by Gaja J. Kos
Blackstorm
Gaja J. Kos
Contents
KOLOVRAT UNIVERSE
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
About the Author
Also by Gaja J. Kos
BLACKSTORM
Copyright © 2017 Gaja J. Kos
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 978-961-94368-2-0
Published by Boris Kos
October 2017
KOLOVRAT UNIVERSE
The Nightwraith series is a fundamental part of the “present” portion of the Kolovrat universe. However, several other works exist in the same sphere.
Each series/standalone title can be read individually, or as a whole for a more complex insight into the universe where myth and reality blend into one.
PRESENT
BLACK WEREWOLVES SERIES
Urban fantasy
Novels:
The Dark Ones
The 24hourlies
The Shift
The Ascension
Novellas:
Never Forgotten
Chased
NIGHTWRAITH SERIES
Paranormal romance
Windstorm
Blackstorm
Nightstorm
FUTURE
LOTTE FREUNDENBERGER SERIES
Urban fantasy
Shadow Moon
Darkening Moon
Transient Moon
SHADE ASSASSIN SERIES
Urban fantasy
Shadow World
PARADISE OF SHADOWS AND DEVOTION
Standalone paranormal romance
DESTINY RECLAIMED
Urban fantasy standalone novella
For my mom.
Because she said she wanted to read another one of my steamy books.
And isn’t that just the best?
Chapter 1
Friday nights were always prime time for bars, especially in a student-infested town like Maribor. But when people could get their drinks served by resurrected corpses… Well, to say The Night Hag was teeming with patrons would be a severe understatement.
I swiped the beads of sweat prickling at my brow and angled my head to catch a whiff of that cool summer air weaving through the slightly cracked windows that dominated the western side of the building. As the breeze touched my cheeks, mercifully dispelling some of the heat, I did a quick mental check of the five zombies currently active on the premises.
The magic animating them held strong and true, revealing no cracks or weak spots in its lively current. Good. I wouldn’t want any of the reanimated to display those eerie blank moments when my commands weren’t controlling their every move—or, worse, revert to their natural rotting state.
While my necromancy was about as solid as it got and tended to work seamlessly even when put on the back burner, I’d been working my ass off for the past eight hours, and the exhaustion was starting to show. Then again, the schedule had been a bit crazy ever since the Lent festival started a week ago. Thank the gods this was the last night.
I wasn’t certain I could pull another shift like this, not in a row. But the bar was my baby, and somehow thinking about losing out on even a few hours when the city was this alive irked me more than any tiredness I was fighting ever could.
“Lana!”
I glanced up from the mojito I was pouring, and tracked the voice to a group of twenty-something guys who I’d served earlier, bunched around the table by the far wall. A dark-haired kid waved his hand, flashing a small assortment of leather bracelets.
“Can we get six more beers?”
Automatically, a smile bloomed on my lips, though it probably failed to reach my eyes. Not that he noticed. “Coming right up.”
I maneuvered past Edgar, one of the fresher zombies who joined the family less than a month ago, and made my way to the tap on the other end of the bar. The smell of beer enveloped me like a cloud as I filled the heavy pitchers, then placed them on a cobalt blue tray that matched the wild, almost electric color of my hair—the only visible side effect of my mixed witch and demon heritage I couldn’t cover up even with the strongest of dyes. Balancing the tray on the palm of my hand, I padded over to the group of students, my heels clicking in tune to the heavy opening beats of a Rammstein song. Sure enough, eager eyes watched me approach, and I hoped to the gods they would keep the comments just waiting to burst from their lips to themselves.
No such luck. As usual with this type of crowd.
The dark-haired guy’s gaze traveled up and down my body, taking his sweet time to inspect every detail of the black shorts and formfitting tee of the same color—the standard Night Hag outfit for the summer months—before he finally managed to find my face. A lazy, drunken smile stretched across his lips.
“You know, we’d been hoping you would be the one serving us tonight.”
“Really?” I asked in a somewhat flat, uninterested tone as I put the pitchers on the table and cleared away the empty ones in a single sweep.
“You’re quite the legend around here.”
That was certainly true. The bar had made a name for itself among the townsfolk, and with it, so had I.
For better or for worse.
“They also say you’re the kind of girl who doesn’t mind a little party.”
I snorted. At twenty-eight, I was hardly a girl. And I certainly didn’t like the kind of party his glazed eyes were suggesting. Or the equally hungry looks the rest of his merry bunch was throwing my way.
But regardless of my policy of never sleeping with patrons, the bastards sure didn’t seem inclined to stop trying. Not this kid. Not the dozens before him.
“Can I get you anything else?” I asked, gently tugging on one of the mental strings linking me to my zombies.
The college kid’s tongue slithered slowly across his lips in what could have been a sexy gesture, but all it managed to achieve was make me hope I wouldn’t throw up all over their drinks. Growing up among demons had taught me a thing or two about the scum inhabiting this world, but inebriated humans always took the cake. I just started to turn around when the guy’s voice slammed into me like a brick.
“How about a taste of that magical pussy after the bar closes up, huh?” He glanced at his buddies as I lifted an incredulous brow. “The six of us could keep you writhing all night long, Lana. And, sugar, believe me, we’d make it worth your time.”
Oh dear gods, even the sound of my name coming off his tongue sounded slimy. I fought back the urge to smack that lust right off his face. How anyone could believe this type of flirting was anything but disgusting was beyond me…
I sighed, forcing my voice to be as leveled as I could make it. �
��Thanks for the offer, guys, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. Enjoy your evening.”
Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted, such a staggering change it would have caught me by surprise if I hadn’t experienced it too many times before than I cared to count.
“What? Are humans not good enough, you corpse-fucking freak?” the guy exploded before I managed to take a single step. His muscular body crashed against the table as he shot up without sufficient control, beer spilling over the edges of the pitchers and sloshing onto the ground.
I half hoped his friends were wise enough to tug him the fuck back down, but the bastards clearly shared the sentiment. My body tense, I watched the kid sway on his feet, carefully monitoring the venom that dripped from his hazel eyes. Venom and something else—something far more forceful.
Ah, shit. He was one of those scumbags.
“You don’t know what you’re missing. Once you feel my thick, warm cock in your mouth, sugar, you’d never touch dead flesh again.”
I didn’t tell him that chances of me ever touching my zombies or him were about the same. A big, fat zero.
People entrusted me with their bodies once their souls departed, for gods’ sake. I would never, never abuse them like that.
The kid, it seemed, didn’t match my moral standards.
Between one second and the next, the slime lunged for me, his hand cupping the apex of my thighs with such force I actually yelped, but the element of surprise he had over me didn’t last long.
Just as his other hand started to snake around my back, I smashed the entire tray of empty pitchers into the now unprotected side of his body. Gods, I would have gladly gone for the head, but having someone drop dead in the middle of my bar was far different than employing the departed.
Still, even though the anger coiling furiously in the pit of my stomach wasn’t quenched, at least the hit made the creep temporarily release his hold.
I jumped back, but his pals weren’t content to just let me go. They nearly overthrew the table as they rushed to their feet, glass crashing against the ground as they scrambled to come to the bleeding asshole’s defense. Unfortunately for them, they didn’t get any farther than that single step.
Hands fell upon them like vines, all five zombies creating a wall of living death around them. The dark-haired—and now slightly teared-up—guy spat at my feet as he clutched his injured side, and despite the blood trickling between his fingers, he displayed every intention of coming at me again. His friends, however, weren’t as confident any longer.
I could see the defeat lining their features, the slight fear shimmering in their alcohol-glazed eyes. The assholes had taken note of the promise of violence resting within the zombies and understood that it didn’t mean shit how buff they were. The reanimated dead were stronger. Made stronger by the same magic that granted them this semblance of a life.
All I had to do was send out a quiet command, and that lethal power would be unleashed upon them.
Well, they understood. But the head creep wasn’t as bright.
“You fucking bitch,” the kid screamed as he glanced at his blood-smeared hand. “When I’m done with you—”
My fist connected with his face before he got to finish that particular sentence.
Taken by the force of the blow—just slightly infused with my demonic strength—he flat-out collapsed.
For a moment, nothing happened. There was only the beat of music coming from the speakers, mixed with the heavy breaths coming from the now extremely pale group of the somewhat wiser assholes. But when I tilted my head towards the door, a wordless order for the zombies to take the filth outside where it belonged, the cheers finally erupted.
The whole damn bar buzzed with whistles, shouts, and applause.
Slowly, I spun around, taking in the patrons who were looking at me with appreciative, respectful gazes. I dipped my chin and flashed them a small smile, then motioned them to calm down.
“I apologize for the interruption,” I said as the last of the voices dwindled to satisfied whispers. “It goes without saying that this round is on me.”
“It should be us buying you drinks,” David, one of my regulars, shouted from his perch by the bar, and a myriad of voices sounded their agreement.
I laughed then. Really laughed. “I don’t recall the last time anyone turned down free alcohol.” I gave them a teasing, noncommittal shrug. “But as you wish.”
As I expected, the patrons didn’t fail to take the bait. The entire room erupted again, the space filled with pleas to the contrary. I hid away my grin and walked over to the bar just as another round of applause swept through the room. Only this time, it wasn’t me standing in the spotlight. Not directly, at least.
I couldn’t resist glancing at the zombies who walked back inside, more than a little proud of myself for successfully giving them that sort of heroic edge action movie stars usually possessed. The five of them came in all ages, shapes, and sizes, but right now, the zombies truly looked like a kick-ass squad. My kick-ass squad.
Commanding them to strut about for a few moments longer to please the patrons, I went to mop up the broken glass and spilled beer, then resumed my place at the counter. Despite the sudden vacancy, the place was still packed, but I wanted to isolate myself for a while and let the zombies take care of the few tables and booths in my quadrant instead.
I lost myself in the task of pouring drinks and filling up the waiters’ trays, washing the used glasses in the meantime. There was nothing I hated more than having to stay and clean up after the bar closed for the night, even with the additional help the zombies offered. And today, especially, all I wanted was to head back home and just collapse in my bed, letting sleep wipe away the bitter traces of the incident that still lingered.
Just as I glanced up at the large decorative clock perched on the wall, more than ready to call it a night, awareness prickled at my temples. Not magic, exactly, but an echo of it, wrapped in some unsavory intent I couldn’t decipher.
Careful not to make any sudden moves, I dried another glass and swept my gaze casually across the room, taking in the merry patrons. At first, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. All the faces had been here for a while, and, much like before, they seemed to be minding their own business. It was only when a sliver of space appeared between two shaved heads in a thick group of seven men that I saw him.
He was sitting in the only corner the overhead lights failed to illuminate fully, a dark hood resting low over his brow. The only distinguishable feature was the slightly curved set of his mouth, like he’d just heard something amusing.
Only there was no one around to share the joke.
Trepidation ran down my spine, and I called Silvo, one of the zombies with a stockier, somewhat more intimidating build away from the table he was currently tending. As he started to move, I grabbed one of the freshly poured wine glasses off the counter and made my way through the crowd, swinging past a petite blonde to give her the drink and keep up the charade before joining Silvo on his steady course towards the stranger.
A thick group of patrons clustered around one of the high tables instinctively parted when we approached, but my body jerked to a halt even before I reached the outer rim of their small circle. I swore and sent Silvo ahead, using his eyes as well as mine to scan the surroundings.
Nothing. Nothing but empty space staring back at me, devoid of any traces of the hooded stranger…
Chapter 2
Truth be told, I only half watched as the last of the patrons trickled out of the bar, saying their slightly drunken goodbyes before going home or seeking another location to spend the remaining hours of the night. They meant well, and I loved them for it, I really did, but even their cheerful voices and well-meaning smiles couldn’t lift the chill that seemed to have settled in my very bones.
It went without saying that I’d seen my fair share of oddballs in my years of running The Night Hag, but none of them had ever shaken me quite as much as the strang
er hidden beneath that damned dark hood.
Being not only a bar owner, but the daughter of a Koldun and a demon—one who could almost be considered a queen in the Shadow World—I’d crossed paths with more humans and supernaturals than I could count. Good, evil, the ones in between, you name it. And yet when I thought of my mysterious visitor, I couldn’t help thinking that there was something off about him.
Much to my irritation, I couldn’t tell what.
I locked the front door, leaned my back against it, and cursed. If I hadn’t been as exhausted—if I hadn’t been holding five zombies in check at the same time—I could have tested the man with the unique blend of magic my lineage had gifted me. While it was a warped version of the two respective powers—not fully demonic or Koldun, but something born of the two—it still offered me the chance to scan a person, see just what ran in their veins.
Unfortunately, that train was long gone, and, to be honest, I’d much rather never find out who the damned stranger was than be granted another opportunity to study him up close. Although, if the uneasiness running down my limbs was anything to go by, I certainly hadn’t seen the last of him.
