Shafted

By Kymber Morgan

When it comes to love, sometimes even a god can’t tell the myth from reality.

Anteros, Eros dark twin, is the avenger of unrequited love, not a bad job as godly gigs go. That is until his brother starts running amok shooting all the wrong people, and Anteros, as the only antidote, ends up on perpetual clean up duty.

Callie Jamison, has returned to Ribbon Falls to discover there’s a lot more to her grandmother’s legacy than a few neglected cabins and some overgrown land. She’s also inherited a curse that would choke the love out of anyone’s life.

When Anteros becomes his brother’s latest victim, and triggers the curse, his immortality, her free will and both their hearts hang in the balance. With the clock ticking they’ll each have to decide if their overwhelming attraction is the real deal - or just a cruel illusion?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kymber Morgan
• Release date: Apr 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311320513

Kymber Morgan

Kymber Morgan lives in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains and grew up with her own link to mythology through a family legend. Kymber writes paranormal romance and loves nothing better than taking her imagination out for a spin often asking, among other things, what if the myths and legends we grew up on were real? Come join the fun by visiting her web-site, follow her on twitter or check out her author page on Facebook, because you just never know who else may be dropping by.

Book preview

SHAFTED

An Up Myth Creek Romance

By

Kymber Morgan

Is her love real or just a myth?

Returning to her summertime home of Mystic Creek, Callie Jamison discovers there’s a lot more involved to her grandmother’s legacy than a few cabins and some land, including a curse. The last thing she needs now is to fall in love.

Anteros, dark twin of Eros, is responsible for avenging unrequited love, a job that’s been a lot harder since his brother succumbed to ambro-fever and has been running amok shooting all the wrong people, including Anteros.

The clock is ticking, not only on his immortality and Callie’s free will, but their hearts as well. Soon they’ll each have to decide if the overwhelming attraction they feel is the real deal or if they’ve simply been ‘shafted’ and it’s all a cruel illusion.

Dedication:

To my husband and personal alpha hero, thank you for being my biggest supporter and reading my work over and over and over again. To my ‘Handler’ Susan, who has been there from the beginning, without whom, I’d never have finished a manuscript.

SHAFTED

An Up Mystic Creek Romance

By

Kymber Morgan

Published By Kymber Morgan

Smashwords 2015 Revised Edition

Copyright 2012 Kymber Morgan

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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 are reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for you, please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

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

About the Author

Other Books by Kymber Morgan

Chapter 1

An obnoxious sound polluted the air, loud enough to make Anteros wince. It took to the count of three to realize the annoyingly repetitive groan was coming from him.

That couldn’t be good.

He lifted his head and shook it, bringing on a wave of vertigo and a chain reaction of pain throughout his cold-cramped muscles and aching bones. Guess that explained the grating noise.

Sluggish, he tried again, starting with his feet instead. Slowly, he worked his way up, taking stock, hoping this time when he got to his head the off-tempo drummer beating away on his gray matter would give up. At least long enough for him to figure out what kind of mess he was in now.

Wiggling his fingers and toes burned, proving his muscle responses were at least functional though far from optimal. Now if he could just figure out where he was and how he got here—wherever here was.

A blistering cold gust of wind pelted Anteros with ice crystals. Achk. He clawed at the flapping edge of his leather duster and tugged it up to shield his face. Had he been in a battle of some kind? No, that couldn’t be right. Between fixing Stupid Cupid’s screw-ups and the need to blow off steam because of it, there was hardly time in his schedule to tick someone off, let alone mix it up enough to create this much pain and confusion.

He scrunched his toes in his boots, barely feeling them move as he struggled to focus. All right, if not a battle, then what else could explain his sorry state? Besides a bash in the head, only a colossal Ambrosia hangover had ever… Wait a minute. Anteros flexed his Popsicle-like fingers, buried himself deeper into his coat, and rolled to his side, urging his mind to put the puzzle together. Was that it? Had he gotten drunk with Charon again?

The roar of rising blood pressure filled his ears, drowning out the little bongo basher still partying in his head as the pieces began to click into place. They may have been buds since before mortals first played with fire, but that didn’t mean Charon wouldn’t stick it to Anteros every chance he got. As one of the few remaining descendents of the highest level of mayhem demons—the ancient Charonte sect—being a shit-disturber was hardwired into his DNA.

Still trying to convince his blood to flow, Anteros pushed at the ground in an attempt to sit up but only managed to flop over—ending up where he started and no closer to gaining the feeling back in his arms or legs.

Okay, that was disconcerting; as was the realization his ‘friend’ hadn’t pulled one on him in a while so was overdue for his next performance.

The last installment had been over six months ago and, according to Charon, a personal best.

After a night of overindulging, Anteros had found himself on the sixth level of Hell, fulfilling a term of servitude to the Furies. It had taken every ounce of charm he possessed, a large donation from his private Nirvanavino cellar and three days to bribe his way to freedom.

Thinking about the youngest of the three deadly beauties, Megaera the Grudging, knocking back Nirvanavino by the bucket—a substance infamous for its amorous side effects—pulled at Anteros’s stiff lip, curling it into a semblance of a grin. The three-day time frame had more to do with the fact Anteros had been the only male in sight than anything else, but like hell was he going to let Charon find out about that. Besides, he wasn’t the kind to kiss and tell, particularly when the lady involved was created out of the primordial soup of air and night. Not to mention predated the Olympians and capable of ripping a man’s soul from his body while he was still breathing.

Snap!

Out of the darkness, a spray of ice pellets bombarded Anteros followed by a soggy blanket of pine-needle-laden snow. A tree limb had given way overhead sending its burden crashing down on top of him. Still half frozen, he hadn’t been able to move fast enough to get out of harm’s way.

The wet chill finding its way down the front of his shirt and trickling down his neck only added to his rising temper. Cursing, he spat and puffed the debris out of his mouth, wiped it from his eyes and ground his teeth. Oh yeah. This had that demented demon’s rotten sense of humor written all over it.

Another blast of frigid wind yanked at his now slush-laden hair, dragging his thoughts away from the fantasy of his fingers wrapped around Charon’s thick neck and back to the problem at hand.

Namely, you have no idea where ‘demon-dork’ dumped you this time. That pile of snow could’ve just as easily been something a lot more corporeal.

That cheery thought spurred Anteros into flexing the muscles in his extremities in earnest and concentrating on doing it as quietly as possible, not wanting to chance giving himself away should there be a real threat close by.

Keeping his eyes closed against the wind, he stretched out with his other senses. Filling his lungs slowly, he took in the sharp scent and temperature of the air. No god of light would suffer living in deep freeze like this, so he wasn’t in one of the upper realms.

The tinkle of ice crystals skimming across the ground blended with the sound of something rustling nearby. The echo of a haunting howl in the distance added weight to his theory he wasn’t alone, and a jolt of adrenaline fired through his nervous system. Blinking his eyes didn’t help, in fact it hurt, and from his current vantage point, all he was able to make out in the attempt was a landscape of unidentifiable shadows and varying degrees of darkness.

Dire-wolf? The Underworld then? The thought grabbed hold and stuck, making sense. After all, if it looked like a skunk and smelled like one too, chances were it was a skunk. Damn it, think! If he were a demented demon bent on kicks, where in the realm of the dead would he dump his best friend?

The banks of the Styx? Or worse, had the idiot dumped him on the shores of Acheron, the River of Woe? His legs started to tingle, bringing a welcome burn, while a shard of dread lodged in Anteros’s heart. Why else would this place be so cold?

Was that rustling noise louder?

Ice that had nothing to do with the wind crawled up his spine. The damned were mindless and moved with a shuffle, and in the absence of living tissue, bones made all manner of strange sounds as they did. And there were a lot worse things than the damned to contend with near either river, but Acheron was by far the worst.

Anteros stomach rolled over without the rest of his body getting the memo. Would Charon really do that to him?

Nah, he wouldn’t. Would he?

Anteros stifled a snort. Who was he kidding? Yes, he bloody well would and laugh his ass off the whole time doing it!

Bastard.

The rustling noise was definitely growing louder…and closer. The fleeting tinge of awe at Charon’s practical joke creativity withered under a surge of survival instinct. A surge of stubborn will got added to the mix, rendering the remaining stiffness mute, his body suddenly, and finally, on high alert and ready to respond now that no other option was available.

Regardless of which river he was near, there’d be Hades to pay—literally—and he already owed his uncle too much after that last ill-fated poker game. He could just see how that marble-cold expression would break into a rare sinister smile that wouldn’t reach his raven black eyes, and phantom fingers lifted the hair on his neck. Anteros wanted to bang the back of his head on the snow to mask the eerie feel of it.

By Cronos balls, if he somehow managed to get out of this, he was going to do some serious damage to a certain Charonte spawn.

* * * * *

Callie Jamison’s breath froze on the window pane, and she slowly drew a heart in the frost with the tip of her finger. Next an arrow appeared, piercing the heart, distorting her view of the snow-coated evergreens and lonely lake below. Her room at the B & B might not be as convenient as a motel in town, but it was far homier, and that view alone was worth the additional price.

Callie, of all places, why did it have to be Mystic Creek? You could’ve picked anywhere else in the world and it would’ve been better than there. Or how about staying here at home? What was so wrong with that? Here you have family, friends, and a man who cares about you. What about him?

She washed the heart away with a quick swipe and leaned her forehead against the cold glass, shifting the phone closer to her ear. Mom, let’s not do this again. We both know this isn’t about Mystic Creek. It’s about you and Grandee fighting and I want nothing more to do with it.

Callie turned away from the magical scene outside, and the heavy damask curtain fell back into place shrouding the room in darkness. She turned on the desk lamp and started sifting through the pamphlets fanned out on a side table. She left the place to me, and assuming it’s still standing, my expenses will be next to nothing so it’ll give me some time to think about what I want to do for the rest of my life. You know, figure out the big picture. It’s as simple as that.

What about Christian, where does he fit in the big picture?

Callie’s eyes pinched shut. Ouch, that one still stung, and her response was sharper than intended. Mom, we had a deal. My personal life is no longer up for discussion.

The heavy sigh on her mother’s end niggled at Callie’s conscience. Okay, honey, if you say so, but you could’ve at least said good-bye face-to-face. He’s been so upset since you left. Callie’s end remained silent. She hated it when they got into this kind of discussion; it never turned out well.

Okay, okay, I get it. Enough said—for now. I…well, I’m worried about you is all.

Her mother was no fool; she knew her daughter was running, but Callie couldn’t continue to pretend everything was okay. Last fall stepfather number three had been lowered into the ground far too early, and the blank resignation etched on her mother’s face during the service had branded an eternal scar on Callie’s memory. Coupled with the weeks of guilt-ridden drinking her mother had drowned in afterward, it had been the last straw. If only she could’ve figured out a way to leave without adding to her mother’s pain.

I know, Mom, and I realize this is hard for you, but please try to understand this is the right thing for me, so let’s drop it, okay? A certain cliché about silence and pins dropping had time to pop through her head before her mother responded.

Okay fine, I give up, you’re a grown woman and it’s your life. The defeat on the line gave Callie’s conscience another kick and tightened the growing knot in her stomach. "But, Callie, at least keep an open mind. Don’t give up on everything, please. Your grandmother was a bitter old woman who wanted everyone else as miserable