Ten heroes and heroines are up against unknown forces of
darkness—good thing they all have supernatural skills and abilities—it's just
too bad that not all of them are sure what to do with them yet. Powerful allies
are hard to come by and lines are blurred when it becomes difficult to tell
friend from foe. Delve in to ten unique worlds full of vampires, witches,
mages, dream-stalkers, fallen deities, monsters and even super heroes!
Supernatural skills may be enough to save them... but only if they can figure
out how to wield them in time.
ExcerptsCursed
by Fire by Danielle Annett
All I saw was blood. Blood
soaked my hands and coated the walls. It stained the concrete flooring of the
abandoned warehouse and dripped from fixtures that hung from the ceiling,
trickling like a slow rain. My vision blurred as anguish filled me. How could
this have happened? How could I have been too late?
I stared down at the lifeless
body of a child. A boy. Kneeling in a pool of congealing blood, I ran my
fingers through his chestnut hair, ignoring the now-cool moisture seeping into
the denim of my pants. His face was unrecognizable. Gone was the child with the
dimpled cheek and brilliant blue eyes. Left behind was a mass of flesh and bone—a ruined body drained of its
life force at such a young age.
Reality snapped like an
elastic band, bringing me back to the present as I sat at my desk in Sanborn
Place. Ripped from the haunted memories of finding Daniel’s body.
The world was a cruel place.
It was a fact of life and even though I knew it was true, I still had a hard
time coming to terms with the atrocities people committed. The cruelties that
for some god-forsaken reason, people thought were okay. Staring down at the
wallet-sized photo now crumpled in my hands, I was greeted by a crown of
chestnut hair, bright blue eyes, a heart-shaped face, and a brilliant smile; a
single dimple on his left cheek. The face of an innocent seven-year-old boy,
cut down like he was little more than a calf brought to slaughter. I found
myself struggling to link the image of this smiling boy to that of the ruined body
I’d found less than forty-eight hours ago.
Unhidden
by Dina Given
Cold marble pressed against my
face, numbing my cheek. My stomach roiled from the spinning of the room,
threatening to release my dinner. I took a deep, ragged breath and tried to
keep the dizziness under control. A voice in my head screamed at me to get up
and defend myself, but my body wouldn’t obey. With a herculean effort, I pulled
my legs under me in an effort to rise.
I felt the vibration in the floor
before I heard the heavy thud of footsteps. The bastard was back for more. It must be my lucky day. A vice clamped
around my ankles, and I slid along the smooth stone floors of the mansion.
Crystal chandeliers and Renaissance paintings streaked across my vision as I
was pulled through an open doorway.
I twisted and flailed, scrabbling
to clutch the doorframe to stop my relentless slide into the darkened room. I
tried to make it a rule to never be forced into a room when I didn’t know what
lay within.
I managed a weak handhold on the doorframe,
but with a sharp tug, my captor caused me to easily lose my grip. He—because
only a man could own hands that large and strong—“accidentally” slammed me into
a coffee table before coming to a stop without releasing me.
The concussive grenade that was
triggered when I had been finishing my sweep of the last room in the mansion
had left my temples throbbing, preventing me from lifting my head to get a good
look at my captor. I needed to pull myself together if I was going to fight my
way out of here.
Swallowing hard, I took a silent
inventory of my injuries: a few bruises, no broken bones, no bleeding. Sweet.
This was going to be easier than I’d thought.
Power
Surge by E.J. Whitmer:
Blake sighed and pushed his empty plate away from
him. “You called me last night at about 1: 30am. The only words I could make
out were ‘jaeger’ ‘nipples’ and ‘spandex’. I hopped in my car and headed over
here to find you standing in your kitchen wearing only your underwear and
trying to stuff your entire face in a pint of ice cream. Apparently you were
out of spoons.”
That explained why I had sticky eyebrows.
I held my head in my hands and groaned as he
continued. “I told you to get some pajamas on. You wanted my shirt. You took
it. Thankfully you turned around while you were putting it on. I made you drink
a glass of water and tucked you into bed. I wasn’t sure how much you’d had to
drink, so I checked in on you every couple of hours. I provided you with early
morning eye candy. I made you delicious cheesy eggs. I think that’s about it.”
I opened one eye to look at him. “Did you see my
boobs?”
His face split into a panty melting grin. “No. I
was a gentleman. I only gawked at your ass.”
Emergence
by Siana Wineland:
Shivering barefoot in the darkness, Jessica hid
and watched the recovery team flip lights on in her house. Panic tried to set
icy claws in her gut, but she pushed it away ruthlessly. The arrival of the
recovery team confirmed her worst fear: she must have started the change.
She’d done her best to
deny this possibility. But reality now walked through her home, leaving her in
the cold and dark.
She took a deep
breath. Fear of what was to come had to take a backseat.
A large, lean man with
shoulder-length blond hair entered her bedroom. He moved with the grace of a
predator, her eyes widened when he turned, allowing her to see the suede of his
wings fall gracefully down his back like a dark cloak.
They’ve sent a Hunter! Her mind froze in panic.
Why is there a Hunter here? Recovery teams only have unchanged people in them.
The Valkyrie stopped
and sniffed the air, scenting her, before walking over to the window and
examining it. He spread his wings, the large fan covering the glass to block
the light from behind him. Fascinated, she stared, transfixed at the way the
light shone through the membrane of his wings.
She felt her mind
slowing again. Fruitlessly, she fought the lethargy that was her body’s natural
response to the changes taking place within it.
It wasn’t long before the Hunter’s eyes found
hers, their intensity boring into her, and he smiled a slow feral smile.
A
Time Apart by Rebecca Norinne Caudill:
As Olivia moved out of
William’s arms, he didn’t fight her but his hands lingered as she slid away, as
if he was trying to hold onto something significant, and for the first time,
Olivia could see quite clearly he was no ordinary man.
“What are you?” she asked,
her voice barely audible above the logs crackling in the fire.
“You know me then,” was his
anguished response.
How could she
respond? Prior to the extensive research she’d conducted the night before,
she would have sworn she had never seen him a day in her life. But that
wasn’t entirely true, for she knew now that she had seen him while she
dreamed. She had seen him lying beside her, touching the most private
parts of her body. And just last night she’d fantasized about making mad,
passionate love to him outside, under the stars. And now she realized it had
all happened before, perhaps hundreds of times. She knew this man intimately …
but not the nightmare version of him, the man who had killed her.
But more importantly, she
realized, Olivia didn’t know herself – that woman from a time long forgotten.
“Who ... what ... am I then?” Fear and trepidation laced her voice.
“Unfortunately, I don’t know
much about who you are today.” His voice broke with emotion. “I only know who
you were and when you were. In the year 1658, you were Ceara, my fierce
beauty. You were my wife and I loved you more than you can know.”
William paused, waiting for
her to interrupt with more questions, but when she remained mute, he continued
speaking. “If asked when I was still the man you remember, I would have said
I’d give anything – my life, even – for you. Instead, I took it.”
As his memories drifted back
hundreds of years, his face became a mask of loathing. He remembered, in
starkly vivid detail, the exact moment he had chased his beloved Ceara down,
broke her neck, and then sucked her body dry.
While Olivia watched him
struggle through his recollections, she wondered how he could have turned on
her. What had she done to deserve that fate? And who – what – was he that he could force these
terrible memories to the surface?
“If I was … am … Ceara, who
are you?” she asked, not quite sure she was ready to hear his answer.
“My name is William Macauley
and, as you might have guessed, I’m a vampire.”
Familiar
by Frances Pauli:
She stared at the graffiti
and centered, took a deep breath and imagined her roots reaching down, down into
the earth. Her head spun a little. She reached for the door with her free hand
and pressed her palm against fresh red paint.
Running through dark woods. A round moon overhead that set fear in her
steps instead of awe. Why was she running again? Midnight, dogs barking behind
her and the man. Her heart seized and she tripped over her own feet, sprawled
forward toward hard roots and cold dirt. The man chasing her wanted blood
tonight.
"Ms. Wallace?"
Deirdre blinked and saw
blood, red dribbles against white.
"Ms. Wallace, are you
alright?"
Paint. She lifted her hand
and stared at it. Red paint on her skin. A voice called from behind her, but it
was light out. There was no moon, no danger. She turned around and found cops
on her steps. The short one, she knew. Officer Peg Stone had taken her call
that morning, in fact, but Deirdre had never expected to actually see the
woman. Still, there was the patrol car parked below, and behind Stone stood a
policeman with dark eyes.
Deirdre's porch rippled like water. Her hand
reached again, splatted against the nasty word but held her upright while the
dizziness swirled around and around.
No
More Black Magic by A.L. Kessler:
I’d never met the Alpha, but I knew this was him.
His black hair was cut short and his brown gaze cut into me. He stood tall and
demanded attention. Like Simon, he was dressed in older clothes, and I assumed
it meant they wouldn’t care if they got ruined. The muscles of his arms were
solid and his chest strained against the tight muscle shirt that he wore. Yeah,
I wouldn’t stand a chance in a fight against this guy, even if he was human.
Simon bowed his head. “Alpha.”
“Simon, so this is her?” His eyes ran over my
body and I raised a brow. I had dressed in my normal black clothes with boots.
I had, as requested, left the gun in the car, but my blade was sheathed across
my back, hidden by my jacket.
Simon put a hand on my back and urged me to step
forward.
“I’m Abigail.” I offered my hand, but Greg
grabbed my wrist and jerked me forward. I caught myself with a hand against his
chest.
“You are a threat to my people, you offer me the
back of your neck in submission.” He growled. “Do you understand that?”
I gritted my teeth and pulled my braid away from
the back of my neck and bowed low enough
that I offered it to him. My verbal answer wouldn’t have been good enough. He
was trying to show off his strength, his power, and I was willing to bet other
members of the pack were watching from the windows of the cabin. Arguing with
him wouldn’t have done me any good.
Brooding
City by Tom Shutt:
“So
what exactly would I do as a Sleeper? I’ve heard only bad things, and that was
when I still thought you were just a bedtime story. If even half of it is
true—”
“We
do what is necessary to protect this city,” Benjamin said tightly. “There are
forces that are simply too powerful and mysterious to be handled by the police.
We are the self-appointed protectors of the people.”
“That’s
a great pitch, but I meant day-to-day, what will I be doing?”
Old
Ben contemplated this question for a long moment before answering. “There is no
right or wrong in this world, Jeremy. You must understand that in order to
bring balance to others, we must first find balance within ourselves. This will
not be an easy life, nor one filled with thanks from those you help—they will
never even know you were there. You will make hard choices, decisions that will
leave others bereft of their autonomy. But with my guiding hand, you will
accomplish great deeds and protect countless innocents during your service.”
“That
still doesn’t answer—”
“You
will kill. You will maim. You will steal, lie, and deceive. Nobody will know
who you are, or what you do, or when or where you will strike next. The people
will never acknowledge your sacrifices, and they will continue to fear and
despise the myth that you represent.”
There
was a pregnant pause before Benjamin spoke again.
“Do
you have what it takes?” he asked.
Altered
by Amy Steaman:
The first
snowflakes of the year rode their fat bodies lazily down to the empty sidewalk
Sadie Pratt trudged along. If she looked up, the old fashioned streetlights
would illuminate their glittery brethren. But she didn’t look up. A cold winter
wind was demanding attention she didn’t care to give as she shifted her
eyes toward her destination at the end of the street. As if irritated with her
neglect, a particularly breathy gust reached out and freed her auburn waves
from a loose bun. In response, she tucked her chin deeper into the plaid scarf
wrapped around her neck and quickened her footfalls.
Sadie’s mood was
as dark as the cloud-heavy sky hanging above her. Her boss, Harvey McDonnell,
of McDonnell and Loeb Law Office had rung her out of a study-induced trance
thirty minutes before.
“Sadie, I need
you in the office in thirty,” like it was a common request. Like it wasn’t 9:30
on a Thursday night. Like she wasn’t drowning in the middle of finals!
She reached the
pristine brick façade that stood with pride in the little college town of
Weston’s historic business district and flung the door wide. The gratuitous
cowbell hanging on the handle let out its hollow ring. Harvey was already
there, so instead of turning on the lights and starting a pot of coffee as per
her usual routine, Sadie dumped her heavy bag without ceremony at the
receptionist’s desk and marched back to his office.
Harvey’s watery
grey eyes rose over the edge of his half-rimmed glasses to meet her steely
glare then traveled down her slim frame covered in an overly long flannel,
black leggings and combat boots. He chuffed. “You look nice.”
“I’ll wear proper business attire
during proper business hours,” she shot back, fists coming to rest on hips.
The
Message Bearer by M.S. Dobing:
It didn’t so much as
walk out of the dark - it oozed. Its form coalesced from the gloom, a
slight shimmering in the air, a shifting of shadows, before condensing into
something resembling a human that now stood, unmoving, just at the periphery of
the streetlight.
Yet this was no human.
Unnaturally tall,
easily touching seven feet, the thing wore a dark suit that hung loosely off a
pencil-thin frame. Its head was dipped, its face hidden beneath a black fedora
with a single silver band. As he watched, the creature’s head rose. Black eyes
met his. Something cold trickled down his spine.
It began to move
forwards, its movement jerky, as if it were animated by invisible string. Its
mouth opened into a wide grin, jaw distending to almost impossible proportions,
displaying a set of dagger-like incisors.
‘You see it, don’t
you?’
He’d forgotten she was
even there. He looked back at the woman, managing the barest of nods. She
reached out to him, her hand shaking.
‘Come with me.’
