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  KISSED BY A DEMON SPY

  A NOVELLA

  SHARON KAY

  BOOKS BY SHARON KAY

  WICKED WIND (Solsti Prophecy 1)

  WICKED WAVES (Solsti Prophecy 2)

  WICKED FLAMES (Solsti Prophecy 3)

  This is a work of fiction. Any actual places are used in a fictional context. Other names of places and people are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual places or people is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Janet Michelson

  Cover art by Amanda Simpson at Pixel Mischief

  Interior design by Ink Slinger Editorial Services

  FIRST EDITION

  KISSED BY A DEMON SPY Copyright © 2014 Sharon Kay

  All rights reserved.

  Kindle Edition

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  First, a huge, sincere THANK YOU to my readers! Without you, these stories would remain untold. Your support, comments, and messages motivate me and mean more to me than I can possibly express.

  Thank you to my amazing husband, for your patience and support of my writing. You are wonderful to brainstorm with about plots and powers. I love you!

  Thank you to my son. I love everything we do together. I love your bright and curious mind, and your endless questions (and thank you to Google for helping me answer them)!

  Thank you to my parents and siblings, my in-laws, and my extended family for your love and encouragement of my creativity.

  Thank you to my critique partners and beta readers for taking time to read the various drafts of my first novella: Cam, Claudia, Cristin, Gina, Heather, Jamie K., Jamie S., Nicola, Racquel, and Skye. Your opinions, advice, and nit-pickiness are invaluable, sometimes hilarious, and always spot-on!

  Thank you to the trio of women who make my plain Word document into a professional-looking book: Amanda Simpson, my cover designer at Pixel Mischief; Janet Michelson, my eagle-eyed editor; and Cheryl Murphy at Ink Slinger Editorial Services, my formatter and savior from the scary world of ebook html-coding.

  And a big hug and kiss to the many bloggers I have had the joy to work with. The support you give to indie authors is amazing. Many of you have jobs and families and still make time to read and review dozens (if not hundreds) of books each year, providing exposure for us through insightful and witty reviews, blog tours, cover reveals, and contests. THANK YOU!

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A NOTE FROM SHARON

  COMING JANUARY 2015

  ABOUT SHARON

  CHAPTER ONE

  ALONE IN THE KITCHEN WITH her son, Garnet scrubbed at a stubborn grease spot on the decrepit stove, almost ready to give up. Really, who would notice one additional spot in this dark, run down room? She blew a lock of hair out of her eyes and rubbed harder, deciding to give it one last—

  “Draven’s dead!” Male voices shouted from the hall. “He’s dead!”

  Garnet froze. Disbelief and panic tore through her mind. Draven, the sadistic leader of the compound, was dead? Could it be true?

  “Mom?” Dashiel jumped up from his place on the floor, where he’d been playing with an odd-shaped rock he’d found. “What are they saying?”

  She held him closely when he wrapped his tiny arms around her leg. “They’re saying—”

  More shouts, the voices much closer, and she slammed her lips shut. There was no way she was going to talk over them. No way she’d remind anyone that she was there. Hopefully they’d forget all about her, and the rest of the female slaves, in the chaos.

  “Come with me.” She tugged Dash’s hand and darted to their room off the kitchen. Barely big enough for the bed they shared, it held a tiny closet. She pulled Dash inside and closed the door.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, practically glued to her side.

  “Something happened. Those men said Draven is dead.” Garnet looked down at her sweet boy, fear for him churning through her veins. She’d survived a change in leadership here once before, partly due to the grace of a stranger and partly by bargaining for her life. And that was before Dash. Gods above, she’d do anything to get him out of the power-vacuum-turned-whirlpool that was about to suck everyone into its depths. “We need to stay very quiet and hide.”

  “Draven is a bad guy. It’s good that he’s dead.”

  Garnet frowned in the darkness as she slid her hands along the closet wall, searching for the secret door concealed there. How could she explain that what came next might be worse than their current state of affairs? “He was a bad guy, yes. But we don’t know what will happen next.”

  “Will we still be slaves?”

  The question crushed her. “I don’t know, nihjo.” She hated that by default of birth, his only option was to live the life she did. As property, subject to orders. For now, they had to survive. Maybe they could get to a safe place once the males left. Fingers searching, she found the telltale raised edge of the hidden door. Stroehm was littered with secret passageways. “In here.” Grabbing Dash’s hand, she pulled him into the narrow corridor and slid the door panel back in place.

  Dash clung to her. “Are we going that way?” His face turned to the pitch-black that yawned ahead of them.

  “No. We’re going to stay right here until we stop hearing so much noise.” The passageway led to the armory. It didn’t take a genius to guess that if Draven was indeed dead, his cache of weapons would be the first thing to get raided. And the kitchen would be second. Garnet detached Dash enough so that she could squat. Patting gently along the stone floor, she found the large kitchen knife she’d hidden there ages ago.

  It wasn’t much, but it made her feel better. Straightening to her full height of a whopping five feet, she wrapped an arm around Dash’s shoulders. “We’ll wait until everything calms down. Stay very quiet.” Aware she was repeating herself, she decided it was okay. Six-year-olds liked to be reassured. And what else was she going to say?

  As if to make her thoughts even clearer, a crash echoed from the kitchen. Garnet was thankful to have two doors between them and whoever was causing the commotion. Still, shouts carried on the chaotic air.

  “Get the ale!”

  “Where’s some damn meat?”

  “Where’s that cook?” The voice was nearer. A thud sounded as the bedroom door slammed against the wall. “Pretty thing’s gonna get a taste of—”

  Garnet covered Dash’s ears and pressed him even closer to her. Please don’t let him find us. She’d discovered this passage on her own and never told a soul except Dash. Stroehm was so old, the conditions here so awful, it was likely whoever had created it was dead. The chance of someone approaching from the armory side was slim.

  “Come on!” One of the voices called from the kitchen. “Forget her. There’s other females.”

  Curses filled the bedroom, coming closer as she heard a wrenching groan that sounded like the closet door being ripped from its hinges. She held her breath, mind racing, knife clutched in her hand. She’d have the element of surprise if he happened to find them. Though from what she knew of the men here, they were all bigger and stronger than she.

  A grunt rumbled on the other side of the secret door, then more swearing. “Not here. Can’t be too far away.” His voice faded with each word as if he were heading back to the kitchen.

  Garnet said a silent prayer of thanks, but it was dampened by the knowledge this wasn’t
over yet. Other females. Draven kept a harem of thrall slaves. All kidnapped, all attractive females who were in no way trained fighters. She shuddered, thinking that their room at the other side of the compound had probably already been breached.

  “Mom.” Dash’s whisper filtered up from where he clutched fistfuls of her skirt close to his face. “I’m scared.”

  “I’m scared too.” She wasn’t going to lie. Besides, he was startlingly perceptive. “But we’ll figure this out, one step at a time.”

  Tense silence passed as they waited. Garnet forced steady breaths as muffled noise carried through the walls. She had no phone or watch, and the windowless passageway didn’t allow her to measure time by checking the sky. That was a tough way to gauge the hour, even on a good day, as the sun rarely broke through the usual cloud cover over Stroehm.

  More men banged around the kitchen, but no one else came looking for her. Gradually, the noise faded and she exhaled in relief, hoping she and Dash had been forgotten.

  Garnet needed to check for anything that the men may have missed. This was her domain. She knew every nook and cranny, every possible place to store food. She and Dash needed to hoard whatever they could. They could hide in the passageway only as long as their food supply lasted.

  As silently as she could, she slid the secret door open. The gaping entrance of the closet gave her a full view of her room, with the torn-off door tossed onto the bed.

  Empty.

  She stepped from the corridor into the closet, Dash at her heels. From here, she had a view of the rusty stove, island, and part of the counter. It all appeared unoccupied. The only sounds she heard seemed to come from the courtyard outside.

  She turned to Dash. “I’m going to check for food. You stay right behind me.”

  He nodded, blue eyes solemn as he clutched her skirt.

  With light steps, she crossed the short distance to the kitchen. She positioned Dash behind the island, out of sight of the main doorway. Next she opened every cabinet and drawer, moving from one end of the counter toward the other—

  “He’s really dead! Let’s get the hell out of here!” A deep voice bellowed from the hall.

  Garnet dropped to a crouch, heart in her throat. Heavy boots scuffed the stone floor as more voices joined in from the main corridor.

  “…shot with an arrow while on patrol today…”

  “With all the guards he took with him? How’d anyone get near them?”

  Have to hide Dash. Urgency pounded through her veins as she opened a cabinet on the island and pushed the two pots inside toward the back.

  “What are you doing?” Dash’s voice was panicked.

  “Making space for you. Get in.”

  “What about you?” Dash crawled into the cabinet, but his eyes were wide with terror as he turned back to her.

  “It’s only until those men leave,” she whispered. “I’ll be right here.” She closed the door and leaned her head against it, praying that Dash would stay safe even if she didn’t.

  Aden’s phone trilled from the kitchen counter and he grunted a curse at the timing. Ignoring the thing, he lowered the large slab of slate to the floor, setting it down an inch from where it needed to be. Double checking the position, he slid it into place.

  A little grout, and I’m done with this renovation. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and straightened. The phone had gone blessedly quiet. He rested his hands on his hips and surveyed his work.

  His inn’s large kitchen now sported a smooth, sturdy floor, the last component in a much-needed upgrade to the place he’d taken over almost a year ago. All he needed was a permanent cook. Sure, he could throw a roast or a turkey into the oven and leave it in long enough to be edible, but when it came to spices, herbs, and marinades, he had to wave the white flag. His food may be cooked through, but not fancy. Not a draw for business.

  The phone rang again and he stepped carefully over the newly laid stone to grab it. His brother’s name on the screen made him grin.

  “Keegan.” Aden stepped outside to the back of the building.

  “You too busy playing business man to pick up your phone?” His older brother’s voice rumbled over the ley-line powered connection.

  “No, too busy playing fucking handyman.” Aden paced away from the building. “Had to lay a stone floor.”

  “Nice. You got a spell for that?”

  Aden laughed. “Fuck, no. Had to look it up online. Just like everything else about this job.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. You learned fast and the inn’s bringing in business. And your intel on the Vipers has been accurate.”

  “Thanks.” A nearby nest of Viper demons had been raiding other villages, though so far they had left Aden’s town of Ivydale alone. The beasts had humanoid forms and walked upright on two legs, but had the heads of snakes. Fangs too, which dripped with a nasty venom.

  “The raid they planned on the wood nymphs last week would’ve been a bloodbath, plus it would’ve skewed the price of silver birch for a decade,” Keegan continued.

  “Good thing that group of Serus demons owed you a favor.” Aden walked across plush green grass, toward the back of his property. The Vipers’ last three raiding parties had met an unfortunate surprise before they could accomplish their tasks. Careful to cover his clan’s tracks, Keegan hired different groups of creatures to block each attack. Many species were eager to slay Vipers. The snakeheads had no friends.

  “Yeah. Though now the slate is clean, and I preferred it when they were in our debt.” Keegan blew out a breath. “But that’s not why I called.”

  “What’s up?” Aden pushed aside thoughts of the inn, his mind readying for his next assignment.

  “Stroehm’s leader is dead.”

  “What?” Aden stopped in his tracks. “Draven’s dead? How?”

  “Not sure. Rumor says he was found with an arrow in his neck. An elvish arrow. Not far from his compound.”

  “No shit?” Aden stared at the planks of gray wood that made up the back wall of his building, seeing in them the ashy, barren landscape of Draven’s compound. Stroehm was a hellhole, a place where blood sport reigned. Draven’s captured slaves were forced to fight to the death in a gladiator ring. “Killed by an elf?”

  Keegan chuckled. “Don’t underestimate the wee folk.”

  “I’m not.” Aden had worked with elves a few times. Enough to know some of them could hit a two-headed snake from a hundred yards away. “I always figured if Draven got killed, it would be by an escaped slave. Like what happened to his dad.”

  “Yeah, I thought so too.”

  “Do you know the details?”

  “Nah. I just got word a few minutes ago.” As leader of their extended Deserati clan, Keegan usually knew everything first.

  “Who’s in charge now?”

  “No one knows. He has brothers, but I don’t think they’re there yet.”

  Aden raked a hand through his hair. “It’s only a matter of time before they move in.”

  “Agreed, though I don’t know what’ll be left by the time they do. And since it’s mostly slaves and guards, most of them predatory species, they’ll probably disperse to who knows where. I need you to look and see how bad things are.”

  “Have you looked at all?”

  “No. I don’t have any objects from there. Why should I bother when you’ll get the better picture?”

  “Glad you agree I’m the better scryer.” Out of all the Deserati demons, Aden’s skills were uniquely keen. Much of his work was done via scrying, since he didn’t need an object with a connection to the person or place he was observing in order to “see” it, like most of his brethren did.

  “I’ll check it out.”

  “Thanks, bro. Catch ya later.” Keegan ended the call.

  Aden rubbed a hand over his eyes. A leader-less Stroehm spelled trouble. Either chaos reigned there, or bands of escaped predators had abandoned it and were likely roaming that part of the realm. It wasn’t close, but locatio
n didn’t matter. Creatures could move at the speed of a spell using amulets or a porter.

  He walked back inside his building, passing the forlorn herb garden. His last cook used to take care of it. Before she ran off to another settlement with her new mate.

  Call his establishment an inn or a tavern, all that mattered was it was quiet at the moment, so he’d be able to spy on Stroehm. Most of the locals were out in their fields or gardens, taking advantage of the fall sunshine to help get their plants growing.

  He grabbed a pitcher of water from the kitchen and made his way down the hall past the dining room, to his office at one end of the building. No need to close the door. If anyone so much as laid a hand on the building, his enhanced senses would know. He crossed to his desk and sat down.

  Setting the pitcher on the smooth wood, he opened a drawer. He plucked a small glass vial first, rubbing his thumb over the deeply carved sides. Next, a large shallow ceramic dish. He raised the pitcher and poured in some water.

  Uncapping the vial, he tilted it to release three drops of amber liquid. He closed his eyes and murmured in Demonish.

  Magic crackled in the air. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. His veins thrummed with power, as the skill inherited from his ancestors gathered in every cell of his body.

  He opened his eyes. Mist stirred and swirled above the water. He uttered the last words of the spell, instructing the surface to reveal a real-time image of Stroehm.

  The fog danced away, revealing a gray, harsh building. Rough stone reached into a sunless sky. A group of men wearing the uniform of Draven’s guards charged a disheveled group of unarmed males. Given Keegan’s news, Aden wasn’t surprised at the attack and bloody aftermath. Draven had been a tyrant, but he expected order and didn’t allow his guards to physically attack his slaves. Not out of any affection for them, but because he was such a sick bastard that he doled out punishments personally.