Challenged by Darkness (An Urban Fantasy Novel) (Befallen Tides series Book 2)
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Authors: Anna Sanders
Table of Contents
C
HALLENGED BY
D
ARKNESS
Befallen Tides - Book 2
Anna Sanders
Copyright © Red Iris Books 2013
PROLOGUE
Esteban stared at the corpses with a grim set to his mouth. He knelt down in the midst of the body littered forest floor and peered into the face of a dead bandit child. Even their spawn was scruffy. Insignificant. The savages had eaten well this night.
His coalition of followers moved through the forest to join him. Unfortunate that so many men in his private reserve of savages had been massacred in the fight, but no matter. He would merely train more observantly in the future. Apparently, the princess and her ilk were not to be underestimated.
“I’m waiting for you to tell me that I’ve done well,” Dante said.
Esteban looked at the younger man across from him. The smug twist of his cheek bothered the Chancellor. “Where is the alpha?” he asked, irritation breeding beneath his calm exterior.
The young man’s smile faded. He shifted his gaze. “Well. She got away. But look at the rest of them! I think we got most of the fighters—”
“The elderly and the children. That’s what I see here.” Esteban spread his hands wide to indicate the bodies. “Do I need to remind you of my one request?”
“All right, yes, the alpha got away. But we have an idea of where they are headed. They won’t last long.” The younger man gave the Chancellor a grievous frown, mirroring his superior’s ire. “You still haven’t congratulated me.”
“Dante. You ignored my instructions.”
“I orchestrated this attack!”
Esteban’s temper broke the surface. “Poorly!”
“At least I didn’t lose my guard. You arrive unaccompanied and with a bullet wound in your neck—”
The slap Dante received split the air like a thunder clap.
When Esteban spoke again, his eerie calm had returned.
“Don’t forget why we’re here in the first place. I’ve been covering your tracks from the very beginning of this fiasco. I have put absolutely
everything
on the line. Your actions damn near jeopardized my future rule. But once we get those who might compromise us out of the way, my pathway to the throne will continue uninterrupted.” He leaned in closer. “And you will stay in line, boy. Or so help me, I’ll see to your burial as well.”
No fear crossed Dante’s face. With a steady hand, he moved dark bangs from his face, and steely eye met steely eye. Each jaw ticked with an irksome edge.
The two men were indistinguishable in height and breadth, the same model and make, though Esteban’s practiced scowl had weathered more years than Dante’s, and Dante’s temper was a bit flashier than the Chancellor’s. “When will you stop throwing the past into my face?” Dante asked. “I have learned and grown since then.”
“The past is all we have to go on. The future will be determined, not by our newfound resolve, but by our mistakes.” The Chancellor strolled away. “I have to play a little catch-up and reinstate a personal guard. But after that, I will continue with the next phase of my plan.”
“And in that plan is ridding us of the other Miss Rowan, right?” Dante asked eagerly.
“Do not concern yourself with the last Rowan daughter. She will meet the same fate as her sister.”
The mention of Deja brought fire to Dante’s eyes. Esteban paid it no mind, but spread his wings and set off.
The next day…
Stori raised a hand to her forehead with tentative fingers and did her best not to let the panic set in. Yes. That was definitely blood streaming down her face.
The bandit dragged herself to the edge of the trees, just barely keeping on her feet. She was nearing a highway, which could be her salvation if she reached it. If she did not—well, she’d be nothing more than a pile of viscera left for the crows to pick from. The thought should have made her frantic, but she was saving her strength for as long as possible. If she burst into speed too soon, she would run out of the energy needed to get away from the horde.
Which was closing in quicker than she would like to think.
Already, she could hear the shuffling feet, the uneven breaths, and the barely suppressed moans of hunger from the enemy. Stori had barely escaped them once. They’d bitten her in far more places than she had time to realize and tugged a good chunk of her hair out by the roots. Only the Spirits knew what would become of her if they captured her again.
Finally, after long torturous minutes of listening to the direction of the horde and catching her breath, she reached the paved curb.
It was a remote piece of road that didn’t look like it saw a lot of traffic, but Stori knew that it was a trucking route. Sooner or later, a semi or two would have to pass. And if the drivers were decent, they would have to stop.
Stori began to briskly walk along the road and away from the shelter of wood overrun with reanimated dead. She was limping, a major impediment to a hurried getaway, but never mind that. If the savages made it to the road, she would use her superior speed and do her best to ignore the pain.
She kept her gaze peeled for her lost companion. Stori hadn’t been alone when the savages had attacked. And considering her companion was a creature who harnessed the power to control the frenzied cannibals, she was very concerned with where Tipping was located. The thought that he’d abandoned her brought furious tears to her eyes.
The trees covering each side of the road gave nothing away of her enemies’ whereabouts. If she tilted her head to the side, she could just make out the sounds of their pursuit. It was unlike savages to be so organized. Something had to be controlling them.
Soon, the toxic smell of gasoline thickened the air, and the sounds of heavy wheels on pavement made her perk up. A truck! The headlights were far in the distance, but it was heading down her way. If she kept to her path, the trucker couldn’t miss her.
Stori started waving her arms immediately. As the speeding semi drew closer, she shouted, “Help! Please, help me!”
But her hero passed on.
Stori fumed. Finally utilizing her speed, she dashed toward the vehicle with all of her might. It hurt like hell, and every muscle she had screamed in protest, but she had to get on that truck.
She could feel her various wounds begin to bleed harder as she reached the end of the truck. Stori jumped and grabbed the back row of ladder steps. She hung on with desperate hands. If she lost her grip, it would all be over.
The truck turned, and Stori flailed on the rungs. The trailer swayed dangerously as she pressed her body tightly against the smooth metal, whispering prayers that she would not fall.
Stori closed her eyes against the sting of sharp air blazing past her face. The stench of burning oil and asphalt clogged her nostrils and had her very near fits of coughing. She couldn’t keep her feet on the bumper, and she dangled precariously by her hands.
Don’t fall. Don’t fall. Don’t fall…
But it was in vain. The truck swerved again, and Stori’s unstable grip failed.
She screamed as she was flung into the air like a gnat. As she twisted in anticipation of a hard impact on the ground, a pickup heading the opposite direction rushed toward her. She hit the windshield hard, rolled and shrieked, and slapped down onto the dirt on the other side.
The pickup lost control, screeched along the road, and crashed into the base of a tree.
For a moment, everything was still. There was no movement from the pickup, and Stori was left in a facedown position. The night enveloped the two victims as the giant rig’s lights disappeared around a bend and could penetrate the scene no longer.
Stori groaned. She must have broken a rib or three—breathing was difficult as hell. She coughed up something that she thought might be blood. Catching her breath wasn’t going to happen. The most she could manage was to rise onto her elbows and hang her head between her arms.
Soon, the door of the pickup creaked open loudly, and the driver stumbled out of his seat to land flat on his ass.
“What the fuck was that?” he asked. “Are you… hey, are you okay?”
Stori would have shot him a derisive look, but she was too absorbed in her pain. Instead, she just shook her head.
“I said, are you okay?” he repeated. “Can you hear me? Are you conscious?”
“I’m conscious,” she wheezed. “But not okay.” Didn’t he get that talking was just as hard as breathing? Her energy was depleted.
“How did you… were you hanging off…?”
“I can explain later,” she gasped. “Just please, get me out of here! Now!”
“All right, hold on.” He braced himself on his knees and stared down at her. “Here, let me try to help you up and we’ll get in the car—”
His words cut off with a stuttered exclamation. Stori’s head snapped up in time to see a weapon of some sort sticking out of the man’s neck. Someone had stabbed him from behind.
“No!” Stori sobbed. “No, no, no!”
The stranger fell dead to the ground, and from behind him emerged none other than Archibald Tipping. Her lost companion.
Stori realized instantly that it was over.
She wanted to curse and cry and fight. But she could do nothing but stare in horror as Tipping walked toward her. Behind him, she could hear the many growls of the savages, who were appearing from the tree line in ghastly shadows.
He hadn’t been missing. He’d been directing the hoard.
“Why?” Stori tried to shout, but it came out as nothing more than a breath of lost air.
Tipping didn’t say anything. All he did was raise his arm, and the waiting savages advanced toward Stori. She tried to crawl away, but she was far too broken to get anywhere.
“Don’t do this! Please, don’t!”
Stori tried to shield herself with her arms from the onslaught of snapping teeth. Her pleas dissolved into screams when the first bite came.
The savages hungrily piled atop her, and she kept screaming as they ate her alive. It wasn’t until one of the killers had the decency to rip into her chest and claw its contents that she died in silent, wide-eyed agony.
CHAPTER 1
Winx Rowan was one very pissed-off daevor. But every time she tried to frown, a headache would knock her on her ass. She stuck to huffs and a heap of sarcasm.
Winx was slowly recovering from the beating of a lifetime, having been strung up and clobbered by a lixyn with a vendetta against her and the existence of her kind. It hadn’t been a full day since her torture, and already, she was expected to travel from the forests of Gunnison National Park to Seattle, Washington. A quick look on her phone told her that was a twenty-hour trip.
Twenty more hours on the road? After the four-hour drive she’d just endured from Denver? It was enough to make her heave.
The young woman ran a hand over her bald scalp and tried to quell the pressing migraine with breathing exercises. The bruises marring her dark skin would fade eventually, and she truly was thankful that nothing had been broken or permanently damaged. But how much was could she really be expected to endure?
If it weren’t for the lixyns…
No, she shouldn’t really blame them in this case. As much as being practical set her teeth on edge, some sensibility was needed at the moment. Genevieve Merrick, the princess of the lixyns, had just saved her ass. And London Iragall, a noted lixyn official, had relocated the local bandit pack for their safety after Winx had forced their best fighters to leave the area. And Keaton…
Winx hung her head. Poor Keaton. His family of bandits had just been decimated, and what few remained were heading to Seattle. Come hell or high water, he was going to rejoin them. Going alone would be dangerous. She cared enough about him that she would not let that be an option for him.
Cared about him
.
Winx could barely fucking believe it. Especially after his colossal lie to her.
She looked at the others. Genevieve, Keaton, London, and London’s bodyguard talking about travel plans. Still. Everything had been discussed three or four times already.
Keaton was arguing with London, trying to convince him that they should get on the road and go. Since the lixyns had been able to heal him, Keaton looked none the worse for their recent battle. His light brown skin glinted in the sunlight, his smoked black hair was pulled tight away from his face in a severe braid, and the only thing that looked off about him was the fatigue in his eyes. He was annoyingly pretty. Meanwhile, she looked like somebody’s punching bag.
“The princess needs to rest,” London informed Keaton with condescending superiority. “As do you and Winx. Our best bet at this point would be to rest in town.”
