by Jami Gray
Trepidation crawled up his spine and he fought the urge to dash into the room. Using his magic, he swept the room for any hidden traps or cloaked presence and came up empty. Just like his room. All except for that mysterious package.
Cautiously he moved forward until he stood in front of the dresser, peering down at the box.
No label, no writing of any kind to indicate where it came from or who it was for. Though the fact it appeared out of thin air in his locked room seemed to make it pretty damned clear who it was intended for. Again, he tested it with his magic, searching for any sign of anything.
Again, nothing.
Gingerly he lifted the box. A weight inside shifted and he stilled, his heart picking up speed as cold sweat trickled down his temple. When nothing more happened, he set it back down on the dresser. He looked around for something to cut the packing tape with.
Spying his key card, he snatched it up and applied the sharp edge of plastic to tear through the tape. Using his fingers, he pulled back the box’s edges. A dull roaring flooded his ears. Ice crept through his veins. His vision tunneled until all he saw was a bright, red ribbon wrapped around Jamie Ryder’s severed head.
Rage, bright and brilliant, swept away the chilling tendrils of unease, until his hands shook against the cardboard. It took every bit of his control honed through hu-dreds of years not to smash the gory contents against the wall. Who had brought this here? How had they known he was even here? Was it that bitch, Bertoi or one Mulcahy’s pet freaks? Questions swirled in a dizzying rush.
A buzzing sounded, cutting through his fury, giving him a chance to breathe. The reddish hue clouding his vision receded, leaving him staring into the ghastly gaze of dull, brown eyes.
The buzzing drew his attention away from the unexpected delivery and to the phone next to the bed. Uncurling his fingers one by one, he let go of the box and walked over to the persistent phone. He lifted the receiver to his ear. “Yes?”
“Sir, are you ready for your bags to be collected?” The young, professional voice belonged to the front desk manager.
“Yes, I’m ready to leave.” DiMarcco’s voice remained even and unfettered by his earlier rage. He barely acknowledged the manager’s answer and hung up the phone.
Walking back to the dresser and the mocking box, he studied his gift. After a moment’s pondering, he smiled. He carefully tucked the boxes edges down. Perhaps he’d keep this a memento, a reminder to expect the unexpected.
He turned and gathered his suit coat, pulling it on and pocketing his phone and wallet. Looking into the mirror, he straightened the edge of the jacket’s cuffs. When he gazed at his reflection, he wasn’t surprised by the glittering excitement staring back.
It didn’t matter who sent the gift or why, it only mattered that the game had truly begun. Until now, he simply played with destroying the Northwest. Now, though, now he was going to have such fun bringing them to their knees.
Gathering the box under his arm, he tilted his head toward his reflection. “To the most powerful goes the win.”
END OF BOOK FOUR
Keep reading to see where it all started with an exclusive Kyn short story
Wrapped in Shadows
A Kyn Short Story
Elite Kyn, Gavin Durand and Raine McCord, are called in to investigate the aftermath of a Christmas engagement party gone horrifically wrong, only to face an unexpected gift.
“Damn shame death can’t respect the holidays.”
The husky female voice brought Gavin Durand’s head up. A dark-haired woman carefully picked her way through the scattered trails of blood marring the hardwood floors of the luxurious townhouse. Dressed in heavy soled boots, jeans, sweater, and leather jacket, her clothes did little to mask the lethal threat of lean muscles wrapped over a graceful frame. She shouldn’t fit into the chrome and glass home perched sixteen floors above the Pearl District in downtown Portland, Oregon, yet somehow she did.
She picked her way through the debris-strewn dining room, her silver eyes sweeping over the brutal scene before returning to him.
He recognized the look. He should. He saw it every time he looked in a mirror. The cold, dispassionate distance. The mark of a hunter. One who stood outside of life, carefully observing the players, and analyzing the motives of others. “Hello, Raine.”
At his casual greeting, she stopped and narrowed her eyes. “Gavin. To who do I owe the pleasure of enduring your company?”
He rose to his feet. At six-foot-four, he had almost a foot on her, but Raine McCord didn’t back away. Instead, she tilted her head to the side, giving him a sharp, amused smile. The small, unexpected challenge intrigued him. “You can thank Mulcahy.”
At the use of their boss’s name, her lush lips tightened, her fingers curled, and then relaxed, revealing a glimpse at a deeply held resentment. Quick though it was, her reaction made him wonder at the accuracy of the rumors regarding her relationship with the CEO of Taliesin Security. Lovers, his ass. He’d bet good money there was no love lost between Raine and Mulcahy. More disturbing was the strange sense of relief he felt at this realization. Unsettled, he drawled, “Did we interrupt your Christmas shopping?”
She gave an exaggerated shiver. “Shopping is the fourth level of hell.” Looking away, she took in the scene. Among the five bodies lying like broken dolls tossed aside by a temperamental, psychotic toddler, were shattered dishes, food, and broken glasses. Even the large couch hadn’t escaped the bloodbath. “Looks like a hell of a party.”
“Meet Jules,” Gavin waved a hand over what was left of a male skewered to a chair, “he not only owns this piece of real estate, but the art gallery downstairs.”
“Should I be impressed?” She walked over to the table behind him. He didn’t bother to follow. “And his guests?”
“Louis, Margo, Naomi,” he listed as she passed each body. “The table’s center piece is Antoine.”
“Three men, two women,” she muttered, stopping at the far end of the table, next to the only undisturbed place setting. “Table’s set for six.” She picked up a fork and poked at the half finished meal on the one and only undisturbed plate. “I think we’re missing a dinner guest.”
“Probably Vivian, Jules’s girlfriend, according to the information Mulcahy gave me,” he offered. “She’s in the bedroom.”
She lifted her head in silent question.
He jerked his thumb toward the opening at the far end of the living room.
Raine went to check it out.
“She hung herself,” he called out.
A few minutes later Raine returned and surveyed the room once more. “Why are we here? They’re all human, there’s no trace of any Kyn. Considering Vivian’s position in the bedroom, I think it’s safe to call it a murder/suicide. The cops should be handling this.”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong,” he chided, walking over to one of the large living room windows. He reached for the intrinsic magic that made him a powerful witch in his own right and released enough to play over the hidden spell.
For a brief moment, runes flared on the rain-streaked glass, bright against the pressing night. Her breath caught audibly, then the air shifted as she moved to stand next to him. Her scent curled around him, sinking deep.
He caught her wrist before she could touch the fading symbols. “Don’t ever touch a spell unless you know how it’s laid.”
Those silver eyes flared, almost glowing before she blinked the illusion away. She twisted her wrist and he let her go. “How did you know that was there?”
He shrugged, unwilling to go into details. “It’s a spell. I’m a witch.”
She crossed her arms across her chest. “That’s right, your mom’s kind of a big deal in the Magi House, isn’t she? Yet Mulcahy calls and you answer.”
He arched an eyebrow at the not-so-subtle dig. “I’m a halfling, same as you.” Something unreadable flashed over her face giving him a peek into the cracks under the warrior facade. Those cracks touched a fami
liar chord and he found himself sharing, when normally he’d keep his mouth shut. “My father was Fey. I chose to go with the House my skills would best serve.”
Four houses of the Northwest Kyn hid behind the human business mask of Taliesin Security—Fey, Magi, Lycan, and Amanusa, each one led by a ruthless leader, all ultimately answering to Ryan Mulcahy, Head of the Fey House. Humans had given them more common names such as fairies, witches and wizards, werewolves, and demons, probably in an effort to dilute the fear factor. Regardless, together they were the hidden races known as the Kyn, the nightmares of the human world.
“Those runes don’t look familiar.” Raine changed the subject. “Can you read them?”
He shook his head, watching as the last curling lines disappeared, leaving the glass unmarked. “Not all of them, just this one.” Drawing on his power, he retraced the symbol so Raine could see it. “Arabic for chaos.”
She bit her lower lip and looked back toward the macabre dining room. “Well, that’s probably one of the most chaotic dinner scenes I’ve ever encountered. But it still doesn’t tell us why whoever it was targeted Jules and his friends.” She wandered around the open space, disappearing through the entryway leading from the kitchen to the bonus room stretched along the back end of the condo.
“Any of the guests could’ve been the target.” He raised his voice so she could hear him.
“True.” Her answer drifted back. She appeared a few moments later, a white envelope in her hand. “A wedding invitation. Looks like Vivian and Jules were planning on tying the knot at Christmas.”
“Anyone home?” A female voice called from the foyer, spinning both of them around.
A grin broke through Raine’s careful mask. “Xander!”
Around the corner a diminutive mix culminating in a Goth version of Tinkerbell appeared. She took in the scene and gave a low whistle. “Damn, Raine, did you crash the party?”
“Yeah.” Heavy sarcasm colored Raine’s answer. She continued across the floor until she could hand Gavin the wedding invitation. “But the party games were a bitch.”
Raine stepped pass Xander and it hit him how eye catching both women were, but for completely different reasons. With her dark hair, pale skin, and liquid grace, Raine could disappear into the shadows at a moment’s notice. Yet Xander drew attention like a magnet with her short, spiky blonde hair tipped in green, the tattoo trailing over the right side of her pixie face. Not to mention, her short plaid skirt, black leggings, and sweater, with more holes than material, couldn’t overshadow the predatory grace granted by her Lycan blood.
As a male he understood Xander’s draw—an invitation to wild fun. But it wasn’t wild fun that came to mind whenever he crossed paths with Raine. Nope, it was the challenge of tangling with a lethal female, of knowing it wouldn’t take much to get burned by her. Like all worthwhile challenges, such an adventure required patience. And like any good hunter, he had patience to spare.
He took the wedding invitation Raine offered, glancing at the smiling faces of Jules and Vivian, before asking Xander, “Did Mulcahy call you in?”
Xander shook her head and continued to prowl around the bodies. She bent over the pile that was Louis and Margo, drew in a deep breath, and then moved to the lone Naomi to repeat her action. “Nope. Mulcahy called Vidis. He sent me in.” She raised her head and stared them both down, the gold in her eyes becoming more pronounced. “I don’t question my Alpha. It makes for a happier, longer life.”
Gavin could see how pissing off the biggest, baddest wolf in the Northwest could create pitfalls.
“I don’t know, poking at Mulcahy is kind of fun,” Raine drawled.
Xander’s smile was all teeth. “You have a death wish.”
Gavin silently agreed with Xander. Raine made it her life’s mission to drive Mulcahy crazy. Not the safest way to spend your spare time. Maybe Raine needed a new hobby.
“He won’t kill me.” Raine’s response held a dark certainty.
Gavin closed the short distance to Raine until he was in her space and lowered his voice, not that it would keep Xander from overhearing, “And why’s that?”
Her mesmerizing silver gaze slid to his and held. “He likes his tools.”
Gavin dipped his head, bringing his face closer to hers. “Weapons,” he corrected. “He likes his weapons.” It was a thinly veiled taunt.
Her lips thinned and in her eyes the glow from earlier reemerged.
His pulse picked up speed and his adrenaline went into overdrive. He was playing a dangerous game poking her, but it was hard to resist. He, Raine, and Xander all served as Wraiths, the elite group of assassins who hunted the more horrific Kyn who preyed on both Kyn and humans alike. Their Captain, Mulcahy, wielded them all with lethal efficiency.
Yet, instead of clashing with him, Raine stepped back and turned away, deliberately rejecting his unspoken challenge. “We need to figure out who thought their chicken was too dry. Have at it, Xander.”
Letting Raine retreat, Gavin followed to stand behind the man stuck to his upended chair thanks to the various knives protruding from his torso and lap. “You can start with Jules.”
Xander came over and crouched next to the victim. Raine mirrored her on the other side. The women studied the body, then shared a grimace at the most grievous injury. Gavin fought his need to cross his legs in wary sympathy.
“Someone wasn’t happy with dear old Jules,” Raine commented, her attention on the red ruin of Jules’s groin.
“I don’t think anyone was happy tonight.” Gavin watched Xander drag in another breath, testing the lingering scents. He gave her a few moments before asking, “Anything?”
Instead of answering, she looked back at the table with a small frown. “Hang on. I need to double check something.” She made her way back to Naomi, who sported a gruesome facial of nail marks and gouges, plus a brand new red smile stretching ear to ear. After another sniff, Xander raised her head. “Is Naomi Jules’s girlfriend?”
“Nope, that would be Vivian,” he waved the wedding invitation.
“She’s hanging around in the bedroom.” Raine jerked a thumb over her shoulder to the opening at the far end of the living room. “Literally.”
Xander headed over to check it out. There was as soft oath before she turned back, hands propped on her curvy hips, and eyes narrowed as she shook her head. “You’re a sick puppy, my friend.”
Raine shrugged, but Gavin noticed the faint color stealing into her cheeks. “No, that honor goes to whoever set the spell that put all of this in motion.” She looked between Naomi and Jules, a furrow creasing her forehead as she straightened. “They were sleeping together?”
“Yep. Her scent is all over him.” As the Northwest Pack’s Tracker, Xander was all about scents. Her insight was better than any human forensics test.
Pieces began edging into focus, but he needed more information. “Any others?”
“Under theirs, was one more, but it was...strange.”
“Strange?” Raine turned to face Xander. “All things considered, what constitutes strange?”
“There’s an under layer of spice I’m not familiar with. It makes me think of heat and dust one moment, then it shifts to something pungent that lingers, like an irritating grain of sand that gets into places you don’t want it to.”
Listening to Xander’s description, the connections started to click. Gavin dropped the invite to a small end table. The Arabic spell, the scent Xander picked up, the utter madness of the scene, it all crystalized. “We’re looking for a Shaitant.”
Raine blinked as a puzzled frown appeared. “What the hell is a Shaitant?”
“A jinn.” He ignored the knots gathering in his stomach. Moving away from the grisly dinner party, he started examining the shelves decorating the room. “We need to find a container, something it could hide in. It’ll need a lid.”
“Are we looking for a Ziploc container, a jeweled genie lamp, what?” Raine’s question held a sharp edge.
<
br /> “It won’t be obvious.” He pulled open the cabinet doors on a low table. “If you find something, don’t rub it unless you want to share your body with a nasty little shit.”
“We need a few more details here, Gavin,” Xander snapped. “My wolf and I don’t like unexpected visitors.”
He turned to face both women. “Shaitants are spirits who have to be invited into a physical body. Once in, they proceed to use their host to create as much chaos and madness as possible. Since we’re not being plagued by zombies, I’m guessing whoever brought this particular one out to play, somehow managed to trick it back into its bottle before they died.” Which was either a stroke of genius or a desperate luck. He was betting on desperate luck.
Raine and Xander shared one of those female looks, before Raine said, “Three guesses as to who sent the invite, and the first two don’t count.”
“Oh, I know!” Xander waved her hand in the air like a school kid. “Vivian.”
Guess they were all on the same page. “Revenge is a great motivator for stupidity.” He looked to Xander. “Time to sniff out the jinn’s hidey hole.”
She gave him a short nod and began tracking the scents. He and Raine silently watched the smaller woman move around the room with her eyes half closed. She paced along the table, stopped, tilted her head, and looked toward the kitchen. She stalked forward, leaving Gavin and Raine to trail behind.
Stopping next to a narrow cupboard, Xander took a couple of deep breaths, frowned, and slowly pivoted until she was facing out toward the living room. “It was here, but I’m thinking it got moved...” She slipped around the granite counter and padded over the tile and plush area rug, carefully avoiding the gory mess. Moving to the doorway leading to the master bedroom, she stilled, drew in a deep breath, and then grinned. “To here.”
