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  The right of Skye Knizley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him/her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it was published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  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.

  Cover and Book Design by: Dreams2Media

  Edited by: EAL Editing Services

  Copyright© 2016 Skye Knizley

  All rights reserved

  Raven Storm™ Aspen Kincaid™ and The Storm Chronicles™

  property of Skye Knizley.

  Released through Vamptasy Publishing

  www.vamptasy.com

  The Storm Chronicles™

  Stormrise

  Stormrage

  Stormwind

  Shadowstorm

  Raven

  Storm

  Aspen (Occurs chronologically between Stormrage and Stormwind)

  Nightraven

  Stormfront

  Deadly Storm

  Other Storm Chronicles™ Novels

  Fresh Blood

  Blood Highway

  Hellstorm

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  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

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  Forget what you think you know about the world. There is another world, a world where true evil exists, lurking in the darkness. Vampires, Lycans, Demons, the Bogeyman and all the other things that go bump in the night walk among you, rub shoulders with you…and feed on you.

  I’m something different. I was born to a pureblood vampire and an Immortal. I have a vampire’s strength and abilities and almost none of their weaknesses. They call me Dhampyr, or day walker. And that’s when they’re being nice.

  I used to be a Chicago cop, homicide division. Now I’m with the FBI, Section Thirteen. Don’t ask. All I can tell you is when darkness comes crawling out of the pit, I’m the one who sends it screaming back to hell.

  I am the Night.

  I am Raven Storm.

  PROLOGUE

  1887 Quell Street, Seattle, WA

  Music thudded through speakers so big they could have housed a family of four, if they were friendly and didn’t mind going deaf in a matter of seconds. The bass made Raven Storm’s teeth ache as she made her way across the dance floor of the Shadow Gallery, a vampire-owned preternatural club on the outskirts of the Seattle-Tacoma metroplex. Leather-clad men and women brushed against her as she passed, dancing to the music. Some, she knew, glanced appreciatively at her legs, visible beneath her short leather skirt, while others recognized her for what she was and moved away, out of fear, deference or both. Sometimes being Fürstin to the Mistress of Boston-Chicago had privileges. If only they didn’t come with six inch heels and a bustier so tight her ribs hurt.

  On the far side of the floor Raven paused to sip the drink she held and survey the crowd. It was a good night, even for a Friday, and there were a few hundred people crowding the first and second floor bars as well as the dance floor. A dee-jay stood behind his turntables at the far end of the club, spinning music Raven had never heard of and hoped she never would again. Whatever techno-industrial-death-dance was, she wasn’t interested.

  “Got anything?” Rupert Levac asked in her ear. He was outside in his FBI issued sedan. It was a step up from the Nash.

  Raven resisted the urge to touch her earpiece. “A serious draft around my ass and these shoes are killing me.”

  “That skirt makes your legs look amazing and you run in those shoes like most women run in trainers,” Aspen said.

  Raven kept walking, trying to look everywhere at once. “Easy for you to say, you don’t have to run in them. Where are you?”

  “Above you, just over your left shoulder,” Aspen said.

  Raven took another sip and half-turned. Aspen leaned on the second floor railing holding an empty glass. Where Raven had dressed in a short skirt, bustier and jacket that hid her pistol and knives, Aspen had chosen a one-piece catsuit made from black leather. A silver belt hung low on her narrow hips and her purple hair was pulled into pigtails that made her look far more innocent than she was.

  “Wow,” Raven said. “You look gorgeous, Asp.”

  “If you two are done comparing vampire fashion, can we get back on the job?” Levac groused.

  “You’re just jealous you can’t see all this tail,” Aspen said.

  “I won’t deny it, but I also want to get back home. The cheeseburgers out here taste funny. The sooner you two find this Trent Bloodstone character, the sooner I can get a real burger,” Levac said.

  Raven met Aspen’s eyes then turned back to the club. Levac was right, they had a job to do. King had called them in from Chicago because he needed someone who could pass as a preternatural and be unmolested at the clubs. Though Raven and Aspen spent over a year living in the city, it had been as FBI agents, not as a vampire and her familiar.

  Trent Bloodstone, the lycan they were after, was a high-end thief who specialized in art and precious gems and the prime suspect in a string of museum thefts that stretched from Seattle to Prague and back again. Word in the underground was that Bloodstone was meeting his contact tonight at the Shadow Gallery. Raven had no idea what Bloodstone looked like, but she knew he was meeting a vampire named Juno, a fence and fixer. Juno, Raven knew, if only in passing. She was an older vampire, with silver hair she pulled back from her face in antique combs and eyes so pale they were almost white. It was an unmistakable look, even in this sea of weird.

  Raven finished her drink and continued through the club, her eyes on the curtained booths at the back of the first floor. In most clubs, the private areas were so that vampires could feed without attracting the attention of any vanilla partiers. But they also made excellent places to meet without attracting attention. She spotted Juno sitting in one near the club’s emergency exit. The curtain was pulled back and Juno was watching the club, one foot rocking to the rhythm of the music.

  “I’ve got Juno,” Raven said. “Back booth, silver and gold outfit.”

  “I see her, do you want me to tag her with a spell?” Aspen asked.

  “Not yet, hold your position, Asp. Rupe, what’s going on outside?”

  There came the rustle of a fast-food wrapper, then, “Not much, there is still a line at the door, but nobody matching our boy’s description…” There was a pause, then Levac came back on, his mouth sounding full. “A limo just pulled up, looks like it is from a local service. A big guy in a black suit just got out with a couple of women dressed in white leather or latex or something. Can’t preternaturals ever wear anything normal?”

  “No. We have to sign an agreement at birth to avoid cotton and polyester on pain of death,” Raven replied.


  “Speak for yourself, latex underwear chafes,” Aspen said. “I’m a tighty-whitie girl.”

  The sound of Levac choking on his cheeseburger came over the radio and Raven couldn’t hide her smile. “When she wears any. Is this too much info, Rupe?”

  “You two are trying to kill me, aren’t you?” Levac asked.

  “Nah, Sloan will do that slowly over the next thirty years of your marriage,” Aspen said. “I see your guy in the suit, he just passed through the VIP entrance. Ray, I’d bet good money that the women with him are also lycans, they have the eyes of predators.”

  Raven took a seat at an empty café table and crossed her legs. Across the club she could see that the crowd on the dance floor was parting like the red sea as Bloodstone made his way across.

  “Rupe, cover the rear. If this guy bolts, that’s his closest exit.”

  “Roger that, Ray. Moving to the rear.”

  “What about me?” Aspen asked.

  Raven glanced at the railing above her. “See if you can get to the floor above Juno, I want to know what they talk about. We can’t move in until we know for sure.”

  “Gotcha.”

  From the corner of her eye, Raven saw Bloodstone and his entourage step into view. Bloodstone was a small man, for a lycan, with close-cropped brown hair thinning on top and a dancer’s physique.

  The two women with him were so similar they might have been twins. Both were pale, the sort of pale you get when it is freezing outside and you spend six months indoors. They weren’t vampires, they didn’t smell like the undead, but they also weren’t werewolves. Not with that skin, ice-blue eyes and the pale blonde hair that trailed almost to the floor behind them.

  One of the women spotted Raven and whispered something to Trent, who glanced in her direction. Raven feigned disinterest and turned her attention to the cocktail waitress serving this part of the club. The waitress hurried over and Raven ordered a cranberry club soda then turned to look back at the dancers.

  “Good evening.”

  It was an accented voice, Scandinavian, if Raven was any judge. She smiled at the lycan woman who had stepped up beside her and raised her sunglasses.

  “Hello, can I help you?”

  The lycan smiled. “I saw you looking at me, are you alone?”

  Damn.

  “For now,” Raven said out loud. “You look like you have your hands full, though.”

  The lycan glanced at Bloodstone, who had continued through the club to his meeting with Juno. “Mr. Bloodstone is my employer, not my lover. I have other tastes. May I join you?”

  Raven felt Aspen tug on their familiar connection.

  Is she… hitting on you? Aspen asked.

  Yes. I didn’t expect that.

  Raven patted the seat beside her. “Please do. Can I get you a drink? The waitress will be right back.”

  Seriously? Ray, if I wasn’t marrying you, I’d be hitting on you. Have you seen your legs? I may burn all your pants.

  The lycan slid onto the seat beside Raven and crossed her legs demurely. From here Raven could see that the woman’s pale skin was tattooed with ink such a pale blue it was almost invisible from a few feet away. The blue designs covered her from forehead to a point of speculation beneath the thigh-high boots she was wearing.

  “My name Cajsa,” she said. “I would love a mug of mead, if they serve it here.”

  Raven offered a shy smile. “Raven. I don’t know if they have mead, but I’ll be happy to ask.”

  What’s going on in the booth?

  Not much, small talk, but that is definitely Juno. Wait, now they’re talking about the price of fish. What the hell?

  It’s code, keep listening. They’re discussing the merchandise.

  “Do you live here in Sea-Tac?” Cajsa asked.

  Raven shook her head. “Not originally, I moved out here to help a friend. What about you? I think I would have noticed someone like you in town.”

  Cajsa pushed an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “No, I am not from here. Where I come from, it is very cold and does not rain so often.”

  The waitress arrived and placed Raven’s glass of pale pink soda on the table. Raven ordered a warm mead for Cajsa and slipped the waitress a twenty dollar bill from her purse. The movement allowed her to glance at the booth, where the curtain was now closed. The other lycan was standing outside, watching the club with no particular interest in what Raven and Cajsa were doing.

  When she looked back at Cajsa, it was to find her staring. Raven fought back her irritation and took a sip of her drink.

  “You’re going to stare a hole though me, Cajsa.”

  Cajsa sat back and laughed. Her voice was musical, far different than the odd barking cadence of most lycans.

  “Apologies, Miss Raven. It is just that I cannot place you. You are neither vampire nor lycan, yet you are not human. May I ask?”

  Raven kept her face blank. “Ask what?”

  Ray, Juno just handed Blackstone a small black bag, I think…yes, it’s full of diamonds.

  Cajsa laughed again, a gesture she hid behind one tattooed hand. “What you are, of course.”

  Time to move, Asp.

  Raven took another sip of her drink then set it aside. “I’m Agent Raven Storm of the FBI. I’m about to arrest your boss for theft, money laundering, resisting arrest and escaping police custody.”

  Cajsa blinked in surprise and Raven stood. “As far as I know, you haven’t done anything to warrant my attention. Stay out of the way and everything will be fine, get involved and we’ll have to do things the hard way.”

  Raven had never seen a lycan shift and move so fast. One moment, Cajsa the demure blonde woman was sitting with her legs crossed. The next, a white werepanther was in her face, growling. Cajsa’s roundhouse slap sent Raven flying onto the dance floor where she landed flat on her back.

  Swell. It looked like it was hard way. Raven kicked off her shoes and rose to her feet as the crowd dispersed around her, leaving a space for the lycan to square off.

  “Bloodstone is…just standing there, watching,” Aspen said on the radio.

  “I’m coming through the back, what’s going on, Aspen?” Levac asked.

  “The usual. Raven pissed off the bodyguard and now they’re squaring off like it’s a schoolyard,” Aspen said.

  “I have five on Raven,” Levac said.

  “You know I can hear you, right?” Raven muttered.

  “Duh,” Aspen said. “Rupe and I will arrest the other lycan and Bloodstone while you get your Fürstin on.”

  Raven rolled her eyes and held up her hands. “Look, Cajsa, I don’t want to−”

  Cajsa’s claws raked across her belly, turning her leather bustier into a bra. Raven caught her arm and twisted it up behind her back.

  “Fine, you’re under arrest for assaulting an officer and ruining my brand new outfit. Keep resisting and they’ll be taking you away in pieces,” Raven snarled.

  The lycan growled and stepped backwards, then hit Raven in the face with the back of her skull. Pain lanced through Raven’s nose and she let go of Cajsa, a mistake she would regret. Cajsa spun and backhanded her across the face then pounced, dragging them both to the floor while the crowd cheered around them.

  Raven blinked back tears of pain and looked up into Cajsa’s mouth, which was full of more pointed teeth than Raven had ever seen outside a Jaws exhibit.

  “Surrender and I will not chew your pretty face off,” Cajsa said. Her lycan voice was deep, with a hint of purr Raven might have found attractive under other circumstances. But it carried with it the stench of raw meat and death.

  Raven blinked and let her vampire rise to the surface. “Damn, what the hell have you been eating? I’ll make sure the jailers bring you plenty of Purina, clear that breath problem right up.”

 
Cajsa growled in annoyance and Raven punched her in the face then used both feet to push her off. Cajsa spun in mid-air and came down on her hind paws and one hand. She landed with such force her claws dug furrows in the expensive dancefloor.

  “That was impressive,” Raven said. “I guess cats of all sizes land on their feet. Or paws, whatever. Care to give up and let me arrest you?”

  Cajsa’s lips pulled back in a feral smile. “What are you?”

  “I’m a who, not a what, and I already told you,” Raven said.

  “I must know before I kill you.”

  Raven shrugged. “Get used to disappointment, Cajsa.”

  Cajsa seemed taken aback by that response and Raven took the opportunity to strike. Her eyes flashed green and she stepped into a spin kick that hit Cajsa in the jaw and sent her sprawling. Raven winced at the pain in her bare heel, but didn’t slow. She leapt astride Cajsa and clamped her hands around the big lycan’s neck. Cajsa gasped and raked her claws down Raven’s arms, raising deep cuts that ran crimson and black in the overhead lights.

  “You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to stop digging your damn claws into my arms, that shit hurts. You have the right to an attorney if you can find one who will believe this actually happened,” Raven said.

  She squeezed harder and Cajsa’s eyes sagged shut. A moment later, she shifted back to human. Raven bounced her head off the dance floor for good measure then dragged her to one of the bolted down café tables where she cuffed her with a silver-lined cuff.

  The cuts in her arms were already healing when she straightened. Not far away, Aspen was cuffing the other lycan, who was scorched around the eyes and face, but still breathing. There was no sign of Levac.

  “Where is Rupert?” Raven asked.

  Aspen sagged to the floor beside the naked lycan and waved vaguely toward the back door. “He went after Bloodstone while I was dancing with our friend here.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Aspen nodded. “Nothing a glass of wine and a steak won’t cure.”

  “I’ll get you both before we go home,” Raven said.

  “It’s a date,” Aspen said.