The Chronicles of Stella Rice
Unforgettable
The Nephilim War: Book Two

The Chronicles of Stella Rice


The Dom

CHAPTER ONE

1/10/05 6:14 a.m.

Men suck!

Its 2005, I’m gonna be thirty-one in a few months, and my biological clock is bugging the hell out of me.

Where are all the good men? I don’t believe for a minute that they’re all either married or gay. I think that's an urban myth propagated by married men as a way of taunting unmarried women. It’s the verbal equivalent of sticking their tongues out and wagging them at us. It’s their way of saying, “Bet you wish you’d paid more attention to me in high school.”

Well, I don’t—wish I’d paid more attention to them in high school, that is. These men operate under the erroneous premise that as a single woman gets older and sees her chances at happily-ever-after fade, the qualities she looks for in a man dwindle in correlation with the passing years. That’s not true. The sad truth is that with every passing year, my standards don’t lessen, they get higher. I figure I’ve waited this long for a man so why the hell should I settle now? At the rate I’m going, by the time I’m forty, not even the President of the United States will be good enough for me.

When I was twenty-one I could have easily fallen in love with an artist, i.e., a man without a job. You know the types. Guys who are sexy as sin, wax poetic on subjects ranging from fashion to politics, yet they fritter away their days in some dingy one room apartment in the city struggling for their craft—usually music or art. I would never even contemplate dating a man like that these days.

Today, any man I would consider dating has to have a job, making at least the same amount of money as me or more, a nice car, a 401K plan, a few well-chosen stocks, health insurance, a nice home, and good teeth. Oh, and no children. Children are non-negotiable. Children mean there’s an ex spouse in his past. I for one have no desire to share my man with his ex.This shouldn’t be so hard! I’m not asking for too much, am I?

Case in point–Paul the Prick.

Paul the Prick, as he’s come to be known in my circle of friends, is the latest addition to my ever-increasing list of ex-boyfriends. Paul the Prick is, quite simply, a prick!

We dated for approximately two months. Those were two of the longest months I’ve ever had the misfortune of wasting. You tell me who’s wrong.

I met the Prick at the bank when I was making a deposit. At the time he was the new branch manager. Dressed in a well-fitting black suit and looking good enough to eat, I didn’t bat a lash when he asked me for my number or when he showed up for our date wearing Versace and driving a white on white Beamer.

I enjoyed seeing Phantom of the Opera at the Hippodrome and our dinner in Little Italy.

What I didn’t enjoy were those last moments of our date when he stretched over the passenger seat, mouth open, tongue extended, and proceeded to douse my face in saliva. I can only suppose what I was experiencing was a kiss. This was unlike anything I’d ever experienced in my life. It felt like someone rubbing a wet toad all over my face. A smelly, wet toad. Even the memory of it makes me cringe.

I probably should have ended things right there and then, but I didn’t. I made the same mistake women throughout the centuries have been making. I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was nervous, or maybe he needed someone to teach him how to kiss properly, I reasoned to myself.

All illusions were quickly dismissed, however, when he showed no interest in improving his methods. Quite the contrary, all I got from him was the question, “Stella, when are we gonna have sex? Stella, when are we gonna have sex?”

How’s about the tenth of never!

Well, I finally had enough. I broke up with him last night.

No more tongue dousing for me. In fact, I decided no more men for me. They all seemed to have something wrong with them. Either they’re too short, spineless, clueless when it comes to sex, don’t have a job. I could go on. The list is endless.

So, it’s January tenth and I’m determined to start this year right. Number one on my list of life changing decisions: I’m on a vacation from men. Well, not all men, just no more losers!

I want a real man in my bed. What woman wants to sleep with a man who whines about how horny he is yet couldn’t arouse a wanton desire in a hooker?

Not this woman. If you’re horny, show me. Don’t beg me for sex, persuade me.



About me

My name is Stella Rice. I’m a single, black, female living in Baltimore, Maryland. I own a condo in Mount Vernon, Baltimore’s art district, and I own my own business. The latter affords me the convenience of working out of my home. My company’s name is A.I.R which stands for: Accurate Individualized Resources. A.I.R. provides business support services for corporations and small businesses, as well as offering resume services. A.I.R. covers everything from typing up proposals to organizing multi-media presentations. AIR, helping you with your business and career goals.

Damn! There’s the phone.

It can’t be my mother calling this early…but who else would call me at this hour? Maybe I shouldn’t answer it. Maybe I should ignore it and pretend I’m still sleeping.

Argh! Stop being a wimp Stella. Grown women; sexy, professional women who attract sexy, professional men who know how to kiss don’t cower away from their phone, even if it is their mother on the other end. They answer it.

Gotta go.



6:37 a.m.


Argh! I don’t know why I ever agreed to join a gym. I must have been experiencing a moment of masochism. I hate exercising. I hate the gym. And I hate Katarina for talking me into joining one.

Oh well. I’m off to be tortured.

Be back soon…I hope.


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Unforgettable

She put her car in park halfway up the driveway. Mumbling under her breath, she turned the ignition off and tried to mentally prepare herself for the days to come.

Sookie Pendagrass shoved her glasses over her forehead, let her head flop onto the steering wheel, and released a sigh. Somehow, in the next few minutes, she had to get past her bone weary exhaustion, plaster a smile to her face, and pretend she didn’t hate being here.

It was hopeless.

She sighed.

“It’s just a few days, Sookie,” she told herself, “Get over yourself. You’re here to see Cassie, period. Chris…Snake,” she automatically corrected with a sneer, “won’t be here ‘til tomorrow. And once he is here you’ll ignore him.”

She barely finished that thought when a humorous laugh bubbled up and out of her. The day she’d be able to ignore Chris…Snake Reardon, was the day she went blind, deaf, and dumb. Chris was the most un-ignorable person she’d ever had the misfortune of setting her eyes on. He was simply too good looking for his own good. And hers. And he knew it. Worse, he knew she knew it. While it had been a good six or so months—five months and twenty-four days, but who was counting—since the last time she’d seen him face to face, the quickening of her heart at the thought of him was unmistakable and it didn’t bode well for her time here.

“Tread carefully, Sookie,” she told herself. “You’re here for your best friend, not that idiot actor. Now stop talking to yourself and drive the rest of the way to the house. Cassie’s waiting.”

The sound of squealing tires broke into Sookie’s thoughts. She lurched up in her seat, her mouth falling open in surprise. She twisted around in time to see a sleek, black Jaguar hurtling up the driveway toward her car at about a million miles per hour. The car’s wheels locked stubbornly into place and lost purchase. Clouds of dust and small bits of gravel flew in every direction. Sookie could see the driver was wrestling to keep the car from veering off the road and into one of the Magnolia trees lining the drive. Hell, Sookie would have preferred the Jag hit a tree. Least only one car would be damaged.

Desperate to get out of the line of fire, Sookie spun toward her steering wheel and reached blindly for the ignition. When her hand closed around the cool metal of the car keys, she allowed herself a moment’s relief. Maybe she wasn’t about to be brained by a car that cost more money than she made in a year. But even as she tightened her hold on the keys, the front end of the Jag slammed into the rear bumper of her Camry. As though she were having an out of body experience, she saw her body jerk forward and hit the steering wheel. The air came out of her on an oomph, the jarring pain spread across her chest like warm water. In reflex, her teeth clamped shut. Unfortunately they closed over her lower lip, sending a fresh wave of pain streaking from her chest to her mouth.

Behind her, the angry driver drove his fist into his horn.

Kinda late for that.

Even if she wanted to do something in response to the horn blowing she was too stunned to react. Instead, she felt her bottom lip for signs of blood. When she was sure there wasn’t any, she chanced a look over her shoulder and out her rear window.

Though her vision was fuzzy without her glasses, she could see enough to know the driver had lifted his fist into the air and begun shaking it in her direction.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Sookie said to nobody. The crazy driver’d had more than enough room to go around her. Why on earth had he driven into her tail end?

She hadn’t found any blood on her mouth so she figured it was safe to put it to good use. “Jerk,” she mouthed, hoping the idiot behind her could read lips. In case he couldn’t, she gave him a wave with her middle finger.

He let loose with another horn blow.

“Asshole!” she yelled.

She turned forward and began feeling her chest for injuries. Though the pain had dissipated as quickly as it’d come, she wasn’t about to step out of her car to assess its damage until she was certain nothing on her was broken. And if her car was dented, smashed, or dinged in any way there’d be hell to pay. She’d be damned if she was gonna put out a dime to fix any damage. Whoever that idiot was, the repairs were on him.

This was precisely what she hated about the rich. They expected constant bowing and scraping. Their delicate egos seemed to require it. Well it wasn’t in her nature to bow or scrape.

“Not this girl, not today, not…good gad!”

She glanced in her rear view mirror in time to see Mr. Attitude shove his car door open and explode out of the driver’s seat. She caught a glimpse of a red bandana wrapped haphazardly about the man’s head when he turned toward her. All she could see was the tacky red bandana, a black leather coat, a hazy image of sunglasses, lips, and a nose. That was probably a good thing though, since she wasn’t sure she wanted to see more than that. He was so annoyed that rather than pushing his car door shut as any normal person would have, he lifted one jean clad leg and sent his booted foot sailing into it. The door shut with a resounding slam.

For a moment she thought something in that blurry image looked familiar, but she quickly forgot about that when she realized he was coming her way.

Dear God he was huge.

And he didn’t seem happy.

Sookie fumbled for the power window button, found it, and depressed it. While the window was humming slowly shut she checked that all her doors were locked, then reached for the pepper spray she kept on her key chain. Since her keys were in the ignition she had to pull the pepper spray free of its clasp. With her hands moving faster than she would have thought possible, she released the spray. By the time he reached her she was poised and ready.

To say this man was massive was a gross understatement of the facts. He loomed just beyond her window, so tall that all she could see of him was a set of heavily muscled thighs. Just the sight of them made her shudder. What on earth could an angry man with thighs like that do to her?

She didn’t think she had long to wait to find out.

“Open your window,” he demanded.

Because her window was closed and he was standing over the car, his voice sounded muffled and far off. Still, she thought it prudent to respond in kind.

“Go away, you big…Neanderthal.”

In retrospect, Sookie figured that hadn’t been the best approach. In horror, she watched the oversized bully rear back with one meat hook of a fist and bring it down on the roof of her car.

Sookie’s emotions went from mild fear to total terror in a millisecond. Pride, dignity, self-respect, all of these things were forgotten as she saw her life flash before her eyes.

“You wrecked my car!” the lunatic Neanderthal accused.

Screaming bloody murder, Sookie twisted the car keys—thank God she hadn’t taken them out of the ignition—and put the car in drive. She hit the gas pedal with both feet and sent the car rocketing forward.

Over his foot.

~*~

Snake Reardon was having a bad day.

Snake Reardon was having the mother of bad days and right now there was nothing he would have liked more than to wrap his fingers around that crazy driver’s throat and squeeze. Unfortunately he was too busy clutching his injured foot to do anything but hop around and curse from the pain.

Had he seen her turn the car on and not simply heard the engine turn over he might have had a chance. As it was, he moved a second too late and his right foot was squashed under her left rear tire as she shot off up the driveway.

He knew this had been a mistake. Since arriving at LAX this morning to a small mob of a hundred or so fans, he knew his weekend was off to a bad start. How word had gotten out that he would be at the airport was anybody’s guess, but he didn’t believe for a minute the airline was as blameless as they claimed. His day steadily declined as the supposed 737 he’d expected to be flying on became an old ass DC9. Any hope at rest, relaxation, comfort, was quickly forgotten when the DC9 fired up and its loud engine roared to life. It was the most annoying sound in the world. By the time he arrived at LaGuardia in New York, all he wanted to do was find Jake, settle himself in Jake’s big, comfy Rolls, and nap during the two hour drive upstate. Too bad for Snake that Jake hadn’t come. Instead, some cranky-assed, middle-aged airline worker who probably hadn’t been laid in a decade was waiting to escort him to the car rental desk where Jake had reserved a car. No word on why Jake couldn’t come, just a brief message of apology and a map. A damn useless map. Snake didn’t have to drive much these days, so despite the fact that he’d been to Jake’s country house a million times before, he’d never had to actually drive himself there. He’d gotten lost so many times that his two hour drive had become a four hour journey of misery. When he finally saw the house come into view the only thing he wanted to do was park the damned car, get inside, and go to sleep.

He’d been cruising up the quarter mile driveway, so hungry for sleep he could taste it, when that heap of a blue car materialized in front of him. He’d hit the brake, tried to swerve out of the way...

“Shit.” The front end of the Jag was dented. “And I ain’t paying for shit.” He looked from the dent to the top of the driveway and frowned.

The lunatic female, the one who’d be footing the bill for the rental, had driven the rest of the way up the drive and stopped in front of the house. She was blowing her horn and screaming her fool head off.

Snake limped to his car, got in, and carefully maneuvered it up the drive. By the time he reached the house Jake, Cassie, and an assortment of house staff, were filing onto the front steps and trying to assist the lunatic female. You would have thought the devil himself was in hot pursuit of her the way she was going on.

Snake put the rental car in park and eased out, careful to keep an eye trained on his throbbing foot lest he trip over it.

“There he is,” she accused.

No doubt she’d caught sight of him.

“Shit,” Snake muttered to himself as he sidled forward. Walking was only slightly less painful now than it had been a minute ago. He hoped she hadn’t broken anything. That would really screw his weekend up.

If he needed any further sign that this had been a mistake his throbbing foot was it.

“Keep that creature away from me,” she was shouting.

Everyone turned in the general direction of her wild gesticulations, no doubt expecting to see the Jolly Green Giant bearing down on them.

Snake could see that it was taking Jake a while to recognize him, wind blown, angry, and rumpled as he was. With one hand pressed to the forehead to screen his eyes from the sun, Jake tracked Snake’s slow progress toward the house. An impish grin spread on Jake’s face when he noticed the limp.

“This your attacker, Sookie?” Jake called over his shoulder to the woman.

Only then did Snake realize who she was. A quick glance up so he could get a good look at the rabid female, confirmed his fears. His heart gave a stutter and he paused, mid-step, unsure how he should proceed. Should he pretend nonchalance or apologize? Either way he went the weekend was off to a very bad start.

She froze where she was standing; or rather, crouching better described what she was doing. Then she stood straight as an arrow and stepped from behind Cassie. “You know this creature?”

“I’m afraid so. And so do you. He’s harmless as a kitten.”

Cassie motioned to the glasses on top of Sookie’s head. “Put your glasses on, Sookie.”

Grumbling under her breath, Sookie took a tentative step forward while she set her glasses on her nose. She peered at Snake from behind the protection of Jake’s shoulder then seemed to come to some decision, because a moment later she stepped beside Jake and glared.

“Good gad! Christopher Grant. What the hell are you doing here so soon?”

“Nice to see you too, Sookie,” Snake said, and God, did he mean it.

She grimaced. “Bandanas have been out since the eighties, guess you didn’t get the memo. And you’ve bulked up.”

“For a role.”

This was the first time Snake had seen Sookie since the wedding, and the sight of her had a jumble of emotions flowing through him at once. Desire, confusion, frustration, lust; all of that and more. There was always so much more when it came to Sookie.

Her hair had grown so long that even tied up in a ponytail it came near to grazing her stomach. It had fallen over one shoulder and lay against the swell of her breast. Snake gritted his teeth against the sudden wave of arousal that swept through him. His mouth watered at the memory of how good her breasts had felt, moist with sweat and rubbing against his naked chest. He wondered if her nipples would react immediately to the heat of his mouth as they had six months ago, and to the stroke of his tongue. Even as she stood glaring at him he couldn’t take his eyes off of that tight pink tank top she was wearing and the way it molded to her curves. He thanked God above that even though she had on a rather puffy winter coat, she’d left it unzipped. She’d probably dressed without realizing what she was wearing would drive every man around her wild with lust. She’d never realized how enticing she was, how damned sexy she was with those pouty red lips and wide dark eyes. Already he could feel the blood draining from his head and pooling painfully between his legs where his cock had sprung to life. Thank God he’d put on jeans today and not the loose jogging pants he’d contemplated wearing. A hard on in jeans, while painful, wasn’t half as bad as having your erection jutting out before you as you walked.

She’d gone with black leggings though. A pair that would have done J-Lo proud. Her legs were lithe and shapely. He had a memory of them wrapped tight about his waist as he eased his length deep inside of her. Her skin was the kind of lush brown that made him think of the delectable treats he loved as a boy. He wondered if her skin would taste the way he remembered it, sweet and decadent.

Snake had no idea what it was about this woman that got under his skin. She talked too much, had an opinion about everything, and she was so damn sexy that just looking at her gave him blue balls.

Sookie gave Jake a withering glare. “Thank God your taste in women is a damn sight better than—”

“Sookie!” Wide eyed, Cassie clutched her throat. “Don’t you say another word.”

Snake closed the distance and came to stand within their circle.

“What did you do to him, Sookie? He’s limping,” Jake wanted to know.

“Me! I didn’t do anything to the fiend. He attacked me. I barely escaped with my life.”

Snake raised a brow at this interesting recitation of the events. “Did you now?” Snake said, exaggerating his British drawl and taking a step closer to her. “Funny how I’m the one with the limp.”

She darted behind Jake and flipped her ponytail so it flopped off her shoulder and onto her back. “I have no idea why you’re limping. And I don’t care. One more step and I’ll spray you.” She brandished her pepper spray, finger poised over the little red button.

Jake held up his hands for peace. “I’m sure this is all one big misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding!” Sookie squawked. “Does that dent in the hood of my car look like a misunderstanding?”

Snake gave the car in question a glance and was surprised to see that indeed there was a tiny dent in the roof. Okay, so maybe he shouldn’t have punched the roof of her car but he’d been annoyed. “All you had to do was move your car, luv. But instead of making life easier for us both you just sat there…right in the middle of the driveway.”

“All you had to do was ask me to move. And don’t call me luv. I’m not your luv.”

“With a tongue like that I’d wager you’ve never been anyone’s luv.”

She opened her mouth, to level him with another put down no doubt, but Jake interrupted her. “You remember Sookie Pendagrass?”

“How could I forget Cassie’s best friend, the romance novelist.” Snake didn’t add that in the fitted, V-necked, lavender and cream Maid of Honor dress she’d been wearing the last time he’d seen her she had been unforgettable. He’d spent many a night since Jake’s wedding imagining that instead of flying out to California that night he had stayed and let Sookie know how he felt. Too often he wondered what it would have been like to find Sookie alone in the reception hall after the party. In his fantasy he advanced on the surprised writer, bent her over one of the dining tables, and hoisted that sexy as sin dress up around her hips. Since it was a fantasy, his fantasy, Sookie was never wearing any panties under her dress. To the sound of womanly moans of pleasure and feminine whimpers of approval, Snake would thrust his entire length inside Sookie’s warmth and ride her hard while telling her...telling her what? I love you? I’ve enjoyed sneaking around with you these last few weeks but why don’t we make things official?

Instead he didn’t say or do anything. He’d left the reception hall and walked out of her life. These past months he’d tried to put Sookie out of his mind, insisting to himself what they’d shared was sex. Nothing more, nothing less. Then, three weeks ago, Jake called Snake to tell him Sookie was engaged to be married. Only then did he realize how much she meant to him. “What’s the name of that book of yours that came out last month, Sookie? ‘Ravished by the Rogue’ or was it ‘Ravished by Desire’? I know it was something like that. I see a theme there.”

Sookie clenched her lips until they blanched nearly white. “So you can talk and read. How impressive. And to think, all these years I thought Cro-Magnon man’s intelligence only slightly above that of apes.”

“Sookie!” Cassie gasped. “You can’t go around insulting people like that. It’s rude.”

Sookie grimaced. Surely this wasn’t the first such lecture she’d received. Snake didn’t doubt it wouldn’t be her last.

“He started it.”

“No doubt you plan to finish it,” Snake answered.

Sighing heavily, Sookie turned from Snake and looked at Cassie. “Cassie, I wanna get settled before everyone else gets here. Maybe soak in a hot tub for a while.”

“Everyone else?” Jake glanced at Cassie who was staring pointedly at her feet.

“The other guests,” Sookie said.

“Oh, Cassie didn’t tell you then.”

“Tell me what?”

“That this is it. You are all the guests.”

Sookie exchanged a look with Snake and he had all he could do to keep from smiling.

“You’re having a party with only two guests?” Sookie asked.

With a shrug Jake exclaimed, “Surprise!”




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Nephilim War: Book Two

CHAPTER ONE
Present day

“A brood of cowards, all of you. Is there no one amongst you willing to take on this assignment?”

People crossed and re-crossed their legs, shifted in their seats, and glanced around the room, careful to look anywhere save the low podium in the center of the Great Hall where Galen sat with The Council.

Nobody said a word.

Galen leaned against the oak table and glared. “Never have I felt the shame that fills me today. That I have trained each of you…I rue the day…”

Gerald, one of the guardians, shoved back from his table among the men and got to his feet. Fists clenched at his sides, he spoke with barely controlled rage. “That is not fair and you know it. You ask the impossible.”

“I demand you do your job.”

“No. You want our warriors to walk to their deaths because you demand it. I will not support this!”

Gasps sounded around the room as Gerald’s last words echoed off the walls. The Ikarius shield, its gleaming metal emblazoned with the Ikari crest, quivered on its hooks. The Ikari warriors and guardians stared at Gerald, a mix of horror, shock, and admiration on their faces.

Father Caleb, seated to Galen’s left, frowned. He had never liked the young upstart, had always feared that despite Gerald’s training he would one day prove uncontrollable. The boy drank too much. No amount of skill could overcome so much drink, no matter if he had the Warlord’s blood flowing through his veins or not.

Father Caleb gave Galen a quick shake of his head, an I told you so gesture if ever there was one.

“It’s what all of you were thinking,” Gerald continued. “I’m the only one brave enough to say it.”

“Or stupid enough,” Father Caleb murmured.

Galen got to his feet. His long auburn hair seemed to come alive with his growing anger. “You dare speak to me thus?” he said, “You dare raise your voice to me?”

“It is not right,” Gerald managed, losing just a bit of his steam.

“Right. You speak to me of what is right. What do you know of right and wrong save what I tell you? You dare take so much upon yourself. We must act I tell you.” He slammed a large fist into the table, making The Council jump like well choreographed puppets. “You speak to me of right and wrong when the Nephilim are free. You tell me what is fair when everything around you is gone. Tell me my demands are too high when those you love, immortal man and mortal man alike, are dead. We make our stand now, we make our allegiances now, before it’s too late.”

“But what of the woman, Warlord?” John, an Ikari warrior, got to his feet and bowed low to the floor.

“Yes,” Gerald concurred. “Our warriors need not enter the lion’s den to prevent this travesty. Find the female, dispatch her if we must…”

Galen shook his head and made no attempts to hide his disgust.

Father Caleb sighed. “We do not kill humans, Gerald. And even if we did, we could not kill her. She is under the protection of Myrddin. He has set a cloaking spell about her too strong for any of our sorcerers to breach. And the Watcher, Raven guards her from Azriel.”

“If she is so protected what is this eminent danger our Warlord speaks of?” Gerald asked.

“Azriel will succeed,” Galen said with a simplicity that belied his emotions. “He will succeed and the Nephilim will be freed. The seer has told me as much. I cannot say how, but it will be done.”

“We cannot forget the white angel’s power,” Father Caleb added, “He is the source of magic, the father of the black arts. He is too powerful a foe for anyone.”

“And how can we be so sure that The Alliance is not going to take his side?” someone asked.

Galen chuckled as he settled back into his chair. “And lose their dominance. If the Nephilim are freed, The Alliance goes down a step in the food chain. Believe me, they don’t want that. Already they have enough to deal with with creatures of The Void constantly challenging them.”

Gerald gave the old warrior a low bow and returned to his seat. “Forgive me, Warlord. I meant you no disrespect, but you must see the impossibility of what you demand of us.”

“It is a death warrant, Warlord,” John said, “You must see that.”

Father Caleb gazed down at the assembled men. The twenty-five Ikari fighters sitting beside their guardians, and the ten Ikari warriors held on standby in the event of the unlikely death of a warrior. He never thought he’d see the day that any fighter would refuse an assignment, but things among Ikarius hadn’t been right for quite some time. Father Caleb pushed a stray strand of salt and pepper hair from his forehead and cleared his throat, indicating to all that he was about to speak. “Since the days of old, when God still conversed with men, we existed. Before the first written language we were fighting in the shadows to maintain the delicate balance of good and evil. And they have always been there; our enemies have always fought us. They feed on mankind as they always have and they are the very spawn of the fallen angels. Yet they will fight at our sides to destroy this greater evil. There is no other choice for them. Nor for us.

“So you too would have us enter their territory and offer them the olive branch,” Gerald said. “You are in agreement with the Warlord as is, I suspect, the entire council.”

Quinn and the others nodded their agreement.

“I have secured an apartment in the city, Baltimore, where the head of The Alliance makes his home,” Quinn said.

“Of course we are in agreement,” Father Caleb interrupted, responding to Gerald. “But you have one thing wrong. We aren’t sending a band of warriors. Only one is going on this mission. Send a band and they will see that band as a threat.”

The men looked at each other.

“He is mad,” Oman, one of the warriors, murmured.

“Impossible, I tell you,” said another. “Simply impossible.”

“Gerald is right, it would mean death.”

Galen frowned. “Will any of you go? Will anyone volunteer himself or must I…recruit you?”

Silence.

Galen shook his head. “Cowards, the whole lot of…”

He was interrupted when the heavy double doors were thrown wide and a small figure entered. Long, dark, corkscrew curls shielded the face, but Galen knew immediately who it was. He knew too how deceptively sweet the honey-brown face beneath all that hair was, how very pretty. In the plain black linen pants and black cloak she always wore, she was unmistakable. The sound of boots hitting tile echoed off the walls as she made her way down the center aisle, broadsword sheathed to her waist as if she were ready to do battle. She kept one hand on the hilt of her weapon; the other was fisted and held over her heart. All eyes were on her, but she neither acknowledged nor looked at any of them. She was focused on Galen.

She dropped to one knee before the podium and bowed deep in the manner of the Ikari warriors she considered her brothers. Eyes downcast in a show of respect, she began speaking in a strong, soprano voice.

“Greetings my most high and supreme Warlord. It is an honor to be in your presence, in the presence of The Council, and among the Ikari warriors.”

Galen gazed down at the prostrate figure. He couldn’t hide his pride in her and made no effort to try. Her beauty was unmatched among his kind, and her skill with a sword, though unfitting for a female, was just as matchless. He’d seen her take down many an Ikari warrior and had marveled at the sheer strength in her woman’s body every time. Still, the Great Hall was not a place for women and she knew this. He would have to discipline her for such insubordination.

“Al-Kenna,” he began, “know you not the import of what we discuss here today? Why have you entered the Great Hall in knowledge that such is an offense?”

“I request permission to speak freely, most high,” she said, still bowed low.

“I grant you permission. But make it quick.”

She rose to her full height of five and a half feet and met Galen’s eyes. He knew at once by the stony determination in her eyes that he wasn’t going to like anything she had to say this day.

Giving himself over to yet another disastrous verbal exchange, he leaned back in his chair and waved a hand for her to begin. “Say your peace then.”

“Send me,” was all she said.

The hall erupted. Men vaulted to their feet, some cursing in loud, angry voices, while others waved their fists in the air.

“Silence,” Galen shouted over the fray. “Silence.”

Beside Galen, Quinn slammed his gavel into the oak block on the table. For a time, nobody heard it.

Finally, Galen rose to his feet, his arms held aloft before him. Seeing him, the men began returning to their seats.

“I will not have this meeting descend into chaos,” Galen said at last. “We will conduct ourselves as men, not beasts.”

“But Warlord, she comes not to fight,” Gerald said as he got to his feet again, “but to humiliate us. That she would intrude on this meeting and make such a…such a…such a malicious statement is proof of her malevolent intent.”

“Do not allow this breach, Warlord,” someone else cried.

“Such insubordination cannot, should not go unpunished,” another man said.

Unfazed, Al-Kenna turned to face the assembly. “Our most honorable and wise Warlord is right,” she said in her most cutting voice. “He has trained a brood of cowards. If none of you are man enough to do what is required, I shall be the man you are not.”

The men exploded into angry protestations and accusations. Al-Kenna, however, remained silent. Casually, she turned her back on them and faced Galen.

When Galen was able to regain control of the meeting and return the proceedings to some semblance of order, the sweat that had begun to gleam on his temples was trickling down the sides of his face.

“The men are correct, Al-Kenna, what mean you by entering this hall and making such a statement,” Galen demanded.

“I am just as capable as any of them. These twelve years I have trained as an Ikari warrior. When I was but five, you saw to it that I began training in the martial arts beside my half brother, Gerald. When I was twelve and could stand the weight of a sword, you saw that I was trained in the art of fencing. I'm nearly twenty and there is no form of combat that is foreign to me, Warlord. There is no one among my peers that can best me. And you know well my skill with these.” She brought her hands to rest on the two Beretta’s strapped into the holster belted at her waist. “Further, my particular aspect gives me an advantage that none of my Ikari brothers can claim.”

“And what is that, dear sister,” Gerald sneered.

“I am a woman.” She gazed at him over her shoulder then returned her eyes to Galen. “They’ll never suspect I’m Ikari.”

“They are vampyr and beastmen,” said Galen, “They will see the truth of who you are in your mind.”

“I will screen my thoughts from them. I have been trained to do far more than creating a simple mind shield. The seer taught me such before I could speak.”

Galen chuckled. “They are timeless, little girl. Some among them have seen moon risings before my father’s father was a thought. Their leader, Alaric, is among the oldest and most powerful vampires to walk the earth. He will read your thoughts as easily as though you were speaking them to him. You are not equipped to face such a one as him.”

“But I am.”

“The answer is no, child. Now leave us.”

“Father please. I’ve spent countless hours in the SIMs honing my skills. I know well how…”

“This isn’t a SIM Al-Kenna. Now leave us.”

Her lips trembling with barely controlled rage, she struggled to hold her jaw stiff as she bowed low to the floor. She rose, spun around, and was about to depart when the double doors exploded in and three women sprang into the room.

“Bloody hell,” Galen shouted.

“Ghouls,” one of the women yelled. “Somehow they’ve breached the north wall of the property.”

“I counted over two dozen on the monitor,” said another.

“Impossible,” Quinn said, even as Galen was making his way down the aisle. “What of our sentires, what of the protection spells? They should not…”

Father Caleb had risen to his feet and was herding the men out before him. “Never trust to spells,” the holy man said. “Only God is reliable enough to be trusted.”

Al-Kenna rushed from the Great Hall and outside behind Galen, hand secured to her sword, the only effective weapon against ghouls. Bullets only slowed them. Her daggers were like trying to fell an elephant with safety pins. Only her sword would do because only decapitation killed them. Decapitation was the only sure fire way to kill any immortal.

“Stay close, Al-Kenna,” the Warlord ordered as he moved quickly over the sprawling estate at the head of the Ikari.

“I could kill ghouls with one hand tied behind my back,” she said dismissively of the gargoyle like creatures. “They’re too stupid to pose any real threat.”

“Stupid, eh. But somehow smart enough to get past our sentries.”

She drew her sword from its scabbard as the sound of running feet drew nearer to them.

“So they got lucky,” Gerald sneered. “They’ll regret it.”



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