Curse of Iron
Page 1
Praise for D.D. Miers & Graceley Knox
“The dawn of a new age of vampire.” - Crafting Geeky Bibliophile
"Thirst is the first in a new series from the writing team of Graceley Knox and D. D. Miers. Whatever they are doing, they are doing it right because Thirst had me riveted." - Tome Tender Book Blog
"The premise for Thirst is so unique... And these aren't just vampires, they are Kresova." - IB Book Blogging
“If you haven’t read any books by Graceley Knox or D. D. Miers well get busy because you are missing out on two very gifted story weavers!" - Goodreads Reviewer
"A CRAZY, WILD, INSANE RIDE THAT KEPT ME ON THE LEDGE" - Marie's Tempting Reads
Curse of Iron Copyright © 2018 by D.D. Miers & Graceley Knox
All rights reserved.
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $ 250,000.
Edited by: Real Indie Author Services
Cover Design by: Yocla Designs
Curse of Iron
If you think I have it all, you're wrong.
I’m Morgana Silk and I'm a hybrid. Daughter of the Fae Storm King, my mother's witch family has wanted me dead since I killed her in childbirth. Fun. Right? Yeah. Until one day, I wake up with a dead body in my bed, and find myself framed for the murder of a highly respected alpha.
Grayson Xenos is tailing me. He's as handsome as his jaguar is deadly, and I certainly didn't expect him to have my back. The enemy has an evil magic I can't face on my own, and Grayson needs me to help him just as much as I need him. He's a temptation I can't ignore nor deny. I have the power to unmask the hidden enemy and he has the power to take them down.
But only if I can embrace the heritage I’ve avoided for so long…
Curse of Iron
Half-Blood Huntress Chronicles Book One
D.D. Miers
Graceley Knox
Chaotic Press, LLC
Contents
The Legend
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Girl Bitten FREE Preview
Quote
THE DRAUGUR
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Thank You!
Also by Graceley Knox & D.D. Miers
About the Authors
The Legend
"Tiocfaidh an leathling chun críche do réimeas, ag caitheamh draíocht Gaia ó lámh seanóirí wicca, agus coróin na Fae a athnuachan"
“The halfling will come to end your reign, tearing Gaia’s magic from the hands of the elders of wicca, and restoring the crown of the Fae…”
The child was born on the tenth day of the tenth month, one hundred years after Morgana cursed her own kind to dwindle in power until the great coven was no more. Her mother was a high priestess of Gaia, her father the heir apparent to the throne of the Seelie Fae, the light court of Fairy.
But the priestess could not survive the hate and fear, and somehow, the strong, vibrant witch died during childbirth. The Fae king was fading, his son poised to take the throne. His grief knew no release, but he had too many hidden enemies to allow them to know his daughter. He left her with the witches—to keep her safe from harm—and left fairies among the humans to keep watch over her until the time came when she would be strong enough to join him, or his throne was secure.
One
The first thing I noticed when I jerked awake was my mouth tasted like sawdust and beer.
The second was the weight of another body beside me.
I must have drank more than I thought.
I didn’t remember bringing a guy home and considering how long it had been I could’ve used the recollection of a good time. I swallowed trying to work up some moisture into my mouth, and inched closer to the edge of the bed, and reached for the light.
The form next to me was cool when my toes brushed against him and too still, making my heart pound excitedly. I turned on the bedside lamp and eased out of bed to look down at the naked man I’d woken up next to, his eyes wide and staring, already clouded by death.
It took a second to register his face, already twisted into his death mask.
Gideon Masters.
Gideon Masters, the baddest Alpha on this side of the continent is in my bed—and he’s fucking dead. What in the fresh fuck is happening? Is this a nightmare?
I slammed my fist into the wall, sucking in air at the bruising pain in my knuckles. I backed away from the bed, revulsion twisting my stomach. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, my brain played the words on repeat like one of the old vinyl records my boss liked to play in the office. Gideon’s lifeless eyes continued to stare at the ceiling, ensuring no matter what else, I wouldn’t sleep there restfully, ever again.
He was naked from the waist up, revealing dark chest hair and fine cut abs. The blankets were pulled back enough to make my stomach lurch again at the realization he was definitely not wearing anything underneath, either. His skin had already begun to look waxy, even in the half light of the reading lamp, and my hand searched automatically for the wall switch before I stopped myself.
“You don’t need a better look, stupid,” I glanced at the window-shade, drawn, no sign it had been opened. “How the hell did you get in here?” I glanced around, looking for some clue to jog my memory, or explain how I’d woken up in a nightmare worse than any I’d had while sleeping. I tugged my long tee down over my legs, grateful I hadn’t been nude next to him, cuddled skin to skin with death.
“Okay, stop freaking out and call someone,” I glanced around for my phone. The charging stand next to the bed was empty, and my bag was nowhere in sight.
I backed toward the door, pushing the disgust and fear back, examining the bedroom as best I could. There was no blood on the bed and no sign of a struggle of any kind. Maybe he had a bad heart…or was sick…or was poisoned by Aunt Portia and left here as a warning.
I shuddered at the thought as my fingers found the doorknob behind me and I slipped out of the bedroom. With the horror hidden safely behind my door, I glanced around the living area of my apartment. If the body in my bed hadn’t put itself there, I might not be alone. I dropped into a crouch behind the armchair and moved in a crab-like walk, visually clearing the living room, dining room, and kitchen, before I jumped up and raced to the denim satchel I used as a purse.
Grabbing my phone out of the bag, I ducked behind the island and
started to dial, my eyes constantly glancing between the closed guest bathroom and the hallway which led to the two bedrooms. Orson, pick up, pick up, pick up, I begged silently as I listened to the trilling ring on the other end.
“What the hell, girl?” Orson growled from the speaker, but I didn’t have a chance to answer him.
“Police! Open up!” The shout came from the hall. A moment later, my door crashed open, and I screamed, dropping my phone.
“Show your hands!” In seconds I was on my face against the cool wooden floor, my arms wrenched painfully behind my back as cops swarmed my apartment. I froze as a paralyzing spell landed on me.
“Watch out, she’s a hexer,” one barked, and they all backed away from me. Lying flat with my cheek pressed into the floor, I stared at the dust bunnies under my couch, the voices around me strangely muffled from my vantage point.
The witch-detective who had paralyzed me kneeled at my side, checking I was incapacitated before she gave the others permission to yank me to my feet. If they’d bothered to ask, I would’ve told them I was happy to comply, but they probably wouldn’t have believed me anyway.
As her lips moved, my mind cleared enough to realize my rights were being read to me. I nodded my understanding because the spell wouldn’t let me speak. It wasn’t quite constitutional, but I worked with law enforcement every day. I knew how much harder the job had been for the last century, as magical beings stopped hiding in the shadows and entered mainstream society.
Two more cops appeared from my bedroom, calling the detective back with them, and my body finally rebelled, the knowledge of what I knew resided there, forcing bile into my still sealed mouth. I gagged on the vomit, choking, until the cop holding me upright yelled for the detective and she ran in, casting as soon as she saw what was happening.
They bent me over and she turned my head to one side as I spit and dragged a deep breath down my stomach acid scorched throat into my burning lungs. I managed to whisper, “Thank you,” leaning into her as if she wasn’t the person about to end my life as I knew it, my legs weak and trembling. The police held almost all my body weight. “I don’t understand what’s happening,” I added, but silenced myself before she could decide to renew the spell.
“You’re okay,” she murmured, not quite sympathetic, but without accusation. “Just breathe.” She tipped my chin up so I was forced to meet her eyes. They were the color of chocolate, and it made me think of how good chocolate would feel on my stinging throat. “You must be powerful, to take down someone so big.”
I shook my head. “Not really. Besides, do you see any vines climbing my walls? My magic is growing things. New life, not death.” The absence of magic had been one of the first things I’d noticed when the initial shock was over. “How did he die?”
The other officer jerked my arm hard enough to make my shoulder pop. “Like you don’t know,” he snarled and I dropped my eyes, holding my body still so he wouldn’t yank on me again.
“Enough, Jones. You start knocking on doors. Sam and I will secure her in our vehicle.”
"Yes ma'am, Detective."
I tried not to show my relief, even though she wasn’t giving me special treatment. The paranormal division of the Oakland PD employed witches, reluctantly, to keep supernaturals under control when we were arrested. It came with certain benefits, like a fast track to promotions. Usually, I was all for better representation for my kind in the police department. It had saved a lot of magical lives when cops stopped shooting first under the assumption we were all immortal.
I’m half Fae and I could be hard to kill. But I wasn’t about to start testing the theory, not when the other half was almost human-weak and just as slow to heal. The detective called out to her partner and the asshole on my left was replaced by a giant. He wasn’t a literal giant, but he was huge compared to my five-foot-three inches.
“You okay there?” he asked, sincere concern radiating from him. “Tracy, was this self-defense?”
Detective Mills sighed, and I felt her shrug. “I dunno, Sam. There’s no sign of a struggle, but he’s awfully young-looking for a heart-attack."
“He’s the alpha,” I blurted, my usual helpful self being anything but as they walked me to their magically protected car. Steel and machines are difficult to enchant, their components being the literal antithesis of magic. All the growing pains resulting from our people coming out of hiding is why witch-detectives were so valuable, they’ve got to be the best to maintain control in magical situations.
“Fuck.” The giant tightened his hold as he guided me down the narrow flight of stairs to the foyer. They had their routine down; him handling me and the doors, leaving her hands free to cast if necessary. If I had been stupid enough to try to escape.
“Look. I didn’t do anything to him…to the man in my room,” I began again as the male detective loomed over me, buckling me into my seat. I wasn’t cuffed, the detective’s spell was enough to control me even inside the car. “I only know him because he’s like, famous around here.”
The giant sighed. “Did they read her her rights?” I couldn’t hear the reply, but he stuck his head in the window after shutting the door on me. “You need to stop talking until you get to the station, okay?”
I nodded, but I couldn’t help myself. “But I work for Tell's Bail Bonds.” I was horrified to find myself sniffling like our clients so often did. “I wouldn’t break the law…”
But he had already vanished from view, and I was left to shake and cry in the back of the paranormal squad car as the crowd of onlookers around me grew.
Two
Orson had often called me the poster girl for model Fae, looking just exotic enough to be exciting, but human enough to make people forget I was different. At least that was what I’d told myself. The delicate points of my ears and teeth, and my silver eyes were the kind of fairy humans wanted to see. I'd never broken the law—even when I thought I could get away with a little extra magic—I paid my taxes, and I worked with the police regularly.
I’d never been on the wrong side of the law before—at least not the human law—so it was surreal and sickening to sit at the cold metal table in the interrogation room, cold coffee-flavored mud at my elbow. I’d run out of tears quickly, but the stone in the pit of my stomach seemed to get larger as time passed. I stared at the mirror in front of me, wishing I could use a little magic and peer through to the other side, but even the so-called "interview rooms" were bewitched and runed against my kind.
But none of them understood what my kind was. They had protection spells for every kind of magic, from shifters to witches, and yup, even Fae. They’d asked me some questions about what kind of magic I practiced, and I’d given them as little as possible without lying. Not lying came from my Fae half, just like my pointed ears and fangs.
The magic I hadn’t told them about came from my mother, a witch and priestess of Gaia.
Like most humans, the cops taking my fingerprints and cuffed me to the table had only cared about the part of me they could see with their eyes, forgetting, or simply ignoring the fact I was more than just a couple of Fae attributes.
The Fae half wouldn’t have gotten me arrested, either. The witch half though? That was a whole ‘nother overflowing cauldron of trouble. I’d been raised by the coven I was born into after my mother died birthing me. They didn’t appreciate it, and every day I was glad I was done with them. At least I was content until I came out to a curse keyed into my car at lunch, or a hexed stair almost made me fall on my way to my apartment.
“God, I hate witches,” I muttered to myself as the door opened and the witch-detective appeared in the doorway.
“Well, too bad,” she quipped, sitting across from me with a short stack of manila folders. “And here I thought we were going to be best friends.” I groaned and dropped my head onto my folded arms. “You ready to talk about what happened, yet?”
“Not really,” I mumbled, turning my head so she could hear me. “Maybe after a coupl
e hundred hours of intense therapy…” I trailed off.
“You’re not funny.”
I scoffed. “I’m not joking.” I lifted my head and met her eyes. “I woke up to a pretty damn good approximation of my worst nightmare I went out for drinks, came home alone, and the next thing I know I’m waking up to…” I couldn’t make my mind form the words dead guy in my bed, let alone speak them. “I need to call my boss, or a law firm, or something.” I thought and shook my head. “No, I need to call my boss. He’s going to kill me for not being there, let alone for embarrassing the shop by getting dragged in here.”
Orson Tell was the only bail bondsman I’d ever heard of who didn’t hire anyone with a criminal record. Just being in the back of a squad car could get someone fired. Maybe calling is not the best idea.
“You know what never mind. Just lock me up and throw away the key. It’s safer.” Detective Mills cracked a smile as I squinted at her in the harsh fluorescent lights hanging over the table in the cold, cement room.
“Well, we have a problem, Morgana,” she tossed a legal pad and a pen on the table by my head. “I can’t lock you up without a confession.”