Kissed By A Demon Spy

K
ISSED
B
Y
A D
EMON
S
PY

A N
OVELLA

S
HARON
K
AY

WICKED WIND (Solsti Prophecy 1)

WICKED WAVES (Solsti Prophecy 2)

WICKED FLAMES (Solsti Prophecy 3)

This is a work of fiction. Any actual places are used in a fictional context. Other names of places and people are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual places or people is purely coincidental.

Edited by Janet Michelson

Cover art by Amanda Simpson at Pixel Mischief

Interior design by
Ink Slinger Editorial Services

FIRST EDITION

K
ISSED
B
Y
A D
EMON
S
PY
Copyright © 2014 Sharon Kay

All rights reserved.

Kindle Edition

First, a huge, sincere THANK YOU to my readers! Without you, these stories would remain untold. Your support, comments, and messages motivate me and mean more to me than I can possibly express.

Thank you to my amazing husband, for your patience and support of my writing. You are wonderful to brainstorm with about plots and powers. I love you!

Thank you to my son. I love everything we do together. I love your bright and curious mind, and your endless questions (and thank you to Google for helping me answer them)!

Thank you to my parents and siblings, my in-laws, and my extended family for your love and encouragement of my creativity.

Thank you to my critique partners and beta readers for taking time to read the various drafts of my first novella: Cam, Claudia, Cristin, Gina, Heather, Jamie K., Jamie S., Nicola, Racquel, and Skye. Your opinions, advice, and nit-pickiness are invaluable, sometimes hilarious, and always spot-on!

Thank you to the trio of women who make my plain Word document into a professional-looking book: Amanda Simpson, my cover designer at Pixel Mischief; Janet Michelson, my eagle-eyed editor; and Cheryl Murphy at Ink Slinger Editorial Services, my formatter and savior from the scary world of ebook html-coding.

And a big hug and kiss to the many bloggers I have had the joy to work with. The support you give to indie authors is amazing. Many of you have jobs and families and still make time to read and review dozens (if not hundreds) of books each year, providing exposure for us through insightful and witty reviews, blog tours, cover reveals, and contests. THANK YOU!

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WELVE

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HIRTEEN

A N
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F
ROM
S
HARON

C
OMING
J
ANUARY
2015

A
BOUT
S
HARON

A
LONE
IN
THE
KITCHEN
WITH
her son, Garnet scrubbed at a stubborn grease spot on the decrepit stove, almost ready to give up. Really, who would notice one additional spot in this dark, run down room? She blew a lock of hair out of her eyes and rubbed harder, deciding to give it one last—

“Draven’s dead!” Male voices shouted from the hall. “He’s dead!”

Garnet froze. Disbelief and panic tore through her mind. Draven, the sadistic leader of the compound, was dead? Could it be true?

“Mom?” Dashiel jumped up from his place on the floor, where he’d been playing with an odd-shaped rock he’d found. “What are they saying?”

She held him closely when he wrapped his tiny arms around her leg. “They’re saying—”

More shouts, the voices much closer, and she slammed her lips shut. There was no way she was going to talk over them. No way she’d remind anyone that she was there. Hopefully they’d forget all about her, and the rest of the female slaves, in the chaos.

“Come with me.” She tugged Dash’s hand and darted to their room off the kitchen. Barely big enough for the bed they shared, it held a tiny closet. She pulled Dash inside and closed the door.

“What’s going on?” he asked, practically glued to her side.

“Something happened. Those men said Draven is dead.” Garnet looked down at her sweet boy, fear for him churning through her veins. She’d survived a change in leadership here once before, partly due to the grace of a stranger and partly by bargaining for her life. And that was before Dash. Gods above, she’d do anything to get him out of the power-vacuum-turned-whirlpool that was about to suck everyone into its depths. “We need to stay very quiet and hide.”

“Draven is a bad guy. It’s good that he’s dead.”

Garnet frowned in the darkness as she slid her hands along the closet wall, searching for the secret door concealed there. How could she explain that what came next might be worse than their current state of affairs? “He was a bad guy, yes. But we don’t know what will happen next.”

“Will we still be slaves?”

The question crushed her. “I don’t know,
nihjo
.” She hated that by default of birth, his only option was to live the life she did. As property, subject to orders. For now, they had to survive. Maybe they could get to a safe place once the males left. Fingers searching, she found the telltale raised edge of the hidden door. Stroehm was littered with secret passageways. “In here.” Grabbing Dash’s hand, she pulled him into the narrow corridor and slid the door panel back in place.

Dash clung to her. “Are we going that way?” His face turned to the pitch-black that yawned ahead of them.

“No. We’re going to stay right here until we stop hearing so much noise.” The passageway led to the armory. It didn’t take a genius to guess that if Draven was indeed dead, his cache of weapons would be the first thing to get raided.
And the kitchen would be second.
Garnet detached Dash enough so that she could squat. Patting gently along the stone floor, she found the large kitchen knife she’d hidden there ages ago.

It wasn’t much, but it made her feel better. Straightening to her full height of a whopping five feet, she wrapped an arm around Dash’s shoulders. “We’ll wait until everything calms down. Stay very quiet.” Aware she was repeating herself, she decided it was okay. Six-year-olds liked to be reassured. And what else was she going to say?

As if to make her thoughts even clearer, a crash echoed from the kitchen. Garnet was thankful to have two doors between them and whoever was causing the commotion. Still, shouts carried on the chaotic air.

“Get the ale!”

“Where’s some damn meat?”

“Where’s that cook?” The voice was nearer. A thud sounded as the bedroom door slammed against the wall. “Pretty thing’s gonna get a taste of—”

Garnet covered Dash’s ears and pressed him even closer to her.
Please don’t let him find us.
She’d discovered this passage on her own and never told a soul except Dash. Stroehm was so old, the conditions here so awful, it was likely whoever had created it was dead. The chance of someone approaching from the armory side was slim.

“Come on!” One of the voices called from the kitchen. “Forget her. There’s other females.”

Curses filled the bedroom, coming closer as she heard a wrenching groan that sounded like the closet door being ripped from its hinges. She held her breath, mind racing, knife clutched in her hand. She’d have the element of surprise if he happened to find them. Though from what she knew of the men here, they were all bigger and stronger than she.

A grunt rumbled on the other side of the secret door, then more swearing. “Not here. Can’t be too far away.” His voice faded with each word as if he were heading back to the kitchen.

Garnet said a silent prayer of thanks, but it was dampened by the knowledge this wasn’t over yet.
Other females
. Draven kept a harem of thrall slaves. All kidnapped, all attractive females who were in no way trained fighters. She shuddered, thinking that their room at the other side of the compound had probably already been breached.

“Mom.” Dash’s whisper filtered up from where he clutched fistfuls of her skirt close to his face. “I’m scared.”

“I’m scared too.” She wasn’t going to lie. Besides, he was startlingly perceptive. “But we’ll figure this out, one step at a time.”

Tense silence passed as they waited. Garnet forced steady breaths as muffled noise carried through the walls. She had no phone or watch, and the windowless passageway didn’t allow her to measure time by checking the sky. That was a tough way to gauge the hour, even on a good day, as the sun rarely broke through the usual cloud cover over Stroehm.

More men banged around the kitchen, but no one else came looking for her. Gradually, the noise faded and she exhaled in relief, hoping she and Dash had been forgotten.

Garnet needed to check for anything that the men may have missed. This was her domain. She knew every nook and cranny, every possible place to store food. She and Dash needed to hoard whatever they could. They could hide in the passageway only as long as their food supply lasted.

As silently as she could, she slid the secret door open. The gaping entrance of the closet gave her a full view of her room, with the torn-off door tossed onto the bed.

Empty.

She stepped from the corridor into the closet, Dash at her heels. From here, she had a view of the rusty stove, island, and part of the counter. It all appeared unoccupied. The only sounds she heard seemed to come from the courtyard outside.

She turned to Dash. “I’m going to check for food. You stay right behind me.”

He nodded, blue eyes solemn as he clutched her skirt.

With light steps, she crossed the short distance to the kitchen. She positioned Dash behind the island, out of sight of the main doorway. Next she opened every cabinet and drawer, moving from one end of the counter toward the other—

“He’s really dead! Let’s get the hell out of here!” A deep voice bellowed from the hall.

Garnet dropped to a crouch, heart in her throat. Heavy boots scuffed the stone floor as more voices joined in from the main corridor.

“…shot with an arrow while on patrol today…”

“With all the guards he took with him? How’d anyone get near them?”

Have to hide Dash
. Urgency pounded through her veins as she opened a cabinet on the island and pushed the two pots inside toward the back.

“What are you doing?” Dash’s voice was panicked.

“Making space for you. Get in.”

“What about you?” Dash crawled into the cabinet, but his eyes were wide with terror as he turned back to her.

“It’s only until those men leave,” she whispered. “I’ll be right here.” She closed the door and leaned her head against it, praying that Dash would stay safe even if she didn’t.

Aden’s phone trilled from the kitchen counter and he grunted a curse at the timing. Ignoring the thing, he lowered the large slab of slate to the floor, setting it down an inch from where it needed to be. Double checking the position, he slid it into place.

A little grout, and I’m done with this renovation
. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and straightened. The phone had gone blessedly quiet. He rested his hands on his hips and surveyed his work.

His inn’s large kitchen now sported a smooth, sturdy floor, the last component in a much-needed upgrade to the place he’d taken over almost a year ago. All he needed was a permanent cook. Sure, he could throw a roast or a turkey into the oven and leave it in long enough to be edible, but when it came to spices, herbs, and marinades, he had to wave the white flag. His food may be cooked through, but not fancy. Not a draw for business.

The phone rang again and he stepped carefully over the newly laid stone to grab it. His brother’s name on the screen made him grin.