Restart

By M. Rice

An assassin and half-dragon hybrid with extraordinary mental and physical powers, he was born Boris Peyton Torrence DeLaChat, He’s better known as just Stalker and has been for decades. Trying to leave his troubled past behind, he abdicates his barony and transports himself to present-day Seattle, Washington.

Peyton likes Seattle. He likes the weather, the scenery, and the blissful obscurity it provides. It helps that he’d visited the area before he relocated here from a different time and place. Getting settled is easy, even with no real plan in mind other than to reinvent himself, preferably with as little drama as possible. A job helping with the horses at Summerset Farms helps Peyton pass his time.

When his daughter, Lena, comes to him with a request to help find and rescue a little boy, Peyton decides to assist. It certainly sounds simple enough. But he quickly discovers that even in this time, nothing is ever as simple and easy as it seems.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Sep 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483436401

Book preview

Rice

Copyright © 2015 M. Rice.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-3639-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-3641-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-3640-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015912959

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 09/04/2015

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

Authors Note

Author Biography

Dedicated to my Dad, James P. Nolan Jr. (1929-2012),

who always told me Go get ‘em Tiger!

Dreams and hopes don’t come true without help. With that in mind, I want to thank the following wonderful folks:

Officer Dan Hensley of Tacoma PD for technical assistance and the use of his name!

Zach Entwistle for helping me to understand how real estate works.

Autumn Wetzal, Chris Flanders and all the wonderful students for loving listening to the rough drafts and begging for more!

My amazing trans child, who approved of Saphire Jones wholeheartedly!

Thank you Woman, for bringing over milk to make cookies, listening to me howl and laughing with me over fondue!

All the wonderful contributors via Kickstarter, without whom this book would have never gotten edited:

Robert Quinn

Nga (Tena) Chuong

Freddie

Kari Nelson

Carrie Robles

As always my wonderful, patient, understanding husband, who saw when the muse was upon me and let me write, who made sure I ate when I forgot to, listened, despite everything and without whom Thaedra wouldn’t be as kickass as she is.

Sword information and stances courtesy of thearma.org

Computer specs and design courtesy of Falcon Northwest http://www.falcon-nw.com/

Chapter 1

Born Boris Peyton Torrence DeLaChat, he was better known as just Stalker and had been for decades. The eldest son of a local baron, Stalker had rejected the trappings of nobility, more due to his father being overbearing than to anything else, and he had quietly left one night. He’d ended up in a vast desert and ultimately became one of the best and most wanted assassins of his generation, earning him the working name of Stalker. He still half thought of himself with that name though it was a name from a different world and a different time. Currently he answered to Peyton though the change in name didn’t change the man. He was still not fully human and still had the bearing of nobility. He’d started as human, very human, but thanks to his first wife’s mental instabilities and penchant for head games, that had changed. Being pushed, pulled and subtly manipulated by her, using his love of her against him, he’d been pushed past reason and into a form of insanity. In the depths of this insanity he’d attempted to take his own life, brutally. The only reason he lived is because at the time of the attempt he was visiting Sanctuary Mountain. The residents there had a deep fondness for him and refused to let him go. To save him required massive infusions of their blood, and as they weren’t human but rather dragon he was changed forever. The marriage however didn’t fare so well and ultimately ended. He spent the next several years coming to terms with the changes in himself and learning how to make the most of them. Some of the changes hadn’t been immediately noticeable, such as his ability to use his mind for both speech and to move things, and the ability to shape shift into a dragon. But others were highly noticeable; his eyes went from a brilliant hazel to a molten gold hazel, with a slight reptilian look to them. He also had the shimmering outline of a crimson and black dragon running down his back. Through all of this he continued to work as an assassin. As the years passed, his reputation grew in leaps and bounds as did his understanding of what he’d become. He learned that with a bit of effort he could hide any distinguishing marks or facial features, and with a bit of determination he could make it an automatic thing. He also learned that his lifespan had increased dramatically, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing the more he thought about it.

The faint creak of leather was accompanied by a soft equine snort. Those were the only sounds save for the breeze that rifled through the trees. A leather clad hand barely twitched on the reins and then there was just the breeze to be heard. Man and horse stood like a solitary statue on the high cliff that overlooked the flickering lights of the city below them. Had anyone looked up to the top of the cliff they would have just seen trees and shadows. Silently the pair turned from the scene below and made their way back along the narrow path. Only when they had made their way around the bend in the path and the shoulder of the hill was between them and the cliff did sound begin again. In the moonlit shadows came the faint click of a hoof on stone and the quiet voice of the man.

If one looks at it from a distance it appears like a nice enough city. It’s only when one is in the middle of it that you see the petty grime and feel the overwhelming drama. He gave a rueful chuckle, I’m just too old for that crap, Shade.

The horse snorted softly and twitched an ear.

I know, I know… Would you rather we stick around until Sun gets around to finding someone that’s stupid enough to take a contract out on me or Rena?

The horse tossed its head followed by a half crow hop on the widening path.

The man rolled his eyes with a bitter laugh. Exactly.

A comfortable silence fell as the pair made their way to the bottom of the cliff where they paused again for a moment. In the pale moonlight that filtered through the clouds they again seemed to be a perfect statue. The stallion muscular and sleek, mane rippling and falling across his powerful neck; the man sitting so perfectly, clad in supple black leather accentuating his broad shoulders. As a pair they had had more females both human and equine drooling and awestruck at their passing to last a lifetime. It got old after a while.

The past year had brought about far more changes than either Stalker or Shade could have anticipated, starting with the death of Stalker’s youngest son at his own hands, and coming to the present with Stalker’s implosive divorce and subsequent new lover. In between those events had been a wealth of pain, anger and sorrow, intermingled with wonder and fleeting moments of soul deep peace. The death of his son had been a sad necessity, one that haunted Stalker still. It didn’t matter that his youngest son, Enos, had gone insane with warped abilities and perceptions, it had still been his son. Stalker’s now ex-wife, a bard and notable healer on many levels, had done what she thought was best, which in truth had probably saved Stalker’s life and most of his sanity. Be that as it may, nothing is perfect, and the rage that had been unleashed in those final moments would never again be contained fully. It might be tempered or held in some form of check, but containment was not an option.

With the return of his ability to think came the realization that he and Sun had drifted apart. Stalker shrugged it off, threw himself back into the running of DakMar both a school and headquarters for some of the most renowned trained assassins in the entire region and his barony, both of which kept him busy and traveling. Eventually his travels brought him back into RhyDin, a sprawling nexus of a city that seemed to cater to every and all whims and fantasies. His half sister, Arimis, had a tavern there and had made a few acquaintances. Ari didn’t really make friends as a rule, mostly because, like Stalker, she too was a member of DakMar. Ari had returned to RhyDin in a fit of sheer boredom and restlessness. Stalker had gotten dragged in when a friend of Ari’s had managed to actually slip away from her while Ari tracked her. Arimis was good at tracking, as her alternate soul-form was a wolf, so having lost someone threw her into a spitting fury. Ergo, she dragged Stalker in to try to find the friend. That is how Rena entered his world.

Rena, tiny, clever, wise, and in her own right dangerous. A soul battered and scarred by her life’s adventures, with dark curling hair and snapping eyes whose color changed depending on mood. Why he’d found himself feeling so protective and drawn to her he could not, even now, say, but he had and still was. It was this and his subsequent realization that Sun and he were over that the caused the majority of the drama. As ever there were loyalties and sides to everything and this was no exception. Many knew Sun far better than they ever did him, so of course he was the bad guy. Combine that with the simple fact that Sun was a bard and well, she put on one masterfully handled slander campaign.

If it had just been that alone, eventually it would have faded and gone away. Unfortunately, Sun was also a part of Sanctuary. That meant that even if the gossip and slander in RhyDin faded, there was still the awkwardness at Sanctuary. Awkwardness because on top of all the rest, Sun was also life-bonded to StarMaster, head of Sanctuary. The one small blessing was that Stalker and StarMaster were friends, so when he realized that the bond with Sun was faded and weak he warned him. In fact they’d spent many evenings discussing the problem. Ultimately though, he made his own choices, and that had led to the severing of a lot of ties.

Through the moon drenched landscape they flew, heading back to home. At one time it would have been Peyton’s only home, a refuge from everything, but with the dissolution of his marriage and the resulting chaos, it became less than that; it became just a house. In this time he was nobility, a baron to be exact, with all the trappings and responsibilities that came with it. Peyton’s current house consisted of a castle of sorts, referred to as The Castille. Rising from a rocky plain, in the moonlight The Castille seemed bleak, save for the torches that lined the walls and the main gate. He’d been born there and lived there for a good part of his adult life.

Peyton brought Shade down to a walk as the walls loomed. Be it ever so humble…

A wuffling sort of snort and a flick of an ear was the response. Had Shade cared to, he could have made his responses understood, but the two knew each other well enough that it wasn’t really necessary any more.

Okay, so not so much on the humble, Peyton chuckled. Two guards stepped out as they approached and Shade laid his ears back slightly. Peyton reached forward and lightly thumped Shade between the ears as an unspoken reminder to behave. Peyton knew Shade loathed the guards for no other reason than that he just did. Shade had never really given an answer as to why he disliked them, and when asked had merely regarded Peyton with an evil look, followed by a contemptuous snort.

The light from the torches gleamed off the pair, and the guards relaxed and stepped back as they approached. M’lord, was the quiet acknowledgment from the guards, as Peyton brought Shade to a full stop.

Peyton sighed at the title and nodded slightly. Evening Horace. Nice to see you so awake. He couldn’t resist reminding the man of being caught asleep on duty the week before. Not that he hadn’t given him a solid dressing down at the time, but a regular reminder served its own purpose.

Peyton’s observation was greeted with a quick flash of embarrassment. Aye M’lord.. Nice evening to be so.

Peyton smothered a snicker, even as Shade lashed out with a hoof, causing Horace to jump back a step. Always nice to see you on your toes. He nudged Shade forward and once in the courtyard, Peyton allowed himself a chuckle. You’re supposed to be one of the most elite stallions, not an ass Shade.

I’ve never fallen asleep on watch Stalker, came the quiet, cryptic response. Shade’s mental voice rarely held emotion, but if something deeply offended the stallion it showed. That, combined with a toss of his head and a snort finished the sentiment. Despite everything Shade would always refer to Peyton by the name he first knew him by.

Peyton dropped the reins. Now there’s the arrogant pig we all know and love.

Shade rolled his eyes and laid his ears back, then came to a halt. Remind me to kick you some place sensitive, okay?

Okay, if you remind me to have you gelded. Did you want to keep this going buddy?

Shade flinched and bowed his head with a soft, humble sounding wicker. Of all the potential threats he could face that one alone would back him down. For all his arrogance Shade wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t about to test Stalker’s resolve on this issue just on the off chance he was wrong.

That’s kind of what I thought. Peyton slid off and gave a fond pat on Shade’s shoulder. He sighed, glancing around the inner courtyard, lost in his thoughts for a moment. The sound of footsteps and Shade’s soft nicker brought Peyton out of his thoughts, turning to look in the direction the sound came from.

He looks tired, Valdis observed as he walked across the courtyard toward where Peyton and Shade stood. They both do. A smile formed though, hearing the welcoming nicker from Shade. I trust you had a nice little ride?

Define nice. Peyton chuckled softly, He didn’t try and scrape me off on a low hanging branch and I only threatened to geld him once.

I’d say that qualifies as nice, yeah, Valdis laughed.

Peyton never looked at the groom that reached for Shade’s reins. Don’t maim this one Shade. He knew the groom blanched and hesitated.

Shade deliberately laid his ears back and bared his teeth. You take all the fun out of my evenings Stalker.

Just behave old man. Peyton chuckled, letting the reins go. As Shade moved off with the groom, Peyton regarded Valdis. We need to talk Val.

I’m guessing it’s not about Shade.

You always were the clever one, son. Peyton dropped a hand on Valdis’s shoulder and headed inside. Val’s not going to like this one bit. Come to think of it, neither is Shade, Peyton thought grimly.

Neither said a word until they reached Peyton’s study. Valdis knew the room well. He’d spent hours in here with his Uncle Jag and then of late alone. Rarely had he spent long periods of time in here with his father. In fact, he’d come to think of it as his over the months, but seeing his father in the room reminded him that it was most definitely Peyton’s study. Just by walking into the room, he commands it. I’ll never have that sort of presence. So, you said we need to talk. I’m going to venture a guess that whatever it is, it’s not good.

Peyton pulled off his gloves and tucked them in his belt before answering, Good is a relative term Valdis. No way to blunt this. He turned and walked over to the massive desk. He picked up a piece of parchment. Three guesses as to what this might possibly be.

Valdis cocked his head at the parchment. I didn’t leave anything on the desk. Whatever he’s holding is of his own creation. Valdis wracked his brain, trying to think. He’s not looking thrilled, he’s got that I dare you look in his eye, so it’s got to be something completely off the wall. Valdis threw out the wildest thing he could think of spur of the moment. Your abdication of the barony?

Peyton stared at Valdis. How in the name of a festering scorpion-hating shrew did he guess? Well, let’s see how he likes being right. Yep.

Valdis’s jaw dropped. Wha… I’m… You’re…

Peyton chuckled dryly, holding out the paper. Look for yourself.

Valdis closed his mouth with a snap and took the offered paper. The queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach only got worse as he read. His father was serious and in fact, it appeared to be a done deal. Signed, dated and the familiar DeLaChat seal at the bottom. Valdis stared at the date. Today, it’s effective as of today. He swallowed and let the paper fall from his fingers as he stared at his father. Why?

Peyton sighed and ran his hands through his hair. Because I’m old Val. Old and tired. Tired of the games, tired of the drama, tired of the bullshit. Every time I turn around someone, somewhere is pissed at me for not being what they think I should be. Whether I’m here, at DakMar or in that cesspool of a city RhyDin, it seems that I’m putting a foot wrong, or in my damn mouth. The pity of it all is that as much as I want to, I’ll never be able to clear my own name. Sun saw to that most effectively. What was left was obliterated with all of Rena’s family loathing me in some form or another. Peyton shook his head and walked over to the table that held several pitchers and decanters. He scanned all of them, rolled his eyes and turned back to look at Valdis. That’s why.

Valdis listened as he picked up the paper and set it on the desk, now truly his desk. What about DakMar?

Already dropped in Dark’s lap. If it makes you feel any better, he wasn’t thrilled either.

I see. Valdis did see. The past year had well and truly taken its toll on his entire family. Galena had come back only to leave again for some other time and Enos was dead. Everything his father had believed in or hoped for was either dead or gone. Valdis stared down at the paper for a long moment before looking up and meeting his father’s golden eyes. Can I venture a guess that you’ll go stay with Lena for a while?

That had been the general plan, yeah.

How long have you been putting this together?

Peyton shrugged. A month or so.

Valdis straightened his shoulders and raised his chin. It’s not like I didn’t know this day was coming. Will you ever come back? The idea of never seeing his father again didn’t appeal to Valdis.

For visits only Val.

Visits are good. I guess this is where I wish you luck or something, right?

Peyton studied his son for a long moment. He looks like a baron ought to. I believe that is the appropriate thing, yes Lord DeLaChat. That title only gets heavier Valdis, Peyton thought a bit sadly. He looked around the study one last time before walking out.

Peyton’s first destination was his rooms. With a practiced efficiency he finished the packing he’d started earlier that day. That done he changed clothes, into something far more fitting for when he was heading than what he currently wore. Peyton took a deep breath and looked about his room. Is there anything here that I am loath to leave, he asked himself. His eyes swept over the tapestries and paintings, the exquisite carvings, all the things that made up the room. Not once did the sight of these items make him regret his decision. He smiled slightly. No, nothing. Nothing holds me here. Shrugging, Peyton gathered the small bundle of items and headed for the lowest levels of The Castille.

Few knew of the room Peyton headed for, which is how he’d wanted it. Valdis knew the location, but no servant did. The door to the room wasn’t locked, but it was carefully concealed. Running his fingers over the wall, Peyton felt for the thin edge of the seam. Finding it, he pushed and a narrow section of the wall moved inward. When it stopped moving Peyton slid into the room. A light push put the wall section back where it should be, plunging the room into darkness.

Peyton stood still and let his mind reach outward to find the single candle that was always in the same place, and with half a thought lit it. Thin shadows danced about the room which was empty save for a rather large, smooth stone pillar. Slightly rounded on top, it more closely resembled a small boulder from a river.

Peyton’s footsteps made no sound as he walked over to the pillar boulder. Setting a hand lightly on it, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Peyton could feel the residual energies in the stone and was just about to let go and fall into them when he remembered Shade. Peyton slammed his mental shields back up, opened his eyes and dropped his hand away from the stone. Fuck. Stepping back he turned and headed out of the room and up to the stables. Peyton knew he owed the stallion at least some explanation.

The stables were quiet, except for the usual familiar soft sounds. Ever since Peyton had been a small child the stables had been a safe, soothing place, with warm scents and unconditional acceptance. He’d always been able to understand horses on a deeper level than most, being able to hear and understand how they thought and perceived the world around them.

Peyton waved off the startled stable boy and headed to Shade’s stall. Peyton had known Shade for years, hell he’d been the one to actually name Shade. He came to a halt in front of Shade’s stall and just stood there, watching the stallion for a long moment. Peyton recalled that at the time Shade had been foaled he’d been still hurting from the loss of another horse; hurting and angry. Peyton hadn’t really thought about it when asked to supply a name, he’d just thrown out the name Nightshades Vengeance and walked away. Five years later Peyton and Shade realized that they made an effective team and that had been that. They’d had each other’s back ever since.

Peyton cleared his throat softly and leaned his arms on top of the stall door. Enjoying dinner?

Shade flicked an ear. Passable. Where are you off to?

How’d you know?

You smell like traveling… And you’re not wearing your usual stuff.

Oh. Hmm… Well traveling huh? I guess you could call it that yeah.

Shade lifted his head and