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THE FIREbrAND

The Blood Coven Series, 1

T.M. Smith

Copyright ? 2023

Sample Chapter

S eattle, WA, Present Day

Braelyn James pretended to eye a yellow-flowered sundress in the window of a First Avenue storefront. But really, she was scoping out her surroundings in the reflection.

A steady stream of cars rolled by, tires whirring on the pavement. Businesswomen in suits hurried to work. Tourists in shorts checked Google Maps for Pike Place Market. Friends chatted with their heads angled toward each other. The homeless clutched their signs for passersby. Everyone behaved as expected.

Nonetheless, she fought the urge to scratch at an imagined six-legged beastie skittering up her spine.

If a shadow crept along her bedroom wall at night, no worry. If lights flickered during a thunderstorm, no problem. If the stairs creaked in her dark house at midnight, no stress. But she believed in gut feelings.

With her gaze still on the window, Braelyn listened. Surrounding voices merged into a streetside chorus. Shoes tap-tap-tapped a busy rhythm on the sidewalk. Nothing was unusual. No one was following her.

Once she chalked the creepy vibes up to a simple case of an overactive imagination, she walked into her favorite crowded coffee shop. When she reached the front of the line, she smiled and nodded at the barista, not bothering to glance at the menu board to order. “I’ll have a twenty-ounce Frozen Monkey Mocha. Oh, two shots of espresso. No, can you make that three?”

As the barista slid the drink toward her, Braelyn’s cellphone rang. She answered while picking the coffee up and taking a long pull on the mocha. She half listened, prepared for a lengthy speech.

With the coffee in one hand and her phone in the other, she walked toward the exit and stopped, propping the cellphone between her shoulder and ear while juggling her cup and purse. Just then, a man reached around her to open the door, his arm high above her head. She turned to thank him, but he didn’t make eye contact. Braelyn sighed. Must be the sweats and T-shirt. Not the hottest look. For a trip to the doctor’s office on her day off, however, she had aimed for comfort. Goal achieved.

The tall blond, broad-shouldered stranger was fashion-mag, runway perfect. Once Braelyn walked through the door, she glanced behind, smiling, trying to snag his attention. His gaze was somewhere else. What did she care? Right now, she focused on school and her lame job. And, as of today again, recovery. Life afforded no time for romance or men.

“What did you say, Chief? I was distracted.” Braelyn returned to her conversation while the stranger stepped out the door to head on his way.

“I’m sending you to cover a story. We’ve got another demon kidnapping. That makes five in two months. And for God’s sake, stop calling me Chief.”

“Okay. Dad. Is that better? First, you promised me a vacation day. That means I don’t have to work. Second, I’m tired of demon kidnappings. My monsters all look the same. Red, horned, scaly. Can’t I get an alcoholic genie stuck in a gin bottle or a vampire with a blood phobia? How about a witch who’s allergic to broomsticks and has a sneezing fit every time she rides one?”

Braelyn’s mother had died in an auto accident when she was nine years old. Since then, father and daughter had struggled along, navigating the pitfalls of a relationship as best they could.

“Objections noted, Braelyn, but getting old. This story is important. The victim claims her demon has wings.”

“Wings! Stop the presses. I think you’re starting to buy this laughable crap yourself.” She lowered her voice when a gray-haired woman walking toward her on First Avenue frowned, obviously disturbed by Braelyn’s lack of cellphone etiquette.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t believe the hype. I just understand what sells papers.”

At twenty-five years old, Braelyn worked on and off for her father, owner of an online paranormal tabloid called Strange but True, while she took journalism classes at the University of Washington—when her health allowed. Her progress toward a bachelor’s degree was slow.

Now her candle burned at both ends. Again.

Braelyn stepped off the curb. A car horn honked, jarring her back to reality and the sidewalk.

“Lady, get off the phone. Watch where you’re goin’!” yelled a cabbie through an open window.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Braelyn muttered as she enjoyed another sip of her drink.

“What?”

“Nothing, Dad. I’m listening.”

Not true. She was thinking about the lab results.

Doctors had diagnosed Braelyn, then age eighteen, with a malignant brain tumor. She endured surgery to remove it. After that procedure, she braved a series of debilitating chemo and radiation treatments. The cancer went into remission. Then it came back. Twice. Chemo. Radiation. Remission. Repeat.

Exhausted, plagued with recurring headaches, she had visited Dr. Joe, her oncologist, even though she wasn’t due for an appointment. Disheartened, Braelyn had left his office this morning after reviewing the lab results. As she suspected, the cancer was no longer in remission. Though it was back, her doc assured her it was still a slow-growing tumor and promised new miracle drugs.

She told him she needed space and time to absorb the news, planning a few days of gorging on popcorn with lots of butter, scarfing down an obscene number of Almond Joys, learning to drown in whiskey or rum, sobbing into Kleenexes, and banging her damaged head against a rock.

But her mind was a collection of boxes. School sat in this box. It could wait . Earning money to house, clothe, and feed herself occupied another box. Dad would insist on taking care of that one . Childhood memories without a mother crowded its own container. It was fruitless to regret the loss. Her love life was the empty box. Wrong time to worry about that one . Then the big one housed the brain tumor. Once she accepted that the cancer box was in her life again or she had drugged herself with buttered popcorn, she would be ready to tell her dad the news, report to Dr. Joe for a new round of miracle cures, and fight.

She had kicked the disease before. She would again. Some people led worse lives. Who? Braelyn let out a loud sigh as she gave herself a theoretical backhand.

Okay, lace up. Stop being a baby. At least, don’t make a scene in public.

Still, she hated repeated visits to a sterile lab, drugs that made her barf her guts out, precious months away from her job and school.

Her dad droned on while Braelyn sipped her drink, dodging people on the street. Does he ever take a breath? That man is a bulldog when he scents a story.

“Seventy-three percent of our readers believe in demons. It’s your story. That’s the end of it. I have a ticket to Cincinnati, where a hotel room waits for you. Interview the victim so you can return late tomorrow. Everything is in my office. If I’m not in, pick up the ticket and details from Judy.”

“You know, someday I’m going to have a real job on a real newspaper reporting real news.”

“Great! I want the same for you. Just say the word. You can quit, go to school full time, maybe get that degree and real job you keep throwing in my face. I’ll be happy to pay for your classes if you’ll let me.”

Braelyn rolled her eyes. “Dad, we’ve been over this.” Braelyn accepted she had no control over a brain tumor, but she could control who paid for her education. Small victory for me. Yay.

“Right. You insist on working for me to earn money for school. So, as editor-in-chief, I insist on assigning you stories. See how that works? Back to the demon kidnapping. The Cincinnati story is all in a day’s work, and the public loves this shit. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Opportunity doesn’t knock twice.”

“Don’t use clichés, Dad. You’re pounding one more nail into the coffin of my journalistic integrity, but I’m at the end of my money rope this month and will be in your office at the drop of a hat. Hear that?” She paused. “I just dropped my battered Seahawks cap.”

“Hilarious. It’s summer. You didn’t sign up for any classes. So, you have nothing better to do.”

Braelyn’s shoulders sagged as she glanced left and right to cross the street. Nothing better to do. She should be off to Europe, riding the Eurail, eating overpriced food, drinking too much wine, flirting with all the handsome Frenchmen, grabbing joy while she could. Where am I headed? Oh, yeah! Cincinnati . What could be better?

Her dad lowered his voice a few notches. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a hack.”

“No, you know what I mean.”

“Oh, you mean ‘feeling’ in bold and all caps. I feel the same as I felt yesterday and the day before that and the week before that.” Not a lie. Not exactly. “You’ve asked me the same question every day for seven years. Find a new conversation starter.”

“I’m your father, Braelyn. I love you.”

Her breath hitched as she brushed an unbidden tear from her cheek. “I know, Dad. I love you right back.”

“Are we still on for dinner this weekend, or do you have a better offer?”

“Of course, we are. You’re the only man for me.”

“About that, you need to get out more. Meet friends. Go on dates.”

“How can I when I’m off to Cincinnati?”

Though she hated keeping secrets from her father, it was too soon to tell him the tumor had returned. She needed space. But she also needed the comfort of his untroubled eyes before they dulled with the news.

When the familiar bug shimmied along her spine again, she peeked over her shoulder. Since no psycho was about to cram an ether-soaked rag over her nose, she turned into Post Alley, taking a shortcut to the office. Braelyn cleared her throat. “While I head your way, give me the newsflash version of the crazy...”

****

S cath, Present Day

Rein blended into the shadow of a large tree, rage washing over him. If he had arrived five minutes earlier, he could have saved the female.

Now, he eyed the Kallikoi wilding who had drained her blood. The hairy killer stretched out on his back in the grass, sated, naked, resting his crossed arms on his chest, his lids closed. He propped his feet on the young witch’s body, avoiding her mauled, savaged neck.

When Scion Firebrand Rein stepped from his shelter, the heavy-lidded tunnel creature sat up, fear in his eyes. He pushed off the ground. Too slow.

Too bad.

Rein bare-handed his revenge, snatching the murderer mid-air before he could run. Holding the Kalli by the throat in one fist, he allowed the creature’s legs to scissor in a fruitless attempt to escape.

Let him suffer. The witch had.

He squeezed. Tighter.

The wilding clawed at Rein’s fingers, his raspy voice a grating plea. “Please. Please.”

Rein laughed, staring into the terrified eyes of the tunnel-dweller. If the creature was looking for mercy, he was begging the wrong male. Killing was a rush, a perk when the death was sanctioned.

As the murderous wilding’s hands dropped to his side and his legs stilled, his seven-foot-tall body sagged.

KIA.

Rein took a moment to savor the feel of a lifeless form before he got down to business.

Breathe. Breathe. Control.

He tapped the D-chip embedded in his wrist to call Chay. “I’ve got a dead witch here along with an equally dead Kalli. Since it takes more than one to bleed out an Aeternal, a partner is nearby. Find him.”

Rein bent to scoop the female gently into his left arm. As the Scion Firebrand muscled through high, tangled vines, cradling her against his chest to protect her from scattered thorns, he fisted the Kalli by his tusk, whipping his corpse back and forth, yanking it along behind.

Most of the year, these rangy, sentient wildings lived a peaceful existence underground in tunnels that spanned the realms of Darque and Scath.

Until mating season.

During this two-month period, they followed an uncontrollable urge to procreate. The frenzied males raced to the top to glut themselves on the blood of Aeternal females. Engorged, their penises grew hard, swollen, allowing them to return to their underground homes where they could impregnate their own mates. Only in this way could they produce offspring.

Rein had no empathy for the males, though. Blud dens provided professionals to sate the Kallis’ needs while security prevented them from taking too much blood. Still, some opted to hunt in pairs and kill their victims. This earned them death at the hands of a Scion Firebrand.

Tramping into a clearing, Rein dropped the murderer’s body at his feet.

With a tap of his D-chip, he opened a portal and sent the witch through to the Eastern Stronghold in Covenkirk. Because she deserved a clean space, uncontaminated by the vile wilding who had stolen her future, he dispatched her alone.

Next, he snatched a blade from the sheath strapped across his chest and whacked off the Kalli’s head. He seized it by a tuft of hair and tossed the bloody mess into the gateway, sending it to the same locale. The proof of death would be delivered to the female’s kin.

With a flick of his other hand, Rein created a stream of fire to incinerate the killer’s decapitated remains. Oblivious to the flakes of drifting ash along with the acrid odor of burning flesh, he wiped the blade of his combat knife on his pants, the red blood invisible on black fabric.

If Rein had notched each kill on the hilt of his dagger, he would have tallied the highest count in Firebrand history. But he didn’t need the 1, 2, 3s. Death etched its marks on his soul, a soul that walked a tightrope since his Awakening. On one end was the savage bludfrenzy. On the other was control. His life was a circus act, a balance between the two with the great abyss below, just waiting for him to slip again.

Rein twisted toward the sound of snapping twigs. Because the scent of the visitor was familiar, he relaxed.

Chay emerged from the forest, bouncing from the thrill of the chase. “I sent my unconscious Kalli A-hole through a portal to the stronghold. Damn shame we didn’t get to them before they exed the witch. How’d you dispatch your horny hairball?”

“Swiftly.”

“That’s it? I need details, man. Hit me with your pedagogy, mentor-mine.”

Rein sighed, not sure how much more enthusiasm he could handle from this young Firebrand. “His head went to the stronghold. His balls stayed here.”

“That’s twisted, but I love your ’tude.”

With two kills behind them, they staked out a couple of open shafts leading from the tunnels. From the edge of a forest blanketed in thick undergrowth, they had an unobstructed view of a well-trodden path the Kallis had been using.

“I still don’t see why we drew grunt duty.” Chay shifted from boot to boot, as if to contain the energy that popped through him. “We could be on Darque with Brak and Galena tracking those war-crazy gagans. Kalli hunting is not putting our skills to the test.”

Chay was right. The tunnel-digging wildings were stupid, unsophisticated murderers who didn’t cover their trails. But their capture was in the job description.

Rein scowled, tired of the recruit voicing the same complaint all day. “Everyone takes a turn.” The experienced Firebrand crouched on the ground to examine footprints, thick quads straining against his tactical pants. His gaze locked on the path.

He opened his mouth. A slow, hissing breath crossed his lips as he squeezed the ever-present rage at the core of his being into a small ball. The young witch’s needless death as well as too much spilled blood set off fireworks in his temples. Decapping the tunnel-dweller had done little to assuage his fury. Or hunger.

Chay followed Rein’s fixed attention. “Do you see something?”

“Nothing.”

Breathe. Breathe. Control.

Settling atop a boulder, Chay bent his knee to rest a boot on the rock. A quick and easy smile softened the ylve’s angular face. His repeating crossbow leaned beside him, butt-end down, while one hand gripped it. “My parents have laid down the law. I must choose a female. They’re driving me so bug-fuck nuts I rarely go home. I’ve been spending most of my nights at the stronghold.”

As silent and deadly as a panther, Rein rose to his full height of six-foot-six, moving to lean against a tree, his relaxed manner deceptive since Chay’s endless chatter put him on edge. The edge that was his enemy, the starting point for the long fall into the abyss. He’d plummeted into that bottomless pit years ago, climbed out, and had no intention of returning.

Breathe. Breathe. Control.

The recruit had been going on and on about a legion of subjects this whole stakeout. Best fighting techniques. Rounding up wildings on Darque. His parents. Finding a mate.

Rein had accepted he was a monster who made other monsters tremble, and his icy temperament along with a stone-cold scowl and don’t-screw-with-me stare usually discouraged babbling. Chay ignored the warnings.

The kid has no boundaries, no filters, no sense of danger .

Rein blamed endless hours of watching American TV, rap music, and indiscriminate trips to Earth bars where the young Firebrand mingled with humans.

“Then don’t listen to them. Damn, Chay. Shut the fuck up.” Rein closed his eyes, settled on emptying his mind, visualized relaxing his body.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Lessons learned over a century ago . Find center. Find control.

Chay pulled his bent knee into the crook of his elbow, continuing as if Rein hadn’t said a word. “Don’t listen to them? Are you unzipped? Have you never heard ylven parents? Nag cubed. ‘It’s your duty to produce offspring. If you loved us, you would give us grandchildren. How can you let your community down?’ My mother’s the worst. She’s the guilt-trip travel agent, the queen of fuck-mate dinner parties. That’s what I call them. I can’t tell you how many female ylves I’ve met in the last year. I mean, some of them are like bait on a hook and I’d really like to bang them, but if it got back to my mother, she’d have another reason to nag me.”

“You know I don’t give a shit about this. Right?” A growl crawled out of Rein’s chest, his lips clenched together, the tendons in his neck taut enough to snap.

He didn’t appreciate having his meditation interrupted. A good fight. Down-and-dirty sex with a nymph. Or better yet, a succubus. Meditation exercises. These were the only ways to control his impulses. He crossed his arms, biceps twitching, angled his body back against the tree, and closed his eyes again to picture a Covenkirk beach where he lay on the warm sand with waves sweeping over him. He had to relax, or he would reach over, grab the ylve by the throat, and shut him up for good.

“Well, how do you avoid listening to your parents nag about a mate?”

Rein answered, but kept his lids clamped tight. “We don’t talk.”

“Lucky.”

“Yeah.”

“Why would I want to settle down when there is so much lonely pussy? Just last night I was balls deep in this...”

“Shut up, Chay. We have another problem.”

Rein pushed off from the tree, his body on full alert, eyes fixed on a spot in the distance. He caught a faint Kalli scent brought by a shifting breeze. He listened. Leaves rustled. Low, guttural grunts carried from afar.

End of sample chapter