Dark Glitter Read online

  Table of Contents

  www.pinterest.com/tatejamesauthor

  Table of Contents

  Front Matter

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Signup for our Newsletters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Spirited Cover

  Allison's Adventures in Underland Cover

  Allison's Adventures in Underland Chapter One

  Stalking Links

  More Books By C.M. Stunich

  About the Authors

  Ciarah O’Rourke was born into torture.

  A human spirit reincarnated in the body of an ancient fae goddess, she’s spent the last five years in iron shackles, her mind poisoned with magic for secrets she doesn’t know.

  Waking up in a dirty alley with no memory of her escape, Ciarah finds herself in the hands of The Wild Hunt Motorcycle Club—a ruthless and violent group of bikers with faerie blood in their veins.

  Arlo. Reece. Killian.

  Three men drenched in death, sin, and old magic.

  From their clubhouse in the middle of the Louisiana bayou, they’ll offer Ciarah the keys to unlock her memories and control the veil between worlds. But even her knights can’t erase the twisted scars that remind her they aren’t the only ones who hunt.

  When The Wild Hunt rides, the souls of the dead join their parade.

  All that’s missing now is their queen.

  Dark Glitter

  Dark Glitter © 2018 C.M. Stunich and Katrina Fischer

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  For information address Sarian Royal Indie Publishing, 89365 Old Mohawk Rd, Springfield, OR 97478.

  Contact the authors at their websites

  www.cmstunich.com and www.tatejamesauthor.com

  Cover art and design © Amanda Carroll

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, businesses, or locales is coincidental and is not intended by the author.

  this book is dedicted to the Alliance of Awesome Authors.

  sharing our worries and fears, writing sprints, and cover addictions.

  you know who you are.

  Sign up for an exclusive first look at the hottest new releases, contests, and exclusives from authors Tate James and C.M. Stunich!

  Want to discuss what you've just read? Get exclusive teasers or meet special guest authors? Join C.M.'s and Tate's online book clubs on Facebook!

  My years of torment ended with a sharp gasp, my first breath of freedom tainted with the stench of rat shit and stale urine. That’s what woke me from seemingly endless torture, the urban stink of a city.

  Of course, I couldn’t remember any of it.

  As I blinked myself awake, my damaged mind pulled a curtain over the memories, a veil to shroud me from the pain. It wasn’t something I had the energy to fight—or that I’d even want to if I could.

  I peeled my heavy lids apart, the motion like the scraping of sandpaper against eyes too used to absolute darkness. It had been a long time since I’d seen even the dim, depressing lighting of an alleyway. How long, I didn’t know. My memory was fractured glass, the pieces scattered and sharp.

  I let out a small soundless scream when I came face-to-face with the wicked dark eyes of a rat. My back hit a dumpster as I scrambled frantically to get away from the small creature, my panicked gaze flicking around my new environment like a trapped animal. Tall brick walls rose up on either side of me, framing the navy velvet of a night sky.

  Where the fuck am I?

  It was dark, but streetlights and glowing neon signs lit the neighborhood outside of the alley I was crouched in. Shadows shrouded me, giving me a temporary feeling of security while I frantically searched my memory for where I was … or who I was.

  My wrists and ankles ached and I could see thick bands of bruising and raw wounds around them, like I’d been held prisoner somewhere. Surely that would be the sort of thing that was impossible to forget? What the fuck had I done to deserve being held prisoner? It must’ve been something awful though, for me to feel this sick, this detached from my own body.

  Hot iron, burning my flesh, scalding me, making me bleed.

  I blinked and the random flash of memory was gone, tucked safely away from my fragile mind. It wouldn’t do to dish up the demons of my past just yet. Closing my eyes against a wave of fatigue, I sucked in shallow breaths of the stale air, the scent of garbage tainting my tongue, and put a hand to my side. There was a burning sensation there, like a blade buried between my ribs. It made bile rise in my throat as I fought to control the churning of my stomach.

  It was hard to decide which was worse off: my body … or my mind.

  Fractured memories from different times and places assaulted me in waves. A rowdy bar, a peaceful glade, the sun shining on the sea. But they were puzzle pieces with no reference, just bits of color and shape I had no clue what to do with.

  Had I been in jail, punished for a crime? That would explain the marks on my wrists and ankles, wouldn’t it? But my clothes weren’t like any sort of prison uniform I'd ever seen, just a dirty, bloodstained cotton dress and no shoes. The clothing didn't seem anywhere near appropriate for the weather; it was cold enough that I could see my breath misting in front of me, so I clearly hadn't planned to be out here …

  My quiet panic was abruptly intruded on by a heavy metal door clanging open just feet from where I was crouched. A young girl in a greasy waitress uniform stepped out and propped the door open with a stray brick before lighting up a cigarette.

  Terrified, I remained frozen to the spot, both figuratively and literally, praying she wouldn't see me. How on earth would I explain what I was doing out here? It was clearly the middle of winter and I was dressed in little more than a nightgown.

  Oh yeah, and I had no memory of who I was let alone who it was I was running from.

  “Hey, girl,” she said, spotting me, “what the hell are you doing lurking in this shit-filled alley?” The woman took a drag on her cigarette, blonde hair gathered back in a messy ponytail, stray strands curling wildly around her face.

  She took a couple of steps closer to me, and I found myself preparing for a fight, awaiting the first blow with pursed lips and a defiant lift to my chin.

  Wait.

  The first blow?!

  She was just a girl, and hadn't threatened me in any way, so why would I be shaking in terror the way I was?

  “Hey …” she tried again in a gentle voice, crouching down until she was on my level, like I was a scared child or wild animal, someone that needed to be soothed and reassured with the basic, primal necessity of body language.

  She held her cigarette in long, elegant fingers, using a painted blue thumbnail to flick the ash from its tip before taking another drag.

  “I won't hurt you, sweetie,” she told me, and I could sense she was telling the truth. Was that normal? Could everyone sense the truth in someone's statement? I couldn't remember. But the certainty that she wouldn't hurt me made a noticeable difference in my anxiety level.


  I’d hate to have to kill her.

  Unfolding my arms from around my knees, I opened my mouth to speak, and say what? I didn't know. Maybe hello? It didn't matter, because all that came out was a squeaking gasp in place of my voice.

  My throat was raw and scratchy, like I’d just gargled bleach, and the pain of trying to speak made my breath catch and a tear roll from my eye. I felt—although I couldn’t remember exactly—that I’d shed many, many tears over my life. What was one more?

  “Oh shit, babe,” the girl hissed, stabbing out her cigarette and offering her hand to me like she was going to touch me; she stopped abruptly, seeming to think better of it. “Hon, you're in a really bad way. Come into the diner with me and I can get you something warm to drink. Fuck, you're practically a Smurf you're so blue.”

  All true.

  I could feel it in my bones, that she was speaking the truth.

  The waitress hazarded a smile that made the skin at the edges of her eyes crinkle. Even that move rang with the bright bells of honesty.

  My hand trembled so hard, but I couldn’t seem to stop it as I moved to push myself up from the ground; I would have fallen flat on my face if the girl hadn't caught me with a hand under my elbow. Everything on me ached and it took all the strength I had left to keep myself from throwing up as I pressed a hand to the pain in my side and found my feet. I wondered how bad I must really look to elicit such a response from this stranger?

  “Don't worry, sweetie,” the girl murmured as she helped me stumble toward the door she'd left chocked open, “we just closed the diner so it's all staff here. The coffee is still hot though, if you like coffee?”

  Coffee? Of course I liked coffee. I didn’t need all my memories to know that. Who the hell didn’t like it? Not someone I would easily trust.

  In lieu of words, I gave a non-committal shrug.

  The girl helped me into the first booth we reached, the bench seat covered in gaudy red leather, and the tabletop patterned with the scratched surface of a checkerboard. The building smelled like grease and burnt coffee, but it had an easy, homey quality to it that I liked.

  “Wait here, I'll be right back,” she promised, twisting her hands in her apron and darting out of my line of sight, presumably to get the coffee. Fuck, she better be off getting it. The ache in my side was making my teeth hurt, red wetness seeping through the thin cotton of my gown.

  I was bleeding.

  I pressed a palm to the wound and waited—what else was I going to do? I didn’t even know my own name.

  The black and white squares of the tabletop mesmerized me as I stared at them, counting how many there were in a row from one side of the table to the other, so I had no idea how much time had passed when a man's voice jolted me out of my daze.

  “Caley!” he boomed as he threw open the front door and stalked in like he owned the whole damn place. He was tall and broad, filling the doorframe like the diner was a funhouse, his heavy motorcycle boots tapping a solid sounding noise when he stalked across the sticky floor and stopped sharply in front of my table.

  “Who …” he squinted at me, “the fuck are you?”

  Slowly, I lifted my face in his direction … and it was like looking at the sun.

  Warmth flowed over and through me as my lips parted and my heart began to pound inside my chest. I’d never seen this man before in my life, I was sure of it, and yet … there was something soothingly familiar about him, too.

  The sharp emerald green of his eyes, framed by dark brown lashes, seemed to see right through me as he glared like I was something the cat had just dragged in. Which, I supposed, I sort of was. I must seriously look like a hot mess to be getting this sort of reaction from total strangers …

  He had big, muscular arms, traced in ink and brilliant with color. I wanted to reach out and touch them, run my fingers over the curve of his biceps and feel the hardness underneath. He was a beautiful specimen of masculinity—even if he looked like a proper asshole, too.

  “Arlo!” the waitress groaned, coming back out of the kitchen with a steaming mug of coffee and a towering plate of French fries. “What are you doing here so early? We had a deal, remember?”

  “Yeah, we did. And you broke it. You were supposed to be home almost thirty goddamn minutes ago.” The man, Arlo, dismissed me from his attention as he turned his glare on the waitress. Whether or not this was a normal reaction, I found myself leaning toward him, breathing in the sweet, musky scent of earth. Was it weird to sniff people? I had the gut feeling it most definitely was.

  Is this her boyfriend? I wondered, looking between the two. Her lover? The man had the air of a controlling asshole; I was immediately wary of him and sympathetic for … Caley? That was her name, right? It matched up to the tag on her uniform, after all. She was curvy and very pretty. I didn’t see any reason why he wouldn’t want someone as beautiful as her. Certainly she was a good ten levels above my bedraggled state.

  “What?” She frowned at him, looking confused, then darted her gaze to the clock on the wall and sighed. “Sorry, 'Lo. It was a crazy busy shift and I must’ve lost track of time.” Caley placed the plate of food and mug of coffee down in front of me, and my belly grumbled loudly.

  “Who's this?” the angry looking man demanded, throwing a disgusted look my way. I knew my cheeks were flaming with embarrassment. It was hardly my fault I looked like a drowned rat. Or at least, I didn't think it was.

  “I found her in the alley out back. She's pretty beat-up and can't talk …” The young girl twisted her mouth into a frown. “I just wanted to get her warmed up and grab her some food, then maybe drop her over at the hospital to get checked out.”

  Unconsciously, I licked my dry and cracked lips.

  Truth.

  Each word she spoke was pure truth; I drank it all in like fine wine.

  The man grunted, and didn't look at all pleased, but sat himself down in the booth opposite me. For a tense moment, our gazes remained locked. His bright green on my … whatever color mine were.

  Eventually hunger overtook my need to win our stare-off, and I tentatively helped myself to some fries, chewing carefully and wincing in pain as I swallowed. Arlo continued to watch me as I ate, and I tried not to cry with the fresh pain lancing through my throat with each bite. But I couldn’t … wouldn’t … stop eating. The salty heat of these fries was like heaven, and I wondered when the last time I’d eaten was. It felt like it’d been years.

  Caley gave me a sympathetic look and a small smile.

  “Let me finish closing up, okay? Give her a chance to eat.” She moved away while I scarfed down every last fry and every single sip of coffee. It was liquid gold. I felt immediately better after drinking it, although my side was still bleeding, hot droplets tracing down my ribs.

  “Well, this is going to be interesting,” Arlo muttered, eventually breaking the silence as I arched an eyebrow in question at him. “This,” he gestured a hand at me, “I can't wait to see what Fionn says about you.”

  “Arlo, you don't really have to tell Fionn, do you?” Caley gasped, coming to join us while rolling up her apron and shoving it into her backpack. “We can just drop her at the county hospital and be done with her, can’t we?”

  “You know the rules, Caley,” Arlo shrugged, standing from his seat and glaring down at me like I’d somehow managed to disrupt his afternoon. “Anyone that sets foot in the diner that’s not one of ours gets checked out by Fionn—human or no. Take her to the hospital and then bring her by the clubhouse.”

  As he turned away, I saw that the back of his leather vest had several patches. There were the letters MC, a small patch that said 1%er, another that read New Orleans, LA, and the largest, central image featured a winged skull. The words The Wild Hunt were scrawled across the top.

  Now, why did the fuck did that one sound so familiar?

  #

  It was with a healthy dose of caution that I followed Caley out of the diner to the dark, gloomy black surface of the parking lot
. Despite her intentions and words ringing with truth, I couldn't shake the underlying feeling that there was much more going on than what was being said aloud. But of course, what choice did I have? I couldn't stay in the diner forever.

  “Take your stray to Our Lady to get checked out,” the man, Arlo, told Caley and flicked an annoyed look at me. “She reeks of blood.” He snorted and shook his head, less like he felt sorry for me and more like I was an inconvenient annoyance to him. I guess since he was pretty, he didn’t feel the need to be nice. “I’ll see you back at the clubhouse.”

  She nodded her understanding, then flipped him off when he turned his back.

  “Come on, girl. You need to see a doctor.” Using her key in the lock of a rusty looking car, Caley yanked open the door and held it for me to get in. It seemed like a bad idea… to get in a car with a total stranger. Didn't it? My gaze darted around us, looking for alternative options, but what else was there? I had no memory of anything prior to waking up in that alleyway less than an hour ago.

  A motorcycle revved its engine loudly, making me jump, and I saw Caley's boyfriend glaring at us from astride the metal monstrosity.

  “I promise I don't mean you any harm,” Caley coaxed, bringing my attention back to her and away from the piercing green eyes of her biker boyfriend. True again. Was it normal for people to tell so many truths? I couldn't remember. Unable to voice my concern, I nodded my head at the imposing man on the bike, and she got what I meant.

  “He also means you no harm,” she said carefully. There was something strange about the phrasing of that, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Caley smiled softly and reached out a hand like she might touch my arm, pausing when she saw the blood on the side of my dress. “Holy shit. You really are bleeding. Come on, hop in and we’ll get that taken care of, okay?”

  Glancing down, I saw Caley was right. Not only was my side going numb, but the patch of blood on my dress had seemingly doubled in size.

  I needed medical attention.

  There was no way around that. Nodding, I climbed into the passenger seat of her car and sat tentatively. My backside was bruised and sore, much like the rest of me, so I needed to shift around a bit to get comfortable.