Dominion

By S E Holmes

After falling for the enemy, tortured 17 year-old Rammen must choose between a forbidden attraction to a human girl and the only life he's ever known. But as the son of the ultimate demon, defying his father might cost more than just death. That's if saving Alyssa doesn't kill Rammen first. Love or Blood? In his cursed world, they mean the same thing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S E Holmes
• Release date: Nov 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465953575

S E Holmes

The fact the real world is not as appealing as the ones I create was obvious in kindergarten when I ran away from school to have a chat with Santa, triggering a police search. My imaginary friend, Wendy, who often came in handy to eat my peas, generously took the blame.

Book preview

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Chapter One – Contact

Hunting through endless shopping centres, each blurring together like tacky Christmas baubles, wore thin. The place teemed with vermin, not worthy prey. Rammen could stamp their frail, momentary lives out under his boot and not even flinch. This particular human-infested temple of consumption was the biggest and brassiest of all – the international base in a chain owned by his father’s organisation, Dominion Corp.

Summoned from the wilderness Rammen preferred, he’d arrived at his father’s penthouse yesterday. A tent on an Alaskan glacier felt more like home. The question repeated: why the abrupt orders to hunt in the city? The best trophies usually inhabited places far removed from this rabble.

In a paltry act of rebellion, earlier that morning Rammen had ‘appropriated’ a $30,000 bottle of cognac from father’s private cellars. Drowning his sorrows seemed better than facing the reality of an extended visit here. And the cognac kept him balanced, surrounded by those who would not fair well should he lose his temper. He took a long satisfying swig and glanced pointedly the cameras. The theft would earn a world of trouble and the booze tasted worse than yak’s piss, but every burning swallow felt a meagre victory. He stretched and yawned. Seated on a table in the packed food-court, his back pressed against a pillar and legs thrust along the table’s length.

You there!

He picked at a hole in his jeans, mood blackening by the second. Nearby, an infant screamed nonstop. How could such a tiny thing make that much peace-forsaken racket? It was worse than a Howler Vex.

Hey, you! Kid.

Rammen psychically kicked himself for losing focus. The hall snapped back into clarity – fast-food odours, tinny muzak, swarming people.

Kid! The underage one with a hearing problem consuming alcohol in a family facility.

He hadn’t noticed the approaching security guards, hands resting on their baton-grips, expressions hostile. The blasted family with the squalling spawn had alerted the authorities. They grouped one table across, the haggard mother eyeing his scuffed boots and wild appearance. She hovered over her precious pram-bound cargo as if he might bite.

Rammen peeked through lowered lids as two paunchy males sauntered over, their uniforms crumpled from lounging in the surveillance booth, jaws slack from too much junk food. The incriminating bottle rested between his knees.

No alcohol allowed. And what are you, seventeen?

The annoying baton unsheathed to tap the sole of his boot. Rammen wavered; kill them all? He might not bite, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt them in a thousand other ways. He lifted his head a notch, undecided. The spectacle would cause… well, a spectacle. Father, the murderous bastard, would strangle him with his own intestine for revealing himself in broad daylight.

He look familiar to you, Bert?

The cub squirmed in its silly frills. It took a shuddering, red-faced breath. Rammen willed it to sleep. The mother blinked surprise at this sudden blessed silence, glancing over at the sauced-up hoodlum she’d involuntarily made her lunch neighbour. Now he could think.

How ’bout you move it along. Take the bottle elsewhere. Tap, tap, tap on his shoe. We don’t have to call the police… The threat hung.

Rammen decided against a massacre in so public a venue. He pulled in a breath to contain his power and stared full-faced at the oaf accosting his boot. Aged about forty, cheeks mapped by burst capillaries, a life lived beneath potential. The old boy’s eyes goggled and he scuttled backwards into his colleague. They stumbled and blabbered. Rammen awaited their composure.

It’s obvious you’re not causing a ruckus.

Yeah, yeah. The second one nodded manically. So sorry to bother…

He was younger, maybe early thirties. Rammen rifled the guy’s mind. He was a breeder, twins and a toddler. It might have been a favour to crisp him where he slouched. Time to hustle them along.

Leave, he murmured.

Off they lumbered, appearing confused, outraged bleats from the woman about bums in her shopping centre unanswered. Rammen toyed with several options for retribution, none pleasant. According to his best friend, Samson, humans were fond of saying ‘whatever’, which seemed appropriate. He raised the bottle in mocking toast to the still-protesting woman and gulped the dregs without the desired numbness, one shot usually enough to fell an elephant. Disappointing. Next time he’d filch three bottles. She gathered her family like an irate hen, ushering them away with no clue how close she’d come to facing her own mortality.

Cluckety-cluck, little chicken.

Alert now, he heightened consciousness on the Spirit Plane. This was where he truly belonged, the adolescent physique a shell for convenience. It was not the least convenient; no one of any authority took him seriously. Attention pricked at a glimmer of supernatural power somewhere in the upper floors of the shopping centre. In further defiance of his father he stalked uncloaked without weapons or Nox, his ferociously protective night-hound. No cause for alarm just yet. He swung around on the tabletop, working to isolate the type of Other so bold as to trespass here. Is that what father sought?

Hey, dude?

What now? A group of youths gathered at the end of his table. The vitality of the force overhead as it drew nearer was more concentrated across dimensions than anything Rammen had ever experienced. Panic spiked. He should have brought Nox. It was far too late to call for her now.

"I said, dude. The leader plonked a tray down. His sheep did likewise, six of them, crowding the tabletop with food. Rammen barely had room to swivel. Give it up, jerk. You’re not even eating."

He scanned the hall. To his right, an escalator descended from the retail levels. The source of the power originated four floors above, strengthening as it headed down towards him. The pimply-faced teen, emboldened by numbers, got in his face and blocked the view of the stairway. He attempted to shove Rammen off the table. It was seriously irritating.

Pretending you’re tough in bikers’ boots and a black t-shirt? Man! You reek like paint-thinner. The rest laughed.

The wisest course was to run. Rammen couldn’t draw on the Spirit Plane to defend himself without this novel Other knowing. And he had too many enemies to count. Any in the vicinity could log the activity and follow the trail back home. But he had to risk it, had to glimpse a Being possessive of such arrogance as to flaunt influence here. He must take the measure of this new rival.

Are you deaf? I said, ‘Move!’

The nuisance pushed his shoulder again with all his puny might, finding a resistance so immovable as to finally grasp his miscalculation in thinking Rammen a victim. Distracted by the true peril, Rammen didn’t bother to torment the guy, flaying the skin from his bones in an act that resembled peeling a banana, or any number of more unpleasant options. Even unfolding his full height and muscular form would have done the trick.

Instead, flicking him the briefest of looks, the bully stood stone still and went white, then projectile vomited spectacularly over his mates’ trays. Those with him scattered, swearing and shouting. The act proved a mistake, drawing unwanted interest. Slippping from the table, Rammen barely concealed himself behind a column before the creature arrived in the food court.

Tendrils of power pulsed into the space, groping towards him. He ran at a squat along the side of a planter box full of plastic ferns, his only hope to get behind whatever it was and exploit its blind spot. He cursed his own stupidity. The nearest holy water for cloaking was in a church three blocks away. And Rammen doubted this wretched shopping centre stocked consecrated crucifixes. In any case, this was not the usual predator and Rammen had no experience of it. He was unarmed and exposed.

The synthetic garden ended beside a table where a group of daft girls had just finished eating and rose to leave. He had no choice, the feelers were almost upon him. As casually as possible with his heart pounding in his ears, he sauntered into their midst. They stared with mouths open, the more brazen admiring him up and down. How he loathed tangling with them.

Good food? It sounded lame, even to him, his unpractised voice rough. Samson instructed on amping the charm to win girls, but Rammen hadn’t cared and never listened. He tried now for all he was worth, spreading lips to show teeth. Would you all like an ice cream?

They giggled and several blushed. None too subtly, he ushered them towards the ice-creamery. He didn’t even have to use a mesmer to compel them; they seemed so in awe of him. Shallow, he thought, captivated by pretty trinkets. He surveyed the area from their midst.

Rammen was now directly adjacent to the escalator on the Being’s left. It was close and he hoped the chaos of human energy counteracted some of his own. A confrontation would not go well for anyone within a block’s radius. He fumbled out cash, barely registering the flirting gaggle around him. There! From the base of the stairs, he pinpointed the source flowing throughout the concrete cavity half a hall away. A vortex of intense, pure light swirled about the creature. He squinted to see and inwardly gasped.

It was just another silly, insignificant female. Admittedly, she was a stunning example, even managing to overcome one of those modern haircuts that was all short on the sides, spiked and long on top so that a blonde fringe swept her forehead. She was roughly seventeen, like him. Her face so entranced, that for a moment, he forgot about determining what she was, or even seeking cover.

The distance proved no obstacle to his eagle-keen vision. She had high cheekbones, a full mouth, and brilliant feline hazel eyes that searched the hall with a targeted intellect to alight on him any second if he did not escape. Her skin was a lustrous sun-kissed gold, long shapely legs somehow emphasised by shiny pink boots, the laces undone. It was a persuasive costume.

Fighting unfamiliar curiosity, he tore his gaze away, her radiance an afterglow in his mind. How hypocritical and embarrassing: captivated by a pretty trinket. A trivial human one at that. Or was she? Father would never forgive such weakness. Rammen turned and shepherded his posse towards the exit.

Nice cap, he said to the nearest girl. Do you mind if I try it on?

Wearing a disguise. What a desperado. All he required to complete the cliché was a fake beard. If he made it out of the shopping centre alive, he’d never be challenged without precautions again.

‡

Chapter Two – The Highest Badge

Alyssa barely heard Ruby yammering as they rode the escalator down four floors to the food court. Anxiety churned her stomach: an odd force pulsed nearby. She wasn’t armed with so much as a cubeb flare, let alone proper weapons – a disposable plastic knife the best she could aim for.

Don’t you think it’s kind of ironic you buy hot-pink Docs from the mall, so you can parade around in them at the mall?

Shh. She squinted in concentration. Can’t you feel that?

I suppose you did wear them to the youth-centre gig. I really wish they’d let us cover something other than Grinspoon.

Focus, Rubes. She tuned out the babble of amassed shoppers, piped music and pesky whistling boys. Awareness lasered until a sense of the nearby force sizzled through her; the most powerful and strangely gripping ever. She wasn’t certain it didn’t mean any harm. Holy Bible, it’s strong.

Oh, yeah. Ruby screwed up her face. I’m getting a vague feeling. Maybe it’s indigestion. I shouldn’t have scoffed that burger. She patted her sternum, appearing bilious.

Alyssa smiled and winked. Let’s check it out.

Not going to happen. We will turn around and go back to St Mac’s. Mother Superior will have a sacred Brahma if you go getting yourself in trouble again. Maybe a flogging this time.

The sacred aside, aren’t you a little bit curious? Alyssa referred to herself as inquisitive, everyone else labelled her reckless. Sister Jude scolded incessantly on her lack of discipline. Flogging went out with the Inquisition.

She’d make an exception for you. Curbing lunatic urges to stick one’s snout where it doesn’t belong is why my cat’s still alive. Ruby glared. Your kitten was roadkill ages ago.

A red-kneed tarantula the size of a basketball does not a pet tabby make. You’re being melodramatic, Rubes. We’ll only take a peek. And I’ll shout you a Vanilla Coke slushy afterwards. Alyssa fluttered her eyelids and put on her best pout. Pleeease.

Pathetic groveller. Where’s the dignity? Ruby shook her head, cherry springs brushing her shoulders. She was named for her hair. Make it a jumbo. And you lie me out of any trouble we have to explain to the Sisters. I’m starting this year with a clean slate and keeping it that way. She sighed theatrically. The job of best friend to a careless ratbag really is very taxing. Tomorrow’s the first day of term and I was starting to feel optimistic we’d make it through the holidays without calamity.

Alyssa leaned in and hugged her. I’ll throw in a bag of crickets for Mouse.

Good. It’ll help me coax him back home. He’s exploring the dorms.

You’ve lost your spider again? Right when the other girls are unpacking, Al groaned. You’d better hope he steers clear of Letitia. She’ll squash him or poison him with bug spray.

You’re right. Ruby bumped Alyssa away with her hip, expression a mixture of worry and stubborn. Let’s get this over with. Given any thought to a plan if this thing attacks? I haven’t even got my crossbow.

Ruby, we’re in the mall. I really don’t think they’d permit you to wander around with a crossbow. Speaking of which, it’s strange to encounter a Darkling out in public in broad daylight. This one feels different. She simply couldn’t place it.

Yeah, I’m getting that too. It’s not a Spectre or a Shape-thief or one of the Grievous Spirits. It’s not even trying to be sneaky. Besides, they’re far too rare and hate the city.

They descended another level in silence. Alyssa searched her mental catalogue of the paranormal, drilled by the Sisters at St Immaculata’s, her school and home.

Can’t be an Order One, Two or Three Wraith from Mammon’s Register. We’d know if one of those got loose. They’d have to tell us. You reckon, Al?

Pretty sure. Alyssa wasn’t sure the Sisters were obliged to share such sensitive information at all. "It’s not a Mares, they need the night. A Phantasm would be overwhelmed by the numbers here and there’s not enough potential for natural deaths in a shopping centre for it to be a Numen. They prefer nursing homes and hospitals. And Genius Loci haunt cemeteries."

Only an Atmospheric Elemental could suck enough air to exist here. Ruby voiced the conclusion they’d both reached. There’s no exposed earth, no open water and no access to the sun. As no one in proximity has suffocated in a vacuum and no bodies are flying around, we can rule that out. It’s not any of the Vexes, a Shifter or a Warp either. Their auras don’t spread out like this. Her face clouded. It’s not a Sylph and if it was a Psyche we wouldn’t know about it, unless we had a mirror. Oh mother! That only leaves—

Calm your farm, that’s too big a stretch, Alyssa reassured her. We’ve missed something. We need to review the list again.

She patted the front pockets of her scruffy denim mini, aiming to check her notes and discovering she’d forgotten her phone again. Why bring it when the person she spoke to most was with her? Their suspicions couldn’t be accurate. With a wave of floral perfume, Ruby scrunched up behind her and grabbed her hand.

You’re always ready with a mad idea, but this is the worst. It’s not too late. We can leave without engaging it. Come back with Sister Benedict. Look at all these innocents in the danger zone, she reasoned frantically. Jeopardising so many will see your Badges stripped. Possibly excommunication.

Don’t be ridiculous. We’re strictly observing, not bumping for a supernatural brawl. What is the point of being a Novice of the Sisterhood of the Saviour if we run and hide at the merest suggestion of a Darkling? It’s our responsibility.

With the emphasis on Novice! The line between looking and poking blurs when you’re involved. And this is not a mere hint. Whatever that thing is down there, it’s more intense than anything we’ve learned about. I can almost perceive it. That’s saying something.

Whose side are you on? Where’s the unflinching bestie loyalty? Alyssa quirked an eyebrow at Ruby, whose peaches-and-cream complexion flushed with tension.

She dropped Alyssa’s hand. I’m on the side where sanity reigns. It’s the opposite of your current stance.

The food court edged into view beneath the roof. The hall looked the same as any other day, filled with people talking and eating. There was a kerfuffle in their midst, Security hustling out protesting youths and a cleaner mopping. The familiar sounds and fried-food smells might have been a comfort, were it not for the fearsome energy blasting her senses. Like a solar flare filling the room, locating the source proved a challenge. Alyssa stepped off the escalator, Ruby on her heels.

No way, Al muttered. Why hang in a shopping centre? They especially hate humans. It’s out in the open, not even veiling.

An ill wind blows this day.

Alyssa rolled her eyes. It’s the air-conditioning.

I’m ringing Mother Superior. Ruby pulled out her mobile and stabbed buttons. She put it to her ear. Damnation. No signal.

Alyssa tried to get a fix on the Darkling’s location, but it wavered and jumped. She rifled lessons learned by heart in class. How might the ultimate Darkling act in a vulnerable position?

It’s shielding itself in a group of youngsters. Ruby, find a big huddle.

Are you kidding? This whole joint’s one big huddle.

Alyssa turned anticlockwise on the spot, alert to her unsafe left side. If an attack came, it would be from that direction. Teens on holiday clustered about, possessive of enough vitality to offer an accidentally exposed Spirit a shield.

Alyssa, for the love of the living. You are a psycho. It’s an Essential, nothing else fits.

Probably the only one left anywhere. It’s a miracle. We’re witnessing a miracle.

Yes. And that makes it desperate. I don’t want to die today. If it’s using people, it’s unarmed and aiming to escape. Why don’t we let it?

On the hierarchy of the supernatural, an Essential sat at the top. This was Alyssa’s most dread enemy against the natural balance. Slaying one earned the highest of the fifteen Badges of Mastery awarded to a full Priestess Adept. Alyssa had collected two already: the ‘Sword’ for skill in combat and the ‘Cup’ for amity through service to her school.

But she knew of only one Adept who’d earned the Fifteenth Badge by confronting an Essential, and that was a thousand years ago. The concept of winning the Fifteenth was now so mythical that Mastery was gained after the Fourteenth badge. Otherwise no Bestowal Rituals could ever be held and no Adepts ordained. The history of the Fifteenth was only included in the curriculum at Mother Superior’s insistence. Although, Mother Superior seemed so ancient it was possible she was there when it happened.

Stop thinking what you’re thinking! Ruby slapped the back of Al’s head.

I can’t believe you don’t want to see something this important. It’s supposed to be extinct.

"Yeah, sure you just want to see. That’s like a guy claiming he only reads Penthouse for the articles. Ruby shook her head again. I don’t share your pathological Fifteenth addiction. A Badge is useless when you’re dead."

An Essential never ventured out uncloaked, making it impossible to identify. Even a glimpse was a prize. Al was well aware of the stupidity of an exorcism in this crowd. Too many would die. Ruby threw up her hands.

I’ll wait until the next bus. If you don’t show, I’ll send a bouquet to the morgue.

Alyssa scarcely noticed when Ruby U-turned and barged her way back up the escalator through startled shoppers. She didn’t have long before her friend called in the cavalry. But excitement dulled the more sensible instinct of fear. Al had achieved something unheralded for millennia: she had imprinted it, its power tingling her senses until everything she’d felt before seemed small and barren. The reason she was so sensitive to its existence almost provided a bigger mystery than its presence here. Legend said an Essential was too subtle for dull human perception. The Essential would need to work extra hard to shroud its Spirit-self from her now.

As she completed another revolution, a bizarre formation of girls caught her focus. They shuffled in a circle like hostages defending a gunman. A cap bobbed in their midst, belonging to a stooped figure whose magnetism almost knocked Alyssa flat.

This has to be a joke, she said under breath. A physical disguise?

The thing must be sick. Why didn’t it turn and fight, trigger any number of earth-shattering offences? It obviously knew its cover was blown. Alyssa was outclassed and would lose without doubt. Unless it hadn’t fully matured?

Weird – maybe she’d miscalculated. Weirder still, the girls seemed to cooperate willingly. They swayed and jostled, blocking Alyssa’s view as they neared the sliding doors leading to the bright sunshine of the street. Alyssa exploded into a sprint.

It was vulnerable; she could take it! Maybe hit it with a chair.

She must reach the Essential before it ventured outside. It could manipulate glare without even drawing from the Spirit Realm to temporarily blind any who followed, and moved at superhuman speed, too fast to see. But at this distance, she didn’t stand a chance.

Diners made her path an obstacle course. She almost yelled in frustration as the pack breached the doors. The ring burst apart, hurling girls from their feet as easily as skittles. In an instant, any who remained upright found themselves guarding an empty space. From beyond, the hall flooded in a dazzling burst of white, shoppers cowering in the otherworldly rays. Many screamed, their hands to their eyes.

Alyssa skidded to a halt, chewing the bitter taste of failure, helpless as the first Essential in living memory slipped her grasp.

‡

Chapter Three – The Challenge

You sent for me, Father. Rammen edged beyond the safety of the door into the palatial office.

Come, come, boy.

Hidden by his throne-like swivel chair, Adir Primus faced floor-to-ceiling windows, probably surveying specks on the streets below like a hawk targeting mice for the kill. A desk that made Europe look small – Julius Caesar’s war table – warned those with an insane desire to get close. Just in case, public access was denied here. Situated on the corner of the top floor of the tallest skyscraper in the city, this was the private headquarters of Dominion Corp. Known as the Tower, the remainder of this level and the one below were devoted to their living quarters, the unifying theme: priceless. Every piece of art – including a Dali, a Rembrandt and a Picasso – every sculpture, handwoven rug, and item of furniture cost more money than most humans could count. Floors below were dedicated to official operations in mining, property development, international investment, and other trifling engagements of people.

Rammen ignored his tutor as he approached the desk. Calleo draped upon a sharp-edged modern settee at the side. He cackled and leaped nimbly to sandaled feet: a wizened hippy in flowing drawstring pants beneath a belted robe, white hair braided down his back. But long experience established the only flower power Rammen’s accursed tutor possessed was that of a desert cactus whose six-inch spines broke off in flesh and wormed into the bloodstream to pierce vital organs. Rammen’s fingers curled into fists.

Of course, sire. I take my leave. Calleo bowed in Father’s direction, responding to the telepathic command. He sidled past, close enough to blow a slaughterhouse breath in Rammen’s face. Your final essays for this module are due Monday fortnight, young prince. And I have scheduled another endurance assessment. Your hunting journeys have made you soft.

I am in possession of a diary, Master Calleo. Rammen bit his tongue too late.

Father’s deep voice rang with authority. We shall move the due date forward as penalty for such impertinence. Monday. His tutor offered a sly grin, teeth filed to points. Rammen held a groan in check. Of this week, Father said.

Tomorrow. Added to Rammen’s other commitments, he would be up all night. Adir finally spun in his seat to scowl at his son. Rammen stood tall and maintained eye contact, not daring to breathe.

Perhaps, I’ve been hasty. Next Friday.

Adir flicked his forefinger and Calleo stalked from the room, suddenly far less smug. Rammen failed to guess the price of the deadline pardon. Whenever his father acted generously, it boded poorly for his son.

Please. Come, sit, Rammen.

He took his seat cautiously, in the habit of standing at attention for hours. And Rammen did not enjoy this new proximity to Adir; it afforded less chance to run.

Do not rise to that old fool’s bait. A crucial aspect of your training is patience in spite of others’ deficits. His father’s expression bordered on kindly. It was highly creepy. "Particularly given the time nears for human engagement. Believe me when I inform you, that is a species more maddening than any you have encountered of our kind."

Human engagement? This was the first Rammen had heard of such a requirement. His skills were wasted on those meat-sacks, who possessed no Spiritual force or uncanny ability whatsoever.

Your powers exceed even Calleo’s inflated standard. Your pain threshold is outstanding. Congratulations.

Was that a smile? Adir clasped his hands together, twisting the ring on his left middle finger. The ring’s surface showed a hell-bat gripping a yew arrow, enclosed within a chalice. Despite Rammen’s hours of research, the meaning of this image remained obscure. In any case, it wouldn’t be sunshine and rainbows.

Adir raised an eyebrow. Rammen nodded, vaguely worried he’d agreed to some unpleasant chore. He was clearly in more trouble than he’d guessed and must tread carefully. What was Adir’s true purpose?

Myrna informed me of your encounter at the mall this afternoon. And of the fact you neglected to protect yourself prior to venturing out.

And there it was. Mongrel blight! In an ominous sign, Adir smoothed perfectly slick hair and adjusted his flawlessly pressed suit. Deception was pointless. Myrna the Oracle, Supreme Sorceress, Dominion Corporation’s Chief Executive Officer and relentless pain in the backside, reported faithfully to Adir. And her third-eye predictions were always accurate. She was also poor Samson’s mother, which was a label of genetics only.

Yes, Father.

Describe it, Adir barked.

He planted his elbows on the desk and leaned forward. The last of the evening sun haloed his gold-brown hair and reflected off black pupils, creating a fevered air. Oddly, Rammen did not wish to share anything about the girl. The very thought triggered a dire premonition.

The Other’s aura interfered with memory. I remember nothing.

He worked to steady his racing pulse, this the first time he’d risked defiance. Should Father suspect a lie, he merely had to brush flesh to get the facts. His fingertips caressed the desktop, edging towards Rammen. Adir inspected his son with a sly look for a drawn-out moment that seemed an eternity.

I see. Adir swung back to the panoramic view. I will forgive your lapse this one time. See to it there is no repeat. And, son, I forbid you to track the Being. I will handle this personally.

The unheard-of reprieve amplified Rammen’s sense of foreboding. Such charity, especially for his sloppy actions at the mall, usually earned a week on the rack. Let alone coupled with the stolen cognac. Surely Father knew about that by now. He was a fastidious collector – every piece to the tiniest Faberge Egg or silk tie was noted. Rammen sat back, stunned. And Adir was not a hunter, he delegated.

Do not oblige me to reconsider, Rammen. You are dismissed.

Rising silently, Rammen managed a sedate walk across the expanse. Sculpted metal doors swung shut on his exit, the murmur of voices audible from the other side. He risked an ear against a naked woman in bas relief writhing with a hugely horned demon.

It is her, Myrna trilled. After all this time.

My son must tread the path. The slightest deviation will cost us.

She snorted laughter. He will perform admirably. He always does.

The discussion solidified Rammen’s opposition. He sprinted down the long corridor to embrace a second act of mutiny: a ritual for which the penalty was certain agonising death.

Father and son were never alike, but now Rammen acknowledged a spreading chasm to divide them further. Apparently, he resembled his deceased mother from descriptions he’d forced from loyal staff, who’d worked here while she lived. They were all gone now, running scared or dead. Any mention of Lisabette Shane was forbidden. There were no photos, journals or mementos to document her existence. Rumours had

Reviews for Dominion

[kyrie_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

good book, very unsual romance novel.