Roxanne Fosch Files Collection: The Complete Series

ROXANNE FOSCH FILES COLLECTION

THE COMPLETE SERIES

JINA S. BAZZAR

CONTENTS

Heir of Ashes

Acknowledgments

Foreword

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

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Epilogue

Heir of Doom

Foreword

Prologue

I. The Bait

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

II. The Setup

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Heir of Fury

Acknowledgments

Terms

Cast (in alphabetic order)

On Heir of Doom…

Foreword

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

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Epilogue

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2023 Jina S. Bazzar

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2023 by Next Chapter

Published 2023 by Next Chapter

Cover art by Cover Mint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. 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 the author's permission.

HEIR OF ASHES

ROXANNE FOSCH FILES BOOK 1

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

When I first started this book, I had no expectations beyond writing. I just wanted to tell the story clouding my mind. As the first draft was done, I realized I wanted to do more than just write. I wanted to be published.

My journey was long and sweaty, but worth every moment.

No one who achieves success does so without acknowledging the help of others.- Alfred North Whitehead.

This book is dedicated to:

My parents, because I wouldn't be who I am today without you.

To my kids, you are the reason I didn't give up.

Many thanks also go to:

To the beta readers, Shalini G., Aman Aronee, Paula James and Steven Davidson—your valued feedback made all the difference.

My editor, Elle W. Silver, for giving that glowing sheen to the story.

To Charlotte Lauren and Heather Tasker, because I'd have never gotten through that publishing door without your final push.

When I was young I believed one couldn't ask anything better from life. I had everything. I was pretty, smart, I ran with the popular crowd, I had a crush on the cutest boy in class and the nicest best friend ever. In other words, I was a total showoff. Then came the Paranormal Scientists Society (PSS), like the Big Bad Wolf with a big metal baseball bat and shattered my world. That was about ten years ago. Now all I want is to be left alone to live my life peacefully, to be the girl next door.

Things happen, and they have happened to me. You never believe them, or you believe things will only happen to the next person while you watch, maybe even sympathize; though you continue living your life to the fullest. But, like I said, they happened to me. My life shattered and many pieces were just lost. I was no longer a showoff. I was still pretty and smart, though they were no longer mere traits, but necessary tools for my survival. I had no friends, no home, no one I could talk to, no life. Things that centered my world when I was younger are so far down my list of priorities that I can scarcely see myself as that girl again. If a guy looks twice at me now-a-days, all I care about is the possibility that he may or may not be a danger to me. I know how sad that is, and I'd be willing to change a little, if I didn't have to run for my life every time I turned a corner.

If I were younger, I'd pray for a miracle. Today, I just hope for the best.

–Roxanne Whitmore Fosch

CHAPTER ONE

Ihad just finished chopping onions for Paul when the sky broke.

It wasn't really a kaboom, but more like giant rocks tumbling down a hill. Like a giant avalanche.

On its heel followed the torrential downpour I'd been hearing about for the past few days. A sense of foreboding kept nagging at me, a feeling that I was missing something that I should know. Or see.

Do you need anything else before I go? I asked Paul as I hung my apron on a peg and tried to shake the sensation away. I could hear some of the crowd outside dispersing, going home to celebrate another weekend with family, friends, or just be alone after a fulfilling meal; and the booming laughter of those who lingered for a drink and latest gossip in the diner.

That'll be all, he said, sending me a distracted smile over his shoulder.

I went inside Paul's office and grabbed my purse, a huge monstrosity my friend Michelle had desperately tried to destroy, but inside were things I couldn't leave behind if I had to make a hasty exit. Dr. Maxwell's journal was also inside. It had helped me sort a lot of things since I escaped, even if it hadn't been the one I wanted, and I never went anywhere without it.

I slung the purse on my left shoulder and let it dangle on my right side, the easier if I needed to run, then let myself out from the back door of the diner. The downpour was like a water sheet in front of me, blocking anything farther than a few feet from view.

Already water was gathering on the street, herding the brown leaves that had gathered at the edges toward the drainage system.

It was unbelievably cold for October, but I'd only been there for three months so I wasn't sure if this was the norm for early autumn.

I shivered involuntarily and tucked my gloveless hands inside my pockets. I loved autumn, when trees turned into that burnish gold color and animals scurried to gather supplies for the winter, but it seemed like here, in this small town, winter had already arrived.

Another flash of light appeared, just a few yards to my left, followed immediately by a loud kaboom! And the bucket of giant rocks down the mountain.

That sense of foreboding returned, and I glanced around, found nothing out of place.

Paul's Diner was only two blocks away from Marian's bed and breakfast and, on a clear day, the lack of tall buildings in between would have given me a clear view of both. I hurried to the small B & B where I rented a small room on the second floor, wondering if Rudolph (AKA Rudy), the local troublemaker, would be waiting for me by the door like he did most days despite of the downpour. I believe the only reason his bullying didn't extend to outright harassment was because I refused all other offers from other men. That, and the fact that most of the townsfolk had become a little overprotective, believing I was hiding from an abusive husband.

As my long legs ate the small distance, I thought about calling Michelle and asking her over so we could do something fun. I had missed the excitement of going out with my friends during my teen years, locked up in a bedroom in the PSS headquarters instead. I had permission to watch the world from a TV and read about it from books whenever I wasn't down in the lab. Sometimes I was sent to the small library where I received a rudimentary education, but it was nothing near what I'd have learned had I gone to school.

Marian wasn't behind her desk in the foyer, but the low sound of a talk show and reflective TV lights came through the slightly closed office door. I'd stop by in the morning and pay my rent then; I knew how much she hated being interrupted from her shows. Plus, I was soaked to the bones and my appearance would only prompt her to pour one of those awful teas down my throat. I took the back stairs on the corner and headed up to my room, the last one in the corridor, telling myself I'd grab some dry clothes, then backtrack and dry off the water trail I left behind.

The moment I unlocked the door and reached for the switch on the wall to my right, I knew that someone was inside, even before I spotted the silhouette sitting on my bed. Not a friendly someone, considering his scary, inhuman aura. Panic reared its head so fast, so furious, it had me paralyzed in an instant. I forgot all the carefully-laid plans I had so meticulously drilled into myself over and over, even before I escaped the PSS's HQ, for moments like this one. My mind… disconnected.

For a long moment, my fear paralyzed me. I felt its icy grip around my heart, spreading down to the pit of my stomach and up around my neck. Then, he moved. But he didn't attack, instead he—flipped a page?

The casual way he sat on my bed, flipping through Michelle's latest fashion magazine as if he'd yet to notice me, broke through my terrified mind and expelled the paralyzing grip panic wove around my limbs. My first instinct was to run.

But, as fast as I was, I wasn't sure I could outrun a vampire.

Think, Roxanne, think. Identify the threat.

I eyed his red and purplish, almost-black aura and struggled through the terrified haze to remember what I read on Dr. Maxwell's journal. Red for a vampire who lived on blood, and only a made vampire lived solely on blood. I deduced the purple part indicated how long he'd been a vampire, assuming he'd once been human with a simple blue aura.

One thing was clear from his aura; he was old. Very old.

Shit. Shit.

This was such overkill. It was like firing a cannon ball at a mosquito.

If I ran, he'd only chase me. Made vampires—especially old ones—shed their humanity once they transition from alive to undead. Anyone I passed while fleeing only meant he'd get more prey to play with.

Especially sweet, over-protective old Marian.

Straightening, I tried hiding the fact that I was scared shitless and entered the room, turned on the light, and closed the door behind me. I think I saw a flicker of something—respect?—in his eyes, but who knew, it might have been annoyance that he didn't get to chase me around town. Then again, he didn't know I knew what he was, seeing that aura reading wasn't a normal trait, even among the preternaturals. Maybe I had an advantage after all.

I just had to figure out how to use it.

In a valiant attempt at bravery, I threw the key down on the dresser to my right, crossed my arms over my chest – no way near impressive with the way my hands shook – and leaned back on the door in a gesture that mimicked `I'm such a bad ass', but was really so I wouldn't melt into a quivering pool of fearful goo.

A mocking, condescending smirk formed on his lips. For the first time, I noticed his unnatural features.

Corpse-like, he was thin, so thin he looked on the verge of emaciation. Or like a very well fed skeleton. I'd been so focused on the twisted, double-colored aura that I hadn't even paid any attention to his strange features.

His bones—cheek, skull, arms, and ribs—were so pronounced that he looked more like a skeleton dressed in skin than anything else.

And then he changed. Right in front of my eyes.

Dark, lean, handsome.

His hair was long, curling lazily at his shoulders. Green eyes, a thin nose that had been broken at some point during his human life, nice full lips. His body, which a few seconds ago had been all bones, now looked also extremely nice. He was dressed all in black. From the tips of his shining boots to the V-shape of his knit shirt, everything was black.

I gave myself a mental shake, and for a moment, the handsome GQ vampire image stuck. For a second, both images superimposed. There was a stabbing pain above my eyes and there sat the emaciated dude again.

Are you lost? I asked, proud my voice didn't crack or shake.

His eyes glittered coldly, sending a chill through my body. And then… he laughed.

A deep, coming-from-the-belly sexy laugh.

Oh shit, I was amusing him. I was prey, entertaining the predator. I had to get away from him, put plenty of distance between us.

But first, I had to distract him. Somehow, I had to disable him, to keep him from finding me again. Maybe strike him hard enough to render him unconscious while I fled? I just needed to get closer. In retrospect, I could tell how foolish and naïve that idea was.

He tilted his head to the side in an unnatural gesture that caused my heart to skip beats.

He was so far from human, a tiny, frightened voice squealed inside my head.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, an expression of bliss crossing his face.

Smart enough to be afraid. He watched me for a moment, his eyes moving slowly over my body. It was like being bitten by fire ants. Yet, you are still standing. He tilted his head to the other side, puzzling over me, a reptilian movement.

My heart skipped another beat, then kick-started into an accelerated drum.

If I bolt, you'll only think I'm game—which I assure you I am not. I shrugged, a jerky move that belied my tone. Then I added in a shakier tone, I'm already amusing you and I'm just standing here.

He gave that mocking, condescending smirk again. I like you. Very brave, very courageous, he said, and I noticed his voice carried a British accent. Of course it did. I bet he was turned at a time when Indians were the only human life in the Americas.

Yeah? Unfortunately, I'm not interested at the moment. Perhaps you should try again in a month or two. I pushed away from the door and took two steps, close enough, with only two more steps to go. Who knows? I shrugged again, Maybe then I'd be interested. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone. I pointed a thumb behind me, my hand jerking when a vicious kaboom! blasted the air.

You know why I am here, little one? he asked, serious now. I was glad he deemed me neither worthy nor dangerous enough to get up from the bed. He remained calm, relaxed even.

I shrugged, took one more tiny step, and stopped cold when his eyes narrowed into thin slits. He didn't look like an emaciated dude anymore. He looked dangerous, his eyes gleaming with inhuman intelligence and awareness.

Scratch plan A. If I couldn't get close enough to strike him unaware, I needed to come up with an alternative. Time for plan B. Now, I just needed to figure out what plan B was.

I'm here to take you back. Enough playing the damsel in distress. If you wish to bring anything you've acquired, then go ahead and bring it. You have five minutes.

What makes you think I'll go back? I asked, my mind whirling for something I could do.

He showed me his teeth. Straight, nice, white teeth. It wasn't a smile or a sneer, just… teeth.

I have some papers for you to sign before we leave, he said, returning his attention to the magazine as if my accompanying him was a foregone conclusion. A disclaimer that entitles the scientist's full rights for the next ten years … He flipped another page. Hmmmm. Nice shoes. Flip. During this ten-year period, if you give them your full cooperation —

I lunged for him, talons out. Straight for his throat. I didn't know if a stake through the heart was the right method to kill a vampire, but decapitation was a sure way to kill anything living—or nonliving—or animated, or whatever it was they called a made vampire.

I hit something hard and for the fraction of a second thought I hit the mark. Just the time it took for my brain to process his bony fingers around my wrist, exactly where the fur and padded paw ended and my human wrist began.

I didn't even see him move.

Without any pause or hesitation, I tried again with my free left talons. When I found both my wrists imprisoned by his bony fingers, I kicked his shin with my right cowboy boot, while simultaneously wrenching both my hands back with as much force as I could muster, slicing his hands in the process.

He howled, letting go of me and getting up, fangs out. I stumbled back a step and without losing momentum, kept going for the closet where I kept the broom I used to clean up my room so old Marian wouldn't need to. As weapons went it was pretty lame and harmless, but it was all I could think of at the moment.

Despite the head start and the fact I was fast, I'd taken only two steps before he tackled me from behind. I fell with a loud oomph, almost banging my nose against the hard wood. I struggled, trying to free my legs, but his strength was tremendous, and I only managed to gain a few inches. Nevertheless, I kicked—more a hard shove—with the spare inches I had and heard the satisfying grunt of pain. Not waiting for him to recover, I put all my strength in my upper body and pulled myself—and him along—a few inches to the closet door and held on to the frame. Again, I struggled to free my legs and continued kicking/shoving every time I gained an inch or two.

Stop it, he snarled, voice guttural, arms tightening around my legs.

Inch by inch, I moved, hope filling my heart when the tips of my fingers brushed the handle of the broom.

Then something sharp pierced through the fabric of my pants, into the back muscles of my right shin. I stiffened when the vampire began sucking, paralyzed with fear. That was how vampires controlled their prey and made them slaves. By drinking their blood.

With a cry of despair and outrage, I pulled myself again with renewed determination, the frame of the closet creaking with indignation, the vampire's fangs tearing through my muscles like scissors on thin paper. My hand brushed the handle of the broom again, but it slipped away. Finally my left foot came free and I stomped on his head once, twice, the muscles of my shin tearing with every kick. My leg slid, though his fangs still sucked, caught on a frenzied feeding, now embedded in the tendrils of my ankle. The pain was so overwhelming, it almost outdid reason. I pulled myself again, crying out with the agony of tearing flesh. I reached and grabbed the broom, and with a herculean effort of will, flipped my upper body and began thwacking the vampire on the side of the head until the handle broke and I had a makeshift stake.

I quickly stabbed him in the shoulder, and, as if he had just now realized I was fighting him, he let go of my leg and shot straight up and away.

I picked the other side of the broom, the one with the bristles—considerably shorter—and got up slowly, almost sinking back down when I put some weight on my right foot.

The vampire reached back and unhooked the handle of the broom from his shoulder, his malnourished face contorting with anger. There was an alien redness in his eyes, his fanged, opened mouth dripping with my blood.

I took a step back, careful to put as little pressure as possible on my right side. Regardless, I almost passed out when the pain zinged through the entire leg. My vision dimmed once, and I had to swallow bile twice. If I passed out, I would be waking up inside a cage. That is, if I ever woke up again.

Then all of a sudden, there was no more weight on the mangled leg. My relief lasted for less than a millisecond, the moment it took for me to realize I was dangling by the throat, the vampire's bloody lips about two inches away.

It took my brain precious moments to shift gear and process the fact there was no longer any distance between us.

Shit, he was fast. There hadn't been even a blur.

When someone dangles you by the throat, it hurts. It hurts a lot. I felt like my body was trying to detach itself from my head. Gravity pulled me down while his hand kept me upright. I grabbed his bony wrists, trying to diffuse some of the pressure, and was about to kick him again when I made the mistake of looking straight into his eyes.

Aside from the reddish alien sclera, the pupils had a red thin line surrounding it. It might have been there before, but I couldn't remember. Even as my inner alarm went off telling me to break contact, I was wondering why I wanted to. I stopped struggling, let my hands fall to my sides and felt my face slacken. I was suffocating but couldn't give a damn about it. I knew my leg throbbed like a motherfucker, but the pain didn't register. My receptors malfunctioned.

The vampire put me back on my feet, and it wobbled with the weight, but he wanted me to stand, and for him I could endure anything.

Mind control wasn't what I had expected it to be. I was totally there and aware, I knew it was wrong, I just didn't care. The vampire's pupils dilated for a moment, engulfing every part of his irises before contracting again, this time becoming a barely-perceptible pinprick. Trapping me inside. I was mesmerized. The warning in the back of my mind became a hardly audible alarm.

Then something happened—the feel of his control changed. I could feel him perusing inside my mind—a tickling-prickling sensation—as he leafed through my thoughts and memories as if I were an open book, just as casually as he had been leafing, only moments ago, through the magazine. I felt, rather than saw, him laughing at the comparison inside my head, and heard my inner voice screaming at me, Do something! But I was helpless, aware of his invasion, cringing from the violation of my most private thoughts and memories. I was like a ghost, following someone through a haunted mansion while he checked this room and that, ignoring the phantom completely.

He saw me as a child, on the yellow swing in front of the house, laughing at a beautiful blonde woman dressed in a dark green business suit with eyes as black as mine. Mother had just come from work and was telling me she'd gotten me a gift. I jumped out of the swing and ran to her, hugging her with gratitude and that innocent unconditional love only a child could give so freely. Now I was holding a big teddy bear and mother was telling me a bedtime story about fairy princesses.

Images of my childhood flashed by faster, jigsaw pieces of a life long tucked away, kept apart from all the torment and pain that followed and practically destroyed me. Mother taking me the first day to school, the bus that picked me up the very next day; my first-grade teacher; Tommy, the boy I used to have a crush on; my best friend Vicky, the troubles we got into together; me falling off a tree I climbed on a dare from Vicky. Faster and faster my memories moved as I grew, and the vampire absorbed everything, every detail, enjoying my helplessness.

The day the Paranormal Scientists Society came and took me away screaming, while my mother watched helplessly, framed by the front porch while it rained; the first time they threw me in a cell with a rabid wolf. Dr. Maxwell's angry face the day I spat the concoction he wanted me to ingest back in his face; Dr. Maxwell injecting a concoction through an IV, monitors connected through small plugs all over my chest, as I lay shackled to the cold stainless examination table. Professor Anderson, my tutor in the years I spent in the PSS.

Fear began slowly transforming inside me, growing from a quivering puke green color… into yellow… into orange… into red. And it wanted to be let go.

My rage grew as the vampire explored every detail of my life—every private moment.

Reaching inside myself for that growing anger, I tried to take hold of it—and I couldn't.

I tried again, but it remained unreachable, yet just a hair's width away. For all the PSS's claims of me being a super predator, there I was, unable to shield my mind, or move my limp arm and punch him… no nothing, not even an impotent twitch.

My anger, the thing I had learned to fear for the past ten years, that destructive otherness I kept suppressed inside in chains and strong will at all times… had become nothing but a useless emotion.

I was helpless to stop the vamp as he navigated through my memories. The memorable and the detestable.

And when he was done, instead of just pulling away, he began building suggestions in my mind. Making me want things. And oh, but I wanted it. Craved it, in fact. I'd just suffocate if I didn't do as he said.

I wanted to go with him.

But not to the PSS.

No, we were going to be a team. He was going to teach me all sorts of things.

I was going to obey him. Everything he commanded, I would obey.

CHAPTER TWO

M aster, whispered a voice in my head.

Master. My lips moved, forming the word.

Then an image of him feeding from my neck, my eyes blank as he took his fill filled my mind. As if it were a reminder, my leg gave a painful throb.

No. Nooooooooooo! Screamed that tiny voice. Louder and louder it screamed. Until—until…

My rage peaked, ready to explode like an active volcano. For the tiniest fraction of a second his control wavered with surprise.

It was all I needed.

I embraced that raging otherness inside me.

And I let the explosion take over.

I started slowly gaining on him, and once I got going, I didn't stop. I gained speed and momentum like a free-falling object. Once I reached the limit—once I had pushed him all the way out of my head—instead of impacting and bouncing, I wanted to keep going. So I followed him and pushed into his mind, through the mud-like molasses trying to impede my forward progress. I roared with rage and triumph to the other side, to the maze of hundreds and thousands and millions of cobwebbed lights—the network of thoughts and memories.

My rage had the control seat. For a timeless moment, I moved neither forward nor backward.

The mind was a beautiful thing. A sea of lights, contrasting everywhere with shadows and colors, some like a dot on a map—barely significant, others shining as brilliant as the sun.

I didn't go for his memories, his thoughts, his knowledge. I ignored the lights, the darkness, the shadows and colors. As I traversed through, I caught glimpses of the memories I came closest, of a beautiful brunette with blue eyes the color of a summer day sky, dressed in a midnight blue gown with bell sleeves. Of a man with green eyes and long dark hair, dressed in another era's clothes. I felt the love he felt for her—Angelina Hawthorn of Bond Street, daughter to a diplomat—then the horror, the pain and fear when Angelina turned into a nightmare with fangs and struck, such a delicate thing, sharper than a rapier. I watched as the woman struck, needle-sharp fangs pierced the delicate part of his throat like hot knife on butter; as his green eyes widened in shock, as his life force began to drain away. Regardless of how much I wanted to stay and pry—intrude into his private moments—my raging otherness didn't. I moved straight to the end, to what the roaring otherness sought, to the middle back where there was a strange glowing red point with a brilliant net surrounding it, keeping it apart from all the others. The vamp's will pushed at me, trying to get me out of his mind. He was strong, with centuries of accumulated knowledge and power, learnt and built throughout the years. It was like being scraped from inside with forked claws.

I screamed, either literally or mentally, I didn't know, but he heard me and responded with a roar of his own. I believe it was his arrogance and sense of superiority, combined with my fear of being recaptured and sent back to the dungeons—or of losing my freewill to a vampire who had god-knew-what in mind—along with the raging otherness inside of me that gave me the strength I needed to keep pushing and gaining ground.

The net looked thick—cable-like and pulsing with a dark substance that seemed to emit its own throbbing hum, which I could hear even above the roaring. It gave even my raging otherness pause. But not for long. It coiled to spring like a snake, and then slammed into it.

This time when I screamed, it was from the agonizing pain searing inside my head. It went on and on. Like being electrocuted from inside out.

Then… silence. Nothing.

The roaring was gone. The screaming was gone. The humming was gone. The cobweb of light was gone. The thick, cable-like net was gone. Nothing but a blob-like red ball that no longer glowed like a beacon.

I reached for it.

And began squeezing, squishing, compressing it from all sides as if I had encased it inside a diminishing box of metal sheets.

Some part of me was horrified with what I was doing, the part that understood what this meant, but was quickly shut down by the otherness inside.

It was either him or me. My freedom or his life.

An excruciating pain began building between my eyes, but it didn't stop or diminish the hold that otherness had of me. I was aware of the warm trickle of blood running down my nose, my eyes. Concern that I wouldn't be able to wrestle control back from that otherness began to make a presence.

The blob decreased in size, giving way to nothing, until … there was no more.

There was an explosive pressure inside my head that terrified me, before everything became black.

When I awoke, dawn was already approaching. I had the mother of all headaches. My right leg was on fire. The dim light coming from the edge of the drapes was like acid in my eyes. The murmur of early birds like knives inside my head. I closed my eyes again and I remembered at once what had happened.

I needed to get the hell out of there. I took a deep, aching breath and opened my eyes again.

When I was able to focus my watering eyes, the first thing I saw was the mummified figure beside me.

The faint smell of rotten meat permeated the air, along with the metallic scent of blood. I got up slowly, mindful of the mangled leg, and supported myself with a hand on the dresser. The pain I felt was unbelievable, and I did sway once when the room tilted, but a couple of deep breaths had the world, and my nervous stomach, settling again. And just like that, I packed all my belongings into my duffle bag and limped out of there. I was locking the door when I remembered my rent. I still had the envelope with the week's paycheck inside my coat pocket. It would cover the rent, plus whatever troubles and cleaning expenses would be needed to scrape the blood and mummified corpse. I took the check out, placed it on the dresser along with the room key, and limped my way outside to the back of the building where Thunder—the ancient truck a guy had sold me over a year ago—was parked. I took the I-84 to head south, hoping and praying the PSS would give up on me.

CHAPTER THREE

Istayed on the run for two weeks, stopping for nothing, making do with energy bars and gas station bathroom breaks whenever I could. But I caught no tails, saw no familiar SUVs, no familiar faces or uniforms.

The rain hadn't let up for more than a few hours at a time, and a lot of towns I had passed by were talking about floods, inundation and higher grounds. I was still in Idaho, moving from one small town to the next, because PSS facilities were found in bigger cities, metropolitan areas with military bases. During the year and a half since I escaped, I'd been found only three times, counting the vampire two weeks ago.

I spotted a road—a waterlogged trail with tire marks and patches of dry weeds in the middle—and decided to follow it, knowing those usually took me to very small towns and villages. I needed a respite, a bed, a substantial meal to eat… a cup of coffee. My stomach growled like an engine, and I popped open my last warm soft drink and guzzled it down, knowing I'd need a bathroom break soon. The sky was beginning to darken, even if sunset was still a few hours away.

It took me a while and a little backtracking, but finally I found the town's B & B, just a rundown, two-story brick building that had seen better days—probably before the revolution. I glanced at the rearview mirror, winced at my reflection, the dark pockets under my eyes, my greasy hair, not to mention the obnoxious stink wafting off me.

I awoke to the incessant sound of my grumbling stomach and the pounding rain, and took a fast, hot shower. Then I drove to the laundromat I'd spotted last night when I'd been searching for an inn, paid the required coins and filled the machine with my stinky clothes. To give my legs some much-needed stretching, I ran the three blocks to the town's only mall under the rain.

I had just taken a bite of my turkey sandwich when there was that horrible sound of a booming crash of expanding air.

Kaboom! Like the sound of a whip lashing, followed by the rumble of the giant rocks. Then a second one, closer, louder. It was like the world was breaking apart. A glance up at the rafters showed they were fine, the metal sheets hadn't come down, yet. I have never been afraid of thunder, but this one had my veins filling with icy dread.

Bad omen. I sipped from the coffee, but the uneasiness didn't wash down. I shifted in my seat and wondered what other surprises fate had under her sleeve for me. Almost as soon as the thought crossed my mind I shoved it away, afraid to tempt fate.

Ah, fickle fate, who would rather throw me into an endless abyss.

And on the next deafening kaboom, I noticed a man coming towards me… focused on me. A chill went down my spine, and my heart skipped a beat before I could think reasonably. This was a public place, there was no need for alarm or anxiety. I was too stressed out. I took a sip of my coffee, and the caffeine calmed me down—and had ire coursing through my veins. Couldn't I finish my breakfast in peace, without attracting any attention?

I watched him approach, doing nothing to hide my annoyance. Maybe he'd get the hint.

Yeah, right.

I resumed eating, watching as the guy kept coming in my direction.

When he was fifteen feet away, his aura flickered into existence. The food in my mouth suddenly gained a cardboard quality, and I took a sip of the coffee to help ease it down. A nervous chill fluttered in my gut. Outwardly, nothing showed. My heart picked up a wild beat and blood roared in my ears.

Because, oh shit, the man approaching me was not an ordinary human. The tall man dressed in the olive green wool coat approaching me was a preternatural… a mix between born vampire and wolf?

According to Dr. Maxwell's journal, a born vampire had a yellowish aura, a thin line that contoured around the body; the were-animal had a dark green one. The man now approaching had some kind of twisted double line, like a DNA helix. Not long ago, I'd have assumed he was something else, but I learned to interpret people's aura as a necessity for my survival. It's funny how people manage lots of things when properly motivated.

Ever since I escaped the headquarters, preternaturals were the people I absolutely had to avoid, since most were mercenaries for hire and the PSS had no qualms hiring one or three after me. I couldn't tell friend from foe, so I cut myself from the preternatural community – and any helpful guidance, something I desperately needed.

I took a bite from my turkey sandwich and washed it down with the coffee. I tasted neither. My stomach, already uneasy, roiled and threatened to return the few bites I had taken. I scanned my surrounding with a casual sweep. Although the food court was almost empty, there were people, innocent people nearby, and it bothered me. Did he think if he approached with witnesses nearby I'd accompany him, rather than make a scene?

Oh, but he was sorely wrong.

I cared nothing if the world discovered about us preternaturals. And yet, I'd heard it was bad business for hired mercs to get caught by ordinary humans performing any kind of abnormal activity. Or was he considering using them as leverage in exchange for my cooperation? I glanced around, taking a sip of my coffee to cover the motion and took count. Four people. Two women chatting excitedly about someone's wedding and someone named Josh Jr. who was the total douche canoe. Another girl, who looked young enough to be ditching school, texted furiously on her cell, and the fourth was a middle-aged woman eating some pastries, a reproachful look aimed at the ditcher, a cart full of groceries parked beside her. They were seated on the opposite side of the food court—not far enough, but it had given me the illusion of solace when I'd arrived.

Four people. Not what one would have expected with the storm in its full glory outside. Any other town and there would have been a couple dozen people waiting out the downpour to pass.

Four people. Not enough to really count… They were four too many.

Regardless of my uneasiness, I didn't know if I'd risk my life, my freedom, for someone else's. I wasn't selfish, or I didn't like to think I was. However, I'd seen too much suffering and pain to risk my going back to the PSS over someone I never met. Besides, I harbored no fantasy of superwoman. I'd give my abilities up without hesitation to take back my life where I left it ten years ago.

All those rambling thoughts passed through my mind between a step and another.

I took another bite of my sandwich, chewed a couple of times and swallowed the lump, almost choking when it refused to go down. I immediately took a sip of coffee and the liquid burned all the way down to my stomach. I barely noticed it. My heart raced wildly—and if his vampire senses were trained enough, he'd hear its faint thump thump thump the moment he reached me. At least, that's what I assumed. I wasn't a vampire and I could hear other people's heartbeats, provided I was close enough and listening for them. I took steadying deep breaths, slowing it down enough to pass as normal.

When he was over me, I glanced at him, as if his presence had just registered through. He gave me a lopsided, dazzling smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. I smiled back, a polite, distant smile and took a sip of the coffee, but I didn't touch the sandwich.

That's a hell of a downpour, he said, shaking his head and pulling the chair across from mine. Mind if I sit here?

I don't see why you should, I murmured into my coffee. My voice was low enough to be muffled by the sound of the pounding rain on the rafters, but I was sure he could hear me loud and clear. Which he ignored, as I expected he would. My mind whirled with possibilities of skedaddling out of there. Absently, I noticed small things. He had a cup like mine in his hand, which he placed on the table in front of him. Since Starbucks was slightly to my back and there was a tall beam that blocked my peripheral view of it, it could explain why I hadn't spotted the man at first. His hands were broad around the tall cup, his fingernails clean and clipped.

So, are you new in town? Haven't seen you around before. He took a sip from his cup, his eyes intent on mine.

That threw me. Was he a local, just passing time in a mall?

I shrugged. Just meeting a friend. Guess the storm held him up.

Oh, he said with interest, who? He had dark, stormy grey eyes, his irises ringed in black.

Josh Jr., I replied without thinking. Yeah, Josh Jr. the douche.

His lips pursed and his eyebrows went up a fraction. Was that humor in his eyes? Of course, he could have overheard the conversation just as easily as I did.

But where are my manners? I asked with an abashed expression and extended my hand. Something flickered in his eyes, quickly masked. I went on, Name is Eliza. Friends call me Liz.

Logan Graham, he said, engulfing my hand in his large one, and the lack of manners is totally mine. He gave me a sheepish smile, my hand still in his. Your beauty sort of distracted me.

Well, I've heard cheesier. Not so subtly I tugged my hand free and accidentally bumped my cup of coffee with my elbow. It fell and spilled hot coffee all over my lap.

Shit, it was hot. I stood, toppling over my chair with an unbelievably loud crash, gaining the attention of the other occupants of the food court. Surprised, Logan jumped up, and, like magic, produced a wad of napkins. I took them, and with a grimace began patting myself dry. All four women watched us avidly.

From under my lashes, I noticed Logan reach with a napkin, hesitate and drop his hand again.

Yeah, that's right. You try that and I'll bite it off.

I dropped the mess of crumpled, stained napkins on the table and looked up at him with an apologetic, chagrined smile. I am so clumsy. I gestured down to my black, low riding pants as if he hadn't noticed them before.

Ah, uhmm, guess I'll go to the restroom, see what I can do about this. Again I motioned downward, noticing Logan wasn't saying anything. Had I overplayed this act? I cleared my throat, feeling a mortifying flush creeping up my neck. Uhmm, if— Was that exasperation or frustration I saw? I cleared my throat again, my flush deepening. Ah, if Josh Jr. arrives, would you mind telling him I'd be right back?

I hoped fate wasn't so cruel as to send Josh the douche swaggering into the food court just then.

Logan frowned and looked around, his grey eyes—wolf eyes—skimming the food court in a way that I could tell observed everything and missed nothing. They were trained eyes.

My heart skipped a beat, but I managed to tamper down on it. I picked up my purse, left my jacket and food, and got going while the going was still good. I moved as fast as possible without giving the impression I was running.

There were eyes on me all the way to the restroom, and I was aware more than Logan watched the progress. Had I pulled a convincing act, or had I been too obvious? Vaguely, I wondered what kind of gossip would be told about the sudden appearance and mysterious disappearance of Josh's friend. And my beloved baby blue Prada?

I sniffed, opened the door to the restroom and stepped inside.

CHAPTER FOUR

The first thing I noticed was the lack of windows. Figures, I muttered. It had been too easy getting to the bathroom without complications. Perhaps Logan had already known there was no escape route from here.

Or maybe the acting, the food and the jacket I left behind had done the job and he was waiting for me to return. Or maybe he was just dense. I recalled the sharp look he had cast around the food court and shook my head. No, dense he was not.

But perhaps he hadn't been hired by the scientists and his interest had been genuine. I sighed inwardly. I did always attract unwanted attention.

When I was younger, I considered it a blessing.

I searched the stalls for company and—as expected—I was alone. I went back to the door and cracked it open. The man was still where I left him, mopping coffee with soggy napkins. He looked distracted, but he'd definitely see me if I left this way.

His interest might have been genuine and, the fact that he seemed to be local gave him credibility, but I wasn't taking chances.

What if the PSS found out I'd holed there for the night and it just happened Logan was handy?

Hello, paranoia.

And there had been the speech that the vampire, fire mage, and werewolf gave me prior to their attack, which had been odd and seemed rehearsed and totally something the PSS would insist upon. Something about a contract and ten-year documents and if I didn't obey and accompany them like a good girl, then they wouldn't have to hurt me and yada yada yada, or something to that extent. Either I hadn't given Logan the opportunity to recite it or he'd heard what happened to the previous hired men who'd tried shanghaiing me and decided a more deceitful approach was necessary.

Not that I had intended to kill any of his predecessors. My head still hurt from whatever that psychic thing I'd done against the vampire had been, and guilt and nausea walked hand in hand where the fire mage was concerned.

The mage had found me the very next day after I'd escaped, in the parking lot of a diner where I had stopped for my first meal outside the PSS in nine years, and had threatened to burn me alive if I didn't accompany him back. In hindsight, I could tell his threat and demonstrative white ball of fire had been nothing but a perfunctory warning, but back then I hadn't known that. Back then, I hadn't yet understood I was nothing but a paycheck for people like him. All I'd cared was that I didn't want to die so soon after I'd managed to escape, even if I had vowed to myself never to let the PSS catch me alive again. So I'd reached deep inside me, past the anger I feared, into the slumbering part that lived in the depth of my soul, and without giving myself a chance to think twice, yanked it out and engulfed myself with it.

Back then I had no idea that the fire would bounce back and attack the mage, though it had crossed my mind the PSS had once tried coaxing this reaction before and failed.

So there the mage was, lying dead by his own weapon, adding one more guilt to the pile of accumulating regret. I'd buried the body then, not out of respect but out of fear that the PSS would realize what I'd done and send the next merc sooner. Though I remember seeing a figure on the other side of the diner's glass door, no one had come out to inquire why I was digging a hole with my bare hands. No one had seen me, no one had heard the commotion.

Back then, I didn't wonder why.

I paced the length of the bathroom, trying to figure out a way to get out of there without any undue confrontations. Werewolves were notoriously vicious fighters and vampires were fast and strong. It was a dangerous combination to have for an enemy. True, it was the made vampires who were the strongest and fastest, but even born ones had some semblance to their dead—or undead—kin. That is, if I was reading Logan's aura correctly. My gut tightened with anxiety at the possibility he was something else, something new.

It was only when I began gnawing down my already short thumbnail that I spotted the ventilation on top of one of the stalls.

Why not? I murmured. It worked in the movies.

I locked the bathroom and advanced to the third stall where the ventilation window was, stood atop the closed toilet and peered inside.

It would be a tight fit and the dust would stick all over my wet clothes, but I was desperate.

I reached for the shutter, jerking my hand as it transformed into talons and fur and a pinkish padded palm/paw. Underneath the fur there were soft, flexible scales, on the palm the pads were coarse, like the tongue of a cat. I inserted my talons in the narrow slots and pried the cover out, some of the screws flying as far as the sink. I was confident the racket would be muffled by the pounding rain.

I peered inside the airway, jerking my hand back to normal. The inside dead-ended about ten feet ahead and opened both to the right and left. I sighed, pushed my purse inside, a last thought going for my baby blue Prada I'd gotten for a song and a whistle. Then I followed behind my monstrosity of a purse. I took the left and kept going, taking random turns, dust gathering and sticking to my wet pants.

Outside, the downpour was still in full swing and I was soaked to the bones in mere seconds. I cursed the foolhardy decision of leaving Thunder by the laundry to give my legs some much-needed stretching. I ran all the way, and still, by the time I reached the laundromat I was freezing cold, turning into a light shade of blue. I stuffed my warm-dry clothes into my duffle, knowing they were going to wrinkle something fierce and dashed to the truck, throwing the duffle on the back and climbing inside. At least the rain washed away the worst of the coffee and dust.

There was a flash of light, instantly followed by the tumble of thunder. I looked around and… nothing. There was nothing. No cars, no people, nothing but thunder and rain. Rain and rain and more rain. A downpour like this one would eventually be discussed in history books. Followed by a religious title, the talk of doom.

Bad omen. I shivered and reached for the ignition key. Fortunately, it roared to life at the first try, and I slammed the gas pedal and sped away from that forgotten small town.

Maybe I should give big cities a try, seeing that the PSS were surely in on my small town plan.

CHAPTER FIVE

Icrossed to the state of Nevada somewhere around sunset the next day and took the first exit I found before heading for one of those no-name motels. Driving for more than twenty-seven hours made my leg throb anew, even if there were nothing but ugly scars where the vampire bit me. To top it off, a low-grade headache had started a few miles back, and I decided to call it an early night. Plus, there was a loud grinding noise coming from Thunder's old engine that worried me. I parked in front of the office, took out my wig and contact lenses. I didn't want to be recognized if Logan—on the off chance he was following—happened to describe me. I paid cash for the room to the clerk behind the simple desk, a paunchy middle-aged white guy with greasy hair, who was too busy eating sunflower seeds and watching a game to really notice me. He didn't even bother with any niceties. He motioned to the soap and travel sized shampoo for sale with a grunt and flicker of his hand in case I needed them. I did. I paid for a bottle of shampoo and conditioner and a bar of soap and headed for number thirteen.

The motel was an L-shaped, two-story brick structure, and room thirteen was the last one on the shorter leg, on the ground floor.

The lights outside had burned out, giving a deserted, eerie feel to the place. There were only three vehicles in the entire parking lot, including mine.

Now, I'm not usually a superstitious person, on the contrary, I like to believe I'm very sensible. Still, something about number thirteen, that dark doorway, that feel of abandonment, combined with that still present sense of foreboding—well, let's just say that number thirteen gave me the heebies. For a long time, I just sat in the darkened car. I don't know what I was expecting to happen, but there I was, hands gripping the steering, waiting.

Finally, I climbed out, walked purposefully to my room and unlocked the door, determined to get a good night's sleep.

As far as those kinds of establishments went, the room was just a common room, if not a little thready. The important part was that it was semi-clean.

Before going inside, I gave one last look back at Thunder, closed and locked the door with a flimsy chain that wouldn't hold a determined child back, much less a preternatural.

I woke up a couple of hours later and knew I was not alone. Years in the PSS taught me not to react and give myself away. My mind, fully awake, whirled with all the possibilities to incapacitate the intruder. If I could just see what he was… oh, but he was good. I could hardly hear anything. And he was close. Very, very close. He shouldn't have been able to get this close without waking me.

It was probably Logan, but I learned long ago never to close my mind to other possibilities. I wanted to crack my eyes a little and make sure, but was afraid the intruder was watching for any signs he'd awoken me. So I played possum and waited for him to get closer. He was so good; I could barely hear the rustling of clothes and his low, even breathing.

I waited, one more step. Not having the advantage of knowing what I was against, all I had was the second I'd get if I could surprise him. A step and I rolled, catching a glimpse of something long and metal hitting the pillow where my head had been just a second before. Stuffing from the pillow exploded from the sides, and—I swear I felt the iron frame of the bed bend and dip a little.

Shocked, I wondered—even as my little inner voice screamed for me to run—if he was trying to kill me. Had the PSS given up on capturing me and just wanted me out of the grid? Was it because of the vampire incident? I didn't have time to ponder that. I grabbed the cold metal thing he'd tried to hit me with and pulled. He didn't let go but came forward with it. I jerked my hand into talons and tried to slash his neck, but he dodged just in time and I only managed to slice a small gash high on his cheek. I jumped out of the bed, pulling the metal thing with me, but he jerked it away and it slipped from my hand. Blood, really dark blood, began to ooze from the gash high up on his cheek.

He wobbled once, unbalanced when the metal thing–a baseball bat–slipped from my hand and turned to face me. He was definitely not Logan. The man had a blue aura twisted with something very dark—black? Blue was for ordinary humans, while black… black could be many things I couldn't take the time to ponder. I noted though that the blue was very faint and that whatever the black was, it was taking over his humanity.

He gave me a wide, deranged smile, something I could see clearly despite the dimness of the room, and took a step forward, swinging the bat at my head. Instead of backing away, I took a step forward, grabbed the bat and held on to it while going for the neck again. Again he dodged by a fraction, pulled the bat back. A hand snaked out, grabbed a fistful of my hair and jerked me forward. Awkwardly, I raised my talons and sliced a path from shoulder to shoulder. His face twisted with a ferocious snarl, and he twisted his hand in my hair, increasing the pressure. I cried out and slashed at his wrist, and the pressure in my scalp loosed. I immediately