Unchained: Feathers and Fire Book 1 Read online

  Unchained

  Feathers and Fire Book 1

  Shayne Silvers

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Shayne Silvers

  Unchained

  Feathers and Fire Book 1

  © 2017, Shayne Silvers / Argento Publishing, LLC

  [email protected]

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

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  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  MAKE A DIFFERENCE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BOOKS BY SHAYNE SILVERS

  OBSIDIAN SON (NATE TEMPLE SERIES BOOK 1)

  Chapter 1

  The rain pelted my hair, plastering loose strands of it to my forehead as I panted, eyes darting from tree to tree, terrified of each shifting branch, splash of water, and whistle of wind slipping through the nightscape around us. But… I was somewhat excited, too.

  Somewhat.

  “Easy, girl. All will be well,” the big man creeping just ahead of me, murmured.

  “You said we were going to get ice cream!” I hissed at him, failing to compose myself, but careful to keep my voice low and my eyes alert. “I’m not ready for this!” I had been trained to fight, with my hands, with weapons, and with my magic. But I had never taken an active role in a hunt before. I’d always been the getaway driver for my mentor.

  The man grunted, grey eyes scanning the trees as he slipped through the tall grass. “And did we not get ice cream before coming here? Because I think I see some in your hair.”

  “You know what I mean, Roland. You tricked me.” I checked the tips of my loose hair, saw nothing, and scowled at his back.

  “The Lord does not give us a greater burden than we can shoulder.”

  I muttered dark things under my breath, wiping the water from my eyes. Again. My new shirt was going to be ruined. Silk never fared well in the rain. My choice of shoes wasn’t much better. Boots, yes, but distressed, fashionable boots. Not work boots designed for the rain and mud. Definitely not monster hunting boots for our evening excursion through one of Kansas City’s wooded parks. I realized I was forcibly distracting myself, keeping my mind busy with mundane thoughts to avoid my very real anxiety. Because whenever I grew nervous, an imagined nightmare always—

  A church looming before me. Rain pouring down. Night sky and a glowing moon overhead. I was all alone. Crying on the cold, stone steps, and infant in a cardboard box—

  I forced the nightmare away, breathing heavily. “You know I hate it when you talk like that,” I whispered to him, trying to regain my composure. I wasn’t angry with him, but was growing increasingly uncomfortable with our situation after my brief flashback of fear.

  “Doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be said,” he said kindly. “I think we’re close. Be alert. Remember your training. Banish your fears. I am here. And the Lord is here. He always is.”

  So, he had noticed my sudden anxiety. “Maybe I should just go back to the car. I know I’ve trained, but I really don’t think—”

  A shape of fur, fangs, and claws launched from the shadows towards me, cutting off my words as it snarled, thirsty for my blood.

  And my nightmare slipped back into my thoughts like a veiled assassin, a wraith hoping to hold me still for the monster to eat. I froze, unable to move. Twin sticks of power abruptly erupted into being in my clenched fists, but my fear swamped me with that stupid nightmare, the sticks held at my side, useless to save me.

  Right before the beast’s claws reached me, it grunted as something batted it from the air, sending it flying sideways. It struck a tree with another grunt and an angry whine of pain.

  I fell to my knees right into a puddle, arms shaking, breathing fast.

  My sticks crackled in the rain like live cattle prods, except their entire length was the electrical section — at least to anyone other than me. I could hold them without pain.

  Magic was a part of me, coursing through my veins whether I wanted it or not, and Roland had spent many years teaching me how to master it. But I had never been able to fully master the nightmare inside me, and in moments of fear, it always won, overriding my training.

  The fact that I had resorted to weapons — like the ones he had trained me with — rather than a burst of flame, was startling. It was good in the fact that my body’s reflexes knew enough to call up a defense even without my direct command, but bad in the fact that it was the worst form of defense for the situation presented. I could have very easily done as Roland did, and hurt it from a distance. But I hadn’t. Because of my stupid block.

  Roland placed a calloused palm on my shoulder, and I flinched. “Easy, see? I am here.” But he did frown at my choice of weapons, the reprimand silent but loud in my mind. I let out a shaky breath, forcing my fear back down. It was all in my head, but still, it wasn’t easy. Fear could be like that.

  I focused on Roland’s implied lesson. Close combat weapons — even magically-powered ones — were for last resorts. I averted my eyes in very real shame. I knew these things. He didn’t even need to tell me them. But when that damned nightmare caught hold of me, all my training went out the window. It haunted me like a shadow, waiting for moments just like this, as if trying to kill me. A form of psychological suicide? But it was why I constantly refused to join Roland on his hunts. He knew about it. And although he was trying to help me overcome that fear, he never pressed too hard.

  Rain continued to sizzle as it struck my batons. I didn’t let them go, using them as a totem to build my confidence back up. I slowly lifted my eyes to nod at him as I climbed back to my feet.

  That’s when I saw the second set of eyes in the shadows, rig
ht before they flew out of the darkness towards Roland’s back. I threw one of my batons and missed, but that pretty much let Roland know that an unfriendly was behind him. Either that or I had just failed to murder my mentor at point-blank range. He whirled to confront the monster, expecting another aerial assault as he unleashed a ball of fire that splashed over the tree at chest height, washing the trunk in blue flames. But this monster was tricky. It hadn’t planned on tackling Roland, but had merely jumped out of the darkness to get closer, no doubt learning from its fallen comrade, who still lay unmoving against the tree behind me.

  His coat shone like midnight clouds with hints of lightning flashing in the depths of thick, wiry fur. The coat of dew dotting his fur reflected the moonlight, giving him a faint sheen as if covered in fresh oil. He was tall, easily hip height at the shoulder, and barrel chested, his rump much leaner than the rest of his body. He — I assumed male from the long, thick mane around his neck — had a very long snout, much longer and wider than any werewolf I had ever seen. Amazingly, and beyond my control, I realized he was beautiful.

  But most of the natural world’s lethal hunters were beautiful.

  He landed in a wet puddle a pace in front of Roland, juked to the right, and then to the left, racing past the big man, biting into his hamstrings on his way by.

  A wash of anger rolled over me at seeing my mentor injured, dousing my fear, and I swung my baton down as hard as I could. It struck the beast in the rump as it tried to dart back to cover — a typical wolf tactic. My blow singed his hair and shattered bone. The creature collapsed into a puddle of mud with a yelp, instinctively snapping his jaws over his shoulder to bite whatever had hit him.

  I let him. But mostly out of dumb luck as I heard Roland hiss in pain, falling to the ground.

  The monster’s jaws clamped around my baton, and there was an immediate explosion of teeth and blood that sent him flying several feet away into the tall brush, yipping, screaming, and staggering. Before he slipped out of sight, I noticed that his lower jaw was simply gone, from the contact of his saliva on my electrified magical batons. Then he managed to limp into the woods with more pitiful yowls, but I had no mind to chase him. Roland — that titan of a man, my mentor — was hurt. I could smell copper in the air, and knew we had to get out of here. Fast. Because we had anticipated only one of the monsters. But there had been two of them, and they hadn’t been the run-of-the-mill werewolves we had been warned about. If there were two, perhaps there were more. And they were evidently the prehistoric cousin of any werewolf I had ever seen or read about.

  Roland hissed again as he stared down at his leg, growling with both pain and anger. My eyes darted back to the first monster, wary of another attack. It almost looked like a werewolf, but bigger. Much bigger. He didn’t move, but I saw he was breathing. He had a notch in his right ear and a jagged scar on his long snout. Part of me wanted to go over to him and torture him. Slowly. Use his pain to finally drown my nightmare, my fear. The fear that had caused Roland’s injury. My lack of inner-strength had not only put me in danger, but had hurt my mentor, my friend.

  I shivered, forcing the thought away. That was cold. Not me. Sure, I was no stranger to fighting, but that had always been in a ring. Practicing. Sparring. Never life or death.

  But I suddenly realized something very dark about myself in the chill, rainy night. Although I was terrified, I felt a deep ocean of anger manifest inside me, wanting only to dispense justice as I saw fit. To use that rage to battle my own demons. As if feeding one would starve the other, reminding me of the Cherokee Indian Legend Roland had once told me.

  An old Cherokee man was teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside me,” he told the boy. “It is a terrible fight between two wolves. One is evil — he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.” After a few moments to make sure he had the boy’s undivided attention, he continued.

  “The other wolf is good — he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside of you, boy, and inside of every other person, too.”

  The grandson thought about this for a few minutes before replying. “Which wolf will win?”

  The old Cherokee man simply said, “The one you feed, boy. The one you feed…”

  And I felt like feeding one of my wolves today, by killing this one.

  Chapter 2

  I took a step closer to the beast, and the magical stick I had thrown was suddenly back in my empty fist. I clenched them both, and they flared brighter.

  I was a wizard, so I wasn’t really holding anything. I had created energy constructs with my magic, and used them like the familiar escrimas I so often trained with — two short sticks about twelve inches long each, wielded in either hand. They were quick and brutal with their efficiency, especially under my experienced control. Roland had taught me to train with all sorts of weapons as well as with my magic, encouraging me never to rely on one tool in my belt.

  “Stop!” Roland commanded from behind me, and I realized I was only a pace or two away from the monster now. I slowly turned, as if waking up from a dream. “That is not the way,” Roland growled. “Killing cannot be cold, premeditated. It must be fair, swift, and in response to a crime, never initiated solely from emotion. You know this.” His eyes glittered in the moonlight, both with anger and pain.

  I realized I was panting as I stared back at him, momentarily lost in my emotional storm. I had wanted so badly to make up for my mistake. For my failure. For my weakness. The batons winked out of existence as I consciously realized that I had been about to murder the beast. For hurting my friend. Roland was right.

  That was murder.

  “Help me, girl.”

  I urgently strode over to him, helping him to his feet with a supporting shoulder tucked under one of his arms. This got blood all over my shirt from his hands, but the silk was beyond saving anyway. Roland’s leg was a sheet of blood, looking worse as a result of the rain. Still, that much blood wasn’t good. “I’m so sorry, Roland. We need to get you fixed up,” I said, woodenly.

  “Aye, I reckon so. This wasn’t your fault, Callie,” he growled, trying to place some weight on his injured leg. His leg gave out, and he almost brought us both down to the ground, but I locked my legs, spinning us around in an awkward shuffle to support his sudden dead weight.

  I was staring at him, making sure he was okay when I saw his eyes widen, staring over my shoulder. I tried to turn my head, not able to maneuver quickly while holding him up. A blast of light flashed out from Roland’s palm, and I heard a yelp of pain behind me, then a loud crack.

  I managed to finally turn enough to see, and found one of the wolves nailed to the tree. It was the one missing half his jaw. The other beast — the one I had thought unconscious — was simply gone. Which terrified me. Was he watching us right now? Waiting to attack Roland the second I turned my back? But even injured, I knew Roland had nothing to fear from a single wolf — one he had already wounded. Likely, it had simply fled. But it was unnerving that the injured wolf had returned to save it. That spoke of cunning. And that concerned me. Monsters weren’t particularly loyal. Wolves were kind of the exception to that, working in packs, but again, these didn’t resemble the typical werewolf.

  Three flickering daggers pinned the wolf to the tree. Two held the monster’s legs splayed out to either side, his tail hanging straight down between his legs to rest in a muddy puddle near the roots. The third glowing dagger had hit the wolf-creature right in the throat below his ruined jaw, and his arms now hung limp at his sides, while his head hung over his chest, painting his black coat with a crimson shine.

  I shivered uncontrollably, and we both crashed to the ground. Roland groaned, but not just in pain. His eyes were fixed to the tree with a look of disgust and shame. I stared up at the wolf, frowning. His positioning looked al
most like…

  “A Petrine Cross…” Roland whispered, sounding ashamed, and disgusted that he had accidentally made such a sign. Even though it hadn’t been his intent, of course. I had been about to say it looked like an inverted cross, not realizing it had an actual term.

  It did look blasphemous, though, and I knew many atheists, humanists, and the occult used it.

  “You were acting on instinct, it’s not like you chose for him to land like that,” I whispered, shivering. Blood dripped freely from the wolf’s ruined mouth, staining the pools beneath the monster crimson. He was dead.

  I wanted to run. To just sit there. To do something. To do nothing. I didn’t know what to do.

  It wasn’t the unfortunate symbol that bothered me. Well, not just that. It was death. I had assisted in the murder of another creature, even if it had been trying to kill us.

  “It will fade, girl. Shock. This wasn’t a man. He was a monster.” His eyes looked troubled.

  “Aren’t we all?” I whispered, more to myself.

  He flicked a steely glare my way, and I could see the pain dancing in the back of his eyes overshadowed by his anger at my statement. “Not like that. He would be a monster even if he wasn’t a Freak. He was a monster for what he did, not for what he is. There is a difference.”