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Category: Dark Fantasy
Description: Ryan's past isn't just haunting her. It's trying to kill her. Ryan McCarthy fled Applied Paranormal Theory and Tactics, her father and her lover six years ago, desperate to build life away from the weird science and supernatural experiments of her childhood. But everything she hoped To escape comes back with a vengeance when she's kidnapped and tortured by a possessed APTT employee out for revenge on the man responsible for his possession: Ryan's father. Now, reunited with the lover she abandoned, Ryan is forced back into a world of danger and darkness she no longer understands, pursued by enemies with powers she can't fathom. But Ryan's not entirely powerless herself. She'll have to use every trick she knows - as well as the mystic gift she hates -to stay ahead of those enemies. And that will be easier said than done. Excerpt: The blade was so sharp I didn't feel it cut into my skin at first. A breath later, the pain kicked in like a line of fire down my spine, warm blood sliding in its wake. I hissed through my teeth and pulled against the ropes binding me to no avail. "We don't have to do this, Ryan," Jarrett told me, his breath hot against the curve of my neck. "Just tell me where Van is and I'll let you go." I said nothing. Mostly because I didn't know where Van was -- hadn't even seen him for six years -- but partly because I just didn't want to give the bastard the satisfaction of my surrender. He sighed and moved round to stand in front of me, his eyes roving over my bare breasts. "You're going to force me to do a lot of damage." He almost sounded regretful. I spat in his face. He blinked, recoiling, then slapped me. Hard. The dark room spun, bright sparks flashing before my eyes. "Why are you protecting him, Ryan? Do you think he'd do the same for you?" Jarrett sneered. I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath, shuffling my feet on the cold stone floor. My arms were stretched up over my head, tied to a monstrous, medieval-looking light fixture that loomed over me like a wrought-iron vulture. As to Jarrett's question, yes, I did think Van would do the same for me. I thought Van would endure any kind of torture for my sake. But I wasn't holding my tongue because of that. Jarrett tried again, this time pressing the point of the knife to my throat. "Maybe you think I won't really hurt you," he mused, shaking his fair hair from his eyes. "Maybe you think I'm bluffing?" He pushed ever so slightly forward and the knife pricked my skin again. Another thin line of blood painted my pale flesh.
eBook Publisher: Eternal Press/Damnation Books LLC/Damnation Books, 2012 2012
eBookwise Release Date: June 2012

Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [217 KB]
Words: 43169
Reading time: 123-172 min.

Chapter One

The blade was so sharp I didn't feel it cut into my skin at first. A breath later, the pain kicked in like a line of fire down my spine, warm blood sliding in its wake. I hissed through my teeth and pulled against the ropes binding me to no avail.

"We don't have to do this, Ryan," Jarrett told me, his breath hot against the curve of my neck. "Just tell me where Van is and I'll let you go."

I said nothing. Mostly because I didn't know where Van was--hadn't even seen him for six years--but partly because I just didn't want to give the bastard the satisfaction of my surrender.

He sighed and moved round to stand in front of me, his eyes roving over my bare breasts. "You're going to force me to do a lot of damage." He almost sounded regretful.

I spat in his face. He blinked, recoiled, then slapped me. Hard. The dark room spun, bright sparks flashing before my eyes. "Why are you protecting him, Ryan? Do you think he'd do the same for you?" Jarrett sneered.

I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath, shuffling my feet on the cold stone floor. My arms were stretched over my head, tied to a monstrous, medieval-looking light fixture that loomed over me like a wrought-iron vulture.

As to Jarrett's question, yes, I did think Van would do the same for me. I thought Van would endure any kind of torture for my sake. But I wasn't holding my tongue because of that.

Jarrett tried again, this time pressing the point of the knife to my throat. "Maybe you think I won't really hurt you," he mused, shaking his fair hair from his eyes. "Maybe you think I'm bluffing?" He pushed ever so slightly forward and the knife pricked my skin again. Another thin line of blood painted my flesh.

"Maybe I don't know where Van is," I coughed. Silence is only golden when you're not being carved up by a psychopath.

He laughed. "Don't bullshit me. You two were joined at the hip--or would that be the crotch? You really want me to believe you haven't heard anything from him since you left APTT?" He drew the knife down my throat, between my breasts. A thin sheen of sweat pearled my skin now, a little bit of fear, a little bit of adrenaline.

Under other circumstances, I wouldn't have been afraid of Jarrett. He'd been a low-level lab rat last time I saw him--completely beneath my notice, frankly. But it's surprising how quickly you learn to respect a man when he has you strung up at knife point.

I twisted against the ropes binding my wrists, felt the light fixture sway slightly. A dull, burning ache threaded its way through my muscles. I'd been standing there, trussed up and naked, for almost an hour now. The back of my head throbbed where Jarrett hit me a few hours ago. I'd been coming out of work, oblivious until it was too late. Score one for him.

I'd woken like this in a room I presumed was a basement, given the damp and the dark. A single window above my head, tilted open to let in a dim shaft of orange light. A street lamp, I thought. Not that knowing where I was helped me any. I saw in Jarrett's wild eyes exactly how fucked I was if I didn't get myself out of here.

"I haven't seen Van for years," I told Jarrett. "Whatever he's done to piss you off, it's not--"

He swiped the knife across my left breast, eliciting my first cry of pain. "Shut up!" he snapped. Beads of perspiration dotted his brow. His blue eyes were narrow and hot. "I have to find him. You fucking tell me where he is! I know he's been with you!"

I stared down at the wound across my breast. Fuck. He was going to mutilate me if I didn't do something. Could I talk him down? Talk that fury out of him? "Jarrett," I tried carefully. "I haven't--"

He slashed at me again, across my stomach this time. I jerked back violently. The light fitting creaked ominously. "Unless your next words are to tell me where the bastard is, don't say anything," Jarrett warned, breathing harshly. "You have no idea how close to the edge you are, Ryan."

Wrong. I knew exactly how close we both were, I thought, assessing the mad cast to his features. Jesus. So, I couldn't talk him down.

The wound to my stomach was deeper than the shallow cuts he'd dealt to my back and breast. It stung like he'd poured acid over me, and I didn't doubt he'd carve me to pieces if I didn't escape.

He circled me, shark-like, waving the knife carelessly. "I know he's been to see you. Where else would he go? He's got nothing else now. I'll let you go if you tell me, Ryan. I don't want to hurt you." He stopped behind me, scoring a nail down the cut along my spine. I winced and bit my lip. "Do you think I'm enjoying this?" he whispered.

Actually I thought he was enjoying it very much. I entertained a brief, preposterous fantasy of yanking the heavy light fixture down on top of us both, then dismissed it. I wasn't strong enough for that, and I had no intention of crushing my own skull. I wasn't into pyrrhic victories.

Instead, I braced my feet against the floor, ignored the screaming agony in my arms, and tensed myself, waiting with gritted teeth for Jarrett to move again.

"Does my dad know you're looking for Van?" I asked.

I felt a rush of air behind me as he paced across the room. "It's your fucking father I want! I find Van, I find Fraser." Jarrett came back into view, too far from me. "I've seen Van coming out of your place, Ryan. Goddammit, just tell me where he is!"

His words jabbed at me. Impossible. I hadn't seen Van for six years, hadn't spoken to him in five. Jarrett was insane. "I don't know where he is!"

"Stop fucking lying!" Jarrett darted in close to me, grabbing a handful of my hair. I cried out as he yanked hard, pulling my head down. Suddenly the knife was pricking at me millimeters from my eye, and a shot of pure panic froze me. Any thought of escape fled my petrified brain. Blood rushed around my head and my body--the creature inside my body, so long suppressed--began working without me, instinctively exploring its options.

"I swear to God, I will cut out your eyes and eat them, Ryan." He spat in my face. "I'm sick of all of you, every last fucking one of you has done nothing but lie to me, betray me, use me, and I will make you sorry for it!"

His hand trembled. The knife slid closer to my pupil. I could feel the steel against my lashes when I blinked. The freezing panic began to morph into something else, something I hadn't felt for years.

All human beings have the fight-or-flight instinct, that primitive part of your brain that spurs you to action when the rest of your instincts have shut down in pure terror. I was fortunate, or unfortunate, depending on your point of view. For me, flight was a literal option.

I screamed as the change took me, my body shrinking in on itself like an implosion. I heard Jarrett swear, felt the knife cut at me. It sliced across my face just as a thick plume of feathers sprouted from my cheek, dampening the blow. Still fucking hurt though.

My bones snapped and shrank and grew lighter as my body morphed, feathers springing through my skin with the sensation of a million pins pushing through my veins. My arms grew shorter, falling free of the ropes, then wider, feathers fanning out where my fingers had been. My legs twisted and narrowed--that was always the worst part of it. Imagine being shoved through a cheese grater and thrown into boiling oil. That's a rough approximation of how much shape-changing hurts.

I remembered now why I'd stopped doing it.

But it was over in a matter of seconds. Before I could even give voice to my pain, the change was complete and I was flapping around the light fixture in the shape of a crow, cawing mockingly at Jarrett.

"You bitch!" he shrieked, ripping at his hair. "You fucking bitch!" He made a clumsy grab for me as I swooped low over his head, aiming for the window. As a human, I'd never have squeezed through, but it was about perfect for a bird.

"Ryan!" Jarrett obviously guessed my plan because he dove for the window to pull it closed.

Still feeling the prickle of the knife against my eye, I wheeled sharply, claws ready to scratch his eyes out. I hit his face hard, my wings battering his head, my claws tearing at his cheeks. He shrieked, waving his damn knife at me. The blade caught my wing, more by luck than design, and I cawed angrily, veering away from him.

Fuck this. I had to get out before he pulled out an air rifle or something. I rose above him, out of his reach. He looked up, grabbing for me again, and I emptied my bowels directly into his face before shooting for the window. I left him shouting in incoherent rage and scraping bird shit out of his eyes.