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

by Lindsey R. Loucks

  Ruby’s gone now.

  But her daughter is still here.

  Her daughter, who’s going to help him realize his dreams.

  And that’s all that matters. This feeling of getting what he’s spent his life striving for. A feeling as powerful as being in love. Or perhaps it’s the idea of being in love that intrigues him.

  For it's power that turns him on. That's what he lusts after. Being able to control people is what he craves. Showing the world who he really is. Getting the citizens to acknowledge that he’s the rightful Mayor of Bombay, not Vik.

  That it is Vishal who has the vision, the strength, and soon also the means of liaising with most of the Western world.

  He’s finally being taken seriously. And not just by his own people, but by those around the world.

  Why was it so important to be lauded on the world stage? When had that want crept in?

  Perhaps it has something to do with growing up on the outside. First with Vik and his family.

  Then Vik and Ruby.

  And then when the tsunamis had risen, to sweep away not just Bombay but many of the bigger cities in the world, people everywhere had been united in grief. And for a few years after that the countries had worked together to help each other out. Which is when he’d realized that he could dream bigger.

  More than just this city; more than just Indostan. He’d looked to the West then, known he wanted control over them too. He could be more powerful than he’d ever had an inkling of before. And once that thought had come into his head, there was no stopping him.

  He’d wanted it fast. Not for him, the painful slow building of relations and negotiating his way into power. Not when he knew there was a more potent way to do this. A surefire way to once more make the eyes of the world focus on him and in one go get everything he wants.

  All he’d had to do was find a way to use the sword. Ruby’s sword. Which had been passed on to Jai. Which belongs as much to this young woman looking at him, her amber eyes glistening in the sunlight.

  Golden eyes like her father, laced with deep brown depths like her mother.

  But he knows that her looks are an illusion. That’s where the resemblance to Ruby stops.

  That’s where her humanity ends. She may have been born of Ruby and Vik, but kidnapped by the shifters, she is one of them. And yet perhaps she is more like Vik too, for she’s doing this for her people.

  Now she sighs, the breath torn out of her by the wind, gone before the sound even reaches him. And yet when she speaks her voice reaches him. Clear, deep, husky, strangely persuasive too. He can understand why the shifters chose her as their alpha.

  "You’re getting caught up again in your thoughts, uncle," she laughs, the sound shivering up his skin.

  And he still doesn’t understand this strange pull she has over him. The one that makes him wary, makes him wish it was Jai standing here and not Maya.

  And yet it’s that dangerous part of her, that unpredictable look in her eyes that convinces him it has to be her who does the deed. Only Maya can be spontaneous enough, foolhardy enough to actually touch the sword to the altar of that temple and—

  "Are we doing this or what?" Her voice cuts into his thoughts and he nods. A quick jerk of his head.

  "I don’t want Jai dead, understand?" he says, his voice sharp.

  Noticing her smirk, he adds, "And no, it’s not because he’s my nephew."

  "You mean he’s your back-up plan in case something happens to me. In case I didn’t deliver." She grins, her voice cocky, and he feels himself flush.

  Is he that easy to read? Or perhaps she’s just more clever than he’d expected. More astute. He’d have to watch his words with her.

  ‘They got away, the lucky bastards." Maya curses aloud. "But we’re on their heels. We’ll be waiting for them when they hit shore. And this time we’ll make sure you get your sword."

  He nods, not sure if he should be reassured or worried by the violence in her voice.

  He’s seen enough of it in his own life. Fought enough battles, killed more people that he can possibly keep track of. Yet the shifters are different. The violence within them has a darkness to it, an edge that’s almost greedy. As if they thrive on violence. As if it feeds them. As if, if they stopped hunting, they’d cease to exist.

  The shifters are closer to nature too in that sense. Things are black and white…and red in their world.

  A simple view of the world, which he can’t quite grasp.

  But he pushes that away too. All that matters is that when the next blood red moon rises, he will stake his claim.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Jai and Aria stagger off the beach, past the smattering of sunbathing tourists, and onto a side road. At least this hasn’t changed in the new world. Goa, the city state, not far from New Bombay, has over the last hundred years been attracting sun worshippers from around the world. And it still does today, but entry is restricted to an optimal number every day.

  If the tsunami of 2014 had wiped away much of Bombay, it had spared a lot of Goa. Today much of Goa’s original rustic feel has been preserved. As hurt as Jai is now, the sense of being caught in the past, which pervades the soil of this city state not far from Bombay, creeps into his nostrils.

  It’s a bloody miracle they’ve made it this far. Jai had his doubts about the little boat, whether it would be sturdy enough would get them to land. And he could only send up a prayer of thanks when, a day after they had set off, the lights of Goa had shown in the distance.

  The last time he’d been here was on his eighteenth birthday.

  Vik had taken Jai to visit his mother’s ancestral home, the one said to have belonged to Catherine of Braganza. And he wonders if perhaps it’s not a coincidence that they are here now. As if it’s a reminder that however far he runs he’ll never be able to escape his destiny.

  Or the path the sword is taking him on. He touches the weapon, relaxing a little when his fingers slide over the familiar, smooth surface of the scabbard on his back.

  When he’s with Aria it’s so easy to forget his past. Forget everything but this driving need to be with her. After all, she’s his soulmate.

  And that brings him up short. When had he started thinking of her so?

  It's the only way to describe the intensity of what he feels for her. It's also what his parents had had. A deep, unshakeable devotion to each other.

  One Jai had never thought he’d feel himself. Perhaps that’s what had led him to turn his back on Aria the first time. The feeling that he’d been well and truly hooked, and deep inside he’d known and panicked.

  And he had run.

  And the moment she’d left, walked out of his home, he’d known he was wrong. So wrong.

  That’s why he hasn’t forgiven himself for letting her go. And when that shifter had carried her away, a rage like nothing he’d experienced before had swept through him. He’d known then that if he’d let them take her away, he’d never see her again.

  That had scared him. A lot.

  He hadn’t come this far to lose her again.

  Not like this.

  The fear had churned his guts, lent an edge to his anger, the desperation enough to make him shove aside the pain from the deep slice to his side. Before he’d known it he’d rushed towards them and tackled that monster. In that one second he had risked everything. His life, hers.

  Just thinking about it has him tensing again.

  "What?" Aria asks. "What’s wrong?"

  ‘They almost took you," he snarls.

  She’s silent for a second, then she grasps his arm. "But you stopped them," she says, unaware of what he’s just realized.

  That he loves her. Only he doesn’t know what to do about that either.

  "Let’s keep moving," he grinds out as a wave of agony tears through him. Jai sways. Sweat breaks out over his forehead and he swears aloud.

  Throwing her arm around him Aria props him up.

  "We have to find a place to sta
y, at least for the night. See to your wounds," she says, panting under his weight.

  Her voice is tense as she focuses on guiding them ahead. Together they peer through the darkness at the lights flickering not far ahead.

  For a few seconds the only sound is that of Jai’s labored breathing. Then they reach the lights.

  It’s a hotel. Paint peels off its walls. And with old-fashioned shutters hanging off its windows, it looks like it’s on its last legs.

  As Jai takes in the facade, a sudden wave of exhaustion sweeps over him. And he grasps Aria’s arm tighter.

  "Hey, you OK?" she exclaims.

  "Yeah," he grimaces. "Been a long day."

  He tries to make light of his wounds and fails, a grimace twisting his features.

  "What do you think?" She points to the crumbling building. "This one is far enough from the beach, away from the main road too."

  Even tired and aching from the earlier hit, the soldier in him snaps to attention. He checks out the perimeter of the B&B.

  It’s hidden on three sides by thickly grown vegetation. The only way in is the dirt track they’ve taken off the main road. This far in, the city’s noise is hushed.

  It’s not safe enough. But at least it feels almost abandoned, which works in its favor.

  Another bout of tiredness washes over him and he realizes he doesn’t have a choice.

  ‘This will have to do," he nods.

  Without waiting for an answer he starts walking up the small driveway, half-leaning on her, half-dragging her along.

  She blows out a breath of frustration. "Go slow, macho man, or you’ll aggravate those wounds further. Besides, have you forgotten how we look?"

  He casts an eye over her, taking in her sun burnt face, the indigo eyes indicating to him she’s both a little angry and aroused by the hand he has around her waist. Tangled hair flows down to her waist. And her clothes are torn. He frowns at the T-shirt, which has a gash in the front, enough for the tops of her breasts to flash as she walks. Leaning down, he tugs her palm up to it, indicating she should hold the gaping ends together.

  "Yeah, now you’re covered," he says, his voice possessive. He knows he’s going to get her hackles up.

  And yet he knows she’s pleased too; for those eyes of hers deepen even more, into shimmering violet pools. The ends of her lips tug up, though she refuses to give in to the smile.

  "Wait, what about the money? We have no money for a hotel," she says.

  Jai smiles confidently. "Watch and learn, baby," he says. "I’m the Mayor of Bombay’s son. And much as you hate my saying it, it’s what’s going to save us today."

  Pleased to have gotten that in, he continues walking up the steps. His grin widens further when she snorts but keeps pace with him nevertheless.

  Having led them to a small bedroom, the caretaker leaves, only to return with towels and clothes. He drops them on the bed, then leaves, shutting the door behind them.

  Jai unhooks the scabbard, then drops his sword on the lone small table near the balcony door. Relieving himself of its weight should have made him feel better but the various aches and pains on his body say otherwise.

  Picking up a towel, he limps towards the clawed bathtub. When he leans down to open the taps, the world whirls around him again. Swearing a little, he shuts his eyes and sits down next to the tub, steadying himself.

  "Here, let me help."

  Aria walks past him and flips open the taps. The sound of running water fills the little space and he sees steam rising from the tub.

  An image of her in the bath with him flashes across his mind. He swears again. They’ve just survived a near death experience, and despite being hurt and aching from the beating his body has taken, he is aroused.

  Best to keep moving, keep his hands occupied and his mind off the woman who’s reaching to help him take off his shirt.

  Standing up and taking a step back so he’s out of her reach, he shucks off his still wet shoes and grimy socks.

  Reaching for the hem of his T-shirt, a groan escapes him when his aching ribs protest. Sweat breaks out over his forehead with the effort and he tries once more to pull it up, when suddenly she is there helping him.

  "Raise your hands," she says. Standing on tiptoe, she rolls the T-shirt up and off him, tossing it with his other clothes.

  A gasp from her makes him look down at himself. He winces at the mess of cuts and bruises as fresh blood begins oozing from his forehead wound.

  "Sit." She pushes him none too gently back down on to the rim of the bathtub.

  She’s back with a dishcloth and a bottle of antiseptic – from the caretaker again, he guesses.

  ‘This is going to hurt," she says.

  And without waiting for his response, she cleans up the dirt quickly, then smooths the antiseptic over the wound in his forehead. He hisses in pain, one arm tightening around her waist.

  He curses, aloud. "Finish it," he says, his voice tight.

  And she rushes to clean the other wounds on his chest, on his side.

  Seeing the gaping ends of the wound on his forehead she says, "This needs to be stitched," she says, her voice serious.

  "Do it," he says and she looks at him, questioning.

  "Me?" she asks in an incredulous voice.

  "See anyone else here?" He half-chuckles.

  "And what do I use to stitch it up?"

  He looks at the bathroom closet and she exclaims, "Seriously? Floss? You want me to use dental floss to sew up your wound?"

  "Do you have a better idea, darling?" he asks, his voice casual. A hint of a smile on his lips.

  She reddens at that, turns to leave.

  "Ask the hotel guy for a needle, will you?" He says voice still gentle.

  "And painkillers," he calls after her, swearing as another burst of pain flares across his forehead.

  Back again with the needle, she thrusts some pills and a bottle at him.

  "Cheap rum?" He makes a face. "Didn’t he have any whiskey?"

  At her glare, he swallows down a chuckle, and gulps down the pills with what passed for rum in these parts. Only to wince as she sews the wound.

  Biting down on the pain he focuses instead on the curve of her breasts level with his eyes. But that only brings pain of a different kind, this time in his belly.

  Grimacing, he asks, more to distract himself than anything, "Why do you think he let me go?"

  "Who?" she asks, her voice breathless as if she’s aware exactly of what he’s thinking and trying to focus on the task at hand.

  ‘The shifter," he says. "The one who took my sword. He could have killed me. Instead he only hurt me. As if they want to keep me alive."

  "Well, they wanted me alive too." It’s her turn to grimace. "If they’d taken me…I would have killed myself," she says, her voice toneless.

  His grip tightens. "I’ll never let them get to you, Aria," he says.

  When she doesn’t reply, he pulls back, not caring when the needle slips and scratches him.

  "Hey!" she exclaims. "Stay still or I’ll just hurt you more."

  He barely hears her. "All I care about is you, you know that, right?"

  This time she meets his eyes. In her's he sees the remnants of doubt and curses himself.

  She still hasn’t forgotten. She may have forgiven him for what he did, for letting her go, but a part of her still remembers. And he knows he’ll do anything, anything, even give his own life to wipe that hurt from her eyes.

  Silence between them, then Aria snips off the floss and stands back to survey her handiwork. Jai’s hands are still on her waist, she’s standing between his thighs.

  The painkillers have finally kicked in and to Jai’s relief, a pleasant numbness steals across his limbs. He feels lightheaded, relaxed enough to rub his palms on the sodden T-shirt she still wears. Relaxed enough to slip his hand under her T-shirt and slide his fingers over her skin. Against the roughness of his palms, she feels soft. Very soft. Warmth seeps into him and he pulls her c
loser; she gasps and grips his shoulders for support.

  She runs her fingers through his hair. When she grips some of the short tufts and jerks his face up, he pulls her even closer. Close enough for her to feel the hardness between his thighs.

  Sliding his hands up her back, he yanks her down to him and closes his mouth over hers.

  He’s been waiting to do this since he saw her in London in that meeting room. When she’d walked in and seen him, and her face had worn that look of surprise. He'd caught her flash of naked need, gone quickly. Right then, he’d wanted to grab her and take her out of there.

  He’d wanted to grip her waist as he’s doing now. Feel her shudder as he thrusts his tongue into her mouth. Her gasp of pleasure turns him on even more.

  He wants her. Now.

  He knows she wants him too.

  And they’re here alone.

  Here, in Goa. In the city of his mother's birth. Probably not far from his mother’s ancestral home. And just thinking that sends a chill down his back. It’s as if just by thinking of Ruby, she’s here in the room with them, holding him to the promise he’d made.

  His gut twists with the truth he can’t ignore anymore. He needs to find the sword. Fast.

  He wants Aria too, just not here. Not like this.

  She moves against him, brushing against his arousal. A growl of pleasure rumbles up his chest. Breath coming in short bursts, she reaches for the button of his jeans, but he grabs her hand.

  "Don’t," he says, in a strangled voice. But his actions contradict his words. He doesn’t let go. And she makes no attempt to remove her hand either.

  Her eyes meet his and hold. Those blue-gray eyes of hers grow stormy, turning almost violet.

  Then his heart slams against his chest. She’s slid her hand lower, over his arousal. Her cheeks redden but that doesn’t stop her from gripping him.

  A shudder runs through him. He still doesn’t move, doesn’t push her away. Instead, his palm slides down her arm and over her hand splayed over his hardness, squeezing it.

  She winces and he realizes it’s her damaged arm, but before he can say anything, she melts into him.