An Heir in Shadow (The Shattering Darkness Book 1) Read online

  DEDICATION

  This story is for all who watch the madness of humanity breakdown into darkness but still find kindness in the little things. For all who still look to the stars to dream of a better future. But more importantly for those who take their dreams and make them a reality.

  Keep dreaming, keep acting, keep loving.

  To my friends and family who put up with my nonsense. To my amazing husband who promised to endure me for an eternity.

  To anyone who took a chance on a first-time author. Thank you! I hope you fall as in love with this world as I have.

  Lastly, to the immense talent of all the people in the Facebook Ampersand Write group. Thank you for always answering my pleas for help swiftly!

  an heir in shadow

  By Sofia Drake

  Book One of The Shattering Darkness Trilogy

  An Heir in Shadow

  Book one of the Shattering Darkness Trilogy

  By Sofia Drake

  Copyright © 2017 by Sofia Drake

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design and art by Anna Shoemaker / www.annashoemaker.com

  Logo design/back cover design also by Anna Shoemaker.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  © 2017 Sofia Drake

  Visit my website at www.sofiadrake.com

  First Printing: November 2017

  Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9996749-0-1

  E-Book ISBN: 978-0-9996749-1-8

  “If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?”

  Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

  Author of The Gulag Archipelago

  1918-1956

  FOREWORD

  Once upon a time there was a war…

  Whole generations of lives fell under the horrors of war before they had a chance to live. Youth from nearly every race were torn from their mothers and thrust into a battle to further the greed of a king and queen they had no natural allegiance to. The queen of the dragons and the king of the fae were enemies like no other; their hatred was born of true love broken. A cruel twist of fate brought them together as true mates…

  Every fairy tale ends with the connection of soul mates who come together to live happily ever after, but nothing in this life ends with just happily ever after. It was the queen’s lust for gold, and all the world’s wealth which crashed against the king’s greed for power and conquest. Before the true age of man, this world was split in two, the fae ruled the west and the dragons the east. All other species were mere tools in their arsenals. Humans especially, were puppets and slave to the two races, countless died in the war for control which raged between the two monarchs.

  They were not the only ones brought together by the true-mate bond, the king’s sister, Freya was true mated to the cousin of the queen. Freya was the most powerful spell caster in the king’s court, but long did she avoid entering battle… how could she kill her lover’s people? This very reluctance did not go unnoticed in the king’s court and soon a plot to bring the war to the end was crafted in secret from the two monarchs. The conspirators waited long for the moment to spring their trap, the war went on for one thousand years; the long-lived fae and dragons waged a war which crippled the earth and its inhabitants.

  Until, on the shores that are now called The United States of America, the queen and king met in battle… and on that day Freya’s true mate, Donovan was cut down before her… the bond between them would ensure that Freya would fall with him.

  Her scream of rage and anguish drowned out the sounds of swords and men dying. Freya’s last breath cursed the two races, dragon and fae to inevitable doom. Her power swelled the land, slammed through the world and shattered the skies, for the most powerful spell was cast on Death’s wings.

  “Curse ar fad agat le do bháis, iad siúd cumhacht duais agus riches níos mó ná an saol agus grá ... ní bheidh aon síol quicken leis an saol sa bhroinn do dragon nó fae. Beidh do ríocht titim agus níl aon chumhacht beidh shábháil tú go dtí an grá ar siúl níos mó ná saint.” Curse all of you to your death, those who prize power and riches more than life and love... no seed will quicken with life in the womb for dragon or fae. Your kingdom shall fall and no power shall save you until love is held more than greed.

  When her power struck the two rulers, they ended their battle heartbroken at the death of their kin, each retreated to their territories to search a cure for the curse… but Freya was the most powerful of the fae… and dragons were never ones to dally in magic more advanced than their ancient blood magics.

  The two races dwindled down… dying slowly like a poisoned beast, their numbers shrank every century and neither successor to the king nor queen could find a cure for the curse. One more war was fought in pursuit of the cure, a war which ended in a treaty forced by the budding human government. Thus, we enter the age of man. The two races slowly mixed with the fragile short-lived creatures, lending the magic to make the mortal witches and wizards.

  This was no fairy tale—but an obituary—for soon the curse would rid the world of pure fae and dragons…

  Chapter One:

  Baltimore

  Glass crunched under Morrigan’s boots as she strode toward the bleak-looking office building on the corner. The gray brick was a dull, lifeless splotch against the city of steel and glass which rose high into the air. The smell of the human masses trudging through the city assaulted her heightened senses with every gust of bitter wind in her face.

  Her eyes trailed across the many signs of financial companies which the bureau nestled between. The building looked like a squat rock stuck between the massive skyscrapers. She itched to climb to the roof to feel the clean wind off Chesapeake Bay, to smell the hint of salt and ocean entwined in it; to see the unending sky, the lights twinkling off the ships bringing cargo in, to just be away from the crowded streets. The crush of people always made it hard for her to breathe.

  All too soon she found herself mounting the stairs to the entrance of the Bureau of Preternatural Creatures. She snorted to herself as she usually did at the name, as if humans were the normal race for this world. Morrigan pressed her palm to the rectangle next to the glass to let a hum of power register against the metal plate. The doors slid open with a near-silent hiss and she slipped through into the stiflingly warm building.

  Morrigan tore off her hooded coat and gloves before she could start to sweat. She nodded at the receptionist sitting at the circular desk at the entrance—he looked more disinterested than usual this early in the morning. The TV suspended above the circular reception area was set to the major human news networks, and the Preternatural News Network.

  “Good morning, Graham,” she said with a hint of amusement warming her voice.

  “Morrigan, what are you doing here so early? Is the world ending?” Graham mocked, raising his brows nearly to his dark hairline to punctuate his surprise.

  “Not today unfortunately, I was called in by the chief.” She smoothed her ebony hair back into a ponytail as she leaned her hip against Graham’s desk. Her silver eyes skimmed ov
er the papers lying haphazardly across the surface.

  “Mor, is that you?” A growling voice rang out from the rear of the long office. Twenty computer-laden desks were lined in front of the only enclosed office space in the building; the only other four doors led to a bathroom, kitchen, interrogation room, and finally the basement holding cells.

  “Yeah,” she called back as she glided past Graham to toss her coat and gloves onto her desk.

  Morrigan frowned at her reflection in the monitor, her pale skin shimmered in the florescent light. To a human, that shimmer and her molten silver eyes were the only signs she was not like them. Something more dangerous than merely human, or even a witch. That shimmer in her skin spoke to the fae blood coursing through her veins, that very blood which made her a deadly spell caster and one of the best on bureau payroll.

  Most of the higher-ups couldn’t understand why she didn’t go to the Fae Consulate in D.C to live with the others in the court, they couldn’t understand why she didn’t want to serve King Tristian, King of Light. Morrigan knew she would not survive a day in that court, not with the birthmark on her shoulder in the shape of a dragon in flight. The black mark that proved she was the first in line to the Throne of the Dark Court.

  She worked every day to hide her ancestry from the world, because there had not been a child born of both bloods since the last great war. There had been no pure blood child born of either race, the only way either races could procreate was with the humans. At least that was the way it had been until her parents met and fell in love, Morrigan was a miracle. A secret miracle that her parents had died to protect from the world.

  “MOR?!” The barked shout snapped her out of her head and made her move a bit quicker toward the owner of that voice.

  Chief Connar Mac Braoin was more dragon than human, his eyes were black not brown, and his skin was a dreary gray which matched the outside of the office. Only his hair bespoke of any color, the messy strands were a vibrant red which glittered like a flaming forge, when he looked up at her with a disgruntled huff. It had taken them many months to get over his fae hostility, since she was the first fae born to come to the bureau. Most of the fae-sided witches or wizards that had shown any talent quickly found themselves hoarded by the king.

  Morrigan had quickly become a federal employee before her existence was known to her uncle’s court. By joining the bureau, she became untouchable under the treaty which allowed the fae and dragons' courts to be independent of the federal government. The same treaty that gave both races no true land but massive consulates which towered over every major city, and granted the power over any human with traces of them in their blood.

  Most witches and wizards were ignored by the courts, their power only strong enough to create parlor tricks. If they had any significant power, they were taken as children before the panel of elders to demonstrate the depth of that power and were claimed by the court of their relations. Human parents usually fought for the chance for their precious children to be claimed by a court, because it meant a stipend of money for the rest of their child’s life to make up for their family’s loss. Greed usually eased any guilt they would feel if they knew the children at best became servants, and at worst, they were made into pleasure slaves for the nobility.

  “Here I am Connar, don’t get your panties in a wad,” she drawled as she plopped down into one of the stiff-backed chairs in front of the chief’s massive oak desk. The monstrosity took up most of the room, a floor-to-ceiling bookcase and a couch monopolized the rest. “Do you have any idea how early it is? You had me out three days in a row hunting down that wizard who used his blood magic to enslave women. I thought I would get the weekend at least,” Morrigan said, with a frown.

  “I thought you were an agent of this bureau, not a whiny fae noble too spoiled to work,” Connar said with a biting smile as he took in her shirt.

  Morrigan grinned at him and propped her boots on his desk, resting her palms on her lap with an attentive gleam in her eyes. Her black slacks, blazer, and knee-high, low-heeled boots were strange against the Backstreet Boys t-shirt tucked into her pants.

  “Why am I here instead of any of the other agents?” she asked.

  “You were requested by name. The prime male needs help which only you can provide, apparently.” Connar sighed as he took in her immediately alarmed expression and all pretense of sass fell away when her boots slipped off his desk with a loud thump.

  “But I am fae, why would the leader of the very enemies to the fae, be asking for me?” Her voice sounded hoarse even to her own ears.

  Morrigan’s thoughts raced in frantic circles through her mind as she saw the prime male sensing her own dragon blood. Nightmares of being forced to become a brood mare for the dragons sent her pulse slamming in her ears. She could feel the blood drain from her face as she heard her mother’s voice screaming for her to “Run!" echo in her ears.

  Connar frowned at her as he felt her magic build in response to her fear, and he rose from his desk to kneel before her. Taking her hand in his, he snapped his fingers in front of her face three times before her eyes could focus on his face instead of the terror which overwhelmed her rationality. Morrigan’s silver irises seemed to swim around her dilated pupils, but he had stared into her molten eyes many times, so it was not the way her irises danced which alarmed him. Rather, it was the stark and mindless fear in them which made his hackles rise.

  “Morrigan, look at me,” he growled out.

  Thick black lashes tipped with silver, fluttered wildly and covered her gaze for a moment, before she paused to suck in a desperate gasp of air.

  “You’ve worked with dragons before, for fuck's sake, I’m a dragon.”

  She shuddered slowly as the fear in her eyes receded. “It’s not the same, the prime is a full-blooded dragon…” Morrigan trailed off and looked at the half-blood before her. “Tell him I am unavailable. I am not a new agent; I have enough seniority to pick and choose my own private cases. This is not a federal investigation, is it?”

  Connar shook his head slowly; that brilliant red hair curling around his ears. “It’s not an investigation of the bureau, but the prime did not give me any idea of what the matter was about either. You know how the nobility of both courts are, Mor.” He scrubbed his hand across his face before rising to drop back into his chair with a weary sigh. “I won’t make you do this if you can’t, but I doubt this is just going to end with you refusing.”

  Morrigan nodded quietly, and rose to her feet with feline grace which all fae seemed to have. She turned and very quickly left his office, stopping only to snatch her coat and gloves off her desk. Graham frowned as she sped past his desk, but she had already escaped into frigidly cold air of the city, trying to calm her pounding heart.

  She took only a moment to shrug on her coat and gloves, then pushed out into the buzzing racket of an early Saturday morning in Baltimore. Traffic had already backed up the network of streets intersecting the city. The sidewalks were crammed with tourists aiming to amble across the inner harbor, and jaded residents braving the cold December morning to embrace the bustle which was downtown life.

  Morrigan’s thoughts were still turned inward, visions of her insane childhood stole her attention completely. Running from one shack to another, trying to outrun the rulers of both courts, her mother had been niece to the current prime male of the dragons. The normally matriarchal race had been ruled by the strongest male since the last queen to be born died. That was over two centuries ago, not even the purest bloodlines seemed to be able to produce a black dragon queen. Freya’s curse seemed to be doing its job on the savage race, leaving the ratio of male dragons to female absurdly lopsided. Males fought over strong witches to mate with, though each coupling was meant only to create something of power to allow the species to survive.

  She blinked as she found herself in front of her row home, it was alarming to have walked the entire distance without realizing; she cursed herself for being so oblivious to her surroun
dings.

  Morrigan paused to glance around herself, and she almost missed the cloaked figure who faded from sight about a hundred yards behind her. Fear sizzled up her spine and she hastily tore a door through her wards. These were the strongest wards she had learned. The lock clicked at her mental command, and she ignored the icy sensation of her wards flowing back into place as she walked down the stairs to below the street entrance of her home.

  Her home reflected her paranoia, stark white walls which only held a few pieces of art, all of which had been gifts from Connar at one time or another. One large, overstuffed chair sat in front of a fifty-inch flat screen, and a glass table holding the ground between the two.

  Morrigan’s steps were nearly silent on the dark hardwood floors which stretched throughout the two-level, four-bedroom home. A sigh parted her lips, her tongue darted out to wet her full lower lip as she examined the strength of her protections. Only when she was sure her wards were settled back into place, when she could feel the calming thrum of her own power wrapped around the home, did she pull off her coat.

  Nearly ripping out of her boots and socks, Morrigan waved a hand to light the dark living room. Electricity flared to life at her thought; two lamps and a ceiling fan were the only source of light for the room. The connected kitchen was much the same, no windows at all lined the first floor of her house and the second floor only had two. It was much easier to defend the home that way, the solid walls backed up the strength of the wards in a way that fragile glass could not do.

  She remembered the realtor’s incredulous response to her desire to buy this house, it had been a drug den of some kind, the previous owners had bought the home because it was below street level on the main floor. How could anyone want a house with so little natural charm? Morrigan didn’t want a home, didn’t need the same luxuries humans needed in their dens. She needed a place she could defend, a safe hole to hide out in when she was at her most defenseless.