Sanguineum Harenae: Winds of Fury, #1

By C. L. Brown

Fresh starts can be hard, especially when echoes of the past refuse to remain silent.

 

Molpadia moves to Albany, New York to find solace and a clean slate from her old job at Custos es Clypeus. A fresh start as Molly Padia is just what this Amazon needs. The perfect escape from policing things that go bump in the night and keeping them hidden from mundane eyes.

 

A chance encounter sparks an unexpected romance. The issue is this pleasant surprise has ties to a gruesome murder. Molly has a precarious decision to make: Let the local authorities handle it or intervene. Her personal interest and the arrival of a familiar face force her hand.

 

Something sinister lies beneath Smallbany's mundane façade, threatening to shatter Molly's tranquility. Danger lurks at every corner, but Molly won't face this alone. Armed with new allies and a warrior's spirit, Molly will confront old foes head-on. 

 

Albany's streets may be dangerous, but Molly's reputation doesn't come from baking cookies.

 

~

Fans of Steve McHugh, Shayne Silvers, Cameron O'Connell, Faith Hunter, M.D. Massey, K.F. Breene, or Michael Anderle are going to love the Winds of Fury series, and the rest of the RKverse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. L. Brown
• Release date: Jan 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9798223426707

C. L. Brown

C.L. Brown, a father, a papa, the dog-loving, gentle giant. A constant daydreamer who supports pizza being its own food group. A Tide fan behind enemy lines in Louisiana. An imaginative horror junky fascinated by the myths and legends of the world. He draws on them to create pulse-pounding tales with a diverse cast of characters who are every bit as dangerous as they are wondrous. Thus, he dwells in the machinations of dark urban fantasy. The dark urban fantasy Realm Killer series features Chase Ambrose, a snarky wizard with a propensity for creating enemies with the highest of the high and lowest of the low. It’s set in an alternate, modern-day world where gods govern an alphabet agency to keep humans, normies, ignorant of the supernatural’s existence. His Winds of Fury series, a dark urban fantasy spin-off of the Realm Killer series, features Molly Padia, known to the supernatural world as Molpadia. Molly is an ancient amazon and wind elemental, who lives in Albany, New York where she is rediscovering herself while failing to avoid supernatural mischief. The dark urban fantasy series The Doorman serves as a companion series that exists in the Realm Killer universe. Taya Freeman is a necromancer with talent that makes her an endangered species. New to the supernatural world, she has to contend with loa, voodoo magic, and the supernatural families of New Orleans. Check him out on social media or sign-up for his newsletter. https://www.facebook.com/ImaginationUnbound https://www.instagram.com/author.c.l.brown/

Book preview

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Excitement and new challenges used to be common happenings in my life. Whipping recruits into form. Organizing and managing security details. Spearheading field missions to make sure the mundane world remained safe from, and ignorant of, the supernatural world. It often meant fighting for my life, but policing supernaturals was a risky business. Keeping mundanes in the dark made the job that much harder. It was a uniquely exciting job.

One decision to break procedure ended my centuries long career. The North American compound of Custos es Clypeus had a new Chief of Security. And I had a crappy apartment. A trunk in my bedroom kept the remnants of my old life hidden from sight.

I had gone from Lake Placid’s fresh mountain air to an impoverished neighborhood in Albany, New York. A 732-square-foot apartment—home sweet home. Drab mustard-yellow walls topped off by a grungy white ceiling.

I was at the end of the hall on the third floor. Being on the top floor meant not having to hear footsteps thudding above me. Too bad I shared my living room and kitchen walls with neighbors.

By the gods, please finish, I groaned. My eyes tightened with each knock against my living room wall. I turned up the TV and sighed before taking another swig of my beer.

Tim and Jessie were at it again and right in the middle of Cold Murders. I never imagined a show about cold case murders would be the highlight of my day. I enjoyed coming up with a list of supernaturals who could have committed the crime. The two lovebirds next door ruined the show’s synopsis with their sounds of young love. I cranked up the volume and shook my head.

Thank Olympus, stamina was no longer Tim’s strong suit. I took the liberty of giving Jessie a few pointers from the Kama Sutra. She was a quick learner and cut Tim’s ten-minute performances in half. However, what Tim lacked in stamina, he made up for with tenacity.

A shattered picture of the Parthenon was on the floor, wedged between the TV stand and wall. I stopped changing the frame and rehanging it after the fifth time their antics had knocked it off. It was the only picture I owned—my half-hearted attempt at decorating.

Two-day-old pizza sat on the modestly scuffed coffee table I had purchased at a thrift shop. My burlap couch was somewhere between green and brown—a yard sale grab with only a few tears. My bedroom set came from the same thrift shop as my coffee table. The only thing I actually shelled out for was my mattress set, which was ironic since I usually slept on the couch.

A knock at the door made me realize the knocking on the wall had stopped. I ignored it and stood to go grab another beer from the fridge. The prospective visitor’s knocks took on a playful cadence.

For crying out loud, I muttered, trudging over to answer the door.

Hey, Molly, Jessie squealed.

Molly. The name still made me cringe, or maybe it was just the way Jessie said it. I had taken up the moniker when I arrived two months ago. The CeC offered to set up a civilian identity for me after firing me. I was upset at the time and had chosen Molly Padia as my new name. Not very original, since my birth name was Molpadia.

I supposed my birth name could have worked. Eccentric entertainers had made single names popular. There was nothing eccentric about me. I was a common girl living in a mundane world, and commoners had last names. So, I was Molly Padia, a do-nothing Greek woman seeking her next venture in life.

Time to get it together, Jessie asked.

The natural bubbliness of her voice came off as overkill when I first met her. But it was just who she was. She had a pair of tights and a blouse draped over one arm. A ridiculously large make-up bag hung from her opposite shoulder.

Jess… I tried to match her energy with a smile of my own.

An awkward silence drifted between us. I struggled to maintain the sincerity of my expression. My smile would drop into a resting-bitch face if I had to hold it any longer.

Molly, open mic night, remember? Jessie asked.

Crap, I completely forgot, I said, tilting my head and sagging my shoulders for added dramatics.

Figures, but don’t worry. Jessie shrugged. She held up her make-up bag, smiling proudly. I’ve got you covered, Molly-wally.

Weren’t you busy a minute ago? I asked as she squeezed by me.

Try twenty minutes ago. Jessie giggled. I just wanted to give him a little inspiration before his performance tonight. She laid out a hair dryer and curling iron, letting me know I wasn’t getting out of this.

I enjoyed a hot, but brief, shower while Jessie rifled through my limited wardrobe. By the time I was done, she had her hair together and a tank top, a plaid cardigan, and a pair of dark skinny jeans laid out for me. Jessie hurried up and got dressed, then went to work on me.

By no means was Jessie the brightest star in the gods’ sky, but she was a skilled salon worker with a heart of gold. I looked myself over in the mirror.

I might get lucky, after all, I murmured.

How’s a hottie like you single? Jessie asked, putting the finishing touches on her makeup.

This illusion is all your doing. I’m more of a lounge-wear girl, I said, giving her props for the job she did with my makeup and outfit.

It just blows my mind. You’ve got legs for days and a physique to die for. Jessie smacked me on the ass and giggled.

I have thunder thighs, and my ‘physique’ and height can be intimidating.

I work out my legs three times a week, and my narrow ass can’t develop even a resemblance of a quad sweep. Jessie pouted at the reflection of her narrow frame. And, for the record, some guys enjoy climbing.

True, I said. But do they enjoy climbing a woman who can out squat them?

With that ass? I’m inclined to say yes. Jessie hip-nudged me. So…are you ready to get lucky?

I don’t think I’ll meet anyone my speed at poetry night. I chuckled.

Uh-oh. Jessie shot me a naughty grin. Someone’s into bad boys.

Why are we talking about this? I sighed, rolling my eyes.

Sitting in your apartment, wearing pizza-sauce-stained t-shirts, eating days-old pizza, and chugging beer isn’t going to get those cobwebs dusted out.

Jess, my life is good as is. I headed to the front door.

Really? Jessie stopped in the middle of the living room and held her hands out, motioning to the space. Your apartment looks like a forty-year-old alcoholic who never moved out of his mom’s basement decorated it. You’ve got one picture, and it’s broken on the floor.

I got tired of picking it up every time you and Tim knocked it down. I scowled playfully.

It makes him feel manly, Jessie said, shrugging.

He feels manly, and you get stuck with your forty-dollar shower head and its increased water pressure. I said. Being frustrated and single was preferable to being in a relationship with someone who left me frustrated.

You can always shop around for the bike you like, Jessie said as she chortled.

I shook my head and cringed. My days of miscellaneous sex are over.

Fine, date openly and wait until you find a guy you like. Then jump his bones.

I’m not into playing the sexual lottery. The odds of investing and not winning are too high.

Okay, you’re right, Jessie said. I’m just saying a girl has needs, and you don’t strike me as a toy kind of girl.

The gods gave me hands and an imagination, I said, raising my eyebrows.

Have wiccans gone progressive? Because you’ve mentioned gods before.

My religious upbringing is…old school, I said, hoping she didn’t ask how old school it was.

I grabbed my keys and opened the door with Jessie on my heels. We stepped into the hall, nearly trampling an ashen-furred cat. A high-pitched yowl of protest erupted from it. The cat darted between its owner’s legs and back into their apartment.

Mrs. Bedley adjusted her glasses. I shared my kitchen wall with her apartment. I met her pale-blue eyes. Crow’s feet struck out from their corners and tightened as her smile pushed her sagging cheeks up.

Sorry about your cat, Mrs. Bedley, I said. I should have paid more attention to where I was stepping.

Mrs. Bedley waved me off. Nonsense, Molly. The kitties are always in the way. It’s a miracle I haven’t tripped over one and broken a hip. She let out a tired chuckle. You girls going out tonight?

Yep. Tim’s performing at Renée’s tonight, Jessie said.

The things one endures for love, Mrs. Bedley said through her smile. She gave me a once over and her smile regained its genuineness. I used to have a shape just like that, in my hay-day.

Wish I could say that. Jessie pouted.

Not to worry, Jessie. Mrs. Bedley patted Jessie on the hip while pursing her lips. You’ll get there with puberty.

I’m twenty-four, Jessie said, shoulders sagging.

Don’t fret, Mrs. Bedley said. Men will drive on a straight highway just as easily as one with twists and turns.

A giggle escaped me before I could stop myself.

Mrs. Bedley either didn’t know or didn’t care about her words’ double-edged blade—a compliment and a slight. If you wanted the blatant honesty, ask a child, a drunk, or an elderly person.

Thanks. Jessie dragged the word out, trying her best to remain civil after being insulted by the epitome of a cat lady.

There are lots of starlets with the little-boy-build, and men love them, Mrs. Bedley added, driving a proverbial stake through her neighbor’s chest.

Jessie gasped, speechless at the woman’s gall.

Night, Mrs. Bedley, I said, bringing this hysterically rude moment to a close.

The old woman bid us farewell, closing her door as Tim opened the door to his and Jessie’s apartment.

Are you ladies ready for my words to caress your souls? Tim asked, hugging Jessie from behind and kissing her cheek.

Take it easy, Romeo, I said, forcing myself to smile.

With any luck, Tim was a better poet than he was a lover. If he wasn’t, I prayed he would be just as short.

You’re going to kill it, babe. Jessie spun to face Tim and hugged him tight enough to redden his face.

This is going to be awesome, I said, my voice monotone.

Damn right it is, Tim said, offering me a high five, oblivious to my lack of sincerity.

With an inch-high heel on my boots, I stood right at six-feet. I held my hand up high and grinned. The five-ten poet had to tiptoe to slap my palm. Jessie squealed with excitement, jumping and clapping her hands.

May the gods help me.

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Tim brought his late model Prius to a stop outside of Renée’s. Jessie introduced me to the quaint little nightclub not long after I moved in. I had to admit, I enjoyed myself and the seven Long Island Iced Teas I drank. This was the first time we had gone out together since then.

The bar was a mellow spot. It was the perfect place to relax and have drinks. Its variety of music and drink specials drew in a mixed-age crowd. College kids looking to chill hung out with people who could be their parents.

We were heading in when the skin on the back of my neck pebbled. A state of heightened alertness made me pause. The creeping sensation of being watched sent a chill down my spine. Trusting my instincts, I glanced over my shoulder.

A familiar face across the street met my gaze with a warm smile. Simon Blackwoode was a werewolf I had known for over a century. He helmed the cyber security sector of the CeC compound I used to work at. The werewolf had gotten the boot when I did. His brains, good looks, and old money helped him excel as a civilian.

I’ll catch up with you guys inside, I said, turning to face my stalker.

Everything all right? Jessie asked.

I’m fine. Just going to catch up with an old friend.

Jessie looked at the subject of my attention and waved. Simon returned the gesture, coupling it with a boyish grin.

Jessie leaned in and whispered, Please be open to casual sex, because he’s delicious.

He’s not my flavor. I sighed. Now go on.

Okay. If you decide to get some action, make it a quickie. I don’t want you to miss Tim’s set.

I wouldn’t miss it for the world, I said, rolling my eyes playfully.

After Jessie and Tim were inside, I sauntered over to see what had prompted this surprise visit. What the hell are you doing here?

Is that anyway to greet a friend? Simon asked, still grinning.

I’m serious, Simon. How did you find me?

Molly Padia isn’t very original, Simon said, raising his eyebrows and rubbing the back of his neck.

"I mean, how did you find me here?" I clarified.

We’ve known each other for what? A hundred years? Simon said. I could track you anywhere within a fifty-mile radius.

Go on, I said, tapping my foot.

I stopped by your apartment and picked up your scent. Then, I drove with the window down, Simon said.

Simon was a hundred and thirty-some-odd-year-old werewolf. Easy on the eyes with an accent he dubbed Lonex, since it was an amalgamation of London and Essex. The only rival of his aptitude for electronics and zeal for technology was his beast. Him finding my apartment was no surprise. But tracking me to Renée’s was impressive.

Why did you track me down? I asked.

You took off after that farce of a trial at the CeC, Simon said. I wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.

I’m sorry. Guilt from my aggressiveness gnawed at me. I’m adjusting and even made a few friends.

So I see. Your friend’s pretty. Simon smiled.

It doesn’t matter if Jess thinks you’re hot. She has a boyfriend whom she loves, I said.

Werebeasts had impeccable hearing. Simon could single out heartbeats, so I knew he had heard Jessie talking about him.

Shame, Simon said, probably tucking away lewd thoughts of Jessie doing nude yoga poses. He flicked my hair. Love the new look.

I raked my fingers through my locks. I needed a bit of a change after getting canned.

You getting all dolled up and hanging out in a nightclub is certainly a change of pace, even more so, because it’s a nightclub for nomags.

Nomags, a nickname supernaturals gave mundane, was a word I never felt comfortable with. The word made it sound like being mundane was a bad thing.

Don’t call them that, I snapped. After getting the shit kicked out of me by a biblical demon and destroying my career, I could use a little mundaneness.

But not enough to find a job? Simon asked snidely.

I have enough savings to give me a few decades to figure out my next move. I said, shrugging.

Simon sighed, throwing his head back and moaning. Seems like a no-brainer, Padia. You’re an Amazon. A warrior. Warriors kick asses and take names.

I have other interests, I argued.

"But kicking the shit out of people is your passion," Simon said.

Deep down, I knew he was right. I was born to fight. My mother, Molpadia—yes, that Molpadia—started training me from the moment I could run. Losing her left me wandering through life. I found a home and a purpose at the CeC.

It didn’t take long for me to become the Chief of Security at the North American compound. For centuries, I helped police the supernatural community and protected the mundane world from threats it couldn’t handle. It all went up in smoke after I helped a wizard I had recently befriended.

I’ll find my footing, eventually, I said, refusing to give Simon the satisfaction of knowing he was right.

You can always come run my security team at Lyca Vision, Simon said. The werewolf capitalized on the CeC’s ostracization. Lyca Vision was his budding tech company, specializing in security hardware and software.

I’m glad your company is doing well, but I’m good, I said, shaking my head. Speaking of, is your tech baby old enough to walk on its own without you being there?

I’ve got a solid team put together, Simon said. Lyca Vision won’t miss a beat while I’m on hiatus.

Hiatus? I asked, my head tilting to the side.

Yep, Simon said. I’m going on holiday to get in touch with my other half. Care to tag along? You know? For moral support.

I could use a getaway, I said, smiling at the thought. Where are you going?

Iran.

You’re vacationing in a war-torn country? I asked, shift my weight to one foot and placing a hand on my hip.

I’ve got a cabin in the Zagros Mountains, Simon said.

You son of a bitch, I cursed. You’re not going on holiday. You’re going to try to break the wizard out of Kur.

No, Simon said, in a weak-hearted attempt at denial. I don’t even know where the entrance is, nor do I want to piss off Ereshkigal. I’m going to relax until he breaks out. Because we both know he will.

That stubborn jackass has a knack for pulling off the impossible, I said. I have no doubts about him finding a way out. But he’s the reason the CeC sent us packing.

True, Simon agreed. But he did take out the Legion Demon.

"After it released one of the devils. I was stewing at the stupidity of Simon’s plan. We broke protocol to help him prevent that from happening and failed. A failure that cost us our jobs. Yet, here you are, ready to run off and do it all over again."

Come on, Simon pleaded. He‘ll need us, and we’ll need him if we want to have even the slightest chance of stopping Beelzebul.

Not my fucking problem anymore, nor is it yours, I said, jabbing Simon’s shoulder with my finger.

Do it for Chase, Simon said.

Fuck him, I spat.

We have to get him out before you can do that, Simon joked.

Do. Not. I slammed my fist on the hood of his car.

I’m glad this is a rental, Simon said, staring at the dent I had made.

Simon! I snapped.

I’m just saying. Simon placed his hand on my shoulder. You know there’s something there.

A deep-rooted dislike, I said, shrugging him off. Not to mention, we’re where we are because he’s in love with Joy, who is now a demon.

He fought against her to protect you. Simon grinned like that was a legitimate argument.

The truth of the matter was, Joy had turned an entire hospital floor into a slaughterhouse. We were all trying to stop her.

You’re delusional. He saved your ass too, I said.

Call it what you want—Simon slipped his hand