Blood Mage

By Sandy Ellis

It's been two years since the Others came out to Humans. Fae, Werewolves, Trolls, Mages and Vampires; all your worst nightmares really do exist and have been living among us for millennia. Since then, an uneasy coexistence between the Others and the Humans continues, enforced by the Sentinels, a Human/Others Police Force.

Sam Peters doesn’t care about the world’s troubles, she just wants to be left alone, and run her bar. She lives quietly and serves both Humans and Others with only two simple rules, not caring one way or another if you are have fangs or you turn furry once a month. Unfortunately, all this ends when a rogue Troll comes into her bar and tries to kill her.

The aftermath of this attack joins Sam with two Sentinels, Roman, a Mage, and Julian a Vampire. Even more trouble ensues as together, the three of them, are thrust into the world of conspiracies, relationships, politics, Magic and desire.

When Sam’s life is threatened again – will they be able to keep her alive?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandy Ellis
• Release date: Feb 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311407900

Sandy Ellis

Author's Biography (Editor's Note: This is verbatim, from an email exchange with the author attempting to get her to talk about herself) "...It was early. Needed coffee. Now that I am properly caffeinated, I can face my day. I don’t know if I really want to do a blurb about me. But if I was going to: Sandy lives in Tampa with her dog and two cats. She works in the health care industry and really, really wishes she could win the Lottery so she could stay at home in her pajamas all day. If you liked her book, let her know at [e-mail]. If you didn't..."

Book preview

Published by Smashwords

Blood Mage

Coming Soon

Blood Mates

Blood Child

Acknowledgements

Trademarks

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following word marks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Apocalyptica

Coke

Dansko

Disturbed

Glock

Guinness

Home Depot

iPod

Linkin Park

Nine Inch Nails, NIN, ‘Head Like A Hole’, Trent Reznor

Rob Zombie

Shinedown

Sisters of Mercy

Swiss Army Knife

Ten Thousand Fists

USF (University of Southern Florida)

License Notes

Copyright © 2014

All Rights Reserved

Cover Art Design by Sandy Ellis

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Other than those listed above, any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, save those clearly in the public domain, is purely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting my hard work, and I hope you enjoy it.

Contents

Blood Mage

Other Titles by Sandy Ellis

Acknowledgements

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

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Author's Biography

Preview of 'Blood Mates'

CHAPTER ONE

The world as we knew it went to hell on a Wednesday afternoon. Well, not literally of course, although there were plenty of people who thought it was the Apocalypse. And with good reason, I suppose.

You know all the things that you were told were myth and fantasy when you were a child? Vampires and Werewolves, Fairies and Elves? Turns out they are all real. That and more. And they all decided to make themselves known on that Wednesday afternoon.

They had walked among us for thousands of years, hiding who and what they were behind glamour and the illusion of normalcy; playing Human to blend in, but always staying out of our affairs. At least they did until that fateful day. Which sounds overly dramatic, I guess, but it totally fits. Because it was. Dramatic, I mean. Although, fateful sort of works, too.

They revealed themselves in a well-planned, well-executed media conference. It’s kind of hard to CGI a real Werewolf change or a Fae dropping his glamour and becoming a monster of nightmare proportions. It’s actually impossible; Hollywood tried. Really, really hard.

Apparently, they were tired of us fucking up the world; their words, not mine. Okay, so as far as interventions go, it was a bit extreme, but it did work. Humans were forced to stop fighting amongst ourselves and ally with each other to fight what we perceived as a common enemy. The Others.

The fighting went on for six long, bloody months before The Accord was struck. And in that time, hundreds of thousands of Humans and Others died. They were killed in battle mostly, although there were plenty of Humans that took their own lives in the belief that the world really was ending. And in a way, I guess it did.

Nothing is the same anymore. Others walk among us in their true forms, The Accord keeping everyone in line. They share our world now as we share theirs. And it seems to be working. No one wants to be the match that sets off the powder keg again, so everyone is on their best behavior. Mostly.

My name is Samantha Peters, Sam for short, and I own a bar in Ybor City in Tampa, Florida called The DMZ. We have hurricane season for six months of the year here. Therefore, I have retractable steel hurricane shutters for all the windows and doors. When the Others revealed themselves and the riots started, I did the most sensible thing I could think of.

I battened down the hatches and hunkered down for the duration, pretending it was a Cat 5 bearing down on the world instead of a Human vs. Others war. I live in the three rooms above the bar so that was no great hardship. A propane generator kept me from being without power when the electrical grid failed and I had plenty of food. If you call Buffalo wings, nachos, burgers and fries food, which I do. Hey, I own a bar. Sue me.

So, I survived the riots and battles without any great discomfort. The same cannot be said for most other people. But, one thing we all learned during that time. You gotta look out for number one. And, in my defense, if anyone had actually knocked on my door and begged for shelter, I would have invited them inside without question.

But no one did.

So, it’s been nearly two years now since The Accord was struck and other than a few minor skirmishes, things have been quiet. My bar is frequented by both Others and Humans. I have only two rules in my bar: Don’t start any shit and Pay your tab.

That’s it. Anything else is fair game. If you meet a Vampire and you hit it off and you want to let him suck on your neck, I don’t have a problem with it. If two Werewolves want to arm wrestle each other, go for it. As long as you pay for any damages that occur. You get the picture.

Not all bars serve both Humans and Others. Some are strictly one race or the other. They are missing out. The Others like my bar because they don’t get hassled here by the Humans. Humans like it because, well, they can look all they want at the Others and as long as they defer to Rule Number One, no problem. Which all equated into my bar being packed solid almost every night. It’s a small place, only ten bar stools and six tables, but it’s all mine and it does well.

My happy little existence changed forever one Wednesday night (Jeez, what is it with Wednesdays all of a sudden?) when a Troll walked into my bar. No, this is not the beginning of a Troll joke. Trolls are seven feet of heavy muscle and they are always pissed off about something. He stepped inside the open double doors and glanced around the room.

I need a fucking drink! he announced to the bar at large. Some Werewolves in the corner, regulars who come in for a couple of rounds almost every night, turned to look at him, frowning.

What can I get you? I responded in my best bartender voice. When dealing with Trolls, I have found it is always best to pretend you don’t notice they are pissed off. It pisses them off if you notice. More than they already are, that is.

You can get me a fucking beer and the fucking owner, he answered, swaggering up to the bar on thick legs, his faintly blue skin lightly sheened with sweat. Hey, it’s Florida in July. It’s fucking hot outside. I get that. But, ew!

I pulled a cold draft anyway and slid it across the bar to his waiting hand. Here you go. Do you want to start a tab?

No, I don’t want to start a fucking tab. I want to talk to the fucking owner. He lifted the draft to his mouth and drained it in one swallow. And I need another fucking beer. Trolls are not known for their diverse vocabulary. Go figure.

I took a slow deep breath, picked up the beer glass, refilled it and set it back down on the bar gently. I get points for not throwing it in his face. Go, me.

I’m the owner. And if you don’t want to start a tab, you owe me five bucks. Now.

He drained the second beer, wiping his arm across his mouth and letting out a loud burp. The smell of beer and Troll breath wafted across the bar into my face and I swallowed hard to keep from gagging. Trolls are also not known for their oral hygiene. Amazing, right?

That’s why I wanted to talk to the fucking owner, he responded. I’m not going to pay for my fucking beers.

I gave him my hard stare. Werewolves have cringed from my hard stare and sheepishly apologized for their rude behavior. This guy? Laughed in my face.

Okay, buddy, I said evenly. It’s time for you to leave now. You have just violated both rules for my bar. I pointed to the framed sign hanging next to the bar which list my rules, not that I thought he could actually read them, but you never know. Stranger things had happened. Case in point, there was a Troll in my bar.

You need to get out. After you pay me for the two beers you already drank.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the Wolves slip out the door. I frowned after him. He hadn’t paid his tab, but his friends were still at their table and would take care of it, I knew, if he didn’t come back.

Didn’t you fucking hear me, you fucking bitch? I’m not paying for my fucking beers and I’m not fucking leaving either.

I sighed as I slowly slid my hand under the bar for my shotgun. Loaded with iron bullets, it was effective against anything except the Werewolves. I had a 9mm Glock loaded with silver bullets for them. You know. Just in case.

Okay, if that’s the way you want it, I replied and aimed the barrel at his giant Troll chest. Get the fuck out now and don’t ever come back. You step one foot back into my bar again and I’ll kill you.

Okay, I know what you’re thinking. Total overreaction, right? Not anymore. The world is different now. The rules are different now. You have to act brave even if you’re shaking inside. Which I sort of was. But if I were to let one Other walk all over me, I would never be safe again. And I knew it. So did the Troll.

He laughed as he left after throwing a five on the bar. I blew out a trembling breath and eased the shotgun down onto the bar. Crisis averted, I thought in relief.

Boy was I ever wrong. The crisis was just getting started.

I was just bending to put the shotgun back in its holder under the bar when one of the Wolves called out in alarm and I heard the sound of chair legs scraping over wood flooring a split second later.

I jerked the shotgun back up and barely had any time to register the snarl on his face before I squeezed the trigger and blew a hole the size of a baseball through the Troll’s chest as he was coming over the bar at me.

The force of the blast threw him back into the room. Thick blue blood sprayed over the floor, the tables and the bar as his heart pumped its last few beats. It was just fucking everywhere.

The thunderous sound of his heavy body hitting the floor was as absolute as the silence that followed it. I was panting hard, my hands shaking, the adrenaline still rushing through my body. I carefully stepped around the bar, shotgun still at the ready, my legs quivering in reaction. I locked my knees and willed myself to stay on my feet. Now was definitely not the time to land on my ass.

The Troll stared up at me with dead eyes, blue blood still leaking from his body to form an ever widening pool beneath him.

Oh, gods, I whispered.

I’ve never killed anyone, anything, before. Like I said, I hid during the battles that followed the Others revealing themselves to Humans. And although I have pulled the shotgun or the Glock out a few times when a customer was being a complete jackass, I have never pulled the trigger. Not until today.

There was subtle shifting around me as some of the patrons slowly got up from their tables, tossing money down to cover their tabs. I guess they were afraid to break Rule Number Two in light of recent events. Go figure.

One of the Wolves from the corner came over to me, moving slowly so as not to startle me, I think.

How about you give me that, Sam? It’s okay, he soothed as I turned my face to his, locking my gaze to his chocolate brown one.

I’m Malachi, remember? Just give me this and sit down.

He gently but firmly pulled the shotgun from my grasp and led me to a bar stool. He reached behind the bar and poured me a shot of tequila.

I don’t drink, I muttered dully as he set it in front of me, looking back to the body on the floor. He stepped into my line of sight, filling my gaze with his wide muscular chest instead of the dead Troll.

Seems like a good time to start. He crooked an eyebrow at me.

I nodded and downed the shot, sucking in a sharp breath as liquid fire poured down my throat and into my stomach. My eyes teared and I gasped for air.

What the hell happened here? Someone asked from the door. He sounded pissed. Another Troll? Because that would probably be bad. I peeked around Malachi and groaned. The Wolf that had snuck out earlier had brought back a Sentinel.

I was so screwed.

And not in the good way.

CHAPTER TWO

Question: How can a Human police Others?

Answer: They can’t. Hence, the inception of the Sentinels.

Sentinels are comprised mostly of Mages, Humans trained in Magic. Oh, they have some Vampires and Werewolves, too, but mostly Mages. I once saw a Sentinel drop a Fae attacking a woman to his knees with a single word. They are strong, scary, powerful, scary and in all things related to Other law, they are judge, jury and executioner.

Did I mention they were scary?

Mages have known for millennia that Others walked among us and never said a word. There are a lot of Humans that resent them for that, but not me. We weren’t ready to know that the monster under the bed was real until now. Sometimes, ignorance really is bliss. I actually liked being ignorant. It’s one of my best things.

This Sentinel was tall and powerfully built, but then they all were. Like some warrior of old, he was all long, lean muscle. Black hair fell to his shoulders in disarray as though he regularly shoved his hands through it in frustration.

Deep blue eyes, a straight nose, full lips that would have been sensuous if they hadn’t been twisted in annoyance and a strong jaw made him serious eye candy. Hey, I’m not blind, right?

He wore black leather pants and a black T shirt. Heavy black boots with silver buckles up the sides added a couple inches to his height, which I estimated to be six four or five, and he had to weigh at least two hundred