempting to spew from her mouth, hands, something. No, she reminds herself, we’re in the Complex to prove peace is possible. Prince Erihstoll is not used to dealing with commoners. He’s worried about Amarie. Let him.
Despite her pep talk, Corilynn watches the prince’s actions carefully. She should trust him more, considering one of her best friends will be marrying the buffoon within a short juncture. She believes that he loves Amarie, but his intent beyond the marriage, though, is what remains unclear. Will he reign in his dour fantasies? Will his heart stay faithful to her? Corilynn can only wonder, and keep him at a human’s arm length for now.
Sydney sidles up to Corilynn as the prince fawns over his princess. “If looks could kill.”
“Don’t be trite. I’m trying, even if only for Amarie’s benefit,” Corilynn says.
Dancing around her friend, Sydney smiles, “That counts, beautiful lady!”
Sydney flies off, and Corilynn refocuses her attention on Prince Erihstoll. Sitting on the edge of the coffee table, the prince places a tentative hand on Amarie’s thigh. Amarie stirs, putting her hand over Erihstoll’s. A smile forms on Amarie’s lips, though her eyes remain closed. Erihstoll moves off the table to the couch, closer to Amarie. The princess’ arms fly up to accept the embrace of her prince. Though Corilynn can’t hear a word, she knows they are whispering the sweet nothings of lovers, and she watches their auras turn pink along the edges and bleed inward. I really should trust him more, Corilynn reminds herself. Perhaps the time to put down the old grudges has come.
ORDERS
“Start.”
Gary’s Flyer, a hoverboard with seats by design, a motorcycle at heart, hums to life at his command. The Ama Seldova government provided Climintra personnel with all sorts of gadgets and gear, but this is Gary’s favorite, by far. Whereas most people in the Complex took public transportation, law enforcement officers get to choose their own routes. Granted, it is a necessity to do the job, but that doesn’t mean Gary can’t enjoy the breeze whipping through his hair.
There are about two hours of daylight left before the Complex’s automated blinders create the unnatural twelve-hour night. Then the creatures of the dark come out of their underground apartments and own the public areas. Gary Locke would prefer not to be on the streets when that time comes. Gunning the hand accelerator on his Flyer, Gary settles in for a long ride to the other side of the Complex, to a princess in waiting.
***
The blinders are already beginning their slow descent when Gary reaches Princess Amarie’s apartment. The moving shadows make him nervous and more alert. His boss’ voice slices through the paranoia already building up inside his mind. She’s going to need you, Sergeant. Right. I’ve got a job to do. Time to get to work.
Until a kit shows up, the only weapons Gary has are the Ama Seldova-issued segif on his gun belt and a pocket knife. The gun only temporarily knocks out an individual, and the knife won’t be useful against most Nighters. Against a single opponent, this won’t prove to be an issue. Two attackers, and Gary will have to take some chances. More than that, and the only real option for guaranteed survival is running. Hoping the attack doesn’t come tonight, or has happened already, Gary runs for the elevators leading to the top floor.
During the day, the Complex is filled with Humans and Metas moving about, each doing their job or living as best they can in what amounts to a giant tube. The same is true at night. The Human population gives way to Nighters, who are inherently quiet, which makes the atmosphere far more stifling to Gary as he passes them in the apartment’s lobby. The stares are worse. In Gary’s mind, each one of them looks hungry and thinks he is a stupid, easy meal.
Safely upon reaching the elevator, Gary smacks the ‘Up’ button hard enough to echo back towards the awakened civilians. Snickers echo around him as he turns with a silly look on his face. Hey fella, we’re all here to be peaceful. Chill out. Those words are etched on every face that turned at the sound. Fuck, Gary thinks. Why do I have to be so damned human?
An eternity of stares and seconds later, the elevator doors open. Gary forces himself to step inside with some semblance of dignity. Not too fast, not so slow as to be cartoonish. Now alone, he heaves a sigh. The
doors begin to close, and he thinks, Okay, get your bearings back. Relax. You’re a goddamn soldier. Act like one. Before the doors can fuse shut, pale blue fingers slip between them, automatically reversing open. A tall, lean man with the pallor of undeath smiles at him.
“I assume you’re going up,” the man asks.
“Yep. Straight to the top,” Gary replies.
“Perfect.”
The man pushes the button for the floor below Princess Amarie’s, then steps back and to the side so he’s flush with Gary. Side by side for the full ride, neither looks at the other. Gary decided early on this was the most uncomfortable elevator ride in man’s history that didn’t lead to someone’s death or dismemberment. So far. They reach the man’s (vampire, Gary) floor and the doors slide open. Before exiting, he looks Gary straight in the eye.
“Come and see me sometime, when being a monster hunter isn’t such a new smell on you. We’ll have more fun then,” the man says.
“Don’t do anything I need to come and see you for. We’ll pretend this didn’t happen,” Gary replies, meaning every word.
“Everybody knows that is not how this experiment will go down, Locke. You don’t have enough to lose yet, so it’s no fun to play with you. And please, feel free to visit me any time.”
The man vanishes into shadow as the doors close. Gary stares at the ceiling of the elevator, wondering why vampires were gifted with mind-reading. Willing the car to move up faster than programmed, he thinks, Just one more floor, dude, and we’ve finished the hard part.
The elevator doors open, and immediately Gary knows he’d been wrong. The hard part wasn’t over at all. A piercing scream is sounding through the thick walls of the princess’ suite on his left. What the fuck is happening to her? No time, gotta move. Gary pulls his segif from its holster and finds the nearest door leading left.
With one swift kick, he splinters the solid oak door. With a second kick, he smashes enough to duck in without his vision being impaired. From the corners of his eyes, he sees a flashing light but has no idea what it might be. To his right, however, is the princess. Naked. Her dark olive skin on display. Her arms and face are tilted up and what looks like purple smoke is weaving its way into her nostrils. Another scream escapes her mouth. Bolting from his crouched position, Gary harpoons himself into the princess in a desperate plea to stop this attempted possession.
