Dashrael slid
along the shadows and back out of the house. He couldn’t do what
he’d been paid to do. He couldn’t kill A’lona and her unborn child.
This was something even his loose morals wouldn’t be able to
handle. Besides, he knew A’lona, had grown up with her. They’d been
children together in Nightfall. Once upon a time, they’d been
friends. And at one magical time, even more than that. A’lona had
been his first love.
Once he was
situated back in the bushes beside the house, he took out the
enchanted mirror and tapped it three times. O’runa’s pale pinched
face materialized inside.
“Is it
done?”
“No.”
“Then why do
you call me?”
“I relinquish
the gold and any favour from the overseer.
O’runa frowned.
“You refuse to do the job?”
Dashrael
nodded. “I will not kill a fae princess, especially not one with
child.”
“That child,”
he spat, “is an abomination. The overseer demands it.”
“I will not do
it. There is nothing you could promise me that will change my
mind.”
The chancellor
shook his head. “I’m sorry to hear you say that, Dashrael. Your
people will be sorry as well, especially Sunarael. I’m sure she
will be the sorriest of them all.”
“If you harm
her!” Dashrael spat but the image was already fading. Frantically
he tapped on the glass, but it was to no avail. The communication
had been permanently closed. “Damn it!”
He threw the
case against the house wall. The glass shattered into pieces,
peppering the grass with thin shards. Out from the bushes he
stepped. He had to head back to the water so he could return to
Nightfall and protect Sunarael.
“Dashrael?”
A’lona stood
before him, the look on her face telling him she’d known he’d been
in the house and why he’d been hiding in the bushes.
He bowed his
head. “A’lona.” She was as ethereally beautiful as she’d always
been, maybe even more so with the glow of impending motherhood on
her porcelain skin.
“Who sent
you?”
Should he lie
and save her the heartbreak of knowing her own father ordered her
death, or tell her the truth and expose her lineage for his
ruthlessness?
“The
chancellor,” he stated, then after a pause, “On your father’s
orders.”
She nodded
stiffly as if she’d known all along or suspected as much. Maybe she
had. “But you have refused?”
“Yes. I came
not knowing the true target. Once I saw you I knew I couldn’t go
through with it.” He motioned toward her swollen belly.
A small smile
lit up her face and she ran a hand over the swell of her body. “I
thought I could hide. Come here to be with my husband and have my
child in peace. But I see now, that is impossible. He’ll never let
that happen.”
He had to tramp
down the urge to reach out and run his fingers through the black
silk of her hair. She looked so sad. It stabbed him deep inside.
But the thought of his mate Sunarael kept his hands at bay.
“What will you
do?” he asked.
She shook her
head, the dark fall of her hair sweeping her chin. “I don’t know.”
She clutched her belly even tighter, obviously afraid for her
unborn child.
“I swear to
you, A’lona, that I will not allow anyone else to track you down.
When I return to Nightfall I will put out word to every tracker,
every hunter, that to harm you is to bring death down upon their
heads. I will come for any that will try.”
She gave him a
real smile that lit up her blue eyes like twin full moons. She
looked like the young girl he’d loved so long ago.
“A new age is
dawning, Dashrael. The old regime must fall. It is men like you
that need to be in power.”
He took her
hand in his. “If only that could happen.”
“It will. I
know it will. It has to.” She squeezed his hand. “You will be
punished for disobeying orders.”
He nodded. “I
know.” He released her hand. “I must return to Nightfall before
that can happen.” He turned to go, then stopped to look at her once
more. “May the light always shine upon you.”
“And you as
well.” She tapped two fingers to her heart, then to her forehead,
then lifted them to the sky. It was an old traditional farewell. He
hadn’t seen it in decades. It meant she had him in her heart, in
her head, and would always until the dawn of time.
With an aching
heart, he bowed to her again, then made his leave. He had to hurry
if he had any hope of saving Sunarael.
Dashrael ran
the two miles back to the beach. The second his feet hit the sand,
he tore off his jacket and tossed it aside. When he reached the
water, he waded in, then dove into the ocean crests not caring who
saw him.
After seconds
in the cold water, the glamour wore off and he was his mer-self
once more. Webbing spread between his toes and fingers, enabling
him to dive deeper into the ocean depths. Gills sprouted from
behind his ears allowing him to breathe freely. On a different day,
he’d have loved to swim with his whale cousins, but as it was, he
had to make haste to the portal to Nightfall.
He swam for a
few minutes until he could feel the vortex pulling on him through
time and space. Everything went black as he sunk down deeper, a
sense of spinning making him dizzy. Then he was swimming through
familiar crystal clear waters belonging to Rael Lake where his
people made their homes on the shores.
He broke the
surface then swam hard toward the cave he shared with his mate
Sunarael. He had to dive down and swim under the rock to get
inside. After a short plunge underwater he came up into the tide
pool that occupied most of the dwelling. The second Dashrael pulled
himself up onto the rock shore, he knew he was too late.
The scent of
blood was heavy in the air and filled his nose like smoke.
He found her
body, beaten and broken, only ten feet from the pool. She was on
her back, staring lifelessly at the rock ceiling, her throat slit
from gill to gill. Shaking with anger and grief, Dashrael crouched
next to her, pulling her limp body onto his lap.
His throat
constricted with emotion. A dull empty ache gnawed at his body, at
his soul. His mate was gone. Taken from him. Murdered by a callous,
soulless high fae who had no idea what love and loss truly felt
like.
But Dashrael
would teach him the true meaning of loss. A lesson he’d never
forget even as Dashrael choked the life from his gaunt body.
He stroked her
face, tucked back a strand of green hair behind her ear. Gently, he
set Sunarael’s body back onto the rock floor. Bending over, he
pressed his lips to her cold forehead. He would come back to bury
her properly, after he had his retribution.
He stood as a
wail of grief tore from his throat. He dug his fingers into the
palms of his hands then hurled himself back into the pool.
Emerging a mile
away from the tide pool in the middle of the courtyard of Nightfall
castle, Dashrael shook once like a wet dog, then stormed his way
into the gilded halls. There were servants bustling about, but they
quickly got out of his way, eyes wide, mouths gaping. He imagined
they could see the fury in his pale almost opaque eyes.
There were two
guards at the chancellor’s door. They tensed when they saw Dashrael
coming. One put his hand up to ward him away. “Do not come any
closer, Lord Dashrael. We have orders to detain you.”
“You could
try,” he grunted as he quickly grabbed the guard’s hand, twisted
it, and broke his arm in an instant.
Howling in
pain, the guard dropped to the floor as the second guard drew his
dagger. Dashrael had the blade buried in the second guard’s throat
within moments. Once he dropped to the floor, Dashrael kicked open
the heavy doors. He hoped to find the chancellor inside cowering
like the weakling Dashrael knew him to be.
But it wasn’t
O’runa standing in the opulent room waiting for him, it was the
overseer.
“Lord
Wolfstriker?” Surprised, Dashrael moved cautiously into the room to
see the chancellor dead at the overseer’s feet. He blinked in shock
unsure of what to do next. “I don’t understand.”
Lord
Wolfstriker nudged the chancellor’s dead body with his foot.
“O’runa acted prematurely when he ordered the murder of your mate.
I thought I would solve this problem myself.”
Dashrael inched
closer to the overseer, confusion making his head swim. He’d come
for revenge, anger and pain still swirling like a typhoon inside
him, but now he had no outlet.
“I couldn’t let
you kill him, you see.” The overseer remarked as if privy to
Dashrael’s thoughts. He gestured to the sofa for him to sit.
His knees
ineffectual, the merman took the offer and slumped down onto the
velvet lined seat, too dubious to do anything else.
“If you’d
murdered poor O’runa I would have to have you jailed or worse
executed. Then you couldn’t take his place.”
Dashrael’s head
came up. “Take his place?”
“Yes, as
chancellor.”
He couldn’t
believe what he was hearing. “But I didn’t kill your daughter, I
failed my mission.”
Lord
Wolfstriker’s eyebrow rose. “Did you now? I think not,
Dashrael.”
His breath
caught in his throat. “But my mission, my orders came from
you.”
The overseer
smirked. “Do you really think I would order my only daughter’s
assassination? I love A’lona. She is a strong, fierce woman, and
one day would make a powerful overseer. Sure, I may not agree with
some of her choices as of late, but why would I kill her?”
“But she
carries a hybrid child.”
The overseer
nodded, his look one of sadness. “I know this. And one day it will
have to be dealt with. But I would never want to harm my daughter.”
He pinned Dashrael with his intense gaze. “You believe this, don’t
you, Dashrael?”
Dashrael
nodded, although he wasn’t one hundred percent sure of the
overseer’s truth. The high fae were notorious liars and
manipulators. And he remembered what kind of father Lord
Wolfstriker had been to A’lona. A loving attentive father did not
come to mind.
The overseer
came behind the sofa and set his hand on top of Dashrael’s head. “I
have always liked you, Dashrael, ever since you were a child
running around in the courtyard of my castle with my daughter. I
watched you grow into a great man, a powerful fae. A strong,
respected man with noble aspirations.”
Despite the
frailness of the overseer’s hand, Dashrael could feel the power
simmering inside. He’d seen that power in action, countless times.
Lord Wolfstriker was not a man to be underestimated. A person
didn’t rule for a millennia and not know how to lie and manipulate
and charm his way out of situations.
“Will you be my
chancellor, Lord Dashrael? Will you be my strong right hand?”
Although the
pain of losing Sunarael still writhed inside, Dashrael couldn’t
deny his desire for power. Hadn’t this been exactly what he’d
always wanted? To be close to the overseer? To be honoured and
respected by the high fae. To show everyone that just because he
was born with gills and not wings, that he was still a power to be
reckoned with. He could have that and more if he let go of his need
for retribution. O’runa, who’d ordered Sunarael’s death, was dead.
Wasn’t that what he wanted, what he’d come here for? So, what if it
wasn’t by his hand. The results were still the same.
Taking in a
deep breath, Dashrael bowed his head under the weight of the
overseer’s hand. “Yes, I will be your right hand. I accept the
position of chancellor.”
“Excellent.”
The overseer dropped his hand and took a distancing step away. He
made his way toward the doors. “We will have the proper ceremony
this evening. Your people will be very proud of you.”
Dashrael stood
and bowed. “I thank you Lord Wolfstriker for this honour.”
The overseer
waved his hand in the air. “You will have many years to thank me,
Lord Dashrael.” He smiled and Dashrael’s gut churned at the cruel
twist of his lips. “And when the time comes to do the hard thing, I
know I will be able to count on you to see it through.”
With that
parting, the overseer swept out of the room, his robes trailing
behind him like a dark storm, leaving Dashrael with a dead body to
dispose of and a dead soul to grieve.
A’lona had been
right. A new age had dawned. And Dashrael was leading the
charge.
Please turn the
page for the exciting first three chapters of GLIMMER, a Nina
Decker Novel
Chapter
One
The doors from
the ambulance bay burst open and two EMTs rolled in a stretcher, a
woman badly bleeding lay strapped to the gurney.
I was there
waiting for them, immediately checking vitals. “What have we
got?”
“Werewolf
attack,” one of the EMTs announced, “She was found near the water
wall in Stanley Park.”
I gaped at him.
“Are you sure it was a werewolf attack”
We rolled the
patient down the corridor toward the trauma rooms. Only one was
available as we’d just received two criticals from a motor vehicle
accident.
Other nurses
and doctors brushed past us, shouting out orders to each other.
Patients in wheelchairs and gurneys lined the walls waiting for
their turn at treatment. The night was a busy one. Must’ve been a
full moon or something.
“Gut ripped
open. Claw marks on both arms and legs. Don’t know of anything else
that could do that.”
I didn’t
either, at least not in the city. But I hated that since the
werewolves came out of the closet, so to speak, a couple of years
ago, there had been a tendency to point a finger any time someone
was apparently attacked by an animal. Working as a RN for the past
six years in the downtown Vancouver hospital emergency, I’d seen a
lot of awful and strange stuff. This was the first werewolf attack
I’d encountered. If it truly was one.