Hidden: Book of Light & Shadow, #1

By April A. Luna

Born from opposing fae factions, Sophia must make a choice, which side will she choose, the light or the darkness?

 

Aden Clarkson, a member of the Grgul'ya Codex clan, doesn't do relationships. He prefers a no strings, no commitment approach to dating—a prearranged, mutually gratifying association. A connection he both dominates and controls, that is, until the alluring scent of Sophia Mahoney crosses his path.

 

College student Sophia Mahoney's life is upside down. Her uncle is dead—murdered. The Doccioner clan wants the Book of Light and Shadows, and an elite Maalik assassin is after her.

 

Follow Sophia Mahoney as she steps between waking realities into the world she never knew existed. A world full of dark and white magic. A world where witches and gargoyles battle for a foothold.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DLG Publishing Partners
• Release date: Sep 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201619756

Book preview

Fur Balls

Sophia Mahoney

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Mozart's Requiem in D Minor hums in Sophia's ears. She rounds the last bend of the jogging trail in Brackenridge Park and stretches her stride. The first crescendo of the piece humming in her ears takes flight, and the violin sings with exquisite clarity.

Overhead, tree branches intertwine, creating a canopy that blankets the early evening sky. She hadn't realized how much she missed being home until her return.

Boston's nice, she sighs, but it's nothing like home—nothing like Texas.

The soles of her shoes strike the ground, keeping a steady beat to the music droning in her ears.

Jogging, the simplistic act makes her feel closer to her late uncle because it is one of the activities, he had done with her before his creaking, arthritic knee gave out.

Tears moisten her eyes.

Five minutes, that's all it took to shatter my world, she thinks to herself. Three hundred seconds to learn my uncle, Hugo Tardif, died face down in a pool of his own blood.

The hooded bastards caught fleeing on tape had carved Hugo's tongue from his mouth. They even extracted every ounce of blood from the muscle before slicing symbols into it and then pinned the bloodless mass to the stone wall of the basement.

She struggles to push the images from her mind.

Now he's gone. He's really gone. The thought saddens her and brings tears to the brim of her eyes. The detective says it's suicide. But I didn't believe him then, and I sure as hell don't buy it now—not even for a second. My uncle didn't take his life.

Another heavy sigh passes her lips, and she forces the emotions threatening to break her resolve down into the pit of her belly because she must be strong.

I don't care what anyone says, she thinks to herself. Hugo. Didn't. Do. It.

Gravel on the jogging trail crunches under the soles of her toe-shoes, but she doesn't feel them, not really. Her feet, like the rest of her, contain a deep-seated numbness.

The days following her uncle's death flow like a blur. They all mix together in a jumbled mess in her head. In truth, she hadn't known whether she was coming or going that first week. When her last exam had ended, she emptied her dorm room and weathered the commute from Boston to her home in San Antonio, Texas.

Hugo had worked hard to ensure she didn't want for anything while attending Harvard's Master of Liberal Arts program. As a stand-in-parent, he had always been attentive. He'd been there for her—a rock she had come to depend upon.

An image of his smile floods her mind. Lips curled into a goofy, crooked grin, and eyes full of unbridled laughter and merriment fill her thoughts. He had talked about attending her graduation so often. It had become an ordinary conversation. One more year—that's all that's left.

I took it for granted he'd be there to watch me cross the stage, she thinks to herself, but I was wrong.

She wipes a rogue tear off the corner of her eye.

Life, it’s a fragile beast, she muses, it’s odd, life, one minute, I'm on cloud nine and then the next, well, life knocks me on my ass.

Her eyes water, and she struggles to hold back the tears.

Shadows flicker and snake across the lit trail.

Two men, jogging next to each other, occupy the left-hand side. Their faces seem familiar. They've been on the path all week.

I guess they prefer to jog at night, too, or so she thinks.

Two guys reach the top of the hill, preparing to take the downward slope. Tall and lean like most runners, their frames move with ease, unlike some of the diet-crazed-wanna-be-joggers who frequent the park in rotating waves, such as the start of a new year or to shed a few pounds for summer swimwear.

One of the two men has curly dark hair that bounces around his head and face, and the other sports a copper-colored crew cut. As they approach, the darker-haired man holds Sophia's gaze. His penetrating eyes make her feel vulnerable, exposed. It's as if he looks deep into her soul, so she tips her head to the side to avoid him.

Once they pass, she slows her pace. Then she stops next to a concrete bench to adjust the sock wedged inside her toe shoe.

Johannes Brahms' Hungarian Dance No. 5 begins to play, her uncle's favorite—or it was.

A new wave of tears emerges from the corners of her lids and cascades down her cheeks. They leave wet, warm tracks that trickle the length of her face only to continue running down her neck. Using the backs of her hands, she wipes them away.

God, I must keep it together, she thinks to herself, I can't afford to fall apart because I've too much to do, she scolds herself. Plus, crying never solved anything. At least, that's what her uncle always says or had said before they murdered him.

The hair on the back of her neck stands on end, and her flesh breaks out in goose-pimples. Eyes. She feels them trailing up and down the length of her body, but she can't tell from where.

Whirling around on the balls of her feet, she half-expects to see the jogging duo, but the trail remains empty.

Shrubs rustle less than two feet away from where she stands.

A low, pithy hiss resonates, followed by a long and winding growl.

Heart drumming in her chest, she backs away slowly.

Out leaps a tiger-striped tabby with tiny stumps for legs. The short fur ball runs across the jogging path. Two larger cats, more than likely toms, follow hot on the heels of the first.

Great, that's just fucking wonderful. Sophia pivots around to avoid a direct collision with the hairballs. Well, at least, someone is getting some action.

Muddy black boots come into view, followed by black, skin-tight leather pants.

Fight or Flight

Sophia Mahoney

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Peering up, Sophia comes face-to-face with a green-eyed man wearing a black ski mask.

Where is it? He takes a step, bridging the small gap between them.

What the fuck? Sophia's breath hitches in the back of her throat. It's what, eighty-five degrees?

What the hell is this guy doing in the park with a fucking mask on?

Where's what? The cats? They went that way. She points in the general direction the trio ran.

His arms, larger in diameter than her thighs, wrap around her upper body and tighten like unrelenting vise grips.

You will tell me. Lifting her off the ground, he tosses her over his shoulder.

What the hell are you doing? Sophia pounds on his back and kicks her legs. Put me down.

Wiggling, she slides off his shoulder and topples to the ground head first. Her vision blurs, and her temples throb.

You shouldn't have done that. He laces his fingers through her hair, then drags her into the thicket.

Let go. She claws at the mask-wearing man. But she can't get a good grip because he keeps shaking the shit out of her as if she were a rag doll. That and the fact that buttery leather covers every square inch of his muscular body. Even the form-fitted gloves he has on contain a smooth, slippery surface.

He's going to rape me or kill me or both. The trail disappears. Oh God, no one's going to find me.

She wraps her arms and legs around the trunk of a small tree.

Let go. He tugs harder, ripping hair from her scalp.

The man reaches for her. His fingers bite into her bicep. He tugs a couple of times, making the tree bark bite into her flesh, but she refuses to give up a single inch.

Searing, hot pain rips through her side and radiates up into her chest and back. Her grip loosens, and he drags her away from the tree. She gasps for air.

Be still. The man forces her to the ground.

The tip of his boot slams into her side, making her both gag and cough.

A repeat of the initial discomfort washes over her body.

Fuck, she mouths. The pain takes her breath away for a second time.

Wrapping a gloved hand around her arm, he yanks her up and onto her feet, then he proceeds to shake the shit out of her body back and forth once more.

Her teeth rattle in her mouth. When he finally stops, Sophia slams her forehead into his chin then head butts his nose. The jarring contact makes her ears ring.

He relaxes his hold, then groans, saying something unintelligible.

Sophia jerks free of his grasp, then runs.

Long, bony fingers lace through her ponytail, ripping the tie out of her hair. The contact yanks the buds from her ears.

You can run, he shouts, but you can't hide.

Footsteps pound on the ground behind her. They're close. Too close for comfort.

Legs pumping, she sprints at full speed.

The trail, it's behind me, she thinks. I'm going the wrong way.

But she can't turn around, so she plods deeper into the thicket, which takes her farther away from the path and other joggers.

Her shoes slide over a mixture of mud and dead leaves. Continuing to sprint, she travels