Dreams of Darkness: The Forsaken Chronicles, #1

Prologue

She hadn’t died—yet. Regaining consciousness proved that at least. However, with the pain coursing through her limbs, a fiery agony that stole her breath so she couldn’t find a voice to scream, she wished for sweet oblivion. Overwhelming in its intensity, the torment of her body didn’t allow her a moment to think or wonder how she’d ended up in such a state. She only wished for it to end.

Giving up so soon?

Cool fingers brushed across her temple, leaving behind an icy tingle that spread, and where it crept, it left blessed relief in its wake, a numbness she welcomed.

This is what it’s like to be free of pain. She savored the brief moment, knowing it wouldn’t last long. It never did.

The misery retreated, a dark beast that returned to its cave. She opened her eyes. Panic clutched her, for she stared into nothingness.

Have I gone blind? Or had she passed through the final veil?

Where am I? she whispered, her voice a hoarse croak she didn’t recognize.

Silence. You weren’t given permission to speak. The brusque tone clamped her lips together. At least she wasn’t alone—a realization that did little to quell her inner trepidation.

Small sounds—the whisper of fabric as something moved, a hushed murmur as if more than one person were present—drifted to her, and yet, all around, only darkness reigned. At her sides, her hands lay flat on cold stone. The surface not entirely smooth. Etchings were chiseled into it.

She dragged her nails across the hard surface before curling her fingers into fists. She tried to push herself up to a seated position, but a heaviness upon her chest kept her pinned. Not a strap, or even a hand holding her down, more like a pressure, the very air itself keeping her prisoner.

What’s happening? She didn’t know, which only served to feed her panic. Her breathing quickened.

Enough. Calm yourself. The commanding voice cut through her anxiety, and despite the situation, her limbs loosened—a relaxation she didn’t truly feel.

It is time, a deep voice announced.

Time for what? she wanted to ask; however, her mouth would not respond.

What is your name? Cold and impersonal, the questioner—not the same one who’d spoken before—paused to allow her time to answer.

Caught in the dark, bodiless limbo, she could only look within herself, an even scarier vacuum. She peeked around every corner of her mind. Looked for doors to open. Any hint of an answer.

She found nothing. Not even an echo.

Aching sorrow gripped her as she whispered, I have no name. I am nobody.

Where do you come from? Another query by the faceless voice that made her want to scream, Who are you and what do you want?

Instead, the answer rose without conscious thought and slipped from her mouth. Nowhere.

What do you remember?

Once again, she reached into the shadowy recesses of her mind, searching for something, anything. Who am I? Only a hollow void loomed around her. Nothing.

What are you?

Finally, a question she had an answer for. How could she not when it rang in her head, screamed at her in all its ugliness? A tear streaked down her cheek.

Forsaken.

Chapter One

The hushed silence of anticipation caught Logan’s attention as he prowled the deserted sidewalk running along the front of the unlit storefronts. Very few legit businesses stayed open in this part of town once twilight fell. Only those catering to vices best indulged in at night dared to open their doors.

In the distance, the strobing beat of a strip club was one such example. A few blocks down, neon flashed. A corner store that catered to those who absolutely needed a midnight snack or a case of beer.

But the places that remained open were few and rare. Most chose to lock their doors once the sun went down. Sturdy, metal guards lined the dirty windows, an almost mandatory accessory to ensure the safety of the goods hidden within. And just like the bars were a common feature, so was the sour smell of fear.

Smart people hurried home before night fell, smothering the streets in a blanketing shadow that concealed predators. Anybody who stayed out, tempting the dark things that walked at night, deserved to be culled. The world had enough stupid people. It wouldn’t miss the few that went missing. Gone because they didn’t listen to their instincts that told them to burrow safely in their homes.

Logan had no time for victims, which was why he ignored the terror he scented in the cool night air. Should have stayed inside where it was safe. He would have kept on walking, patrolling this part of town—my town—had the aroma of the grave not also wafted to him. Not an animal. He wouldn’t have paid that any mind. But the more distinctive stench of a decaying body.

Something dead this way comes.

He didn’t need his inner voice to point out that this wasn’t normal, or natural. Dead things didn’t walk, not without help.

Slowing his steps, Logan took a moment to inhale again. The lingering stench of flesh long past its expiry date was quite distinctive. The sickly, sweet smell revolted his human nature whilst exciting his bestial side.

Time to hunt.

Yes, he would hunt because this was his town, and in his protected zone, dead things weren’t supposed to wander around.

Because when I kill something, it stays dead.

He paused to listen and heard nothing but the distant beat of the music in the club—always a quick tempo for the scantily clad to gyrate their way through a routine.

His eyes, which could perceive things better than any human—even in the dark—scanned the area around him. He noted naught out of place. Nothing moved. Not even the shadows.

He took a step forward and heard a crunch. Too slight for normal ears to hear, but loud for one such as he. A peek at his feet showed the crumbling dirt scattered on the cracked pavement. The trail, much like breadcrumbs, weaved along the sidewalk and ended in front of a door. The sign in the barred glass entrance showed the word Closed; however, a slight push on the portal betrayed its unlocked state.

Peering quickly upward, Logan checked for a bell or other chime that would betray him when he passed through the entrance. Nothing. Shaking his head at his luck—and the stupidity of the storeowner—he quietly eased in, his eyes adjusting quickly to the gloom within.

Racks upon racks lined the interior, each filled. Plastic sleeves in some cases, glossy paper in others, the colors vivid, the titles bold. A comic book store; a new one, which had not yet learned the axiom of home before dark. The death of the hapless employee would make that rule clear in the morning.

The stench of the undead thing hung heavily in the air—damp earth, decay, and the jarring scent of something unnatural. Black magic. The forbidden art the only way to animate that which should remain in the arms of Gaia.

Necromancy was forbidden and had been for a long time. Those caught practicing it received a swift punishment: death. However, even such a harsh sentence didn’t deter everyone. There were always those who thought themselves above the law. It was Logan’s job to hunt them down.

The world, make that humanity, wasn’t ready to find out that the things they feared, the bogeyman and all his monstrous friends, truly existed. We even live amongst you. Neighbors, coworkers, friends… They never suspected, and Logan intended to keep it that way.

A whimper, the smallest of sounds, caught his attention. Logan’s brows rose in surprise. The clerk is still alive? The dead thing must have just arrived because they were not known for their patience when food beckoned. The movies depicting the mindless hunger of zombies strayed close to the truth, but brains weren’t their only diet. Blood and flesh of any kind would do.

They could also open doors, unlike those portrayed on television. Turn knobs, climb stairs, even run if their limbs could handle it.

On silent feet, Logan trod quickly to the rear, a small crack of illumination from the seam of a closed door a bright beacon in the gloom. He paused, hand over the knob as he listened, trying to ascertain the unnatural creature’s position.

Please don’t hurt me, pled a soft voice. He could have told her not to bother. Zombies could not talk or feel. They just followed one instinct: their driving need for blood—preferably fresh. It made them single-minded in their focus. Most of the time.

Some necromancers, if powerful enough, could set the walking nightmares to task, but they needed a truly great power to overcome a zombie’s natural desire to kill and feed.

Zombies didn’t scare him. Yet he did wonder, should he go as himself or his alter ego? A shriek of terror made the decision for him. Kicking the door open with a heavily booted foot, Logan got a quick snapshot of the situation before charging in.

A newly dead corpse, the dirt from the grave still clinging to the folds of its suit, was bent over, its curled fingers reaching for a huddled figure on the floor. The animated body retained enough wits to realize danger had arrived behind it. It attempted to straighten and turn to face him.

Logan was faster—much faster. Wrapping his callused hands around the creature’s neck, he squeezed the soft and pliant flesh. His fingers sank into the skin, repulsing and fueling his need to rid the world of this abomination.

The zombie struggled, stronger than expected. It roused the primal animal within Logan, and he felt that surge of energy pulse through him, his arms bulking with strength, his lip curling back on a canine snarl.

He gave a firm twist and snapped the zombie’s neck, the cracking sound loud as a gunshot. The walking corpse—spine severed and its body no longer controlled by the mind—dropped to the ground. It twitched a few times, the eyes rolling far enough to stare at him.

Logan stared back. Did someone watch through those eyes?

He raised his middle finger. Waggled it. Stay out of my town, asshole. Because he wouldn’t stand for zombies.

The semblance of life in the eyes faded, the irises taking on an opaque grayness. Death, a final passing, came to claim the body.

The threat neutralized, Logan allowed himself to look at the girl slumped in a heap on the floor. Head down, features covered by a curtain of dark hair. Tiny in shape.

Weak, growled his inner beast.

She’d passed out, more than likely from fear. Most humans couldn’t handle the supernatural. In all fairness, though, most supernaturals tended to have an aversion to zombies. The fact that they even existed was why Logan had stated quite clearly in his will, and to all who would listen, to cremate him when he died. He refused to become a necromancer’s puppet.

The huddled form shivered.

Hey, you okay?

She didn’t reply. Didn’t even move.

Did the zombie bite you? he asked, not because she’d turn into a zombie—it wasn’t a disease, it needed a dead body and magic—but more because a bite from the undead could contain all kinds of bacteria. She would probably need a shot.

A twitch. A subtle movement, then a shake of her head.

No, then, not bitten. Which was good, but Logan still wondered what to do with the girl.

Leave her. The easiest solution. Humans shouldn’t be shown the underpinnings of humanity more than necessary. He and the body should get out of sight.

So why then did he kneel before her, his knees hitting the hard floor, bringing him nearer to her scent?

The impulse didn’t come from him, and yet it pulsed inside like an instinct. A primal command that he couldn’t deny.

Need to get closer.

The strands of her hair had parted, revealing the pallor of her features. Her head sagged to the side, too heavy surely for that slender neck. Her eyes shut as she passed out again.

Look at that fluttering pulse. Tick. Tock. Lick it up.

He fought the urge to tongue it.

Would prefer to bite it.

The urge to let go pulsed through his body, and he fought through it. Breathed deeply. Kept control. But he didn’t do it by turning away from the object of his fascination.

Real men didn’t run from shit.

What is it about her that’s setting me off?

The girl sat with her eyes shut, her arms still hugged tightly around her knees. He inhaled deeply, pulling in the air around him, shutting off the part of his mind that recognized the putrid aroma of death. Human death.

He looked past it, the other perfume nestled underneath it. Vanilla, the spicy-crisp scent of a bean just crushed. Under that…something else. An indefinable layer that made him wonder…is she human?

Doesn’t matter. Smells good, rumbled his other self.

More like interesting. Logan frowned at her frail frame. He’d never smelled anything like her before. Perhaps he was mistaken. He was, after all, in a room with a corpse.

He brought his face closer. Her eyes remained shut, the veins coloring them a bluish purple through the parchment thinness of her skin.

Lips almost touching her skin, he inhaled deeply. Truly got the full effect of her. Delicious vanilla, the smell of it eye-rollingly pleasurable. And did he detect a tingle of power? Whatever it was caused an intense flare of awareness. There was something different about her.

Not human.

Who and what is she?

She couldn’t have lived or worked in this area of town for long, else Logan or one of his pack would have noticed her, discovered her like this zombie had. Her scent, so fresh and sweet, must have proven irresistible to the dead one.

Yummy, yummy in the tummy.

Don’t start with the rhymes. Because they often got stuck repeating in his head.

Not rhymes. Truth. Lick it. You’ll see why.

This boldness from his other half was not new, but the interest in a woman was. Perhaps he should bring her to his home for questioning.

Yes, that’s it. Kidnap a girl and bring her to your house. A girl who will probably freak when she wakes up. Which usually means screaming. And probably threats to call the cops. Logan didn’t exactly want the police involved. It would be hard to explain a dead body.

No, officer, I didn’t kill the body or dig it up. It was a zombie, you see. And I just saved this town. He’d probably get tossed into a psych evaluation for seventy-two hours.

He’d never live it down if that happened. So, probably not a good idea to take her out of here, then. But he had to know what she was.

Maybe she’s dangerous. We should detain her, said his dark side—the hunger a hot flame that licked his skin from the inside.

No keeping her. However, he would keep an eye on her. See what she did once she woke again. Would she remember the zombie? Had she seen Logan?

Not once did he recall her eyes opening, not even a slit. More than likely, she never saw him arrive. Figured. The one time he got to act heroically for a woman, and she wasn’t conscious to appreciate it.

Leaning forward, he slid his arms around her and heaved her slight frame off the floor. He staggered. Not physically, more like his very soul found itself shaken as images flashed so fast he caught only a blur of motion and color—the glint of a sword falling, the red of arterial blood, the dark of a storm forming. Emotion slammed him next, as if a giant bell rang and vibrated every part of him.

An overwhelming urge to protect—Mine—washed over him as Logan cradled her in his arms. He had to keep her safe. Stand guard by her side. Never do her harm.

Protect…

The alien feeling shoved against him, hammering at his mind. Trying to force him to become…what? Her willing servant?

What magic is this? Did she cast a spell on him? Could she even do that? She appeared unconscious. The girl lolled lifelessly. If indeed magic were the reason for his odd reaction to her, then she did it unconsciously. A protective charm perhaps.

It would have to be a fucking strong chunk of magic to affect him. Just another layer of mystery that made Logan more determined than ever to find out just who and what she was.

Keep her. Once again, the inane urge hit him. Kidnapping was only a crime if someone pressed charges.

The very fact that he went in that direction mentally decided for him. He gritted his jaw and carried her to the front of the store to set the stage.

He positioned her, ensuring that everything looked plausible. So long as she didn’t remember, her mind would leap to the most logical conclusion.

Once done setting the elements, Logan stood back, fighting an urge to scoop her from the floor.

Don’t leave her.

The magic hadn’t lessened one bit. Logan prided himself on his iron self-control, yet without even trying, this unconscious slip of a girl was so close to making it snap.

She was dangerous. Killing her now would solve that threat.

No.

It wasn’t just his inner self that snarled at the idea. He couldn’t do that. Kill a defenseless woman because something about her frightened him?

I fear nothing.

He turned on his heel, fractured his stare, and returned to the rear of the store to handle the corpse. With the body draped over his shoulder, Logan exited through the back entrance into the dimly lit alley. He hoped no one was watching and reporting. Smart humans kept their blinds drawn at night. Troublemakers tended to have their phones out.

Good thing most of the shit online that went viral was deemed to be fake digital alterations. Humans were as quick to believe as disbelieve. It made hiding in plain sight so much easier.

Logan kept to the deepest shadows as he made his way far from the store—and the girl. Eventually, he found an empty lot, the building that had once stood on it having succumbed to age. The only thing remaining on the cracked asphalt parking lot was a dumpster.

It made a handy pyre. He heaved the body into the overflowing bin. Wood and other flammables would make for intense flames.

While he didn’t smoke cigarettes—anymore—Logan had gotten in the habit of carrying a lighter. Never knew when he’d want to spark a joint, or light a barbecue. Maybe ignite a garbage bin to incinerate evidence of a zombie.

He wasn’t stupid. Fire wouldn’t completely obliterate the evidence. The body would be found. The firemen wouldn’t let this burn long enough to make the corpse ash. However, dental records would show that it was a body already dead. Dug up and used for a prank. It happened from time to time. Damned teenagers.

And if they couldn’t match the body? It would be just another anonymous death in the slums.

Bad things happened at night in this part of town.

Sometimes, the residents got hungry.

The thought of hunger reminded him of the girl. He snapped his gaze from the dancing flames, the heart of them intensely bright. He hoped the necromancer still had enough of a link with the thing to feel a little heat.

Turning his back on the inferno, he headed in the direction