Just A Little Wicked: A Limited Edition Collection of Magical Paranormal and Urban Fantasy Tales

by Lily Luchesi

Unnatural

  Cornered

  Hereditary

  Enticed

  Hot Contemporary Romance

  The Therapist

  Hot Fairy Tale Romance

  A Beast Of A Week

  Paranormal romance

  Her Mane Escort

  Anthologies

  Shifters Gone Wild

  Curse Of Christmas

  Witch Ways

  Just A Little Wicked

  WHEN ECHOES CALL

  The Avenging the Void Series

  Raquel Anne

  About When Echoes Call

  There are voices that echo in my mind. Sometimes they’re no louder than a feather-light whisper, tickling my senses like a lover’s caress. Sometimes they’re deafening, screaming so loud that nothing else in the world matters.

  And I’m the only one that can hear them.

  My name is Draya Kintyre and I am the only remaining Inanis Viatorem left in existence. After witnessing what could only be described as a psychological massacre induced by the ignorance of my own coven, I fled into the arms of the only man that seemed to understand my pain.

  Only, he turned out to be the Homosanguinis. The Blood Man. The ruler of lost souls.

  Six years have passed and I only have one purpose, even if it means the end of me. I will find the one who screams loudest in the darkest hours of night. I will free every last Familiar unwillingly bound into slavery. I will end the Homosanguinis and come running when echoes call.

  I am Inanis Viatorem.

  PROLOGUE

  I don’t know how long I’d been walking or at what point I’d stopped paying attention to my surroundings. But finding myself at a waterfall cliffside, legitimately contemplating what it might feel like to die, had not been planned out ahead of time. Nonetheless, bearing witness to the deaths of every other Inanis Viatorem, being the only surviving daughter, was simply too much to bear alone. And I did bear it alone.

  I remember standing there, watching the edge of the cliff crumble under my toe as I leaned further forward, willing the ground to give way and cast me over. I remember it like it happened just yesterday. And I remember being caught by the arm just as I toppled forward, welcoming the end of the whispers that threatened to take me like they’d taken everyone else I ever cared for. Caught and pulled back toward solid ground, tossed effortlessly over his shoulder and carried off to his home.

  He had saved me that day. Saved me and took me in, patiently tending to my injuries. Not physical, of course. I didn’t have a scratch on me. However, my mental state stood in shambles, and my shredded emotions barely held the tattered ends of my sanity together. Yurik helped me put the pieces back together where they belonged. Yurik became my dark knight and I worshiped him for it.

  That had been a month ago. Yurik Battist, well known throughout the gray clans for his strength and wealth, had welcomed me into his home without question. He showed me kindness when I could not give it to myself. He fed me and bathed me when I had no strength to live. He gave me a reason to hope again.

  Recently, Yurik started training me to tune out the whispers. However, the stronger I grew and the more control I had, the louder the voices grew. At times, they’d scream so loud that my ears literally bled. Regardless, Yurik pushed me on, teaching me to filter through them, search and locate a single voice amidst all the noise, and even turn them off entirely for a short time.

  I never questioned him. Never asked how he knew how to teach me the things he did. I knew he couldn’t be like me. He couldn’t be Inanis Viatorem. He couldn’t actually know. Yet, somehow, he did. And I was forever grateful to him.

  When he invited me to his bed, I did not deny him. I wanted to go. I viewed him as my savior, nearly worshiping the ground he walked on. I considered it an honor to be chosen to be intimate with him. I had never been with a man. In fact, men didn’t live among our coven. We were a restless people, traveling from place to place, never truly satisfied enough to settle. So, I never knew my father. My mother would tell stories of how she met him, spent a blissful summer with him, then left as soon as she confirmed she was pregnant.

  To be taken in by an older man, one of dark mysteries and a reputation of respect and fear, I quickly became besotted. Being the ripe age of eighteen, full of naive tendencies didn’t help, but being on the verge of insanity eliminated my ability to determine right from wrong.

  And if I’m to be honest, I didn’t want to think about right or wrong. Because if being with Yurik fell in the wrong category, I wanted to remain ignorant of it. I had convinced myself that my obsession with him was love.

  But my conscience got the better of me. I started noticing minor inconsistencies first. I caught him in the dining room a few mornings after he’d taken my virginity, whispering quietly into a wine chalice. When he spotted me, he instantly set the chalice down, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt as if nothing were out of the ordinary. I chose to ignore it that day.

  Yurik announced that same evening that I would be sharing his bed every night moving forward. At first, the idea excited me. My first time with him had definitely been memorable, but my mind soon took over with dark suspicious thoughts.

  Regardless, I found every night just as intimate and enjoyable for several weeks. My body deceitfully yearned for him even as my thoughts continued to grow more and more suspicious. Only a few short weeks passed before I found myself on the wrong end of his anger, as well as the answers I’d been seeking silently.

  I had just taken a shower and stood in the bedroom drying myself with a towel. Yurik burst in, seething with anger, his face red and blotchy. He paced the full length of the room, muttering nonsense under his breath for several moments before he caught sight of me. I watched his expression visibly darken, his features softening only slightly from fury to anger-fueled lust.

  He stormed toward me, ripping the towel from my hand and tossing it aside. He said nothing, only shoved me toward the bed, forcing me to bend over the side of it. I complied willingly. Yurik had never been disrespectful to me. He had never hurt me or put me in a questionable situation. So, despite my suspicions, I did not question his sudden roughness. Although it scared me slightly, I found myself in a state of heightened arousal because of it.

  Yurik spread my feet with one of his own as he fought with the clasp of his pants. He panted heavily, seemingly fumbling more so than usual with his own anticipation. I waited patiently for him, hearing him let out a loud grunt, then his pants hit the floor around his ankles. His hands were warm on my hips as he gripped me tightly, taking no hesitation to bury himself inside me. We both cried out in unanticipated pleasure.

  Yurik didn’t hold his fury back. He had his way with me, rough and unapologetic, and I loved every inch of him. Loved the way he fisted my wet hair, muttering dirty fantasies as he rocked against me. Loved the way he touched me everywhere, paying special attention to the areas he knew excited me the most, despite his feverish animalistic need to ride me from behind. He must’ve enjoyed this newness too much, and he lost himself too quickly. I followed him over the edge all the same, collapsing on the bed in front of him in writhing ecstasy. He flopped down beside me, his usually pristine shirt wrinkled and haphazard from our sudden carnality.

  And without taking time to catch my breath, without even realizing the words were spilling from my mouth until they’d been said, I bluntly asked him why he drank the blood of ravens every night right after whispering chants in a language long dead. That single question removed the smile that had only begun to tease the corners of his perfectly pink lips. That single question sent him rolling, pinning me viciously to the bed, bruisingly tight fingers wrapping around my neck.

  That single question brought forth Yurik Battist’s truest nature. He spit at me as he spoke the truth, telling me why he’d taken me in. Why he’d taken me to his bed. I knew, in that moment, that he had changed his mind. He had told me he intended to make me his queen because of my gifts. He intended to use me for his own gain. He in
tended to until I questioned him. In that singular moment, he’d changed his mind.

  I felt him grow hard again as he held me there, and I saw his new intentions shining in his eyes. His fingers squeezed tighter around my neck, cutting off every last bit of my air. I fought against him, knowing he wanted me again, but wanted to watch my life slip away as he buried himself inside me. I fought as much as I could with no air in my lungs, feeling him struggle to place himself between my legs. I fought hard enough to bring my knee up and make contact.

  Yurik crumpled to the ground and I ran. I ran into the dense trees surrounding Yurik’s massive home. Ignoring the searing pain of thick ground cover that slashed and cut at my legs and feet, I ran until my lungs felt like they were bleeding within, and then I kept running. I don’t know how long I ran, but I didn’t stop until I found an abandoned burrow hidden against a precarious cliffside.

  It wasn’t until I finally settled down, feeling like I’d hidden the burrow’s entrance sufficiently enough, that I realized it had turned night. Maybe it had been dark all along. I don’t really know. But it was cold and I had nothing to cover myself. I stumbled around in the dark for some time in that burrow until I managed to collect enough dead leaves and twigs to bury myself. I convinced myself it helped, ignored the agonizing pain seeping through my lower extremities, and slipped into a fitful sleep.

  When the first sounds of morning crept into the burrow, I woke quickly, and spent just enough time picking the thorns from my feet and legs, then took off again. I ran until I found civilization where I stole a ratty pair of pants and a burlap sack that I ripped holes in to wear as a top. I managed to sneak a fresh loaf of bread from a widowed farmer’s wife, nearly drowned in the freshwater of a nearby creek, then bolted the moment someone saw me.

  I don’t remember when I stopped running. I would pause only long enough to rest, eat, or relieve myself. Somewhere along the way though, I found myself walking rather than running. I caught myself lingering by small villages, watching children laugh and play with pure innocence. Somewhere along the way, I woke up in a real bed under warm blankets, with freshly washed clothing, and a steaming bowl of soup on the table nearby. Somewhere along the way, I had been found and saved by none other than my mother’s sister, a woman I had grown up believing to be exiled and dangerous. A woman who knew without words what I had been through and never asked for explanation. Somewhere along the way, I discovered how to live under the radar long enough to plan my future.

  And my future guaranteed Yurik’s death.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Six years later

  I never knew that most of the bedtime stories I heard as a child began as dark retellings of horrific deaths. They’d been shifted again and again over the years until they sounded pleasing to the ears of the young, while still providing some type of life lesson. No one believed in monsters anymore, so the original stories didn’t have the impact they used to.

  That’s what I thought anyway. Until I fell in love with one of those monsters. No, not love. More like childish infatuation. An unhealthy curiosity; a thirst to know more about the things that lurked in the shadows. The ones my grandmother forewarned me about. Of course, I didn’t take her seriously. How could I when I’d been spoon fed lies my entire childhood? I would’ve been better off hearing the gruesome truths behind those bedtime stories. I would’ve been better off being raised to know my heritage. Turning eighteen, clueless to who – and what – I was...I don’t wish that on anyone.

  I watched some of my closest childhood friends be driven mad by the echoes. I watched my big sister take her own life, unable to silence the desperate cries of the Familiars. They weren’t prepared either. No one in our nomad-style coven prepared us. They thought if they pretended it wasn’t real, we wouldn’t inherit the gifts of our ancestors. It’s in our blood. It courses through the very fibers of our existence. The ignorance of our elders exterminated every last Inanis Viatorem born in the last century. Every last one except me.

  Six years have passed since then. Memories of Yurik Battist still haunted my dreams, but he did give me my life back, whether he intended to or not. Being found by Aunt Hattie had turned out to be the final piece of the puzzle that my life had inadvertently become. Everything that led to her exile ended up being exactly what I needed to truly survive.

  Knowledge. Knowledge of my heritage, my ancestry. The truth of who I was, what I had become, what my purpose was. I had set out to kill Yurik. I wanted justice and I intended to claim it for myself. But listening to Aunt Hattie all those months we hid together really opened my eyes. Yes, I still intended to kill Yurik, but there were people out there suffering. Suffering because of him. Killing him wouldn’t free them. I had to find a way before I could ever consider going after Yurik.

  Yurik may have taught me to maneuver through the whispers, the echoes. He may have taught me how to shut them out, how to tone down the volume, how to pick and choose who I heard. But Aunt Hattie taught me how to communicate back, how to ask questions they could answer without repercussions. Aunt Hattie, who had gotten herself exiled for standing in the center of our nomadic village and shouting truths at her fellow coven members. She wasn’t like me. She wasn’t Inanis Viatorem. But she knew what I was, what I was capable of, and what my purpose was.

  Once she felt she’d trained me as best as she could, Aunt Hattie disappeared. I remember falling asleep thinking we’d get up in the morning just like always, eat our bland breakfast of lentils and broth, then jump straight into training. But when I woke up that next morning, I found myself alone under the creaking hollows, staring up at the fading moon. She left me with a week’s worth of food, a travel pack, and a warm blanket. Though I missed her, I can’t say I was surprised. She was my mother’s sister; a true nomad at heart. She didn’t belong in one place for longer than necessary.

  Everything since then has been an absolute whirlwind. I stumbled into a nearby city and lost myself in the newness of a world I’d never in my lifetime ever experienced. I endured my first hangover, woke up next to a complete stranger, and ate something called Pho. I discovered bartering no longer existed in this world. That money meant the difference between eating and starving, and that I most definitely didn’t have any. I also found out that people didn’t really care whether or not I was an outsider. No, they just simply didn’t care about anything or anyone other than themselves.

  Yet the echoes whispered louder in the city than anywhere else I’d been to. One in particular, though just as loud as all the others, made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. It wasn’t the same reaction I got when I encountered a lost soul aimlessly searching for the thing that kept them tethered to this world. It was an entirely separate feeling, almost...sensual. And it scared me more than watching my sister die at her own hands.

  I’ve stayed in the city for six years. Stayed and fine-tuned my skills as an Inanis Viatorem. Stayed and took advantage of being invisible. Stayed and got a job like a normal, boring, human being. It just so happened that my natural survival skills dropped me into a job role that couldn’t rightly be filled by a normal, boring, human being. It required formal training in combative skill as well as psychological strength and control.

  For the last six years, I have hidden away in the city, dancing among the shadows, earning my keep by finding treasures long forgotten. I never found out who my sponsor was and frankly I didn’t care. So long as they kept putting money in my pocket and stayed out of my personal business during my off hours, I kept taking every job thrown my way. No, I wasn’t a criminal. I didn’t steal, I didn’t trespass, I didn’t kill for sport. I simply tracked down treasures in places no normal person could go. They called me a treasure hunter. They just didn’t know I hunted for other treasures along the way. Treasures that were only coveted by souls like me. Treasures that helped me discover my full potential. Treasures that would help me defeat Yurik Battist and save the one that I’d grown most fond of.

  CHAPTER TWO

&n
bsp; I stopped digging for a moment, propping my wrist on the shovel handle. I stared up at the darkening sky, gauging the amount of time I had left before I risked cutting off a toe with the shovel in the dark. I glanced over to the run-down house, imagining what it might’ve looked like in its prime. The young man sitting on the crumbling back steps just stared at me. I could visibly see the wheels turning in his head. He’d been dying to play 20 Questions since I’d shown up, pounded on the front door, and told him matter-of-factly that I would be digging a hole in his backyard. I shouldn’t have made eye contact. He hopped up, shoving his hands in his tight little jean pockets, and slowly meandered over to where I stood.

  “Draya, right?” he asked shyly. I nodded, internally kicking myself for ever formally introducing myself. He glanced down at my military grade boots, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep my rude impatience to myself. “Tell me again why you’re digging a hole in my backyard?”

  “I didn’t actually say the first time,” I stated plainly, thrusting the shovel back into the hole I’d already created.

  “Right, right. Um...so…”

  “Why do you live in this dump anyway?” I asked as I threw dirt over my shoulder. Little clumps rained down around me. I imagine I looked pretty grungy.

  “What? Oh, well, I inherited it from my grandfather. My parents kind of disappeared two years ago and I didn’t really have anywhere else to go.” I paused mid-shovel, cursing under my breath. This kid couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old. He’d been on his own, still a child, and made a home in a house that threatened to fall in on him every night as he slept.

  “I’m truly sorry to hear that.” I intentionally met him at eye level, showing my sincerity. I lightly cleared my throat, squaring my shoulders. “I am digging for treasure, no doubt buried and left behind by your grandfather. I was under the impression this property was abandoned.” I thrust the shovel handle toward him. “But this is your property and therefore your treasure.”