Wow. Hey guys. Long, unintended hiatus there. Needless to say, the last couple months haven't exactly gone according to plan, and now I find myself WAY behind on everything, writing and blogging included.
Belatedly, I'd like to thank everyone who participated in my December book giveaway by commenting, sharing, and spreading the word! I'm so thankful for my faithful readers.
Way back in December, I had mentioned that I was planning on posting the first chapter in my Red Wolf Trilogy book TWO. Aaaaand then it never happened. So sorry about that. The good news is, it didn't go anywhere in the meantime. So, without further delay, my I present the opening chapter in the next book in the series,
Unmask the Night.
Red Wolf Trilogy #2
Unmask The Night
Chapter 1
“I want you to kill King Heymish. It’s time for
my brother to die.”
Aaro D’Araines resisted the temptation to look his
cousin, King Ormand, in the eyes. Even wearing his Shonnowan mask, infused with
their magic so that only he could take it off, he felt exposed—aware that his
emotions were battling underneath it, too raw to hide his expression. He feared
that if their eyes met, it would spark recognition. A few hours ago, that
wouldn’t have mattered, because he’d fully intended to reveal his identity once
he had his dagger through Ormand’s heart. He had wanted his cousin to know who
his killer was before he died. Part of him still wanted that, desperately. But
Red’s blood had changed everything.
Gaping silence filled the king’s hall. Aaro’s
shoulder started throbbing again where Red had bitten him, and he could feel
captain Fernand’s gaze practically burning the back of his head. But still he
said nothing as he struggled to process his own reactions. He thought he’d
snuffed out his conscience four years ago, but now his heart burned in cadence
with the pounding in his shoulder.
A few wispy tendrils of a plan were gathering
in his mind, too, and he mentally scrambled to gather them before he spoke.
“Well?” Ormand said, his voice clipped with
impatience. “Your hesitance doesn’t bode well. You’ve proven your loyalty to
me, but this isn’t the mission to suddenly turn bashful.”
Aaro stirred, shaking off the conflict behind
his mask, and offered a bow to hide his sudden smile, since the mask didn’t
cover his lips. “My apologies. It is not a mission to be accepted lightly, as
you can imagine.”
Ormand lifted his hand in a gesture of lazy
dismissal. “Well?”
“Ten thousand in silver, and the job is done. I
won’t be leaving immediately, though.”
Ormand leaned forward, raising an eyebrow at
him. “I give the commands, Mask. And I don’t negotiate. My plans won’t wait.”
“And neither will mine,” Aaro replied. “I’ll be
riding east within two weeks. If that isn’t soon enough to fit your plans…” he
shrugged and glanced away, knowing his clear dismissal would have his cousin
fuming inwardly.
Leaning back on his carved wooden throne with
the silver inlays, Ormand’s brows pinched together in a look of controlled
wrath. “If you reach Heymish’s palace and kill him within five weeks, the money
is yours. If not, I will know it, and you’ll be the most hunted man in West
Talva, should you return. Nor would I count on East Talva being particularly
safe, if I were you.”
Aaro smiled. “Understood. But it seems you don’t
really need my services, if you already have spies in your brother’s court.”
Ormand returned the smile, cunning and utterly
cold. “True. I’m paying you because this is your specialty, and I don’t want
any mistakes. Heymish is getting paranoid these days. And also…” he paused,
that ruthless smile gleaming white, “because I like your style. I don’t want
Heymish poisoned. I want him to bleed out, and everyone to know it was the
famous masked killer from the West who did it.”
“Famous?” Aaro’s eyebrows went up under the
mask.
“Infamous. Oh yes, my friend. They’ve heard of
you, even in the civilized East. But you’re slippery enough that I trust you
won’t be caught.”
“I don’t intend to be.” He touched the wide
brim of his hat before he turned away, and captain Alonso Fernand fell silently
into step beside him as he strode out of the hall, back toward the guard room
at the main entrance, where his weapons waited for him. Once he had his belt
with the twin guns and twin daggers back, along with his boot knife, he felt
better.
The dried wolf’s blood on his hands cracked as
he buckled the belt back on, and strangely, that helped to settle him as well,
reminding him of his new purpose. Though it also reminded him of Ormand’s words
a moment ago. I like your style…I want
him to bleed out.
A sour-faced courier appeared at Aaro’s elbow
to hand him a sizable sack of silver coins—his payment for delivering Ormand’s
magic pendant to the Shonno-mara. He took the sack and hefted it, saying
nothing. He’d as soon dump the money into the river as put it in the bank.
However, if he could use Ormand’s own money to bring him down, he wouldn’t
complain. It would fund his trip to East Talva, and still leave the majority to
spare.
They left the palace, and Alonso followed him
to the outer courtyard where he’d left his horse. The hitching rail stood by
itself, deserted except for Aaro’s bay stallion, who waited in a pool of
lamplight in the deepening dusk, perking his ears in their direction.
“Come to Merry Tinker’s when you get off duty,”
Aaro said. “I’ll buy you a decent meal. I hear military meals aren’t fit to
slop pigs with.”
“True enough.” Alonso slouched against the
hitching rail, his dark eyes sharp in the dim light, belying the relaxed pose.
“I may take you up on that.” Under his breath he added, “Better make it the
Laughing Lady. I’ll be there at eleven, and you better plan on telling me
what’s going on.”
Aaro nodded. “Later, then.”
He rode out through the stockade fence and onto
the prairie. The outskirts of Skybreak lay to the southeast, dark blots of
buildings looming against the fading twilit sky. He had another stop to make
before his meeting with Alonso, so he nudged the stallion into a canter until
they hit the main road through Old Town. Then he slowed to a walk so the sound
of rushing hoofbeats wouldn’t draw attention.
As he neared the creek separating Old Town from
New Town, he turned off the main road and headed back out toward the open
prairie until he hit the familiar dike separating the outlying estates from the
open planes.
A weathered stable loomed in the gathering
dusk, and he dismounted at the back, looping the reins loosely through a rusted
iron ring bolted to the wall. He tiptoed around the stable and toward the
house, going silently without actually appearing to sneak. Sneaking was always
the best way to get yourself noticed. Aside from wearing a mask, of course. But
that couldn’t be helped.
The property looked more run down than he
remembered, with a dilapidated buggy sitting on three wheels outside the
carriage house, and tall prairie grass growing unchecked around the buildings.
He tried the back door, and it opened under his
hand, with no one immediately visible beyond it in the dim house. Easing it
closed behind him, he crept up the back staircase.
The first door he opened up there revealed a
darkened bedroom, with the drapes pulled closed. It smelled of dust and disuse,
and he moved on. After another two tries he found the right one—he hoped.
Groping his way around the room, he found a chair in the corner and removed a
pile of dirty clothes onto the floor before settled down to wait.
There in the dark, he waited long enough that
he might have started to nod off, if his thoughts would have ceased their
silent abuse. The dried blood on his hands felt stiff and itchy, reminding him of
all the horrors that had happened since the last time he set foot in this
house. Inevitably, his thoughts turned to Rowan. As little as he knew her
before she’d been killed, he knew she would have hated what he became
afterward, in the name of vengeance. What must she think of him today, if she
could look down from her place with the Almighty and see him?
He shuddered, then straightened up at the sound
of boots coming down the hallway. The door latch clicked, and the hinges
creaked as it opened.
A young man stepped into the room. The lamp
preceding him lit his features, reassuring Aaro that he’d chosen the right room.
Aaro spoke his name from the shadows. “Dustan
Keir.”
