Preying On Time: Indigo Skies, #1

By Rebecca Clare Smith

Book one of the Indigo Skies series...

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In one slick move, Violet pivoted, pulling the gun from her ruined jeans & aiming it perfectly between the pack alpha's eyes. His yellow stare widened, freezing as quickly as the two men behind her.

"Underestimate me again & it will be at your peril," Violet spat.

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A detective with a secret. Werewolf hitmen. An unintentional time traveller.

& nobody to trust…

In a supernatural future, Violet Eonsen must follow her instincts & her gun when death comes to call. But can she protect those she loves from the werewolves she's after?

Especially when they could control time to change fate?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Katarr Kanticles Press
• Release date: Sep 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781311661753

Rebecca Clare Smith

Primarily a fantasy hound, Rebecca is an animal lover with a writing style that meanders between dystopian and urban. She lives with her pragmatic other half & their cats in the lovely UK county of Yorkshire (where tea drinking is expected & dunking biscuits is mandatory). A big fan of social media, chances are you’ll catch her online at some point during the day where she is more than happy to add readers & writers as friends. Her day job is friendlier than her plot lines might have you expect & her house is far less cluttered than her head, surprisingly. Occasionally she attempts to garden or clean, but is more often found with her face buried in new writing or the writing of others.

Book preview

Preying On Time

Prologue: Running

Fire streamed through his tightened lungs, eyes wide and pupils dilated with fear as he dared to glance over his shoulder, the sound of feral feet thundering not far behind.

It was like something from a nightmare. If only he could wake up. Growls tore at his ears from all sides, bouncing as echoes on the unfamiliar alleyway walls. Hackled laughter sounded in his wake, inhuman and derisive with the thrill of the chase.

A shiver spiked down his taut spine. Any bravery he had was burning up, disintegrating like the oxygen in his overworked lungs.

Keep going. Keep going.

Blood bleated in his veins. He panted hard, throat raw as he gulped down insufficient air. There was no time to look back. The wolves were coming. He needed to find somewhere to hide. Anywhere to hide. But there was nowhere.

And soon there would be nowhere left to run.

They were getting closer.

The strange sky glared down at him, a violent mixture of black and purple, two slit eye sickles glowering at him in a face full of sadistic rage. What planet was this? Why were there two moons? And how had he got here? This hateful place.

The only thing he could do was to run. Clearly, whoever or whatever had brought him to this world wanted him dead.

Faster. Faster! Come on!

The snarls seemed to echo all around him. His muscles burned in agony, pleading to stop, but there was nowhere to stop and still nowhere to hide. A whimper of fear crawled out through the heat and the pain in his tightened throat. Formal shoes beat down on the strange earth, creaking with the uncomfortable stiffness of new leather, puddles shattering below each thrashed sole like broken mirrors.

How had he got here? It had happened so fast.

The sunlight had been pouring over him in a golden river of hibiscus scent, wrapping around the congregation. The whole event had been joyous and beautiful. The flower girls had chased through the bridesmaids’ skirts amidst the bubble and froth of tinkling laughter. The singing and dancing had just started to take part and then... He’d felt that horrible sensation like a rush of blood to the head...

Now he was here running for his life.

A carnation loosed from his buttonhole and trampled underfoot as he pushed onwards, wrenched leg muscles screaming in pain, desperate to seize up and stop all motion.

But he couldn’t stop.

If he stopped he was dead.

His head pounded. Had he been drugged? The sunlight in the garden had flickered to dark too quickly. Then he’d been in the room with those... creatures. He couldn’t remember getting there, just the murderous expressions on their faces when he’d finally told them his name. Then they’d transformed and he’d made a panicked break for it.

They said he was the ‘wrong one’.

A low, excited howl curled out of the darkness. He tried to speed up, but his body was nearly spent. They were wolves. He couldn’t believe that they were wolves. But he’d seen it. He’d seen them change.

Monsters.

He crashed around another corner, pushing away thoughts of what they could be and only thinking of escape. Dead end. And then another dead end. And then..

He turned to go back, but they were there. No way out.

Panic. It was all walls. Just walls everywhere. No windows or doors. Nothing.

He looked around desperately.

No escape.

Only them.

They prowled closer, huge lupine forms casting shadows along the walls. Yellow eyes flashed as sharp teeth shone in the pale light. Fur bristled along their spines as low growls emanated from their throats. Devilish beasts.

He began to plead with them, not knowing if they could still understand him.

But there would be no mercy...

Thick pads left the floor, leaping onto his chest with guttural snarls and howls of wolfish delight. His body went down. Teeth clamped around his throat and tore. Scarlet spattered and sprayed. Blood bubbled and frothed in his open throat as he tried to scream, limbs thrashing against the stone floor.

Crimson gurgled. Eyes glazed over, glassy with his dying cries.

The wolves ripped and savaged. Blood leaked from the gash, slowly dribbling down the sloped cement to the main walkway, a river of black in the darkness. Teeth clacked in joyous feasting. The tall buildings hid the scene from all but the overhanging moons.

Once finished and sated, the beasts paddled the scarlet back onto the main path, fleeing into the shadows.

1. John Doe

S o, who do we think he is?

The police officer glanced up at her and then down at his screen once more, a scowl etched into his face. He highlighted things, pressed delete and then hammered the same information in again. The old keys clattered like arthritic knuckles in the chaotic jangle of paper, chatter and phone calls. The screen refreshed, lighting up the officer’s deepening frown.

A sigh.

Well?

This usually only took ten minutes, even with the buggered, old equipment. And, if it was above the civilian information level, Violet still had clearance, or she could get it easily enough; so why was he stalling? She shifted her weight to her other foot, hands still buried deep in her pockets. It would be easier if she could still use the system herself, without having to ask one of the junior officers every time she needed something. They were never fast enough.

Tones flat, voice oozing cold irritation, she prompted him again, Hey, I need to be somewhere. Can you hurry it up?

The officer compressed his lips, the furrows in his brow lengthening to chasms under the sickly yellow department light. This was ridiculous. Her foot itched to start tapping against the tiles.

Well...?

There must be something wrong with the system, he muttered reluctantly, gaze dancing in a loop from her to the screen. The computer bleeped in derision. A flicker of frustration distressed his face. I can’t make heads nor tails of this.

Violet rolled her eyes, stepping closer.

The system was a joke. It badly needed upgrading, but the coding hadn’t been touched in years. It would probably have been easier to start hacking it from the outside.

So much for giving the best equipment to those on the front line.

She pushed in beside the officer. This computer had obviously been dragged out of the old stockpiles; no wonder it wasn’t working properly. The screen lit her face. She frowned too, studying the face of the twenty-first century throwback plastered on the screen.

You see what I mean, ma’am? That can’t be right.

Violet compressed her lips, thoughtfully, scrutinising the details as if they would change. Maybe the bobby had entered it wrong... But that couldn’t be it. She’d watched him fill it in. He hadn’t put a finger out of place.

What can’t be right? piped a voice from the other side of the monitor.

The sound hit Violet’s ears with a familiar ring, twirling further annoyance into her stomach. As if she hadn’t had enough to deal with today. Both at the desk raised their heads to acknowledge the police detective, but he didn’t require a greeting.

Is this the one you brought in, Eonsen?

Violet nodded, a dissatisfied expression on her face. She knew the next bit would intrigue him, but her annoyance with the system rose higher than her need to go it alone. There’s something very wrong here. The database must be down again.

There’s nothing wrong with the database. Let me take a look.

The officer shifted brusquely, allowing his senior to be seated.

Violet liked the young copper’s eagerness, but she didn’t let it show. He’d have to toughen up to get by on this force. He hovered beside her, moth-like, as if afraid his computer would be commandeered.

Having a working machine in that place was a godsend and only a few of the officers ever managed it. The constabulary still relied on this ancient, yellowed equipment, despite promises of updates. It was all stuff that had been stockpiled centuries before; an old measure for when the oil ran out, leaving the people of the world with no electricity until the energy conversion plants could be made more widespread, converting magical power into something useful.

The detective paid no attention to the human moth, his interest captured by the screen. The cursor clicked around a bit, followed by harshly tapped information, but the same results plinked up on the dated monitor, lighting the detective’s face with an eerie cyan.

He leaned back. Well, maybe this is a solved cold case or something, then. The response was optimistic, but Violet didn’t inch towards a smile.

She raised an eyebrow. "It can’t be solved. Nothing on that screen can be right. The stiff I brought in was fresh. That guy couldn’t have died in the 21st century, Maloney."

A reluctant frown cut the detective’s face. Giving in to that meant extra paperwork for him. Maybe he was just well preserved? he offered, hopeful.

Violet gave him a look.

No, sir, the officer cut in, bright eyed, palms sweating. A look of nervous urgency claimed his face. I saw the body when they were bringing it in. There’s no way that was either old enough to be from that century, sir, or even somehow preserved for that amount of time in that state. He was alive when the wolves got at him. He shifted from foot to foot. You could tell, sir.

Violet shook her head.

There was no point in bickering over it with them. It was their problem to deal with now. She had things to do that were far more important. The only duty she’d had was to report the body and even that was more out of courtesy than anything else. It was mere curiosity that had kept her at the station, an instinct that something wasn’t quite right.

Still... What should it matter to her so long as it wasn’t one of her clients?

Let them sort it out. It might even help the rookie earn his stripes.

She moved to the other side of the desk, extracting herself from the situation. This had taken up far more of her time than it should have. It’s your mess to deal with, now. I’ve got things to do. Have fun.

She swept between the bustling office desks and was through the door to the cool air of the corridor before Detective Maloney caught up with her determined stride. His footsteps rattled off the hard floors with purpose, bouncing against the walls. An irritating echo. She wasn’t getting caught up in this, no matter how intriguing it was or how hard Maloney tried to coerce her into it.

His hand reached her elbow just as the lights fizzled out. A soft cuss hissed under his breath. He followed it with a hurried suggestion that they make for the exit. Violet shook off the urge to decline; they’d moved things around the station so much that it wouldn’t be a wise move in the dark. Instead, she begrudgingly let him guide her through the maze of corridors, trusting his sense of direction in the pitch black.

It had changed a lot since she’d been on the staff, the myriad of corridors looping and altering, and, without a key card, it would have taken her even longer to find her way out of that hell hole.

Inky suffocation eventually gave way to cooler air. The street outside was lit by firefly lanterns and a veil of glittering stars that swathed the two calm celestial bodies above. People cycled by or wandered on their way, ignoring the blackout. It had become a part of the culture lately. The lanterns strung along trees and shops, twisting from lamppost to lamppost, danced and wriggled in the slight breeze. The gust wasn’t too biting yet; the weather was warm for October, despite the damp tang of rain that sifted the atmosphere.

The detective released his grasp on Violet’s elbow. She blinked into the paler darkness. A switch and a crackle announced that Maloney was lighting a cigarette. The burning light illuminated his worn face and then faded into nothing but embers. He looked as tired as she felt.

So... long time no see, Eonsen.

Violet nodded.

A cyclist swirled through a shallow puddle nearby, rainwater sprinkling the damp bitumen. His bell rang cheerily in the twinkling glow of the lantern light.

She tightened her lips, quietly watching the world carry on regardless of the dark. Small talk wasn’t her forte. Nor was the cloud of smoke expelled from Maloney’s tobacco. Why couldn’t he just vape like everyone else?

Was that stiff something to do with one of your cases? he pressed.

She shook her head, concentrating on an old woman across the road. The old dame squeezed out her wet laundry straight onto the path. Medieval.

There were going to be protests soon, if Violet’s sources were correct. And not just about the electricity failures, either. They’d probably centre around the station again and then the washerwoman would have to find somewhere else to dump her dirty water when the power cuts blacked everything out.

How’d you find it?

Violet sighed and returned to the conversation as if trapped in a vice, running the information off with the air of a filed report, something she didn’t have much cause to write any more.

I was passing the alley. The spillage had reached the main street, indicating the attackers weren’t worried about getting caught. Paw prints showed several large canines. The deceased was mutilated and in pieces, provoking the first impression of a particularly vicious dog attack. But it could have been a fake.

She cast a knowing glance at the detective. It wasn’t hard to put the facts together. The fakers were getting better at imitating wolf kills. Catching the glint in her gaze, Maloney also compressed his lips. It would help those trying to uphold the segregation laws if more werewolf kills were reported.

My case or not, I figured I should alert authorities before the opposition had any more ammunition. We’re supposed to be working towards equality, right?

Quick thinking, he agreed quietly, pondering on her almost clinical description of the crime scene. Only she’d phrase it that way, cold and emotionless. He’d never understood that, but he didn’t expect she wanted him to.

Violet made a move as if to leave, twitching to escape.

How’s life as a PI treating you? The words were a quick issue designed to keep her there a bit longer – something she didn’t need. Better money, I hear.

He slipped her a sly sideways glance. Cash never seemed to be far from cops’ minds these days. Any way to fill up their pockets that bit more was all they looked for, breeding corruption. Not Maloney, though.

Depends on your clients, she muttered.

Tough week? His expression tilted with concern.

A tight smile crossed Violet’s lips and she stayed herself a little more. Sometimes it was hard to remind herself that his comments meant no real harm. He was one of the good guys. Anyone would think you were a detective, Maloney.

He smiled, ducking his head as tired lines creased the corners of his eyes. When he brought his gaze level with hers it was marked with compassion. We could go for a drink and talk about it?

Violet sighed and shook her head, stepping out from the corner of the dark building. She didn’t want to talk about it. Connecting emotionally... It just wasn’t her thing. I said I’d meet Logan.

Ah...

She swallowed, guilty for the deflated expression that crossed his face, but not guilty enough to stay. He knew she wasn’t the social type. A gloved hand squeezed his shoulder in an alien way. It felt strange beneath her fingers. Maybe some other time. I doubt they’d be serving in a power cut, anyway, to be honest.

He chuckled and took another quick drag on his cigarette, the embers glittering in the darkness. Girl’s got brain skills. I still say you would have made captain.

In another life.

Maybe you’re right. We couldn’t have you depressing the team, now.

Her lips twisted sardonically. He’d been the one she’d trusted most in that place. She stepped further towards the street. Team implies people working together.

Ouch! he cried in mock offence.

"There are too many of them, Maloney. Give me working alone any day. There was no point discussing it any further; he knew her feelings on the matter. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and stepped towards the dark road, her muffled words cast blindly over her shoulder. I’ll catch you later; I’m already late."

Just remember you owe me a drink.

Yeah, yeah...

She forgot her conversation with him almost as soon as she left the precinct. Her mind ran once more to the victim in the alley. It didn’t make sense. There’d been blood everywhere, flesh torn and bone scattered. Yet, the police computer... Well.

The DNA results from the body matched those of a missing person far back in the twenty-first century.

That couldn’t be right. This was the thirty-first.

The body she had seen was definitely fresh. The way it had been contorted and the spray of the blood indicated he’d been alive when the wolves had attacked him. Still, questions remained. There had been no signs of the usual kind of struggle, which indicated that the victim either hadn’t had a chance to respond with supernatural force or hadn’t responded.

The first was improbable. The second was highly unlikely.

There were only two types of beings left who wouldn’t have fought back in the usual way. Mutes were rare, but he clearly wasn’t one if-

Something buzzed in Violet’s pocket, crashing her thoughts. She fished out the circular device, wondering if it was Logan trying to get in touch. He’d be running late and sorry. But, today, so was she. The screen flicked open like a compact mirror, taking a moment to flash up its demands on her time.

Violet sighed. It was just another of those stupid network messages. A gloved hand brushed back her hair in irritation. Her fingers played the touch screen, wiping the message away. She wasn’t in the market for a new call plan. Fingertips danced across the lower screen until she pulled up an image of Logan, hitting video dial with more gusto than needed.

The screen fizzled for a few minutes, wriggling with a green line like a heart monitor, jumping everytime the ringtone sounded. A short while passed and it flat lined.

Violet rolled her eyes, cancelling the call. She wondered if he was already there and was about to put the iCom in her pocket again when it buzzed for a second time.

Another network message? She hoped not.

Flipped open, there was a picture of a familiar face on the upper screen. The answer options were only red and green without the added amber of a video call, but there was no point in that with this caller.

A disconcerting bubble formed low in Violet’s stomach. She had a feeling that she was about to become even later to her dinner. The answer options pulsed