| 1 | Ranealya smelled death. It called to her from the body of an old man lying in the road ahead, over-powering the stench of unwashed bodies that clung to most humans. She approached it with caution and stared into his dull blue eyes. Freshly dead. The corpse remained in pristine condition otherwise, signaling she was the first person to stumble across it.
Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadnt eaten in days, but she refused to feast on the bounty before her. Let the other beasts have him. She refused to sink to their level, despite her current four-legged disguise. There were far more civilized ways to scavenge. |
| 2 | Youll never find a knot you cant unravel.
The soothsayers words mocked Azurha more loudly than usual tonight. She strained against the hemp ropes that bound her wrists and ankles to the thick wooden posts, reviving new trickles of blood down her copper brown arms.
She whispered a string of curses, taking care to speak softly so she wouldnt wake her master and his friends. First, she cursed the Deizians, whose ships appeared in the sky centuries ago and used their magical technology to form the Empire. Then, she cursed the Elymanians like her master, who shook off their yoke of slavery and saddled it on her people, the Alpirions, two generations before. And finally, she cursed her master for subjecting her to this treatment. If she ever got free, shed show him the meaning of torture. |
| 4 | Bloody hell. Analise Warrington cringed. Would God strike her down for blaspheming in churcheven if it was in thought only?
Ignoring the collective gasp of the congregants over the initial announcement, the vicar, Mr. Anderson, continued speaking in a voice that was at once calming and strong. "It is the intention of His Grace's family that due to the Cold Bath Field Riots and the persisting tension and unrest within London, to transport His Grace to Staverton Park where the funeral will be held one week from tomorrow." |
| 5 | Majestic oaks, fields of tall corn and rambling farm houses flew past as Max Holt drove his black classic Mustang convertible down an unfamiliar rural road. Frustrated with his job, aggravated at the way his business meeting had gone, Max had decided a drive was what he needed to clear his head. He turned his Bob Seger CD up loud and hit the gas.
Distracted by his thoughts, Max almost missed the For Sale sign. He turned up the drive as if an invisible force were pulling him forward. His pulse quickened as the once-grand three-story Victorian home came into view. |
| 6 | Sheri knew better than to open her door without checking the peephole first, but common sense faded, crowded out by todays bitchiness. Two tiny babies and very little sleep did that to even the mildest-tempered person. The doorbell pealed again, followed by an impatient knock.
She wrenched the door open, hoping her effort screamed attitude. Charlie, for heavens sake, Im trying to rest.... The tanned, good-looking man leaning against the doorjamb wasnt Charlie. This male was well over six feet, and looked to be pure trouble. |
| 7 | Vivid dreams of sinking ships still played in his mind, but hed slept all he would this night. The rumbling of falling stones had woken him from fitful slumber. He rolled in time to see the wall of his home fall onto the pile of moss that served as his bed.
Yngvi exited the remains of his shelter and walked to the crumbled side. Ruined. If he did not repair the damage, tonight he would sleep exposed. Though months remained before the icy winter winds began, the thought of laying prone against the rocks, with nothing between him and the sky, sent shivers of unease through his belly.
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| 9 | William Battencliffe wagers five thousand pounds that Miss Julia St. Clair will become the next Countess of Clivesden.
Unable to believe his eyes, Benedict read the lines in White's infamous betting book again. His fingers constricted about the quill just shy of crushing it. At the moment, he could no longer recall what he'd been about to set down in the book itself. Some idiocy, no doubt. Hardly worth the bother now. |
| 10 | The stitch in Laras right side stabbed like a shiv. Fear propelled her and she kept runningno mean feat in her over-the-knee Christian Louboutins with the four-inch heels. Damn you, Brannigan. As if any of this was the sexy fed's fault. She knew she only had herself to blame.
Keep running, keep running. The flash drive shed hidden inside her bra jabbed her breasts like an icicle as Lara heaved in a gulp of frigid air. Her lungs burned, despite the cleansing snow falling over the deserted factory district that concealed the safe house. The breath shivered through her. Bracing. But nowhere near as delicious as the undiluted blast of pure, sizzling sensation that slammed her whenever Brannigan trained his cool gray eyes on her. |
| 11 | Seth didnt know which was worse. Spending eternity in hell or working his way out of damnation by becoming a murderer. Okay, in his defense, he wasnt technically a murderer, at least in the terms mortals used. He had, however, been responsible for the termination of more lives than he could countand all in the name of finding redemption. And no, the irony wasnt lost on him, but he didnt have time to contemplate his penance at the moment. He was on the clock.
Franklin Michaels jogged around the bend. Each step brought him closer to Sethto death. The park was practically deserted, and Seth was grateful. Not because he feared his target might see himterminations were easier if Seth didnt think of his victims by namebut because this assignment necessitated solitude.
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| 12 | Id been on my share of boring stakeouts during my career but watching toenail polish dry would have been a titillating distraction right about now. For the past five hours, Id done nothing but sit on my nearly frozen ass while my target worked Sudoku puzzlesand here I thought my life was pathetic. The only thing keeping me from slipping into a coma of boredom were the violent shivers wracking my body. God, everything from my brain down was numb. Served me right for volunteering to take point on the surveillance while the FBI gear-greasing began. I, Samantha Martin, am a complete idiot.
I closed my eyes and rubbed my hands up and down my arms. God, Id kill for another cup of coffee. Or maybe a shot of antifreeze.
Well, my partner said, sitting his binoculars on his lap, relief should be here at midnight, which means we have about two more minutes to listen to each others teeth chatter. |
| 13 | Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Cowboy piloting Warthog FT537. Have lost power. Am going down. Emergency locating beacons active. Horizon lost. Preparing to eject. Request evacuation; over.
Kelly stared into the Afghan darkness seeking clean air, breathing borrowed time. I have to go, please radio. Speak.
Heavy fingers squeezed the exit handle. And froze with a radio crackle, FT537 this is Widow onboard Sentry. We have you on screen. Your glide path is clean. Ride it down Cowboy. Ill count you out.
Kellys heart lifted. She recycled the engines and silently mouthed, You can do this. No response. She punched the canopy and felt her energy crash. Smouldering despair thoughtlessly kidnapped her speech, Widow, Im frightened. |
| 15 | Earthshine
0620 hours, Day 252, 2079, Lunar City, Moon
K.C. watched the beautiful blue planet called Earth drop below the horizon. Although the same sequence had been shown on the hotel wall screen at 0600 daily for the whole four months, two weeks, and two days she had been in Lunar City, she couldnt ignore it. Just like she couldnt ignore the sound of her new heart. The strong steady rhythm was a miracle. An extraordinary, extravagant, wondrous miracle.
Incredibly, at the age of thirty-five she had a second chance. Instead of sitting, dancing. Instead of stillness, liveliness. Instead of loneliness, a companion? Laughter gurgled. Blinking quickly she banished the moisture before tears formed. She had choices now. But could she change? |
| 16 | Life should not be allowed to bitch-slap you in the middle of summer -- it is too hot, too muggy, too stultifying to prepare for any kind of blow. Unfortunately, I've yet to figure how to bend it to my will, so there I was, living it, hoping for an easy day at work.
It was August in Los Angeles; the air hung heavy with heat and smog, and I was grateful for the state-of-the-art air conditioner in my new office. Mid-snort from the latest Daily Show episode, the door jangled open, exposing a female profile and letting in the thick outdoor air. A quick jab to the spacebar paused the ep and I stood to greet who I hoped was a seriously lost woman. |
| 17 | Birds. She could hear birds, dammit! Allis head hurt. Actually, everything hurt. She reached to pull the blanket over her head to hide away from the intrusive light and sounds of morning. Her hand searched the bed beside her. No blanket. Only leaves. Leaves?
What the hell? She sat up with a start, squinting. Pain shafted through her eyes and into the back of her skull, a heavy throbbing drilling into her brain. She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to physically push the pain away. Pushing her long, scarlet hair back from her eyes, Alli climbed shakily to her feet and turned around. Trees. They were everywhere. It looked like a glade. Do we even have glades in Central Park? |
| 18 | No longer needed. Gabriel gazed down at the sleepless city below from his seat on the crown ledge of the US Bank Tower, unseeing. Thousands of years of loyal service, dealing justice and fighting for freedom, never losing sight of why he was doing what he did. And just like that, gone. The war was over, transferred from his world to this planet, transferred to the humans. His military services were no longer wanted. But the humans were unprepared for what was coming.
Mortals believed evil was a state of mind, a thing someone did. They did not understand that evil was alive. It inundated the soul, was the individual. It could be a choice, but most of the time they were simply born that way. Or created that way. Gabriel sighed and stared down at the late night traffic far below. There was no use in thinking about such things, it would only cause him loss of sleep. The situation on Earth was worsening, it had not reached critical point yet, but it was close. So many years hunting demons. Chasing shades and anything else they thought to throw at them. He narrowed his gaze and stared at the humans scurrying about like ants. So involved in their own lives, thinking themselves so superior, invincible even. His massive wings ruffled and flexed the feathers, reacting to his annoyance, settling back into place with a calm thought. If only they knew. |
| 19 | Justin Fancher was furious. For the third day in a row, he had ridden into town to meet the woman. And still she had failed to show.
He shoved his way into the Big Buffalo Saloon, determined to claim a shot or two of something stiff for his wasted effort. Ignoring the wary stares from people he'd known all his life, he stomped over to a shadowed corner and slumped into a chair, only removing his hat when he was satisfied that he could see the room better than the occupants could see him. |
| 20 | The dim purple light above the emergency exit cast a faint glow over the alley and the pair coupling against the brick wall. Barely twenty feet away, hunkered down in the shadows, a darker shape watched, thinking about the merits of killing them both, or waiting for the girl to be alone
The bar catered to the darker element- mostly men- who came to drink, drug, and fornicate. Dangerous men. Men who committed violent crime as easily as breathing. Few women frequented this establishment; most of the females present worked there as waitresses with extras- for a price- for the men with sex on their minds. |
| 21 | No doubt about it, she was going to have to kill Marissa Keeley. The spawn from hell teenage daughter of the Senator from the great state of Wisconsin had come to the boutique where Mary Katherine OConnell worked--Papillons of Georgetown--tried on every size four outfit in the store and then bought nothing. Nada, zilch, bupkus. Not a blessed thing. Once the spoiled brat had left, it had been Mary Katherines responsibility to return the outfits to the racks which meant she was going to be late for her Conflict Resolution class. Again!
Once done, she snatched her backpack and ran out the door. Noting the slow-moving traffic, she dashed unto 35th Street. Headlights sped toward her from the wrong side of the road. She froze. A hard, masculine body slammed into her. They hit the ground with a sickening crunch. The acrid smell of asphalt invaded her nose. Dimly, she registered screeching tires and darkened taillights disappearing in the distance. |
| 22 | Max didn't need the harsh thunder of the automatic-weapons fire that chased the boat through the storm to tell him they might not get out of this alive. The howling wind and bellowing sea had already clued him in. Standing at the helm of the CIA's forty-foot Bayliner, Bold Venture, he tightened his grip on the wheel and braced himself.
The boat slammed into a wall of steel-gray water. Shuddering with the force of the impact, Bold Venture bucked like a rogue mare as she surged up the swell. Then, with the aftershocks still echoing through her hull, she plunged down the backside and plowed into another wave. |
| 23 | He stood within the shadows of the forest and followed Evelyn Taylor's movement in the house by the order in which she turned out the lights. Hurry up lady and go to sleep.
The evening sky with its billion points of light divvied enough radiance for him to see a cloud of warm air, combined with smoke from his Kool, billow from his nostrils. Damn. It was cold. A chill started with a rapid head shake and shimmied its way past his shoulders then left his body by way of his fingertips. He took a final draw off his cigarette before rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. After the cherry dropped off, he pushed the brown filter into his pocket and scuffed the ashes in the snow. |
| 24 | Detective Nick Hunter rubbed the Razor on his leg in the manner Aladdin rubbed his lamp. Please this time be one of those bullshit messages the guys at the station send back and forth to one another.
The phone signaled its impatience. He ignored it, choosing instead to continue down the path of wishful thinking. Let it be a woman with tits the size of basketballs or one able to get the tassels on her nipples twirling in opposite directions. Big tits. Tassels. A picture of a woman doing something obscene. Hell, a man with tits doing something obscene would beat the last message he received. |
| 25 | It's not the end of the world.
The words confused Seffy for a moment, but were lost in a sudden whirl of explosive noise and flashes, not unlike bad disco lights and smoke machines from an 80s nightclub. She felt a tremendous force pulling on her, hurtling her backward, then a terrifying weightlessness which could only end badly. Her head swam as she sailed through the atmosphere. Suddenly the velocity of her descent increased. She threw out her hands to break her fall as the ground whooshed up to meet her. Crunching her eyes closed, she let out a keening cuss word and braced for a long future of chiropractic visits.
WHUMP! Seffy landed hard and felt the breath rush from her lungs. The pain made her eyes water. Too winded to groan, she coiled herself up in a ball and gulped for air. Did the salon explode? There had been that fraying tanning bed cord and spilled diet Rockstar at Verity's feet. |
| 26 | Sean Raleigh threw his shoe at the idiot womans retreating head. When she popped back into his bedroom to protest, he chucked the other shoe at her. Like the first, the second shoe crashed against the wall where her head had been and thunked onto the floor. If Jake didnt stop letting these women in the house, he might consider some light homicide. Just to get started.
Jake! Sean rumbled. When silence greeted him, he yelled again. Still nothing. He stretched out on his bed and groped around the top of his desk. If his roommate wouldnt answer his yells, he would try the phone. |
| 27 | The barely-clothed giant grunted in protestation as the slave master wheeled him into the Avantine square, shackled to the back of the cart like a prize stallion. Cydda stood alone in the midst of the rancid crowd of posturing slave owners, but at the sight of the foreigner, silence rippled around her. A short, fat man stood on the edge of the cart with precarious balance and shouted across the square.
Next is the famed barbarian, captured by the hand of Marc Antony himself. Brought to you, from the distant shores of the North, he can outwork ten Egyptian slaves. He can pull the weight of a donkey, and lift the imperial litter single-handedly. Cydda had heard the whispered fears of these northern savages from her mother since she came of age. They cut out men's entrails at the slightest whim to tell the future. The men have a special fondness for young virgins, and would as soon cut off your head as look at you, my little girl. |
| 28 | The great Underwater City faded in a haze of green. Kais long dragon tail propelled him toward another degrading assignment, this one perhaps the most humiliating yet. He glanced over his shoulder at the spired and turreted majesty that held the seat of the crumbling republic. More than half the empires colonies had been lost to revolt. The newly-elected Council Chair was sending Kai, a top general in the Councils private guard, simpering on a political mission to regain control over a single, measly, mere-ruled island.
Schools of fish scattered as the reptile cut through the water. At least the creatures of the sea knew their place. The currents soothed Kais foul mood. As always during long journeys by sea, he imagined music. First Chopin, then Vivaldi, he played through the most famous dragon composers before allowing that human hack Mozart to enter his mental concert. |
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