Read The Men of Otherworld: Collection One Online
Authors: Yasmine Galenorn
The Men of Otherworld: Collection One
The Men of Otherworld
Collection One
Yasmine Galenorn
A Nightqueen Enterprises LLC Publication
Published by Yasmine Galenorn
PO Box 2037, Kirkland WA 98083-2037
THE MEN OF OTHERWORLD
Collection One
Copyright ©2014 by Yasmine Galenorn
First Electronic Printing: 2014 Nightqueen Enterprises LLC
Cover Art by Tony Mauro © Copyright 2012-Yasmine Galenorn
Cover Design by Yasmine Galenorn
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any format, be it print or electronic or audio, without permission. Please prevent piracy by purchasing only authorized versions of this book.
This is a work of fiction and is entirely the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, or places is entirely coincidental and not to be construed as representative or an endorsement of any living/existing group, person, place, or business.
A Nightqueen Enterprises LLC Publication
Published in the United States of America
Biography and Complete Book List
Introduction
For a long time, people have asked me what happens between the novels in my series, or they want to see more of some characters, or hear about a scene referred to but never written into the story line. Until now, there wasn’t much I could do about that—there’s a word limit in my contracts and when you stray too far from the main focus, the book gets muddy. But with the ability to self-publish short collections like this, I can now offer my readers some of what they’ve been asking for. So, I have decided to write and sell short collections on my own. Some of these will be set within the worlds I’ve created—Otherworld, the Indigo Court, etc.—and yet others will be from ideas you haven’t seen yet.
In this collection I am offering you a closer glimpse at the men who share the lives of the D’Artigo sisters. I’ve indicated the time period or setting in which these take place before each story. These scenes are canon because I wrote them to fit into my worlds and timelines.
There will be a second collection for the men—this one would have been too long for me to publish otherwise (I cannot offer full size novellas or books on my own at this point due to existing contractual obligations), but never fear—Smoky, Morio, Vanzir, Carter, and Bruce will have their stories coming in January 2015.
Please visit my
Website
for information on the books, my forums if you want to interact with other readers, and my blog for my daily ramblings. And see the booklist included for my complete bibliography. These stories do NOT appear in the books, and you will not find the adventures in the books involved here.
These stories are dedicated to you—my readers. I hope you enjoy them.
Bright Blessings,
Yasmine Galenorn
November 2014
The Hunger
I’ve often thought about Rozurial’s marriage to Fraale, and that fateful day when Zeus and Hera forever changed their lives. It’s a story that haunts me, and I finally decided to write it out and see just what happened.
The wild roses were blooming in the garden, which meant that before long it would be time to gather the honey and start harvesting apples. Rozurial loved this time of year when everything was still warm and golden with the afternoon sun, but autumn was clearly beckoning from just over the hill.
As the sun crept over the horizon, streaking the early dawn with golden tongues of fire, Roz sat on a slope near his home, chewing on a piece of grass, as he contemplated what chores he needed to finish before nightfall.
Fraale, his wife—the love of his life and the one constant in his world—was baking bread in the garden oven. It was still too warm to heat up the house, so she had been doing all the summer cooking outdoors. She had shooed him out when he stopped to grab a roll and some meat for breakfast, laughing and cussing out the loose bricks that were making the day’s cooking precarious.
Now, stomach full for the morning, Roz stretched back, hands under his head, and ticked off a mental list of chores that lie ahead of him. Milk the goats, harvest vegetables to dry under the sun for winter. The starberries were ripe and Fraale wanted to get to her jam-making soon, so he needed to pick a basket of those. He also needed to mend the fence in the southern pasture before the goats broke it down and ran amok.
With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet. The sooner he got busy, the sooner he’d get done. As he stood there, the morning light glinting off his waist-length hair that coiled down his back, a shadow cast across him from a nearby tree. A sudden chill raced up his spine and he let out low growl, dropping into a crouch, squatting as he scanned the horizon for any sign of movement. But the only signs of life were the insects and birds that filled the meadow, and the raggle-taggle herd of goats that had followed him up from the lower pastures. Frowning, he eased himself back to his feet.
“It can’t be him,” Roz whispered, trying to reassure himself. “It can’t be Dredge. Not in daylight. Not at sunrise.”
The last time he’d felt this same, sudden fear, he’d still been on the hunt and his instincts had been keen. At times, Rozurial feared that life with Fraale had blunted them—that withdrawing from the relentless pursuit of the vampire who had killed his entire family had been a mistake. But most of the time now, he was happy. And when the memories swept down to fill his nightmares, Fraale was there to wake him up and hold him until he could breathe again.
He scanned the horizon again.
Nothing.
Roz exhaled slowly. Fear was dangerous. Fear was more dangerous than the adversary you were afraid of. Fear could kill.
When his pulse had stopped racing, he closed his eyes and listened. There were no silences in the bird song, there was no sudden cessation of insects thrumming. The wind felt the same—no sudden shifts, no scents other than what should be there. Finally, he opened his eyes and glanced down as one of the goats ran over to nuzzle his side. He patted her head. Trika stared up at him, then followed him as he started down off the slope.
“You’d think by now I could let the past go. It was long ago and far away...but I still hear them screaming. I still hear my mother begging Dredge to leave my sisters alone.” He pressed his lips together into a thin line, then forced himself to take another deep breath. “You know, Trika, sometimes the monsters of the world turn our memories into monsters on their own. Sometimes, the worst way to hurt someone is to make their entire life a living nightmare that won’t recede.”
Trika let out a bleat, as if answering him.
“You bugger, you. Go on with you, get to the herd and fill your belly.” He shooed her off, trying to laugh. Dredge couldn’t be here. Vampires slept during the daylight, even the strongest of them. And Dredge wasn’t the hunter, not this time. No, Dredge wouldn’t know him from a rock. Because Dredge was halfway to insane, and the only thing that mattered to him was the current kill, the current prey. Rozurial had hunted him across the world and back again before giving up to settle in and have as normal of a life as he could. Last he heard, Dredge was tracking through Ceredream, feeding off the whores and the homeless—castaways who wouldn’t be missed. No, it wasn’t Dredge who had set him on alert. Just
who
it was, he didn’t know. But not Dredge.
Stopping in at the house to pick up his lunch bucket and to give Fraale a kiss, Rozurial found her cussing out the summer oven yet again. She had burned two loaves of bread thanks to the uneven heating and now she swung around, hands on hips.
“You promised me you’d repair this. I can’t do up the harvest preserves until you fix it.” She was pretty—plump and round, with brown hair and eyes that flashed when she was angry…and when she wanted to make love.
Roz swept her into his arms, his lips pressing against hers. She was warm and soft, cushioned in all the right places, and as he buried his nose in her hair, all he wanted to do was sweep her into the bedroom and kiss his way down her body. But she pushed her way out of his embrace, laughing.
“Chores first. The fields will not till themselves, and the fruits won’t fall into the baskets on their own accord. Now, when are you going to fix my oven?” But her eyes danced as she slapped her hand against his chest.
He grinned. “Tonight. I promise you, I’ll fix both the summer oven and the fireplace. Now, give me my lunch, woman, and make me some cookies today? Please?” Again, the boyish smile flashed as he gently smacked her on the ass. Even if settling down had dulled his senses, it was worth it—the sun on her hair, the smells of home around him. The sense of family he’d lost thanks to Dredge in childhood, he’d regained when he met Fraale.
She pushed a bucket into his hands. “There’s bread and cheese, meat and cake, and a bottle of milk. Go on with you, then.”
And so, Rozurial headed off to build and mend and harvest and generally take care of business.
He was partway through the afternoon when he got the feeling something was wrong. The same shiver he’d felt in the morning hit him again. He shaded his eyes. From the pasture in which he was standing, the house was barely visible—a faint protrusion on the horizon. He was a twenty minute walk from home, on the highest hill of their property, staring through the fields of corn and root vegetables. Trying to ignore the feeling, he went back to shoring up the last boundary marker that was leaning precariously. But, unable to shake the worry, he decided to head back home early.
On his way, his walk became a jog became an outright run. Roz was in good shape, and by the time he came to the fence that divided their house from the gardens, he slowed, hoping he wasn’t making a fool of himself. Fraale would probably laugh herself silly at his expense—there were no signs of fire, no signs of trouble. He debated whether he should just turn back. He could finish bringing in the wagon filled with berries and fruit, and carrots and corn that he’d picked during the afternoon. But an odd noise—one he didn’t recognize—made him pause.
Slowly, he edged around to the side of the house. There, tied to the gate, stood a white stallion—huge and gleaming in the late afternoon sun. No saddle…so whoever owned it must have either been leading it by the bridle, or riding bareback. The horse was restive, pawing the ground, and he thought he could see a puff of steam come out of its nostrils, but that made no sense. He drew his hand across his eyes to clear them.
At that moment, a sudden scream from inside the house broke through his thoughts and he whirled, racing toward the door. As he burst into the parlor, the first thing he saw was a Fraale, trying to escape from the clutches of a tall, white haired man who was attempting to kiss her. Roz leaped forward, grabbing hold of the man’s arm to pull him off his wife.
With one shrug, the man tossed him aside like he was a limp rag. Roz shook his head, sitting up dazed. What the hell? He was strong—the man looked older, how could he have...? And then he noticed what the man was wearing. A white cloak over a white and gold gown, belted by a golden sash. A faint bluish glow surrounded him, and when he turned to look at Rozurial, his eyes were the glow of early morning sky.
“
Zeus…
” Roz slowly stood up. “Zeus?” he whispered again.
The god let out a grumbling sigh and, taking his hands off Fraale, turned to Rozurial and crossed his arms. “Doesn’t anyone ever kneel anymore?”
Roz’s eyes narrowed. When he was very young, he had hidden away, watching his family forced to kneel at the feet of a monster. He had never knelt to anyone, no matter who they were. And he didn’t plan to start now
“Leave my wife alone. Leave my house. Go now, and we part in peace.’
Zeus glanced at Fraale, who was adjusting her dress. She backed away, skirting towards Roz, the expression on her face one of mingled terror and disbelief.