Savannah Sacrifice

Avon, Massachusetts

Copyright © 2014 by Danica Winters.
All rights reserved.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

 

Published by

Crimson Romance

an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.

www.crimsonromance.com

ISBN 10: 1-4405-7971-7

ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7971-4

eISBN 10: 1-4405-7972-5

eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7972-1

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

Cover art © 123RF/dndavis and iStockphoto.com/Coffee&Milk

 

To Carlene and Bingo.

Thank you for all of your love, support, and laughter.

There are many people who have worked to make this book and this series possible.

First and most importantly, thank you to my fans. Your love of my books is what keeps me writing. There is no greater feeling than meeting a reader who has enjoyed something that I have had the special role of creating.

Special thanks to the Crimson Romance staff: Julie Sturgeon, Tara Gelsomino, and Jess Verdi, and to my agent, Amanda Luedeke. I appreciate all of your hard work and passionate dedication to the craft of writing.

Acknowledgements couldn't be complete without thanking the man in my life, Herb. Thank you for always listening and helping to be my “idea man.”

It was a strange feeling to know that she was probably going to die and to not really care. The last year of Starling Jackson's life had been filled with ghosts, lies, her mother's murder, and the death of an enemy—a death fraught with dangerous threats. Finally, the time had come to make her stand against her world and the ghosts and enemies who inhabited it, even if that stand cost her the only thing she had left to give: her life.

She walked through the Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport and to the baggage claim area where a cluster of people moved in a precarious dance of personalities, the boldest of which pushed to the front of the group while the rest escaped to the far recesses of the room. Starling stood in the middle, pushed back by those struggling for a place at the front and nudged forward to stand as a barrier from the melee by those who hated the entire situation.

Don't let them push you. You are stronger than this … take control,
the familiar voice of the ghost Asclepius echoed in her mind.

“Oh, I'll take control.” Reaching into her bag, Starling took out her pills and swallowed down a tablet. That made six. Or was it seven pills today? Regardless, it was a new record. There was no doubt the medicine was losing its effect in keeping the spirits at bay. If she didn't find the
Libros Umbrarum
books soon, there wouldn't be any break from the endless whispers and threats of the ghosts that invaded her reality.

I'll be back … You will have to listen to me soon enough …
Asclepius quieted.

“Not if I have my way.” She dropped the bottle back into her bag.

The stainless steel belt that carried the luggage whirred to life, making the fickle, but telling, dance intensify. Bags poured out into the center of the terminal, forcing some of the meek travelers to come forward and try to grab theirs before the suitcase disappeared into the abyssal baggage carrier's area. Starling's black bag, identified by the red and white ribbons tied to the handle, made an appearance.

She moved forward, readying herself to catch the bag the moment it passed her way. It moved closer. But before she could grasp the handle, a man stepped forward and lifted it off the conveyor. His long, dark hair touched his collar, leaving an oily residue on his white shirt.

“Excuse me!” she called, trying to struggle through the crowd fast enough to see the face of the man who had stolen her luggage.

The man didn't turn. Either he was oblivious to the fact she called out to him, or he was trying to get away before she had the chance to cause a scene that would get the airport security's attention.

“Hey you!” she called, people turned and looked at her like she had lost her mind. Normally their glances would have shut her up, but this time, with so much hanging in the balance, she couldn't afford to let their disapproval staunch her attempt.

The ribbons on her suitcase swayed merrily as if waving goodbye, but their subtle action only made her struggle harder.

“Stop, sir!” she called, but the man only sped up.

Three more strides and he would be out the sliding glass doors. A black SUV was parked at the curb, door open, like it waited for the man. She couldn't let him get away. If he did, she would be left with nothing except her paperwork, a few pills, and barely enough money to get a cab ride and a cheap hotel for a few nights.

She lunged toward her bag, grabbing the ribbons as if they were the bag's lifeline.

The man looked back at her with his storm-colored eyes, and for a split second she could do nothing but stare at him. She tried to memorize the hard arch of his thin lips, his Roman nose, and the widow's peak speckled with gray. He jerked the bag and she tried to hold tight, but the ribbons pulled through her fingers, leaving only paper cuts in their wake.

“Stop!” She lurched forward, ignoring the searing pain in her fingers as she tried to grab one of the bag's handles. The thick polyester fabric scraped against her finger tips, but she missed the handle and her foot struck the end of the bag as it came to an unexpected stop.

There was a strangled noise as the man suddenly fell to the floor. Standing in front of him was Jasper, his slightly too-long chestnut hair in his face and his fist still extended from stopping the thief. The door to the black SUV slammed shut and the car took off with a screech of tires.

“Jasper?” She grabbed her bag but didn't take her eyes off the man who had regularly visited her dreams over the last months. “What're you doing here?”

“Saving your ass. I can't believe you would just leave Vegas without telling anyone. If I weren't here, you would've been screwed.” He glanced down at the thief. “You found trouble already. You have no business being here alone.”

Airport security rushed through the baggage claim area toward them and stopped beside the man on the floor. “What happened?” a heavyset guard asked.

“The thief tried to steal my bag,” Starling said, twisting her suitcase for them to see. “My
friend
,” she said, motioning to Jasper, “stopped him.” She tried to sound thankful, but after the tongue-lashing Jasper had delivered, she couldn't help stop the anger from seeping into her tone.

“Do you know the man who tried to steal your luggage?” the guard asked as another security officer pulled the thief's hands behind his back and zip tied them.

“No.”

The thief lurched forward trying to pull out of the guard's grip. “Get off!”

“Do you have any idea why he would have tried to steal your bag?” the guard asked.

Telling the man the truth—that a group of vulture-shifters was out to get her and her supply of GX 149, and the man at her feet was likely a shape-shifter—seemed like the worst possible answer. She didn't have time for anyone else to think she was crazy.

“I don't know,” she said, trying to add a quiver of fear to her voice so the guard would empathize with her rather than question her as to the thief's motives. “He just came up and took my bag. I was so scared,” she said for added effect.

“I think I need to get her out of here,” Jasper said, wrapping his arm around her. “It looks like this has been quite a bit for her to handle. You won't need her for anything, will you?”

“No, we will handle this man. That is, unless she wishes to press charges.” The guard gave her a questioning glance.

“No,” she answered. “I just want to get out of here and away from him.” She tried to focus on the guard and the thief, but most of her attention was centered on Jasper's hand, warm on her arm. It could have been her fear, or the adrenaline, but she desired his touch. Before the unwelcome feeling grew, she pulled out of Jasper's hold. He didn't need to think she was weak, or worse, that she wanted him to touch her.

The thief struggled. “The bitch is lying! I didn't take her bag! It's mine.”

“Really?” the guard asked, with a raise of his brow. “Where were you traveling from?” He looked at the white baggage ticket stuck around the handle.

“Vegas. Let me go.”

“Where were you traveling from, ma'am?” the guard asked, turning to Starling.

“Vegas. The guy is lying. I swear I didn't see him on my flight. He knew this was my bag. Or does he tie white and red ribbons to his bag as well?”

The guard motioned to the other guard. “There's only one way to solve this,” he said, kneeling down and unzipping the luggage. “What's on top?” he said without opening the bag.

The blood rushed to Starling's face as she thought about the mass of second hand clothes and cheap shoes inside. “There's a gray sweatshirt with a University of Montana logo and a red dress.”

The guard looked to the thief. “You want to venture a guess, or just admit that you intended on stealing the woman's bag?”

“I didn't
intend
on anything,” the thief retorted.

The guard opened the bag and gave Starling a look of validation. “Are you sure you don't wish to press charges?” He slid the zipper shut.

Starling shook her head. “I just don't want him to do this to someone else.”

“Don't worry, ma'am. We'll look into this and make sure this type of thing doesn't happen again.”

“Thank you, sir,” Starling said.

“Let me escort you to a cab.” Jasper leaned in closer. “Hopefully we can get that far without you getting into any more trouble,” he whispered.

She turned away from him, and pulling her bag, made her way outside and into the muggy midsummer Savannah heat.

“Did you know that man?” Jasper asked from behind her.

“No. Did you?”

Jasper stepped beside her. “No, but did you see the vulture tattooed on his arm? I have to assume he was one of your shape-shifter friends. Maybe a Catharterian.”

She watched as the security guards dragged the man through the crowd of rubber-necking bystanders. “The Catharterians couldn't possibly have known I was here already, could they?”

“They would do anything to learn the reason behind the births that have taken place in the nymph culture. He knew you flew in from Vegas. And I knew you were here … ”