Darksider: Reveler Series 3
Read Darksider: Reveler Series 3 Online
Authors: Erin Kellison
DARKSIDER
by
Erin Kellison
She has always been his dream…
Chef Serafina Rochan believes her recurring nightmares of pursuit are a symptom of her anxiety about opening her second restaurant. But when the stalker appears in the waking world, she swallows her pride and calls the one man she trusts to go into her dreams, even if it means risking her heart.
When Marshal Harlen Fawkes receives Sera’s call, nothing else matters. Time has not eroded the power of his feelings for her. After years apart, they go Darkside together and cannot resist the longing and desire their connection evokes. The past and present collide, and Sera abandons all reservations to embrace Harlen again, if even for one night.
In order to protect her, Harlen aligns himself with disavowed friends, and in so doing is drawn deeper into the secrets and perils of the dreamwaters. As the tide of darkness rises, Harlen faces his demons…but not without Sera, who fights just as fiercely for the dream of a life together.
Dream dangerously.
Fans of paranormal romance and bad boys, get ready for a dark, sexy plunge into fantasy and desire. The Reveler Series is set in a contemporary world in which people can indulge in Rêve, or shared dreaming—a pop culture phenomenon sweeping the world. Imagine being able to fall asleep at night, only to wake in a dream world, one in which you are lucid and in control—where you can be anything you want to be and do anything you like. But you must be careful…dreaming can be as dangerous as it is seductive.
***
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DARKSIDER
Copyright © 2014 by Erin Kellison
Cover design by Micro Application Solutions, LLC
Published in the United States of America
First electronic publication: May 2014 by Fire Flower Publishing, LLC
Table of Contents
Excerpt from Night’s Deep Hush
CHAPTER ONE
“What did you do now, Harley?”
The flirty, drawling voice was female, so Marshal Harlen Fawkes pivoted and walked backward along the bright hall of the San Diego Chimera headquarters to check who’d spoken. Penny Armstrong.
“You know me, sweetheart”—he grinned and winked at her, and turned back around—“could be any number of things.”
The suit had given him away. He only wore it for annual reviews and disciplinary hearings. He’d found his suit crumpled at the bottom of his closet under his gym bag, which was why he was wearing his father’s—he’d run by his folks’ home last night to borrow it. His pop was six foot three and wide through the shoulders, too, so the fit was okay. There was a good chance the old man wouldn’t get it back, at least not in the same condition, a fact which Harlen’s canny and ruthless ma had leveraged to get him to agree to a blind date tonight with his nephew Tyler’s tennis coach. And why not? He liked tennis.
Harlen checked his watch. Two minutes to go, so he’d timed it perfectly. Would be better if he knew what he was in for. The list of his infractions did go on.
His good mood evaporated when he dragged the door open: a
panel
had been convened this time. Usually one of the guys gave him a heads up about what to expect, but this time all he’d gotten when he’d fished for info were shrugs.
James Dugan was standing in front of the long table; Allison Bright had already taken a seat; and,
hot damn,
there was Matthew Bruner, who had his picture on the wall downstairs in the front lobby. He was fiddling with a laptop. Harlen had shaken Bruner’s hand once, back in the Army. And there was a fourth person coming up on the laptop screen, streaming in via video conference. No idea who that guy was.
So…bigger trouble than usual.
Best guess? He was probably being disciplined for sneaking a date into that sold-out Rêve concert featuring country music star Johnny Hawkins. Tickets were insane and the dreamscape venue had been a literal walk through country music history. Security had been tight; the president’s daughter had been attending, too. Any breach would’ve been investigated.
Well, they could fire him if they wanted to. He deserved it. With his background in Rêve—four years in the Army’s Rêve unit and another three in Chimera—he could get a job at a private company no problem. He could get a job for double the pay. Hell, there’d be a bidding war.
James Dugan approached, hand outstretched. “Harlen.”
Harlen had no choice but to take it and fake a smile. “James.” He was Mr. Dugan now, promoted a couple levels above him, but as they’d started together back in the day, Harlen wasn’t about to Mister him. “Looks like a party.”
James frowned. “I advise you to treat today with the utmost seriousness. They’re considering pressing charges.”
Charges even? Hell.
“If we could get started?” That was Allison Bright, a tough lady of his ma’s make and model. She’d never once smiled at him, but she was Ms. all the way. Ma’am on Sundays.
James took his place on the other side of the table. The laptop screen was adjusted and pointed in Harlen’s direction. He sat in the chair left in the middle of the room like a prisoner at a parole hearing, put ankle to knee, and scooted down enough to be comfortable.
“Hello,” said Ms. Bright, looking at Harlen over her glasses, then glancing down to a sheet of paper, she read, “This meeting is being conducted under Section 13.25 of the Chimera Standards and Code, and is therefore secret and confidential. Discussion of this meeting, the information provided, and the nature of the questions is prohibited and punishable by law.”
Just peachy
, thought Harlen.
Her eyes flashed back up at him. “Could you please state your name and rank for the record?”
“Harlen Anthony Fawkes. Chimera Special Agent, Marshal, RSL Four.”
“Thank you, Marshal Fawkes. We have several questions for you today and we require direct, succinct answers. At the conclusion of our inquiry, you will have an opportunity to ask your own or make a statement.”
In most situations, Harlen thought he had a cool head, but during the short silence that followed—he knew to keep his mouth shut—his heart rate ticked up a few beats. His dad’s collar felt a little tight, too.
Ms. Bright was reviewing yet another sheet of paper in hand. Woulda been nice if they’d let him prepare as well. He liked being one of the good guys.
She pressed her lips together, then that laser gaze hit him again. “On October twenty-fifth of this year, you submitted a report detailing an unexpected Rêve incursion wherein Chimera Marshal Malcolm Rook and his recruit, Jordan Louise Lane, breached the Dragon’s Lair Rêve, run by Madhouse Games, Inc., correct?”
Oh.
Harlen sat up.
Finally.
This had to be about the nightmare creature that had
followed
Rook and Jordan into the Dragon’s Lair. The idea that such a thing existed in the dreamscape bothered Harlen, too, and deeply. In fact, he thought they should temporarily suspend all Rêves until the investigation was complete. Safety was more important than shared dreaming.
“I did, yes. And it’s about time—”
Ms. Bright held up her hand to stop him. “Do you care to revise your report?”
Harlen perused the faces staring at him so intently. Matthew Bruner looked like he wanted to spit. “No. It’s accurate.”
So they didn’t believe him.
Damn.
Harlen wasn’t the only witness, though. The revelers in the Dragon’s Lair dream all saw the nightmare creature. Their names, contact information, and statements were included in the report, too.
But even better was Vince Blackman’s testimony. The man not only claimed to have seen the same kind of creature but that he’d killed one, as well. Harlen had written up his interview with Blackman last night but had yet to submit it. The panel this morning had gotten in his way.
He inhaled to let them know, but Ms. Bright was already speaking.
“And two days ago, you also logged a meeting held by Marshal Steven Coll in a now defunct flying dream owned by Silver Sunrise, Inc.?”
“I did.” Harlen was confused again. Was this about the creature or not? A current of unease buzzed through his system.
“Also present at that meeting was Malcolm Rook, Jordan Lane, and her sister Maisie Lane?”
“Yes,” he said.
“When was the last time you had any contact with them?”
A siren went off in Harlen’s head, the kind that had sounded during the war when there was incoming fire and casualties. “That meeting was the last time I saw them. Has something happened?”
Coll, who rarely broke a smile, had seemed sweet on the girl Maisie.
“Any
contact
, Marshal Fawkes?”
“No. I haven’t heard from any of them. Are they okay?” Steve Coll and Maisie had rescued a man who’d been kidnapped from the Sunrise flying dream. They were currently on assignment to discover who ordered the kidnapping and why. Chimera feared a mob-like organization gaining traction Darkside, and this might be it.
“Please save your questions for after,” she reminded him. “Was there any conversation or communication of any kind beyond what is stated in your reports?”
What the hell is going on?
“No,” he said. “It was my understanding that Maisie Lane was going to attempt to reinsert herself into her previous organization. That’s it.”
“Would you call yourself a friend to any of them?”
Harlen scratched his head and readjusted his position in his chair: both feet on the ground, an elbow on the armrest. “I do consider Steve Coll and Malcolm Rook my friends. I don’t know the women very well, but they seemed like good people.”
“Do you know where they are at this time?”
“No.” He sure as hell was going to find out, though.
“Do you have a means to contact them?”
“I have the same mobile numbers you have.” And ideas. But
ideas
weren’t
means
.
“Did you have any contact or knowledge of Maisie Lane and/or her sister Jordan Lane before they were recruited by Marshals Rook and Coll?”
Umm…?
“No.”
“Have you ever considered a career in Rêve outside of Chimera?”
His brain stalled for a sec there, too, but he went with the truth. “Yes. For the money.” What agent hadn’t?
Ms. Bright took off her glasses and dropped them on the folder in front of her. “There will be a Chimera-wide announcement this morning that the four of them are presently at large, unresponsive to our attempts to communicate, and are considered dangerous to the dreamscape.”
The women, maybe—Harlen didn’t know them well enough—but Malcolm Rook and Steve Coll? “What did they do?”
Pigs were flying, hell was freezing, and shit was hitting the fan everywhere.
