Legends of the Damned: A Collection of Edgy Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

by Lindsey R. Loucks

  With a spike of adrenaline fueling her, she turned toward the shore. She shot forward with a strong kick and launched into the fastest crawl she could manage. But an iron grip encased her ankle and yanked her back and down so abruptly, she barely sucked in a breath before going under.

  Kicking madly against whatever was holding her, she suddenly remembered the sharp shell still clutched tightly in her hand. Doubling over to get closer to her attacker, she slashed down. The shell hit soft flesh, and the hold on her ankle released. She stuck her makeshift weapon between her teeth and scooped water down and away in strong strokes, struggling toward the surface.

  But just as her head rose high enough to allow a desperate gulp of air, something wrapped around her waist and pulled her back under.

  She slashed out again, but this time her attacker’s grip stayed firm. The shell slipped from her fingers. Something was pulling her down . . . down . . . The sound of swirling water and her own panicked pulse filled her ears. She was out of air. This was it. She was going to die in the ocean she loved so much.

  Her body screamed for oxygen, and she choked back the urge to inhale.

  Then something pressed against her face, and bubbles tickled her skin and went up her nose. She coughed and then reflexively inhaled.

  Air.

  Someone was holding some kind of mask over her mouth and nose. She took greedy gulps of air and coughed again. The mask didn’t cover her eyes, so she was still moving blindly through the water, but whoever—or whatever—had her by the waist was pulling her through the water at an impressive speed. Cool skin—smooth and rippled with muscle—pressed against hers.

  Her captor began to angle them upward, and suddenly her head was out of water. The oxygen mask came away, and she struggled to wipe water from her stinging eyes so she could look around. It was dark, and splashes and voices echoed off hard surfaces. Some kind of cave?

  She heard a scream and whimpers. More splashing. There was a shuffling nearby, and hands reached from above to hook under her arms and haul her out of the water. She was dropped roughly onto a platform.

  “Careful with her!” A voice that was somehow rough and sinuous at the same time barked out. “This one’s of prime harvest age.”

  Harvest age?

  Talia’s eyes were starting to adjust, and she spotted dim red lights in a ring around her. She looked up. This wasn’t a cave. Not a natural one, anyway. It was a hollow space with a smooth, rounded ceiling. Forks of dull green light blazed across it. Talia gulped as realization hit her. She was inside the dome.

  Hands grabbed her upper arms and pulled her to her feet. She nearly tripped on the sarong that had sagged down her thighs and was now twisted and dripping down her legs.

  “You’re a prime piece,” a man’s voice purred in her ear. Her stomach turned at the words and the sour smell of the man’s breath. The man’s chest pressed against her, and his hand slid across her stomach and then lifted to cup one of her breasts.

  Angling for his nose, Talia jabbed upward with her elbow. She caught him hard on the outer corner of his eye instead, but it was enough to make him stop groping her. She twisted out of his grasp and lunged away, elbowing him in the sternum in the process. Before she could take a second step, a hand clamped on her shoulder and hauled her backward. She stumbled and fell hard on her backside.

  “Don’t move,” said a new voice—another man—but one without the threatening edge of the others.

  Her eyes were getting used to the dark now, with the aid of the red lights, and she saw the man she’d elbowed holding the side of his face and cursing. He was bald and seemed to be wearing some kind of high-tech wetsuit pants under form-fitting shorts. He was unclothed from the waist up, and his upper body was built like an Olympic swimmer’s. A wide belt cinched around his waist, some sort of utility belt or tool belt with a snap-closure pouch over one hip and a few oddly-shaped holsters.

  He shook his head and then stomped over to her, his chest puffed. “You just earned yourself a little private time with me.”

  He bent, clamped his fingers tightly around her wrist, and yanked it so hard Talia’s shoulder popped. This close, she had a clear view of the tribal-style tattoo that wrapped around the right half of his ribcage. It was grayish, instead of the usual dark opaque ink. At least she thought it was, it was hard to tell in the low light. She tried to twist her wrist out of his hold.

  “Enough, Gentry!” thundered the man who was still holding her down by her other shoulder. “Nobody’s getting any private time with any of these girls. That’s not what we’re here for.”

  The grabby one—Gentry—angrily threw Talia’s wrist from his grasp and faced off with the other man. “Crab crawled up your ass, Ballard? Or maybe you just don’t like women?” Gentry scoffed and leered at Talia, and then turned back to Ballard. “No one would know the difference, they’d still harvest even if we all took a turn with them. Hell, it might even make them more ripe.”

  Gentry waggled his tongue at Talia in a lewd gesture and grabbed his crotch. Talia grimaced but didn’t avert her eyes. She glared at him until he looked away.

  There was something odd about the men’s speech—their accent wasn’t one she could place, and their words were spoken in a rapid, clipped cadence. She glanced up at the man who had come to her defense—Ballard. He was dressed like Gentry, utility belt and all. The men had similar physiques, except that Ballard had a couple of inches on Gentry. When Ballard had half-turned to reprimand Gentry, she saw that Ballard’s tattoo curved across his pec, over his shoulder, and partway down his shoulder blade. And instead of a bald head, Ballard had short-cropped hair.

  Ballard kept his hand on Talia’s shoulder and pressed down to keep her where she was, but compared to Gentry, Ballard’s touch was almost gentle.

  At the sound of footsteps, Talia turned, tensing. Someone else coming over to harass her?

  The new guy loomed over her. “This is the one who cut me up. She’s got a bit of fight in her.”

  This man looked younger than the other two—the muscles of his torso less developed, and his facial features slightly rounder. He reached down and roughly spun her partway around, out of Ballard’s grip, and knelt next to her. There was a long cut down the young man’s arm. It seeped blood, but it wasn’t deep. Instead of touching her, he just looked into her eyes. But there was no connection there—the way he looked at her was detached and almost bird-like, as if he were examining a curious sparkly object instead of a living human being. Then his gaze slid down her body in a way that was somehow much more menacing than Gentry’s groping and lewdness.

  “Settle down, Maynard,” Ballard said. “She couldn’t have hurt you all that badly.”

  Maynard rose, and his eyes locked on Talia’s again. “No, I’ll heal just fine. But now I know she likes to struggle.” His tone was mild, but his words were edged with barely-leashed danger. His lips widened in a slow smile that made Talia’s insides go cold.

  “Go on and let the captain know we’ve made our catch,” Ballard said to Gentry and Maynard. “We’re secure.”

  The other two men turned and walked away, and Ballard leaned down to slide his hand under Talia’s elbow. He pulled her up to her feet, helping her to stand rather than manhandling her the way Gentry had.

  She pulled away from him. Just because he seemed kinder than the others didn’t mean she could trust him. “Who are you? What are you going to do with me?”

  He reached for her elbow again and firmly pulled her along the platform, which she now realized ringed the dome. The center was open to the water. It was where she’d entered, presumably with Ballard as her captor, though apparently Maynard had been the one to try to grab her first, and he was the one she’d sliced with the shell.

  Ballard kept silent, his jaw muscles flexing, as he guided her toward a bunch of people on the opposite side of the dome—where the screams and whimpering had come from. But his eyes slid over to hers, and he pressed his full lips in a tight line. Talia ha
d the distinct feeling he wanted to say something to her. Instead, he glanced ahead at where several men were milling, and her gaze followed his.

  There was more light over where the others were gathered, and as they neared the area, Talia realized there was some kind of wide stand-up console, probably the controls for the dome, which had been blocked from view by the men milling over there. And there weren’t just men. Girls were sitting in a row along the wall of the dome, about a dozen of them. Just as Talia noticed that the girls’ hands were all hidden behind their backs, Ballard stopped, turned her, and pulled her hands around to her lower back. He wound something around her wrists, securing them.

  She looked at him questioningly over her shoulder, and for a second she could swear he looked apologetic about tying her up. His fingers brushed her lower back, just above the waistband of her bikini bottom, and she stiffened, surprised by his touch.

  He nudged her forward, walking her toward the end of the line of girls. Talia gasped. She recognized the jewelry on one of the girls’ ankles. “Janelle?”

  A pretty face, with round eyes and a tangle of sopping wet dark hair framing it, turned upward. “Oh my god, Talia!”

  Talia’s eyelids closed briefly, and her chest swelled with relief at seeing her friend alive. Talia opened her eyes and looked up at Ballard. “Can I sit next to her? Please?”

  He seemed ready to deny her request, but then his face softened. Without a word, he flicked his hand, indicating the girl to Janelle’s left should move over and make room, and then lowered Talia to the floor.

  “Thank you,” Talia whispered before Ballard straightened. His eyes met hers, and he gave her the tiniest of nods before he moved away.

  “What the hell is going on?” Janelle rasped. She coughed hard, clearly still trying to work out water that she’d inhaled.

  “I don’t know, but I’m just so glad you’re okay. When I saw you go under . . .” Unable to finish the sentence, Talia blew out a breath and shook her head. “If this is some kind of spring break prank, it’s gone too far. I nearly drowned on the way here. And what is this thing? I’ve never seen anything like it.” She looked up at the curved ceiling.

  “I don’t know.” Janelle coughed again. “Military technology was my first thought when I got inside. I mean, look at this. I can’t even imagine how they propel it. And to be able to drive it under water . . . can you imagine the power it takes to force down this huge container of air? I figured they must be military.”

  Talia gave her an appreciative look. The fact that Janelle could even think about such things just minutes after nearly drowning reminded Talia why she loved her friend. In contrast, a few of the girls along the wall were sobbing loudly. The one next to Talia was silent, but shaking so violently her shoulder was knocking into Talia’s.

  Talia squinted at the console area. Her eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting, and she could see well enough to make out distinguishing characteristics of the men who milled several feet away. She eyed Ballard. Wide shoulders with muscled arms, impressive pecs, and tight rows of ab muscles. “They’re really fit. Short hair, shaved heads. Yeah, I guess they could be military.”

  “Military was my first thought. But I don’t think they’re military.” Janelle licked her lips and leaned closer to Talia. “I think they’re sea people.”

  “What, like pirates?”

  That actually made a shred of sense. Maybe these men built these fancy rafts and then went around and kidnapped people from beaches for ransom. Except, it seemed like the sort of thing that would have been on the news if it had happened before. Unless this was their first attempt? In any case, Talia knew this wasn’t the only dome—there had been more along the beach. Who knew how many girls were held in each one.

  “No, sea people—people who live in the sea.” Janelle’s eyes were wide again.

  Talia let out a mirthless laugh. Her adrenaline was starting to fade, and her temples were pounding. “I’m holding out for a more rational explanation. Whatever they are, we have to figure out how we’re going to get away.”

  She leaned forward and looked down the line of girls. They all looked young. One girl had lost her bikini top, and she’d pulled her knees up and hunched forward. Another looked to have lost her bathing suit completely, and she’d half-turned toward the wall, trying to curl into a ball. The sour scent of vomit wafted past. Most of these girls had probably been totally sloshed when they were taken. They likely wouldn’t be very useful allies in an escape attempt.

  She took an inventory of what she had to work with. She’d lost the sharp shell she’d used to cut Maynard. Her little waterproof pouch was still on her wrist, but there wasn’t anything in it that could be used as a weapon. Now that she thought about it, it was odd that Ballard hadn’t taken the pouch from her when he’d bound her wrists.

  “I don’t suppose you have a dagger hidden in your cleavage?” she whispered to Janelle.

  Janelle snorted, and Talia managed a wry smile in return.

  The men seemed distracted. If she could get her hands loose and untie Janelle, they could slip into the ocean when no one was looking. The dome appeared to be floating on the surface of the water, and it probably wouldn’t be too difficult to swim under the edge and get away. Even Janelle should be able to make it.

  Talia started to work at her wrists, trying to stretch the bonds enough to loosen them and slip a hand free. Her hands were so cold, she could barely feel what she was doing. Several men broke off from the group and strode toward the row of women. Ballard slipped around one of his comrades and ended up in front of Talia. The men starting pulling the girls up to their feet—one man to each girl—and moved the line toward where the rest of the men were grouped. Talia kept working at her bonds but wasn’t making any progress.

  The man at the front grabbed the first young woman by the elbow and yanked her forward. She let out a squeak and tried to back up, whimpering at him to let her go. He ignored her pleas and gripped her arm more firmly.

  “Test them in the scanner, and if any aren’t fit for harvest, we’ll dump them before we shove off,” said a man near the console. He was among the tallest of the bunch, and although his face was lined with age, his body was lean and muscled like the rest of the men. Just by the way he stood, Talia figured he must be the one in charge.

  “Yes, sir,” responded one of the other men. He swiped and tapped at one of the monitors.

  One by one, the girls were marched up near the console area and forced to stand in an upright coffin-sized box with clear sides, a little like a smaller version of the full body scanners Talia had passed through many times at airport security points. With each girl, a row of lights blinked. When they got to the girl in front of Janelle, fewer lights illuminated.

  “She’s right on the border,” the man running the machine said to the one in charge. “What should we do, Captain?”

  “Toss her back,” the Captain said. “No reason to waste oxygen taking her Below if she won’t be any use to us when we get there.”

  Another man—Maynard, Talia recognized—pulled the girl away, took her to the edge of the platform, and unceremoniously shoved her off into the water. The girl screamed with panic, her cries turning to bubbles when her head dipped below the water.

  Talia’s mouth dropped open in horror. They’d left the girl’s wrists bound. There was no way she’d be able to swim under the lip of the dome and make it to shore, especially not when she was panicking like that. Ballard twitched at Talia’s side, took a half step toward the struggling girl, and then seemed to stop himself.

  The girl behind Talia began sobbing, and there were gasps and shocked murmurs.

  Talia’s heart dropped in her chest as she watched. Adrenaline mixed with her horror and she whipped around and took a step toward the control area. “Do something! She’s going to die!”

  The Captain continued about his business, not even looking up to acknowledge Talia’s cry. Maynard leered at her as he turned his back on the drowni
ng girl to rejoin his comrades.

  Ballard tightened his grip on her arm. “Quiet,” he said, his voice low. “You’ll only make it worse for yourself.”

  The girl vanished into the dark water and didn’t surface again. Icy fingers closed around Talia’s heart. She numbly watched the spot where the girl had disappeared, still not believing what she’d seen.

  But she had a new problem to deal with. Some sort of closure was sliding across the open area of the dome’s floor, and the dome was moving now and rapidly picking up speed.

  Chapter Two

  Ice Cap Army Sergeant Owen Ballard—a man with a different name and a higher rank back home in the Marianas Trench Military Forces—stood with every muscle strung tight, his fists shaking with the impulse to dive into the water and save the drowning girl. He turned his back to the other men and watched as a clear cover enclosed the circle of water in the middle of the platform. It was too late to save her now.

  He closed his eyes, pushing his anger and horror down into a compact ball, stowing it away in the place deep within him where he concealed his real identity, the loneliness of his long isolation from his own colony, and too many emotions to list.

  Forcing his breathing to calm, he relaxed his stance so he wouldn’t attract any attention. He couldn’t help casting a glance over his shoulder at Captain Rogers. When Ballard had first started his mission, he’d taken the man for a fairly intelligent leader, but this proved that Ballard had been gravely wrong in his estimation of the Captain. The murder of any girl was tragic in itself, but killing one from Above violated the First Tenet of Below: Those Below shall not interfere with those Above.

  It wasn’t just tragic; it was lunacy.

  When Ballard had taken this undercover assignment, it had been his understanding that the Captain’s group was only planning to take women from Above for their eggs, and that the women would all be returned home afterward. It was incredibly risky, a terrible violation of the women’s bodies, and obviously went against the First Tenet. All of that was bad enough, but murdering someone from Above—there was no way to justify that kind of corruption.