Cursed by Darkness (An Urban Fantasy Novel) (Befallen Tides) Read online

  CURSED BY DARKNESS

  Befallen Tides - Book 1

  Anna Sanders

  Copyright © Red Iris Books 2012

  Published by Red Iris Books

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Killed by Darkness - A Befallen Tides Short Story

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE

  AWAITING PUNISHMENT IS USUALLY MET with sweating palms and erratic heartbeats. Only those who believe they have done no wrong, or who are sick in the head, walk to retribution with a squared jaw. But Winx was no punk ass bitch. She had been anticipating this day for over three months.

  Winx’s hands were cuffed behind her. Her long wings were stapled together. A guard stood on either side of her. Such was the treatment of daevors. If you caught one you had to be careful, for they were extra crafty creatures. The Order had prepared for this and was taking no chances. She had run out of options, and the only thing that awaited her now was her sentence.

  The guard took her to the headquarters of the Order compound. It was an overlarge building filled with closed doors and gargoyle sculptures. A long yellow carpet lighted her way to the end antechamber, where a judge and council awaited her. The yellow brick road—Winx was off to meet the wizard.

  When they reached the end hall, the guards roughly presented her to the standing greeter.

  “Winx Taya Rowan?” The greeter eyeballed the scroll in front of her nose.

  “I keep telling them they have the wrong girl,” Winx sassed.

  None of them cracked so much as a smirk.

  “Present,” a guard answered for her.

  “Of course. I’ll announce her. You wait here.” She turned on her heel, went beyond the double doors, and closed them behind her. Winx caught a glimpse of a small room with nothing but a large desk and a few persons seated behind it. The sound of the doors closing echoed throughout the empty hall.

  Winx chewed the corner of her lip to pass the time. Eventually, the doors opened again and the greeter returned.

  “Miss Rowan is ready to be processed.”

  The double doors opened on their own, and the guards drew Winx into the large room. There wasn’t much to the office. No seats save the ones behind the desk. There sat The Three, the prosecutors of those gifted with the Touch.

  The middle one was a dark haired Caucasian man who was tall even while sitting down. He wore an intimidating suit and a frown, and had a willowy build with a pudgy face. To his left sat a man of mixed origin with auburn hair and piercing eyes. And the last was Spanish, with suave looks heated by anger.

  The Three waited until the doors closed. For a moment, a silence as heavy as a curtain fell over them.

  “Winx Taya Rowan.” The middle one, obviously in charge, spoke. “We are London,” he addressed his left. “Esteban,” to his right. “And Orion.” Himself. “The Highest class of the Order, and Assessors under the laws of Edina, Priest and Goddess of the Touched Kingdoms. You are brought before The Three to address your crimes against the human population.”

  “I have done no crimes against the human population,” Winx said.

  “Is that so? So you are no responsible for the murders of…” He looked down at a paper at his elbow. “Robin Hoggs, Arn Dunning, Matt Gretch, Manny Ellis, Bo Erkett…”

  “Not at all.”

  Three pairs of eyes bored into her.

  Winx shrugged a shoulder. “I heard they killed themselves.”

  “The evidence shows that a daevor forced their will. A daevor with a vendetta.”

  “How would there be any evidence of that?”

  “Don’t be coy,” Esteban spat out. “We lixyns harness a power that you daevors never could imagine. We know when you have been behind something.”

  “Miss Rowan.” London’s voice was cool, crisp, and calm. “You would really do better for yourself if you simply told the truth. If you weren’t guilty, why on earth would you have left your home, your possessions, and your family? Why be on the run for so long if not hiding from us?”

  “You have wasted enough of our time.” Orion clasped his hands together in finality. “Tell us all.”

  “I would rather rot.”

  Winx spoke behind clenched teeth. The two guards beside her readied their grip for good measure. With enough momentum she could break their grip and make an escape. Her shoulders were hunched, her eyes livid, and her dreaded hair hung over her twisted features, making her look more beast than daevor.

  “They got what they deserved,” she continued. “Those men took Deja and they mutilated her. She died screaming. They should have as well!”

  “It is not our place to discipline mankind—”

  “They were let go! The audacity…”

  “We have made strict vows to remain absent in their affairs unless some supernatural interference threatens to expose us. The ramifications of human contact have never been hidden, or minced, from ours or yours-”

  “…and while they know nothing of our race, they went unpunished! It is a deeper crime than mine!”

  “Yours?” Esteban laughed mirthlessly. “You’ve given yourself away. Not that you had need. So. You admit to this?”

  “I said I have done no crime against humankind. And I stick true to what I said. Those monsters were not human. They got what they deserved. It was no crime. It was justice calling.”

  The men went silent. They shuffled some forms and muttered between themselves while Winx remained in the arms of her minders.

  “This assault was heinous. None survived. Each were forced to stand and watch as they, one by one, committed group suicide with the aid of kitchen appliances. They literally hacked themselves to death, unaware of how or why, and died in horror. And abruptly afterwards, their souls perished.” London lowered the sheet of paper he was looking at. “You do know what happens when a human soul perishes.”

  Winx lowered her eyes. “I’ve heard speculation.”

  “There is no speculation necessary. It is fact: A human soul dying is one of the worse things to possibly happen, for the simple fact that the action leads to serious consequences. Consequences which express high risk of unmasking the secrets which we have striven to remain hidden for centuries.”

  “Are you saying I should have found a way to have them murdered without their souls dying?”

  “Neither is preferred.” Esteban slammed his fist to the desk. “Nonetheless, you have committed a serious infraction to the morals of those gifted with the Touch!”

  Winx scoffed and tilted her head. “Worse things have been done to humans.”

  “Those dark ages have ended, and there will be no attempts to revive them. Which is why you are here in the first place.” Orion sat back and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Your punishment will be grave. Take her to a cell until we come to an agreement.”

  The guards dragged Winx away. Her feet stamped the floor as she went, and her eyes blazed with red fire. It made no difference. She was carried away from the Assessors, and through hall after hall until they reached a s
et of spiral stairs. Then they marched her into the prison and threw her unceremoniously into her cell.

  She bounced off her bound wings with a grunt of pain and rolled unsteadily onto her side. The bars slammed closed. Winx shut her stinging eyes.

  Breathing harshly, Winx tried to take in her surroundings. Everything was dark., but with enhanced sight, she could see perfectly. Four cement walls and a cement floor. A wretched cot considered a bed, on top of which were two folded sheets and a paltry quilt. A sink and a toilet in the corner. No windows. No candles. No comfort.

  Everything in her life was so far away from here. She wondered if she would ever see her family again. Winx was part of an old, large, respected clan of daevors. The Rowan line went back to their demon ancestry, and was one of the purest families in the Touched kingdoms. What would they think of her being dragged in by lixyns? They would probably disown her, throw out her belongings, and pretend that Winx Rowan never existed.

  Her eyes stung even more. She had to growl at herself in order to force back a surge of emotion.

  It was a long time before she heard anything. It was so deadly quiet in the cells that she could hear the distinct echoes of footsteps on the above floors. After that, the unmistakable sounds of people coming down the staircase made her shiver. They had reached a verdict.

  Her cell door clanged open. Winx sat up as best she could and stared down Esteban and the two guards. One was holding an incredibly lethal-looking weapon, like a large set of spiked pliers. They wouldn’t have brought those in if they had no need for them.

  “Winx Taya Rowan,” Esteban began.

  “Why does everyone keep reciting that as if I don’t know my name?”

  He ignored this.

  “For the murders of Robin Hoggs, Arn Dunning, Matt Gretch, Manny Ellis, and Bo Erkett… by the powers of Edina the Queen, myself and the Assessors of the Order sentence you to ten years on Earth for cleansing. You will not be allowed back into your homeland until your probation is over.”

  “Cleansing?”

  “You will have your wings removed, undergo vigorous combat training, and then be released from our kingdom to eradicate the presence of savages from mankind.”

  Winx’s eyes widened as her sentence was read to her. Even knowing she was about to lose the most precious part of her identity, she could not help but question the second part of her punishment. “You want me to kill? For…killing?”

  “Thus is your penance. Yet, all things in order.” He reached for the weapon.

  Before Winx could fight, she was lifted from the floor by the two guards. She screamed in horror as she was placed against the wall, her head held by a strong hand so that her forehead was pressed against it.

  “Wait! You can’t be serious! This is dismemberment! The Order can’t approve of this!”

  Each of her legs were stiffly blocked by a hard thigh, and she had no chance. No chance at all.

  Esteban lifted the heavy weapon, opened it wide, and set the spikes against the root of the first wing. Though the wing was already red, thick coats of crimson blood sprayed them as he clipped it at the bone. The crunching of bone and flesh being ripped off were only accented by Winx’s heart stopping shrieks and Esteban’s grunting as he tore the appendages away. Tendons and strings of flesh resisted as Esteban tugged and pulled at Winx’s body part.

  It took nearly five minutes to completely sever the first wing. The second wing received the same treatment. The pain reverberated throughout Winx’s spine.

  Once both of her wings were removed, the guards let Winx fall to the floor so that they could take her long wings out of the cell. Esteban took a rag, wet it with a smoking liquid, and placed it against the first wound to her back. Too weak to do much, Winx still managed to shudder and hiss in pain. The second wound was doused with the acid, and after Esteban stepped back, Winx had two cauterized nubs where her beautiful red wings once were.

  “Tomorrow, you have the honor of your first day of boot camp.” Esteban sounded out of breath. He wiped his hands and face with a new hand towel, ignoring the splotches of blood spattering his once domineering suit. “I trust you will not disappoint the Order or the Queendom again. Sleep tight, Miss Rowan.”

  The bars were once again closed. The footsteps echoed against the walls, as did Winx’s breathy, hoarse sobs. She lay in a huddle, soaked in her own blood with her dreadlocks covering her face, determined to will the pain away.

  But it would never go away. A daevor’s wings never grow back.

  CHAPTER 1

  Two years later…

  “WHOA!” KEATON SILVER JUMPED OUT of the way of a speeding car just in the time to avoid what could have been a most awful accident. The driver’s horn blared as they blazed away, and a middle finger jabbed in his direction.

  “By the spirits. That was scary.” He held a hand to his heart and waved the other at the retreating vehicle. “I’m all right!” he called to them.

  They were already gone.

  No matter. Keaton continued on his way, this time keeping an eye out for cars. Apparently the city was filled to the brim with folk who didn’t quite know how to operate those things.

  Where he was from, there weren’t many cars to worry about, so nighttime in a new city was dangerous and exhilarating. Breathing out his unexpected rush of excitement, Keaton continued across the road until he was immersed in the city proper. Lights and sounds reached for him with displays he had never seen before. Buildings towered over him. There were no trees, much to his dismay, and the only grass to be seen was all manicured and managed.

  Keaton far more preferred the country and woods of his kind, but he had to go to the metropolis in California. They said it was where his salvation lied. Looking back down at his hand, where the directions were written, he attempted to keep focus as he trundled along.

  So many sights. And smells. The city was too big for comfort. Twice, Keaton almost got mowed down by a car. And thrice he was almost mowed down by simple passersby, who were in far too much of a hurry for it to be nighttime. Yet his manners stayed in place. He had seen enough of trouble to know that he did not want any, especially from those who this territory belonged to. So whenever he found himself having to dive into a side building or a patch of lawn to avoid a group of wildly animated strangers, he did so with a cheerful laugh and wave.

  It got him a lot of attention. People in those parts were not used to politeness.

  It took momentum to keep going without gawking at every new thing. It proved to be extra difficult, as he was, by nature, an incredibly curious animal. The winding roads and sidewalks drew him deeper into the city until the lights and noise began to dim and the buildings shrank to adjustable size. Soon he passed through a neighborhood of apartments and business complexes.

  Keaton had never been there before, but he had been given incredibly accurate directions from someone who had. With the help of a map in his pocket and the writing on his palm, he was able to navigate without too much difficulty. And before long he found his destination.

  Shifting the backpack on his shoulders and straightening his jacket, Keaton looked across the street to the place he was looking for.

  “Skinned,” according to the review in the current events guide brochure, “is a high caliber Gentlemen’s club, catering to the darker exotic lifestyle of S&M and BDSM play. Meet the ladies: creatures banned from the underworld of sex and spice for their naughty behavior! We’ve got whips! We’ve got chains! We’ve got everything you’re too afraid to admit you like. Come one, come all, for forbidden delights!”

  The painted black establishment was enhanced with a huge neon sign, blinking the word “Skinned” in red, blue, and purple. Alongside it was a cutout of a sexy lingerie set surrounded by the tail of a whip.

  Keaton didn’t know much of anything about strip clubs. Some of the women of his village had, on occasion, danced and bared all for entertainment, but Keaton wasn’t even sure what BDSM or S&M stood for. But his guess would be that it had t
o be something mischievous.

  Unnerving still was the fact that going into the club wasn’t a pastime Keaton would have chosen for himself on his first day in the city.

  He was there to find someone—a demon who could help him.

  Keaton was walking through the doors before he had quite made up his mind about the place. He was greeted by a beefy man with a name badge that said, “Hi, I’m Tim.”

  “Welcome to Skinned,” Tim said. “ID, please.”

  Keaton ruffled through his pants pocket. He turned out a few things of no interest before finding the card that his cousin had helped him obtain at the human department of motor vehicle transportation headquarters.

  After reviewing the identification, Tim handed it back to him. Keaton retrieved it with a salute and moved on. There were framed pictures of the dancers in the red-lit corridor, as well as clippings of magazine articles. Apparently Skinned was the sweetheart of the stripping scene.

  Keaton tried to pick out which of the girls might be the demon, but it was hard to tell. The way they were dressed, it could have been any of them.

  But then one article caught his eye:

  LEATHER CLAD BUXOM BEAUTIES BARE BIG BREASTS FOR BENEFIT

  Strip clubs have become an endangered species in many parts of rural America during the last decade. SKINNED is one little joint that is keeping the lifestyle alive and well, determined to entertain the bored youth of the So-Cal area. Amid heated political debates of every caliber, the ladies at skinned stay positive and doting to their local fans, and have even recently taken to organizing their community for the greater good. From showcasing specials and accepting donations for Planned Parenthood to giving discounts for those who bring in canned goods for a food drive, SKINNED is in the spotlight not only for their star player’s big assets but their big hearts as well.

  Keaton smiled a bit as he read the article, then walked the rest of the way into the foyer. A cash desk along with another bouncer was awaiting him.

  “Hello, sir.” The lady behind the counter was quite beautiful, and quite naked. She had long blond hair that curled around her exposed breasts and a painted face that enhanced what would have been pale features. “Welcomed to Skinned. Like what you see?”