Razor's Edge, Book 3, The Horde Wars Read online

  Razor’s Edge

  Book 3 in The Horde Wars

  An Ellora’s Cave publication

  Sherri L. King

  MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-

  Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

  Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML

  © Copyright Sherri L. King, 2003.

  All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave.

  Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc. USA

  Ellora's Cave Ltd, UK

  This e-book may not be reproduced in whole or in part by email forwarding, copying, fax, or any other mode of communication without author/publisher permission.

  Edited by Karen W. Williams

  Cover Art by Darrell King

  As always,

  For D.

  Lead me from the unreal to the real!

  Lead me from darkness to light!

  Lead me from death to immortality!

  -The Upanishads (800-500 B.C.)

  Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?

  -William Shakespeare

  Prologue

  “Freeze, asshole!”

  The giant in the black trench coat did as she commanded and slowly raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. As he did so, Emily carefully advanced on him, her Glock 23 service handgun aimed and at the ready should the man prove threatening.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing, here, huh?” With one hand she retrieved her handcuffs and moved behind him. “Hands behind your head,” she bit out. “Running around with knives is dangerous—didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”

  The man didn’t acknowledge her, except to follow her order and slowly place his hands behind his head. Emily huffed and wondered idly where her backup was. She’d called in her position several minutes ago while she’d still been in hot pursuit of the man in the black coat. Not that the man had seemed to notice her pursuit. He’d been too busy throwing his knives at some ruffian gang members who’d at least been wise enough to her presence that they’d kept themselves concealed in shadow.

  “Why’d you run? Did you honestly think you could get away? Honey, with your height, you couldn’t blend in at a Knicks’ game, much less out here on the streets.”

  Holstering her gun, she grabbed his wrists—one at a time—and lowered them behind his back. It was hard to ignore the obvious strength of those wrists and she was at once grateful that he seemed disinclined to put up a struggle. She wrapped the silver cuffs around his thick, masculine wrists and clamped them shut. In the back of her mind she wondered how in the hell she was going to get this nearly seven foot monster into the back of her squad car. She hoped fervently that he didn’t suddenly decide to give her any trouble. Her eyes roved over the back of him, from his waist-length auburn hair—shining straight and dark, it was the kind of hair every woman yearned for—to his long legs and large booted feet.

  Cautiously, she moved her hand to the stun gun holstered at her leg. She gritted her teeth against a thrill of alarm at his sheer size and obvious strength. If he tried anything she’d be ready to give him a good shock with the TASER in rebuttal. No way was he escaping on her watch—she’d never let one get away yet.

  It was why her colleagues revered her so, despite her genteel sex and appearance. She hunted the bad guys down, captured them, and brought them to justice. Every time. Without fail. Once she had the trail of a perp on the run there was no escaping from her. Come hell or high water she was always determined to come out the victor of any battle.

  Evidence enough to support her reputation—if anyone ever heard the facts—she’d chased this giant for over two miles before he’d stopped. On foot. She’d have chased him a few more if he hadn’t given in to the inevitable and slowed for his arrest. Pride in her work, pride in herself, pride in her position as keeper of the peace would have kept her on his heels, if nothing else, though she was glad he’d surrendered all the same.

  But she had to admit to herself—more than pride, it was largely curiosity that drove her now. Curiosity about this mysterious giant in black. Who was he? What was he doing out here on the streets in the middle of the night?

  And where in the hell had he learned to throw knives like that?

  She’d seen the glint of the streetlights, of the moonlight, reflecting on those blades in his hands as he’d fought his assailants. She’d seen him throw the blades, seen them return to him like razor blade boomerangs. It had been incredible to see. It had also been monumentally dangerous and illegal, which is where she came into the picture.

  He’d meant to kill those men. That had been clear enough, and she had to wonder…would he have killed them if she hadn’t shown up flashing her badge and her gun? As soon as she’d declared herself and ordered the men to surrender they’d all run from her, keeping to the shadows as if that would keep them safe from her. But this man had followed them, as if he meant to finish what he’d started, no matter that she—a cop—was giving chase.

  “Got any needles or weapons in your pockets?” She asked the question out of habit, out of training.

  The man didn’t respond, merely stood there. Waiting. For what Emily didn’t care to know. Let him be stoic while he could…she’d break him down in the interrogation room later.

  She patted him down from behind, careful to be wary of any surprises she might find in the folds of his clothing. There were none. All that she found in his pockets were half a dozen tiny glass vials of sludgy black muck—no doubt some new drug she was as yet unfamiliar with.

  “Turn around,” she ordered.

  The man complied and she moved to pat him down from the new angle. Then stopped. The man was practically nude under his coat—covered only in a substance that resembled thick liquid latex. But for his boots, his attire looked painted on over the naked planes of his body. And man oh man, what a body he had under that coat.

  Great. Why do I always get the wackos? she thought to herself. It must be because she worked the graveyard shift. They only come out at night.

  “Well, we can add public indecency to the list of charges against you,” she muttered and proceeded to read him his Miranda Rights.

  The man interrupted her, his voice like syrup in her ears. “You might want to get behind me, woman.” His words were educated, refined. Oddly cold and warm at the same time, though she couldn’t understand or comprehend the combination.

  “Are you threatening me, honey?” she asked, raising her eyebrow in a look she knew could bring even the most cold-hearted of men to their knees.

  It had taken her nearly thirty-two years to learn how to use her looks and her voice like a weapon. She was a master at it and used it against the black-coated man now, hoping fervently that her backup arrived sooner rather than later.

  “No. But they will.” He nodded his head in the direction behind her.

  She knew better—she was certainly not fool enough to fall for such an old trick—but she looked over her shoulder anyway.

  Three hulking men crouched in the shadows there, staring at them.

  “Holy shit,” she whispered, knowing that something serious was about to happen, whether she wanted it to or not.

  One of the men rushed at them, so fast that Emily’s heart lurched with instinctive alarm. She wouldn’t have time to draw her gun—she knew it with a sick feeling in her stomach. At least her stun gun was already palmed and waiting. Her body went cold and her mind steely as training took over the normal human fear that threatened to spill through her.

  But she hadn’t counted on the man behind her jumping into the equation. In her preoccupation with the rushing man and his stalking comrades she’d almost forgotten him. Unbelievably foolish
and amateurish, she had to admit, though only to herself.

  The man moved like lightning to herd her with his body against the wall of the alleyway. Blue-white blades shot out like spiked bracelets around his wrists and his handcuffs fell away in pieces to the ground. Those strange blades of his had cut through the steel like it was butter, though Emily barely had time to gasp over such a wonder. His body pressed back against her violently, penning her in so tightly that she barely had the option of movement, though she struggled like mad to get the stun gun into a position suitable for zapping him without injury to herself.

  The man who’d been rushing at them came on, growling and snarling like an animal as he met and clashed with the man in the black coat. Emily leaned around the dark figure to see some of what was going on. A stray sliver of light from a nearby streetlamp illuminated the attacker’s face for an instant…but that instant was enough to strike fear and shock into Emily’s heart with the force of a hammer’s blow.

  It was no man after all, but a monster.

  A monster!

  The form and shape of it was that of a muscular man of above average height, with terrible posture. It was this shape that had fooled her into thinking it was just some rogue criminal or gang member during the chase. But now she saw the slimy, blackened skin. The sharp, dripping fangs. The ten-inch, jagged claws that adorned its overlarge hands.

  And the eyes. The glowing orange eyes, bloodshot, bulging and oozing yellow pus… Emily closed her eyes against the horror of it. To see intelligence lurking in the depths of such hellish eyes was to know true terror. If such a thing could exist, could think and possesses self-awareness…then all the gods were surely dead. And the world was truly on its own as so many children of the new millennia had feared.

  There was evil in the world of men. And now that Emily knew it she feared she would never feel safe again. All feeling left her, all will to fight or run or do anything. She was, for the first time in her life, stunned beyond belief.

  The man ignored her and met the creature head on, but was careful to keep her well protected behind the shield of his back. The bracelet of blue-white spikes disappeared beneath his skin and the creature lunged. The man waved his fingers before the monster’s form like a magician and the creature paused, frozen. The man turned to face her and Emily’s eyes beheld the sight of the monster falling into slices behind him.

  “Stay here, woman. Do not draw their attention further.”

  “Oh shit,” she choked out and gagged, oblivious to the man or his warnings. Her eyes were riveted on the sight of the carnage behind him, by the pile of muck and gore on the ground.

  He seemed to sense her momentary lapse of reason and control. While watching the other creatures from the corner of his eye as they now advanced upon them, though much more slowly than the first aggressor, he grabbed her shoulders in his hands, slammed her up against the wall and held her there securely.

  He let go of her. A blade, several feet long and winking silver-blue in the dim light, shot out of his wrist. It came free from his flesh, leaving no mark behind to show its passing. Taking the blade between his hands he bent it effortlessly into a U shape, and penned her to the wall with it. He sank the tips of each end deep into the stone on either side of her trembling body.

  “Don’t move or this will cut you, and it will hurt very badly. Understand?”

  His gaze burned into hers, his eyes a clear yellow with flame bursts of orange around the dark pupils. Not entirely dissimilar from those of the monsters’ behind him, but where the creatures’ eyes were ugly and frightening, his were beautiful and clear and compelling.

  He didn’t wait for her to respond. With a flap of his black coat he was in the fray. Not one minute had passed since she’d secured the man with her handcuffs, not one minute since she’d been content and comfortable with her view of the world and her place within it. But now everything was changed. Nothing would be the same again.

  The man twirled, seeming to glide and fly and dance. Blades projected from his hands and feet like flashes of blue-white light. In and out, in and out, they glinted. He moved so fast the creatures didn’t stand a chance against him. Emily’s trained eyes couldn’t even follow his movements. Within seconds the fight was over and at least four monsters lay dead at his feet—Emily had lost the exact count sometime during the battle.

  He came to stand before her, seeming unaffected by the violence he’d just been a part of. “Where did you put my fl’shan?”

  Fl’shan? What the hell was he talking about? Emily was too confused to reason it out with any success. She, a woman who prided herself on possessing nerves of steel and a stomach for even the worst of crimes, was now a victim of her own fear and doubt.

  “You took my fl’shan from my pocket. The little vials. Where did you put them?”

  “Um…um…in my b-breast pocket,” she stuttered.

  The man reached out and plunged his long fingers into said pocket. His fingertips brushed over her nipple, which was already hardened due to her freezing fear. The look in his eyes deepened, darkened—an acknowledgement of her femininity—and his fingers lingered perhaps a moment longer than was really necessary.

  Her breath hitched and she trembled with fear…and with a desire that was just as terrifying.

  “Thank you,” he breathed, almost intimately, eyes glowing as he withdrew the vials from her pocket.

  He turned and threw the vials onto the street. There was a flash of white flame as they broke. The bodies caught fire quickly, burning hot. White licks of flame rose high and the stench of burning, rotten death assailed her nostrils, making her gag again. She held the contents of her stomach, but only barely, clenching her teeth against the merciless urge to retch.

  Turning back, he pulled the blade that imprisoned her out of the wall. He held it aloft in his hand and it straightened as if by magic. It shot back into the flesh at his wrist, sliding out of sight down the length of his arm under his sleeve.

  Emily whimpered.

  Leaning in close to her, his body almost touching hers, he brought his mouth down until it was a whisper away from hers.

  “If you tell anyone what you have seen here tonight, I’ll come for you. Do you understand?” His breath was warm against her lips.

  She was beyond speech, completely shell-shocked.

  “Nod once if you understand.”

  She nodded, though it took nearly all of her strength to do even so small a thing.

  “Good.” He reached out and patted her down until he found whatever it was he was searching for. He waved her wallet in front of her face, looked at her I.D., and placed it back into her pocket. “I have your name now. Emily Lansing.” He read from her license. “And your address. If you break your faith with me, if you breathe a word of this to anyone—anyone—I will find you. Don’t think for a moment that I won’t.”

  And with a flapping of his long, dark coat he was gone.

  Emily sank down in the muck of the dark alley, took one look at the ashes of the monsters that scattered the ground before her, and shook like a tree in the cold wind of winter. Her hoarse shout of helpless fear echoed off the brick walls around her. It was a long time before she found the strength to rise. And an even longer time before her shaking eased enough for her to walk away from the battle zone.

  When her backup finally arrived, however, there was no way the two male police officers could have guessed that she’d just been given the fright of her life. Calm and collected, professional and knowing, she was the epitome of a jaded cop who’d seen just about everything.

  And that was as she preferred.

  Chapter One

  “What’s the matter with you, Emily? You’ve been really spastic lately…and you look like shit. Not that shit doesn’t become you, but it’s just weird. You okay?”

  “I’m fine, Steve,” she said flatly, knowing it was a lie. Steve was right; she did look like shit. And she felt even worse. Seven days without sleep would do that to a person.
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  “Maybe you need to talk to the counselor? Get some weight off your chest. You’ve been at this job long enough to be carrying some pretty heavy burdens by now.”

  “I said I’m fine. I meant it.”

  Steve smiled. Having worked with her for three years he knew well enough by now to drop the subject. But there was something about her recent behavior that worried him. He wished he knew her better—she was such a guarded, secretive person—so he could get a clearer idea of what was up.

  But Emily had always been a loner, standing aloof from those around her. She was a good worker, a great cop with an instinct for danger and nerves of steel…but she was so damned reserved. Steve wondered, not for the first time, if she had any real friends. Any family. He supposed he’d never know.

  “Have it your way then. But if you need to talk…”

  “Yeah. Thanks,” she muttered and went back to her paperwork.

  Emily waited, holding her breath until Steve left. As a co-worker he wasn’t bad. As a friend…well…she’d never needed many of those. It wasn’t that she hated people, just that she felt uncomfortable around them most of the time and overall had little use for them. Many were the times she’d been judged harshly because of her innocent looks yet not so innocent mind. As a whole, or so she’d come to believe, people were often frightened of what they couldn’t understand.

  Most people didn’t understand her at all.

  When she was silent or shy she was judged as cold or stuck-up. When she was vocal she was found to be rude or aggressive for her tendency to be overly blunt. At work, she was as serious as they came. Her work was her life and she firmly believed in the system. But not everyone was as dedicated as she, and many saw her as a threat to their position in the force. She was shunned. And she did her own fair share of shunning—if only to avoid further conflicts. It was just how she dealt with things.