Eban (23 page)

About the Author

A love of reading inspired Allison Merritt to pursue her dream of becoming an author, one who writes historical, paranormal and fantasy romances, often combining the sub-genres. She lives in a small town in the Ozark Mountains with her husband and dogs. When she's not writing or reading, she hikes in national parks and conservation areas.

Allison graduated from College of the Ozarks in Point Lookout, Missouri with a BA in mass communications which has gathered dust since Allison determined that she's better at writing fluff than hard news.

You can find her blog at
havenovelwilledit.blogspot.com
, on Facebook at
www.facebook.com/allisonmwrites
, and Twitter
@Allison_Merritt
.

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The Heckmasters

Wystan

Her search for safety lands her in a totally new kind of danger.

Wystan

© 2014 Allison Merritt

The Heckmasters, Book 1

Certain that an ad for a job in a small New Mexico Territory town is the answer to her prayers, Nebraska schoolteacher Rhia Duke packs her sister into a rickety wagon and heads west.

Except when they reach the near-deserted town, she learns the truth. There is no job, no future, and no welcome in the bleak blue eyes of the handsome sheriff.

The minute Rhia's runaway team thunders into town, Wystan Heckmaster feels the change in the air. One of three sons of a demon who dared love a human, he keeps watch over a Pit guarded by seven seals, and slays any Hellbound demon that attempts to free the master imprisoned within.

With a gut full of regret and a forgotten town filled with reformed demons, Wystan is certain of one thing: he can't be the man Rhia needs. But when the truth behind Rhia's flight from Nebraska comes to light, Wystan must open his soul—and pray there's enough love between them to overcome the darkness rising from the Pit.

Warning:
Contains a take-no-prisoners sheriff, a woman who can't outrun her supernatural secrets, and a dusty town where hope is as thin as dust in the wind. Author recommends keeping a glass of cool spring water at your elbow while reading.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Wystan:

Wystan Heckmaster slapped his battered Stetson on his head, collected the keys to the jail, then stepped out the door. The first thing he saw was a pretty woman with hair the color of maple sugar—a rich brownish-blonde. The frown on her face spoke volumes, and the air around her pronounced trouble. She made a straight path for him.

“Mr. Heckmaster. Or should I called you Sheriff? Or Mayor? I need to discuss the ad in the
Lancaster County Republican
with you. Someone placed an ad, but your brother tells me there is
no
school here. I'm sure there has to be a mistake. There's only one Berner in New Mexico Territory. I'm very capable at reading maps. If I wasn't, I would be ashamed to call myself a teacher.”

He doubted she had taken more than two or three breaths during the speech. If she made talking in rambling paragraphs a habit, no wonder she looked so peaked.

“Teacher?” He glanced along the street, but it was deserted as usual. “Lady, we don't have a school here. Certainly no need of a teacher.”

Her hands balled into fists that settled on her hips. The dress she wore was patched—the egg yolk yellow faded into something even more disgusting. It had little flowers dotting the material, but they looked as worn as her scuffed black boots.

“Then what was the purpose of placing an ad in the
Lancaster County Republican
?”

She spoke with the fierceness of a mama bear warning predators away from her cubs. Wystan reached into his shirt pocket and drew out a toothpick.

“I didn't place any ad in any Lancaster County anything.” He looked past her, expecting Eban to saunter up the street. Eban had to be the brother she'd referred to since Tell was still on the trail.

“Someone did,” she insisted. She fished a crumpled and much-folded piece of newsprint out of the pocket hidden by the folds of her skirt. “See? Right here it says, ‘School teacher wanted for spring term at Berner Schoolhouse. Wages paid based on experience. Room and board provided. Apply in person at City Hall, Berner, New Mexico Territory.' I'm sure my eyes don't deceive me.”

Wystan stared at the clipping, then back at the woman. A galaxy of freckles spattered across her nose and cheekbones, making her look younger than her eyes said she was. Full figured and sure as shittin' a grown woman. The wariness and worry darkening her hazel eyes gave her away as one with a lot of trouble on her plate.

“I can read.”

She pulled the ad away from his face, folded it, and returned it to her pocket. “Where would you suggest I look for an explanation, Mr. Heckmaster?”

Fussy little thing. “I assure you that no one in this town did. There's been a mistake. Sorry to inconvenience you, Miss Schoolteacher. Now turn around and head home.”

A flush colored her cheeks. “I can't
head home
! I have no home to return to. My little sister and my friend are waiting at the doctor's office for me to straighten this mess out. The ad says that room and board will be provided. I'd expected to move into a room, sir.”

“You left them with Eban?” That explained his absence.

“Beryl is ill, Sheriff. This is the first town we've seen in days and it was past time for her to get some attention.” Despair crept into her voice.

Wystan shifted his weight and transferred the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “Eban's not exactly trained in human medicine.”

The woman's mouth opened into an
O
. She shook her head and seemed to regain her senses. “He's a veterinarian? He seemed certain he could help Beryl.”

Wystan cleared his throat. “Sure, animal doctor. I'm sorry for your misfortune, lady, but as you can see, Berner's about run into the ground. There's nothing here for you or your friend. Might be best to move along.”

She seemed to deflate. “Move along.” Her lips moved, softly forming the words, but it was as though she didn't comprehend them. “We'll move along, right down the trail into the next town where there won't be any teaching jobs either. Sylvie, Beryl, and I will starve to death on the side of the road with no one in the world to care.”

The crushing weight of responsibility on her shoulders was almost visible. They slumped under her problems. If he thought she'd looked peaked before, now she looked on the verge of breaking down into tears.

They had secrets in Berner that wouldn't behoove any outsiders to know. Dangerous things lurked on the streets, things Wystan and his brothers had to mind. This fragile-looking schoolteacher would probably keel over if she had any idea what sort of place she'd stepped into.

“Ma'am, I'm sorry for your trouble, but you'll have to—”

“Wys, I have a problem at the clinic. The young woman who arrived with Miss Duke needs to stay.” Like an apparition, Eban appeared out of nowhere, his overcoat and waistcoat missing, shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows. “She's not going to be comfortable on the trail. The best thing for her would be to rest here.”

Miss Duke turned to Eban. “What's wrong with her?”

“Pleurisy. If she gets enough rest, she should recover. Right now, your sister is helping her settle in at the clinic. I'll do everything I can for Miss Brookshier.” Eban turned his candle-bright smile on the schoolteacher.

Wystan frowned. “No.”

Miss Duke gaped. “You can't refuse to let Beryl stay. It's Dr. Heckmaster's clinic.”

He ignored her. “Eban, we've talked about this.”

“I don't think
these
women are quite what we talked about, brother.”

“I'm sorry, but you're refusing to let us stay because we're women?” Miss Duke put her hands on her hips and glared. “If we were men—”

“I'd say the same thing. It's nothing to do with you being a woman. It's because there's nothing here for you. No work. Your chances of finding some down the road is slim, but it's better than dying here.” Wystan plucked the toothpick from his mouth and flicked it away. “Eban, give Miss…Brookshier, was it? Give her the medicine you can spare and get that wagon rolling.”

“I don't think that's a good idea, Wys.” Eban's shoulders squared. “In fact, I refuse to let them leave.”

Sometimes being the oldest of three brothers was trying. Wystan clenched his jaw.

“Miss Duke, I need a word with my brother. If you'll excuse us.” He didn't wait for her to agree. Grabbing Eban by the arm, he led his brother inside the jail and slammed the door. “What happens when they find out?”

Eban's gaze dropped. “They won't.”

“Right now, things are real calm. Easy to control. Tonight…” A humorless laugh left his throat. “How long do you think a sick woman would last in a town like this?”

“You make it sound like there's no control here. I thought that's what we were doing. You're the sheriff. Make it clear these women are protected. Miss Duke's sister is just a little girl.” Eban's shoulders tightened visibly. “They're lucky they made it to town. There's no way of knowing where Tell is or who's with him.”

A strong argument, but Wystan stood his ground. “You let them stay one night, they're gonna want to stay two. We've got our hands full already. You know that.”

A glimmer of anger appeared in Eban's dark-blue eyes. “She'll die. I don't want that on my conscience.”

Wystan had no special training, no extra schooling outside what he'd gotten as a boy, which in the grand scheme of things was pretty insufficient. Tell hadn't given a fig for book learning either. Eban was different. He wanted to
help
the citizens in town, rather than keep them from creating chaos in the outside world.

He expected nonsense like that from Tell, who probably didn't remember much about what had happened to their parents, but he thought Eban knew better.

“I'm sure she'll be fine.”

The spark of anger turned into a flame. “Pleurisy is serious. We're not talking about a head cold. She could drown in her own fluid. She's underweight, fevered, and coughing up sputum an abbeylubber wouldn't touch.”

Wystan grimaced at the mention of sputum. “If this were a regular town, it would be different.”

“When did you turn into such an unfeeling bastard? Even after Ma died, you weren't so cold,” Eban said. “Don't think about it. Listen to me for once. A woman needs my help and you'd have me turn her away. I can't. I won't.”

Bastard, was he? Wystan gritted his teeth and leaned forward. He'd whupped Eban often enough when they were boys, and wrestled with worse on a weekly basis. “What are you gonna do, Eb? If I say she goes, then that's it. My word is law here, in case you forgot.”

“It's my clinic. I guess that gives me the right to decide who stays there.”

Over his brother's shoulder, Miss Duke peered through the round window in the door. He could tell she was standing on her tiptoes, straining to see. They'd been loud. It was hard to say what she'd heard. He felt certain neither of them had mentioned anything too abnormal.

“This isn't over, Eban. I expect you to heal her up fast and get them out of here. I'll do what I can to warn everyone before dark, but it's up to you to bar the door at night.”

“Thank you.” Eban's words were short, his posture stiff. “I'll let the Dukes sleep near Miss Brookshier tonight. Keep them all in one room. It's safer that way.”

“I can't wait to give Miss Duke the news. I'm sure she'll fall all over herself with gratitude.” He brushed past Eban and threw the door open.

Miss Duke took a step back, her face pink. She tucked her hands behind her back. Her eyes were hazel, almost green, but with a light-brown ring around the outside and little flecks like broken-up autumn leaves.

“Eban insists that you stay, even though I argued against it. Believe me, you're better off somewhere else, but I doubt he'd listen if God wrote it in the sky. So you go with him, get whatever you need out of your wagon, get inside the clinic and stay there. Savvy?”

She shrank away from his harsh tone. “Y-yes.”

Eban stepped around him and muttered, “Bastard.” He offered his arm to Miss Duke and they stepped into the street.

Wystan's mouth tightened as he stared after his brother's retreating form.

“You're sure Beryl will be all right? Sylvie can't get sick?” Miss Duke's voice drifted back to him, full of worry.

It wasn't a wolf's responsibility to look after a sheep. Everyone knew that. So it shouldn't be up to him to keep strangers out of the jaws of the nightmarish hell that could potentially open on Berner's streets when the sun went down.

Eban was ten kinds of foolish for thinking he could get the job done. He didn't want one woman to die on the trail, but he'd sentenced three to perish here. Miss Duke glanced over her shoulder. Her brow furrowed when she caught him looking.

It wasn't that Wystan didn't care; he didn't
want
to care.

The
darker side of his nature just can't let her go.

The Slayer

© 2015 Brenda Huber

Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 2

Born of heaven, forged in hellfire and damnation, Xander roams the earth as an unlikely protector of the innocent. Grudgingly embroiled in a demon uprising, Xander must help his brothers-in-arms recover four Sacred Relics rumored to be Lucifer's downfall.

The stakes are simple. If he fails, a new regime will assume control of the underworld and the boundaries between hell and earth will crumble. If he succeeds, long-awaited salvation could be his. But when a beautiful innocent is caught in the crossfire, the price of redemption could be too steep.

Kyanna Hughes is a hereditary Guardian, sworn to protect a sacred Relic at all costs. From the cradle, she was taught to hate all things demon, but her unwanted attraction to Xander turns everything she's been taught upside down.

The danger she faces involves more than her heart. For Kyanna is not only a Guardian, but a keeper of secrets so dangerous, that to keep them out of demon hands even the angels in heaven would see her dead…

Warning:
Contains a demon with a notoriously single-minded determination to save the world, and a sworn enemy for whom he will risk eternal damnation. And so begins the journey of six fallen demons and the women who capture their hearts…

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Slayer:

Kyanna examined the demon lying at her feet in shock. And there was no doubt in her mind that's what he was. She'd gotten a good look at him, both before and after he'd done that morphing thing. A real live demon. In the flesh. Within poking distance.

He was a mess. Drenched in blood. Horrible burns covered his shoulders, neck, and arms. Huge gashes snaked across his chest. Deep, vicious wounds. And his face—

She bit her lip, wincing.

Oh, his face! How is he still alive?

Wait!
Where was all this sympathy coming from? She gritted her teeth and firmed her resolve—or tried to.

Not human, Kyanna!

But he'd saved her? It made no sense. His kind didn't save humans. His kind hunted them. Tortured them. Killed them and gobbled up their souls like Summer scarfed down French silk pie.

Confusion held her immobile and indecisive.

A soft groan slipped from his lips, gearing her into action. She dragged her cell phone from her back pocket and thumbed it on. Only to turn it right back off and shove it back into her pocket.

Who was she going to call? It wasn't as if the local boys in blue had a special cell designed to detain—
contain
—creatures like him. She'd have better luck with something like that inside her own store.

Growling in frustration, she dropped to her knees beside the injured…demon? Man? He sure looked like a whole lotta man right now.

Non-demon?

Regardless of what he was, he'd saved her from that monster-thing. Helping him in return was the least she could do. Right?

Danger, Will Robinson! Not human, Kyanna! Do not soften toward him.

A slim, silver chain glinted from around his throat. Her brow furrowing, she tentatively traced a finger over the smooth chain, did her best to ignore the warm flesh beneath it. Her fingertip paused as she reached the pendant. Power pulsed from the small crystals embedded in the silver and shimmered up her arm like a rush of warm liquid. Soothing. Blood smeared the stones, but she could still identify them. Brecciate jasper? Chrysoberyl?

What would a demon be doing with something like this?

According to the book, the recordings passed down from her mother and her mother's mother before her, this man/demon shouldn't even be able to come near these stones, let alone have them in constant contact with his flesh.

She scanned his face, his body. Soot smeared the golden patches of skin that weren't covered by blood and burns. One of his pant legs had been scorched from his ankle to his knee. And strapped to the other calf was the most vicious-looking, medieval dagger she'd ever seen. The blade alone was nearly as long as her forearm. Who was this guy?

A low groan gurgled in the back of his throat, dragging her from her musings. How could she help him? Did she dare? Or would she only be signing her own death warrant? She'd been raised to fear demons. Raised to avoid them at all cost. She'd also been raised to protect the innocent.

And to do no harm to those who did no harm to her.

Nowhere in the book had anyone ever written about a demon like this one. One who'd willingly put himself in harm's way to protect a human.

Dear Lord, she didn't even know where to touch him. His body had been so ravaged. Glancing up and down the alley, she chewed on the inside of her lower lip. Should she bring him inside? Could she trust him enough to breach the ward stones? Or the outer enchantments? She had a First Aid kit in the store. Not that the meager training she'd received back in Girl Scouts was gonna cover something like this. But she had the book. Surely there must be something therein that would pertain to whatever he was.

Peering uncertainly at the wreckage of the Civic, she cringed. If she left him here, vulnerable like this, she'd be no better than the evil Sheila Hughes had taught her to fight. But her mother wasn't here anymore to guide her. What was she to do? He was wounded, obviously in desperate need of help. Maybe that was what was confusing her. He confused her. He'd looked like a demon. For a little while there, at least. But he certainly hadn't acted like one.

And now here he was, completely at her mercy. Defenseless. And he looked so human now.

Kindness,
Mom had always preached. Kindness had felled many a great foe. Though, somehow, she didn't think Mom might have had exactly this situation in mind.

Moaning softly, the man/demon turned his head. His brow puckered. Ever so carefully, she eased her hand along his cheek. The scrape of dark stubble against the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist sent delicious shivers up her arm. Gently touching the unmarred side of his forehead, she worried her lower lip with her teeth. He was burning up. Had he been poisoned somehow? Was infection setting in? Could his kind get an infection? Gnawing on her lip again, she glanced around the alley.

A streetlight at the end of the alley popped, going out in a shower of sparks, startling her. Enough waffling. She had to decide. Now. What if more of those vile creatures came back?

What if he turns out to be just as evil as the rest?

No!
She couldn't think like that. He'd stood before her, used his own body to shield her. She'd take him inside. Clean him up as payback for saving her. Once she'd seen to his injuries, healing him as best as she could, then she could decide what to do with him.

She could always surround him with ward stones for her own safety. And when he woke up, if his eyes were still glowing red and he went all
Village of the Damned
on her, then she'd douse him with holy water and use enough of the incantations in the book to bring down the wrath of Heaven on his head and make him wish he'd never stepped one of those Godzilla-sized combat boots outside the gates of Hell.

Kicking the box containing the now-shattered Tiffany lamp aside—the lamp she'd spent far too long searching for—she scrabbled to reach beneath him. Kyanna hooked her hands under his arm pits and prayed his back wasn't in as rough shape as his chest was. Dear lord, he was a mess.
And hot!
And not in a sexy-hot way…well, okay, in all fairness, he was hot that way too. But he was hot in a burning fever-hot way. That couldn't be good.

“Buddy,” she grunted, “you weigh a ton. Be a good fella and wake up. Help me get you inside, would ya?”

A groan. A muscle twitch.

“Hey,” she panted, pushing him into a sitting position. His head lolled forward, his arms flopped onto the pavement at his hips. He was nearly twice her size and it took every ounce of her strength to get him up this far, let alone balance him against toppling over. She'd never get him on his feet and inside without help. “Hey, sexy demon-guy. Hey. Wake up.”

His head lolled to the side and his eyes, rimmed by thick curly black lashes, slid open. Groggy. Unfocused. Turbulent gray. Compelling. Stealing her breath.

Woosa!
Definitely not red.

Those were the most impressive bedroom eyes she'd ever seen.