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Rowena Portch
Aeon Enterprises
Category:
Fantasy
Publisher: Aeon Enterprises, Inc.
ISBN-10: 061570381X
Pages: 298
Copyright: March 10, 2010
ISBN-13: 9780615703817
Price: $3.99 (eBook)
A blind healer, a powerful Spirian leader, and a horde of Shadows all make for an adventurous romance that leaves you cheering for more.
On the Olympic Peninsula in Washington, a spiritual war brews among the Spirian race. During one of the many conflicts, clan leader Khalen was forced to kill his mate after she was seduced by the Shadows. Now, he vows to banish them from his territory forever, but like most adversaries, if you kill one, many take its place.
His soul lingers in a dark turmoil of mistrust and vengeance until a most unexpected female enters his life. Skye's innocent nature awakens a protective drive in Khalen that both surprises and terrifies him. Despite his attempts to keep her safe, her unique gifts have attracted the Shadows attention. Can he protect her or will the Shadows claim another life and take what is left of his hollow soul?
Excerpt
Chapter 1
A world of duality has many names: yin and yang, good and evil,
light and dark. When one overshadows the other, a paradigm
shift occurs to restore balance; such is the law of all life.
~ S k y e ~
Some people discover their life’s purpose early
on in life. I discovered mine when I thought my life
was over.
I awoke to the constant beeps of monitors and
the smell of alcohol and bleach. The nightmares were
becoming more real and demented. In my previous
dreams, I was merely an observer. This one was different.
I was involved, but as a man, not a woman. Who was I in
this dream? In this shadowy realm, I peered into a mirror,
but the man who stared back at me was unfamiliar. One
thing for sure—I felt his pain as if it were my own.
Prior to my relentless nightmares, the last thing I
remembered was Sam’s car spinning out of control and
my head slamming into a hard, sharp object.
Sam and I were technical writers for a software firm
in Seattle. We were on our way back from the annual
company conference held at Safeco field. After the
event coordinators got through with it, the baseball field
resembled a rock star stage gone technical. Big screen
projectors lined the outfield. The turf was covered in
cloth and a wooden podium towered out of an impressive
stage made to look like marble.
Sam was trying to guess what the theme would be for
next year when his cell phone rang. He never got a chance
to answer it. A car had swerved into our lane, its tail lights
flashed brightly. Sam slammed on his brakes, the rear end
of the car slid sideways slamming into a truck. That’s when
I hit my head. I didn’t remember anything after that.
There was a good-sized bump on my scalp and my
head felt like it was stuck in a vice. A stabbing pain bit
through my right leg. I reached for it and tried to sit up.
The room spun around me. My head felt heavy and thick.
Though I was mostly blind, I saw, in great clarity, green
ooze seeping through the walls.
Someone entered my room. Given the weight of the
sound, the person couldn’t weigh more than 90 pounds—
hardly a threat. Three years ago, I began feeling a bit
paranoid as if people were watching me. It was unjustified,
but I kept my distance from others except for Sam. For
some reason, he seemed safe—perhaps because he was
gay and had some oddities to his character that made
mine pale in comparison.
“You’re awake,” she said. I could only see her shape
and the faded hue of her smock. She was a tiny bit of
goods, standing at about 5 foot 2 inches tall.
“Yeah,” I replied, so groggy that my voice hardly
sounded like my own. “Where am I?” My throat was dry
and raw.
She fumbled with the IV tubes and pressed a button
on my monitor. “Harborview Medical Center.” Her tiny
hand pressed against my forehead. Her skin felt cool
against mine. “You’re a bit warm. How do you feel?”
I winced from the pain engulfing my leg. “Like I’ve
been recruited for a horror movie,” I said.
She laughed in response. “Would you like something
for the pain?”
I shook my head. Drugs were definitely on my “things
to avoid” list, since I witnessed their effects on my late
husband, Derrick. “Are you aware that green ooze is
seeping out of the walls?”
She was silent for a second then chuckled. “You’ve
been on morphine for three days. It can make you see
things.”
Yeah, I thought. It spawned some rather convincing
dreams as well. It proved my theory that drugs were evil.
The girl was still and silent for a moment as if she
were studying me. “Your friend said that you’re blind.”
I smiled, grateful to know that Sam was alive and well
enough to tell people about me. “I am,” I said. “Mostly,
anyway.”
Her silence and posture indicated that she wanted to
ask more but was not comfortable doing so. I was grateful.
My blindness was not something I enjoyed talking about,
especially to strangers.
“I’m Katie,” she said. A pleasant aroma of lilac
permeated the air around her as she moved.
I knew that she already knew more about me than
I would have voluntarily revealed, but I answered her
sweet introduction as she may have expected. “I’m Skye.”
My head pounded and felt far too heavy for my neck to
support. “How’s Sam?”
I listened to her babble on about his animated
personality. He had suffered a concussion and a broken
tibia. His spleen was also enlarged, so they were keeping
him for observation.
“There was also a dog in the car,” I said. “Maiyun, my
service dog. Is she…”
Katie remained silent and my chest constricted
around my heart.
“I didn’t hear about a dog,” she said, probably noticing
the tears that welled in my eyes.
She placed her hand on my arm, offering reassurance.
“I’ll ask the paramedics who brought you in. Perhaps they
know what happened to her.”
I forced a smile. “I’d appreciate that.” In my heart, I
knew that Maiyun was okay. She and I had a bond that I
never had with my other service dogs. I had trained her
myself with the gracious help from my retired dog, Nika.
She passed away when Maiyun was eight months old.
Somehow, Maiyun knew her job was important and she
took it seriously.
“Tell me about her,” said Katie as she removed the
items that cluttered my bed tray.
The smell of food wafted in from the hallway; it had
to be mealtime. The smell of sirloin steak and rich gravy
caused my mouth to water with anticipation. My stomach
growled with eager anticipation.
Maiyun’s gray masked face entered my thoughts and I
began to smile. “She’ll be two this year,” I said.
“Wow, she’s young.”
I smiled and nodded. “Yeah.”
“Is she a Lab?” asked Katie.
I shook my head. “No, she is three-quarter Malamute,
and one-quarter Siberian Husky.”
Katie was quiet for a moment. “I thought those dogs
were used to pull sleds?”
“They are,” I said. “Typically. She was a gift from a
friend.”
“She must be very special,” said Katie. “I’ll try to find
her for you.”
A young man entered the room with a tray of food.
It didn’t smell like sirloin steak. Katie lifted the lids and
identified the contents. “Beef broth, two saltine crackers,
cherry Jell-O, and a hot cup of tea.”
My stomach growled again, this time in protest. “Am
I on a diet?”
Katie shook her head. “Unfortunately, we need to
start you with simple foods to give your system time to
adjust. You haven’t eaten anything for three days.”
“Good,” I said. “Maybe I lost a pound or two.”
“Doesn’t look like you really need to,” she said sweetly.
My expression reflected the doubt I felt in her words.
When I was 37, I stood at 5 foot 7 and weighed 138 pounds.
Now, I’m 45, one inch shorter, and 55 pounds heavier.
Most people didn’t notice the added years and weight,
but I did.
Katie finished arranging the food, and then pushed
the tray toward me. “Bon appétit,” she said.
“I don’t suppose there is any chance of me getting
a one-pump mocha with cinnamon powder and whole
milk?” I asked.
She laughed. “Not tonight.” She checked the
equipment one last time before leaving. “I’ll see you
tomorrow, Skye.”
“Bye, Katie. Thanks for the company.”
The room was silent again, filled only with the
rhythmic beeping of the monitors, some conversation in
the next room, and a TV show from down the hall. The
bed beside me was empty.
I took my time enjoying the food, allowing each flavor
and texture to dance on my tongue along with the steak
and veggies I conjured with my imagination. The meal
was sparse, but satisfying.
A tall, stocky man entered the room, followed by a
dark, younger man. Without full-spectrum light, I could
not see their faces.
“Good evening, Miss Taylor. I’m Doctor Jigante and
this is Doctor Mel. How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been run over by a truck.”
He chuckled.
The tall one lifted my chart from the end of my bed
and flipped through the pages. “Well, your last pain shot
was eight hours ago. You can have another.”
“No thank you,” I said. “The green ooze coming
through the walls is a strong deterrent.”
“Yes,” he mused. “Morphine can have that effect. I
can give you something else, if you prefer?”
I shook my head. “No, my imagination needs no
assistance. It’s scary enough the way it is, thank you.”
He put the chart down then proceeded to shine a
bright light into my eyes. “Your chart indicates that you’re
blind.”
I blinked a few times, trying to clear the spots from
my limited field of vision. “Well, I am now.”
“Is your blindness due to an injury?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No. I have Retinitis Pigmentosa.”
“When were you diagnosed?”
“When I was 20. The doctor claimed I would be
completely blind by the time was 30.”
“And are you?” he asked.
“Am I 30, no. Am I blind—partially. I see shapes and
shadows for the most part. If the light is bright enough, I
can see detail.”
“Hmm.” His reply dripped with doubt.
I received that response a lot. The doctor at the
University of Washington, locally known as the U-Dub,
had the nerve to tell me my eyes could not see anything.
It didn’t matter that I could tell him how many fingers he
held up. He attributed it to some uncanny ability to use
other senses. Hogwash.
Dr. Jigante lifted the covers off my right leg. It looked
as large as a tree trunk and felt just as heavy. His touch on
my skin felt cold and empty. No compassion or empathy
at all, strictly business.
He rambled off some instructions to Dr. Mel that
sounded like another language. Dr. Mel left quickly.
“Am I going to live?” I asked jokingly, trying to lighten
his dark mood.
“You have an infection,” he said. “Dr. Mel has left to
get you antibiotics.”
What I needed was a good acupuncturist and some
herbs. Fat chance I’d find them here, though.
Dr. Mel returned with a syringe and small bottles. He
filled the syringe, and then injected its contents into my
IV tube.
Dr. Jigante finished changing my dressing, and then
re-covered my leg. “You suffered a minor concussion and
multiple fractures to your femur, Miss Taylor. We had to
install a titanium rod to hold your bone together. You also
tore the PCL in your right knee.”
I pursed my lips. “Well, that doesn’t sound too bad,” I
said jokingly. “When can I go home?”
He scribbled something on my chart. “When your
blood count is normal and you are able to get around.”
“How soon can I try?”
He made a gruff sound that reminded me of an old
man in pain. “Maybe tomorrow.” He put my chart back
and touched my foot. “I’ll see you then.”
The two men talked among themselves as they left
the room. Again, it seemed to be in a different language.
I couldn’t read the clock on the wall, but given the
darkening light, I gauged it to be around seven or eight in
the evening. I needed rest, but I wasn’t the least bit tired,
nor was I too eager to have another nightmare.
I sighed and tried to move my tree trunk of a leg.
Pain ripped through me like a blazing hot knife, tearing
through my flesh, followed by a muscle cramp from hell.
I must have cried out loud because two nurses ran into
my room. I didn’t have the capacity to tell them I was all
right. The pain gripped me and restricted my breath.
Sweat dripped down my forehead. The shorter nurse
pried up my eyelids and stared into my eyes, while the
taller one grabbed my chart. “Why has she gone so long
without pain meds?”
I shook my head.
The short nurse patted my arm. “It will help, honey.”
She nodded to the taller nurse, who dashed out of the
room.
“No pain meds,” I strained to say. “Please?” Another
pain gripped my leg. I could feel the spasms run up and
down my thigh. I tried to stifle my groan, but it escaped
my throat.
The taller nurse returned and confidently injected my
IV with morphine.
The familiar heavy fog engulfed my brain and eased
away the pain.
The shorter nurse patted my hand. “There now,
better?”
I wanted to rip the IV out of my arm and wrap the
cord around her neck, but my reprieve from the intense
pain called for gratitude instead. “Yes, thank you.”
If I was ever going to escape the onslaught of drugs, I
needed to control the pain. My limbs began to feel heavy
and my eyes could no longer distinguish between illusion
and reality.
The nightmare returned.
A redheaded woman stared at me with wide green
eyes. Her body was tall and sleek. Copper hair fell
in disarray about her shoulders. The bedroom smelled of
sex and sweat where the man and woman laid in bed. The
man glanced up at me, a devious smile stretched over his
perfect teeth.
My hands reached out but they were not my own.
They were the hands of a man. Thoughts swam through
my head like hordes of sharks in a feeding frenzy. Some
of the thoughts were the woman’s, others belonged to the
man she laid with, few were my own. Their union was
complete and my body felt hollow. I couldn’t breathe
without pain.
The woman approached me. I knew her—intimately.
She raised her fist and produced a knife. I turned to escape
and felt the sharp steel pierce my flesh and cut through
my ribs. When I faced her, I saw no remorse. Her lover
laughed. His strong, chiseled face was evenly tanned and
flawlessly groomed.
The woman fell at my feet, her life suddenly and
inexplicably spent. Mine, too, felt spent, though I
continued to breathe. My heart pumped blood through
my veins, but it was void of life and void of love. I looked
in the mirror across the room. Hazel eyes shone back at
me. The face in the reflection was eerily similar to that
of the woman’s lover, though the eyes were more golden
than green. Like the hands, the reflection staring back at
me was not my own.
From the bed, the woman’s lover reached out to me.
My world turned black.
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