by M. D. Grimm
“I’m sure you have,” I said. “I started most of them.” Not even a twitch of the mouth. Well, I really didn’t expect much humor from a dialen on a hakum.
We continued through the rest of my forest in silence. But once we neared the southern end, we were accosted by the knight who’d harassed me yesterday. It seemed like a lifetime ago. The ambush basically involved him jumping out from behind a tree and brandishing his sword.
“You have not vanquished me, Villain!” he roared.
I smacked the heel of my hand against my forehead and groaned. Why wouldn’t this guy give up? I glanced at Aishe, who simply stared at the knight, eyes hard.
“I get that a lot,” I said, oddly feeling the need to explain myself and the situation.
“I would assume so,” he said. “You are a villain after all.”
###
HEALING MINDS
(The Shifters #5)
Josh McPhee always wanted to be an agent. To keep from going crazy at the Agency’s New Mexico substation, he talks to the imprisoned wolf shifter—or tries to. Their one-sided conversations only prove the shifter is not getting the help he needs. After all, he is a victim too.
Wolf shifter Xavier doesn’t remember much before his time with the Knights or the time under their control, where he was brainwashed and used to kill innocent shifters. He wants to recover his memories, and yet he fears what he might find. He would escape were it not for the aide whose voice quiets Xavier’s implanted urges.
Late one night the Knights attack the station to retrieve what’s theirs. Overpowered, Josh cannot stop them before they unlock Xavier’s cage. But Xavier rushes to Josh’s rescue and, sensing his opportunity, escapes, taking Josh with him. When Josh wakes up on the road, they strike a bargain: Josh offers Xavier one month of freedom before he calls in the Agency. Both doubt he can be cured, but something about Josh makes Xavier better. They just have to figure out what before the past catches up to them.
EXCERPT
“What’s going on? What happened? Are you all right?” Xavier demanded. His eyes were wide, his hands bunched into fists against the glass.
“We’re being attacked.” Josh ran to the mechanism that kept Xavier imprisoned and after several tries with his card, realized he didn’t have access to open the door.
“Damn it!” he shouted and slapped the machine.
“What? Josh, what?” Xavier shouted.
“I can’t get you out,” Josh snarled. “I don’t have clearance.”
“Just leave,” Xavier ordered. “Just leave and―”
“No!” Josh ran to where an axe was kept in case of fire. He used his elbow to punch through the glass. He barely felt the pain or noticed that shards of glass from the light were embedded in his skin. He grabbed the axe, allowing his anger to fuel him, and walked to the cell. He heard noise behind the door and knew there wasn’t much time left.
“What are you doing?” Xavier asked as Josh pulled his arms back, the blade of the axe over his shoulder.
“They’re after you, Xavier!” Despite his nerves, Josh’s voice was strong and steady. “And I’ll be damned if they get their hands on you again.”
Not very strong, but determined and with adrenaline and wrath behind his actions, Josh hit the glass hard with the axe. It didn’t shatter, but he thought he saw a dent. He hit the glass again and again. His muscles wept and burned. His breathing was harsh and uneven. But he didn’t stop.
Before he could do more than make a small hole through the layered glass, however, the door into the room was blasted open. He fell forward, propelled by the blast. He smacked his head against the glass and hit the floor hard. He coughed as the smoke and debris entered the room.
“Josh!”
Josh heard Xavier’s voice, and that made him crawl to his knees. Dizzy and queasy, any movement was a struggle. The three figures walked in. Feeling suddenly possessed, he gripped the axe once more and stood on trembling legs. He ignored his throbbing head, his nausea, and shoved all of it into the back of his mind. It didn’t matter right now.
“Stupid boy!” spat the leader. Josh saw red as he snarled and charged. It was the shock of the attack that gave him the advantage. He brought the axe down onto the leader’s shoulder, and blood spurted. The knight howled with pain, but Josh didn’t get another swing. The other two grabbed his arms and shoved him back. He lost his grip on the axe and skidded across the floor.
“You little bastard!” The high-pitched shriek from the third figure proved her to be a woman.
“You bitch!” Josh spat. “You murderers!”
The woman suddenly had a gun in her hand. She aimed it squarely at Josh’s face.
A howl like one from a great, ancient beast echoed through the small room. It bounced off the machines and their ears. Everyone looked at the cell, even Josh. His bowels threatened to loosen, and cold terror overtook his hot rage. His stomach tightened and flipped, but he fought the urge to vomit.
Nothing but bloodlust and fury showed in Xavier’s eyes. They were wide, staring, and the green overpowered the gold and grew darker but glowed with a strange light. His hair seemed to float in the air as if statically charged. His skin rippled and squirmed, as if something living was underneath. His hands were curled, and it seemed he was in the beginning of a shift because his nails had grown into black claws. He bared his teeth, and they were sharp and white.
Josh had never witnessed one of Xavier’s fits. They’d stopped happening just after he’d been stationed here. The last one had been the day before his arrival, and after he’d introduced himself to Xavier, the fits seemed to have grown dormant.
“That’s the beast!” the woman shrieked.
“What are you waiting for?” the leader said. He pressed his hand over his wound, but he was leaking blood like a sieve.
The second figure stepped forward, but Josh surged to his feet. A shot grazed his ear, and he gasped, clutching his head and dropping to his knees on instinct.
“Stay down!” the female knight shouted.
Josh watched, helpless, his vision wavering and graying around the edges, as the second knight limped to the cage. He put some sort of explosive on the glass where Josh had been trying to hack his way through. It was the farthest away from Xavier he could get. Josh glanced at Xavier to see he was still in that strange state―almost shifting but not. His eyes followed the second figure’s movements, and it was his utter stillness that kept Josh alert and conscious. In the back of his mind he suspected he had a concussion, and his stomach kept trying to rise into his throat. He swallowed with difficulty.
Xavier looked like a predator waiting for the opportunity to attack.
The figure stepped back. Josh saw putty on the glass. Then the knights left the room. Josh managed to kick his mind into gear enough to dive behind a large monitor. He had just gotten his foot out of the line of fire when the explosive went off. He covered his ears. Even so, the explosion rattled his eardrums. The charge was less than they’d used on the doors―they didn’t want to kill Xavier.
The three knights rushed inside, and mayhem took control.
Josh looked around the machine that hid him and gaped when a large black wolf came out of the smoke. Shaggy fur, ears back, teeth bared, the wolf snarled as if demanding blood. It leapt, and Josh barely managed to turn his gaze away. He curled against the wall, trying to make himself smaller, less noticeable. Even with his face turned away, Josh saw blood splash against the walls and monitors. Shouts and gurgles of the dying echoed in his ears. He clutched his hands over them, but he could still hear the shredding of flesh, the crunch of bones. His head throbbed, and his body burned with pain. He didn’t know what to think or do. He just wanted it all to stop.
The dizziness became more intense, and it took him several minutes to realize it was silent. Opening his eyes, not remembering shutting them, he turned his head to look into the room with dread. What he saw made his throat burn and his stomach finally rebel. Collapsing on the floor, he
retched, hacking and coughing.
The bodies didn’t resemble humans anymore. They were shredded, eviscerated, torn to pieces. The room resembled a war zone. A massacre. He raised his head from his own mess and attempted to crawl to the door, but a large figure blocked it. He cringed, pushing back against the wall.
Xavier, still in wolf form, stood in the doorway. His eyes gleamed, putting Josh in mind of a demon.
“X-Xavier?” Josh spoke, not knowing why, but he felt a spurt of hope. Maybe he could get through to the shifter?
“Xavier, it’s me. It’s Josh.” His voice trembled, but he couldn’t control it. “You know me, right? We―we’re not enemies. I’m a friend, remember?”
The wolf came forward. Josh began to shake, and tears burned his eyes. He couldn’t get enough air, he couldn’t move. Blood dripped from the wolf’s mouth and matted his fur. His footsteps were bloody, and his long, deadly claws clicked across the metal floor. His ears were flat, and his lips pulled back, showing his teeth stained with red.
“What did they do to you?” Josh whispered. “What did they make you into? Why?”
He vaguely noticed the wolf’s ears perk as if hearing an interesting noise. The growls bubbling out of him stopped. Body shutting down, mind short-circuiting, Josh prayed, for whatever good it would do. Then he fainted.
###
On Wings of Thunder
Trystan is an unchosen angel—shunned by society, bullied, and without a future. In a hidden well, Trystan discovers a carving of a dragon, who were once the commanders of demons and now believed extinct. But Trystan learns the carving doesn’t depict an ordinary dragon. Stories tell that millennia ago, the great dragon Asagoroth and his demon army nearly conquered the three realms but was killed by the five elders. The powerful angels combined their life forces to cast a spell, sacrificing their lives.
But history is full of falsehoods. The five elders only managed to imprison the dragon, and Asagoroth had cast his own spell—one of releasement. It only needs the blood of an angel to liberate him from his cage….
Asagoroth, enemy of angels, conqueror of realms, is free. But even as the angels prepare for war, the great dragon surprises them with an ultimatum: hand over the angel who awakened him or face annihilation.
EXCERPT
The stone had absorbed his blood.
Trystan looked down at his hand at the same time a deep rumbling sounded in every direction. Their teacher called for silence as the spire began to rattle, the rumbling growing louder, a drumbeat against his bones. Trystan stumbled toward the window as the teacher tried to rally the students, who began to panic. The shaking grew worse, cracks forming along the walls as the sound of an explosion rattled the air, shattering the windows inward.
Trystan flung himself away, hunching his shoulders, and threw his hands up to protect his face. Glass flew everywhere, shards hitting delicate flesh. Screams mixed with the noise, the shaking, adding to the chaos. Trystan gasped for breath, fear whirling in his mind. His wound suddenly flared hot, and then it was gone: the itch, the pain. He spun around toward the window in time to see a massive—an enormously massive—black shadow burst out of the Center Garden, shattering it, crumbling the pillar the garden once sat upon. Stone was flung everywhere, some pieces smashing into the surrounding spires. Their own classroom shook violently as the spire began to sag to one side.
Trystan lurched toward the other students as the room abruptly tipped.
“Come with me!” the knowledge keeper screamed. She shoved students out the door, her wings shimmering into visibility, her eyes bright with fear. “Go!”
Trystan followed the crowd, the corridors packed with screaming, crying, terrified angels the same age as him and younger. All the knowledge keepers were doing their best to control their own fear, to corral the students to safety. But where was safe?
You couldn’t hide from a force of nature.
Asagoroth.
Mind still whirling, Trystan lost focus for a few moments before snapping back as he heard a loud humming, felt the crackling of energy above him. He’d only heard and felt that once in his life, when he was a young boy. It was the sound of the dome barrier snapping shut, a barrier their armies launched when a deadly threat—usually a massive wave of demons—swarmed against Emphoria. He knew they’d also be sending distress calls to the other cities, alerting them to danger.
Trystan tore away from the stampeding crowd and found a window, the glass shattered, and leaned out, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening. What he saw stopped his breath.
A searing fireball of blue darted toward the high chancellor’s residence, a golden spire that rose above all the others. Trystan could actually feel the heat from the fire despite the considerable distance. The fireball managed to make it through before the pale-green dome snapped shut, encircling the city, deflecting all other attacks. The fire blasted against the spire, creating cracks and dents, melting the gold eagerly, hungrily. Trystan watched with his mouth open as that massive shadow sped over the gold spire, outside the dome, circling like a predatory bird. Darkness seemed to follow the beast, blackening the sky, creating dread and terror as if sending an emotional plague down on those below.
Trystan trembled with knowledge, confused at his sudden exhilaration and joy. He felt fear, but that rational reaction was nearly drowned out by irrational ones.
Then the black shadow hovered a good distance away before perching on the only spire outside the dome—an outlying guard tower. But even then he was enormous, a noticeable feature in the star-strewn sky. Trystan leaned farther out the window, seeing more details now that the figure had stopped flitting around. It was, indeed, a dragon. A big, black, horned dragon… and he was pissed.
He certainly didn’t send that fireball as a warm greeting.
The dragon folded his wings and then a voice—smooth, massive, power in every note—boomed over the surrounding area. The spires shook slightly against the force.
And—the Light Bringer help him—Trystan knew that voice.
“I know you can hear me, angels,” Asagoroth said. A hush fell over everyone. The entire city seemed to stand still. “If you have any intelligence in your tiny brains, you know who I am. You would be wise to heed my demands, or I will unleash such wrath upon you that I will disintegrate your ethereal souls.”
Trystan pressed a fist to his chest, his eyes locked on Asagoroth’s form. The dragon’s voice shook with power and rage. Deep, boiling rage was in every word, every sound, every inflection. But it was contained and controlled. Trystan couldn’t help but admire that control.
Suddenly another voice boomed out of the city, directed toward the dragon. It gave Trystan a start to realize it was his own father, Commander Gabreld. He was obviously using an amplifier to give his voice such volume.
“What are your demands, monster?”
There was a strange rumbling that came from Asagoroth’s direction, and it took Trystan a moment to realize the dragon was laughing. The sound sent an eerie shiver down Trystan’s back.
“It is quite simple, angel commander. I want the one who awakened me. I want the one whose blood now flows through my veins.”
Sweat slid down his face as Trystan’s knees turned to liquid, and he sank to the floor. But his eyes never left the dragon.
“You have twelve hours,” Asagoroth continued, “to give him to me. If you do not, I will lay siege upon your realm as I did a millennium ago. Remember your history, angels, remember how close I came to destroying your kind once before. I will burn it all to ash, everything you’ve built, everything you are, and my demons will piss on the remains.” There was a slight pause, and Asagoroth fluttered his wings, blocking out the light of some of the stars. Shadows danced from his wings.
“But I give you warning, angels. If the one who awakened me is harmed or if he is killed, I shall lay darkness upon the entire cosmos, so dense and deep the memory of light will be forgotten.”
Trystan believed him. He wa
s sure everyone else did as well. He gasped for breath, shaky, feeling ill and excited and worried and confused and… there was no way he could latch onto one emotion and have it rule out all the others. He gripped his head.
Could this really be happening?
Come to me, my love.
The voice caressed him like his dream lover had. Trystan sucked in a breath even as he shivered. He spun his head around, looking for the source of the voice. But everyone was staring at each other, wide-eyed and terrified. No one even noticed him.
I know you can hear me. I know you can feel me.
Asagoroth. Was speaking. Inside. His head.
Trystan slapped his hands over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Nonononono,” he said, wheezing.
Save your people. Come to me.
This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t. He did not just wake up the most feared enemy of the angels, and he was not hearing that beast’s voice inside his head. No. It wasn’t happening.
But dear Light, it was.
###
Connect with M.D. Grimm
Thank you so much for reading my book! And don’t forget: if you enjoyed it, please kindly leave a review at your favorite retailer!
Friend my on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100001710645622
Visit my website: http://www.mdgrimmwrites.com
Find me on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/search?utf8=%E2%9C%93&query=md+grimm
