Eclipsed Son: Winds of Fury, #2

By C. L. Brown

Molly and the city of Albany are about to find out how damaging a lie can be.

 

When one of Molly Padia's dance students goes missing, she ignores her amazonian instincts and reports it to the police. Discovering her student has ties to a violent heist sends Molly down a path to a deadly discovery.

 

Warriors of old and new have come to Smallbany, seeking to claim a weapon of the gods. And they're willing to paint the town red to get it.

 

Molly plunges headfirst into the investigation to keep the ethereal weapon out of mortal hands. Pushed beyond her limits, one question emerges: Does she possess the mettle to overcome a battle-born legend?

 

Or will the echoes of bygone eras reclaim a power the gods once lost?

 

~

 

Fans of Steve McHugh, Shayne Silvers, Cameron O'Connell, Faith Hunter, M.D. Massey, 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: Aug 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215257333

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

image-placeholder

My heart pounded against my ribs. Rhythmic thumping reverberated through the air. The crowd moved as one unified beast. Sweat leaped from me with each move. Adrenaline and endorphins coursed through my muscles. Instincts moved me, outmatching my challenger’s every move. Roars, howls, and thunderous applause filled the space. The battle ended with a fist bump and respectful nods.

I almost had you, Molly, he said, laughing.

I ruffled his hair, then snatched him in for a hug. You just might, after you learn to become one with your moves.

Anton, a twelve-year-old Water Elemental, returned to the crowd.

I called out, Who else wants to battle?

Alyona stepped forward. She rolled her shoulders with a challenging smirk. I followed her gaze to the opposite wall of onlookers. Chelsea exited the crowd. She pulled her bleach-blonde hair into a ponytail. Her blue eyes held an icy resentment that told me she had been waiting for this moment. It wasn’t surprising. They were the oldest and fiercest competitors.

I stepped back to give them the floor. Keep it clean, you two. I grabbed my phone and cued up the music. Rief Chocka’s Arabica blared through the ceiling’s Bluetooth speakers.

Chelsea moved first. Her core control was borderline impeccable. She had been practicing.

Alyona didn’t back down. She displayed a mashup of pop-locking and classic breakdancing. Her flawless transitions won the crowd’s affection.

Chelsea did not appreciate the shift in momentum. She belly-danced into a split, then hopped up and twerked away.

A raucous erupted from the crowd.

Alyona recoiled from Chelsea’s bouncing bottom. She bobbed her head to the beat, plotting her next move. Her russet-colored eyes darkened to a deep brown. A common eye color among werebears.

I darted in.

Alyona reared her brown fur-covered paw back. I was two paces away when she let it rip.

Chelsea saw Alyona in the wall mirrors. She rolled forward, avoiding the werebear’s attack. Alyona’s claws ripped through the vacant space. I shoved her back to create distance.

Whirling, I created a shield of compressed air. Tawny fur, speckled with black spots, sprouted from Chelsea’s arms. The werecat bounced off my shield. She landed on all fours with feline grace.

Enough! I stayed between them as they circled.

The excitement of violence had riled up the other shifters in class. Their bestial eyes glistened with blood lust. The magic wielding students skittered to the back of the crowd. Mischief danced in Chelsea’s reddish-yellow eyes.

Chelsea, I said enough, I warned.

The hormone-crazed teenager launched herself at me.

I created a shield of air again. Chelsea scampered up it and flipped over me. Alyona punched Chelsea in the chest. The werecat crashed to the floor. She scurried back and prepared another attack. Alyona’s baritone roar drowned out all other sounds.

I squared my shoulders and scowled at Alyona. Godsdammit. I said enough!

Alyona’s eye color softened, and she put her claws and paws away. I saw Chelsea’s reflection in the mirror. She reeled her beast in as well.

I, for one, was thankful they decided not to try me. Seventeen or not, stopping the shifters without hurting them would have been a challenge. The rest of the class settled down, not wanting my attention on them.

Once I was sure they’d gotten the message, I waved for Chelsea to stand next to Alyona. She did as asked but kept a respectable distance from the werebear.

Did I not tell you to keep it clean? I asked.

Chelsea stomped her foot. It’s not my fault!

She shouldn’t have put her ass in my face, Alyona said.

Chelsea scoffed and gave Alyona a side-long glare. It’s not my fault you can’t move your big bear-ass.

I choose not to dance like a whore, Alyona growled.

Chelsea let out a feline hiss.

You’re both responsible, I said, interjecting. Hip-hop is about showing up your opponent. What do you do when you step onto this floor?

The two girls rolled their eyes and spoke in unison, Show up and show out.

Exactly, I said. Alyona, your moves were good and forced Chelsea to pull out the stops.

Alyona snickered.

I snuffed it out with the truth: Chelsea, I can tell you’ve been working on your core control. I can’t shake my junk like that, and I’ve been around a long time. I turned, pinning each student with my gaze. We live in a world where we must hide our true selves. We must remain unified and uplift each other. I created Shift-n-Groove so people like us can have a fun place to express themselves. Barbarism has no place in this dance studio. If that is what you seek, then there is plenty of it out there in the world, but not in here. Do I make myself clear?

A chorus of voices answered, Yes, Ms. Padia.

I nodded and flashed a smile. All right, let’s call it a day. Next class, we’ll work on choreographing moves to Eighties music.

The class gathered their things and began leaving.

I stopped Alyona and Chelsea. You girls did well. Keep your tempers in check and save your wrath for anyone looking to play on your affection for their own selfish means.

A mischievous grin grew on Alyona’s face. What if it’s for mutually selfish means?

Chelsea careened to look at Alyona squarely. I didn’t think you had that in you.

I’ll leave that part up to your parents, I said, raising my brow.

My opinion on teens’ sexual maturity were grossly outdated and inappropriate for the world’s current landscape. Sexual attitudes were more lenient in my time. Then again, the world was harsher. Maturity was a key part of survival back then.

I strolled to the bench along the far wall and sat. Watching the last of my students filter out warmed my heart. Life lost its meaning after my last job canned me. When trouble came to Albany, I felt at peace being the one to kick its teeth in. I was ignorant of the fact I had boxed myself into the role of a warrior.

Shift-n-Groove brought me a peace unattainable in battle. A new normal that I loved. Thus, Molpadia the amazon had conceded to Molly Padia the dance instructor.

The building’s purchase and renovation cost me a hundred and twenty. I saved a wallop by doing a lot of the work myself. No construction crew could knock down walls and pull out old pipes faster than I could. Kate got me a sweet discount with a security company. West Hill wasn’t the nicest area, but people here didn’t ask questions.

Zen, my assistant, helped me by teaching mundane students on days opposite my classes. Shift-n-Groove had become a haven where the city’s youth could express themselves in a safe environment.

Nice to see all the mirrors are in one piece. Kate’s spikey, strawberry-blonde hair came into view as she squeezed between the last of the students. I take it class went well?

I stood, grabbing a towel to wipe my face, admiring the way Kate’s sidearm and badge rested on her hips. Nothing more than teenage rivalry.

We kissed, which was much easier when she had her boots on.

Kate pulled away, sliding the towel from my grasp. Teenage rivalry, huh? She finished patting my face dry. Isn’t that what you said when you had to replace ten feet worth of mirror?

No, that was teenage hormones. I chuckled.

Kate arched an eyebrow. And to think, my parents thought me chasing after the cheerleading team was the worst teenage hormones could do.

I’m sure they’re facing similar issues. I grabbed my duffle bag and water bottle. Some of them just have to contend with having an adolescent beast inside of them.

My point exactly, Kate said. I couldn’t imagine going through high school, knowing I could tear out the throat of every asshole in the school.

Supernaturals have centuries of practice blending in with mundanes, I said.

Kate shrugged casually. And the CeC takes care of those who choose to act as monsters, then get rid of any evidence.

Thus, the world keeps from falling into chaos. I clucked my tongue and winked.

Battles fought in the shadows. Kate shook her head. I suppose the governing bodies of the two worlds aren’t all that different.

Kate accepted me for who I was. She didn’t care about me being older than the roots of her family tree. Kate not only accepted me, but she loved me.

It was the rest of the supernatural world that made her uneasy. As a cop, she struggled with knowing there were beings in her city capable of bathing it in blood.

Zen’s colorful dreads flowed as she leaned through the doorway. All the students have left. Is it cool if I bail a few minutes early?

I gave her a thumbs up. See you in a few days, Zen.

Thanks. Zen smiled. She studied us for a pensive second. Stay out of trouble.

Kate wrapped her arm around my waist. I’ll keep her in line. If she gets too rowdy, I have handcuffs.

Kinky, Zen mocked, then let out a yowl while clawing at the air.

Kate waited until Zen was out of earshot and then said, She is so animated.

It’s her way, I said.

Zen lived up to her name. She was extraordinarily chill for an Empath. They tended to be wound up tighter than lactose-intolerant butt cheeks after an ice cream binge. Others suffered from paranoia. I didn’t fault them. Feeling everyone’s emotions could do that to a person. Zen was the first truly adjusted Empath I had ever met.

So…what would it take to convince you to make muska? Kate asked.

"It’s moussaka, and I’m thinking it would take something along the lines of a hot bath and warm body oil."

Kate pivoted to face me and pressed herself against me. I feel like this deal is doable.

Indeed it is, I said through a naughty giggle.

We were about to kiss when Kate’s cell phone rang. I lowered my eyes and thinned my lips.

Kate shook her head and let out a breath of frustration. She pulled her phone out and answered, Detective Mullens. When can you meet? Where?

Disappointment deflated me. I now understood why I had a hard time maintaining relationships when I worked for the CeC. Policing and covering up supernaturals was time consuming. Humans weren’t that much better. That understanding was why Kate and I worked. Understanding didn’t make it suck any less.

Kate stepped back and checked her watch. Shit. Traffic is going to be a bitch. Make it forty-five minutes, and you better be there. Kate ended the call and gave me an apologetic look.

Cheating on me? I teased.

Kate took my hand. I’m sorry. An informant for a case I’m working on wants to meet. I’ll take you to that Greek restaurant you like before we go to the club tomorrow night.

Never thought I would be on this end of the conversation. I giggled. It looked like our deal had shrunk to a solo venture of me eating takeout and taking a cold shower.

image-placeholder

Sanguineum Harenae was popping as usual. Two stories of black brick highlighted by the big red neon sign above its entrance. High-energy music and shouts of revelry poured out onto the street. Eager party-goers waited on the red carpet. A crimson velvet rope suspended along polished stanchions kept the line orderly.

Security guards scanned each patron with metal detectors before letting them in. Women wore outfits to tempt the imagination. Men dressed to show off their financial status—or the illusion of financial status.

Kate and I had no interest in the crowd. They lacked the umph needed for the adrenaline rush we were after. Their expensive perfumes and colognes never lured us. We were here for the club’s real action.

A more rambunctious crowd made its way into the dark alley beside the club. Our jeans and fitted shirts blended well with them.

Are you going to be okay? Kate asked.

I told you, it won’t be a problem. I grabbed my Date Night duffle bag from the cargo area of my Escalade. Dwarven runes reinforced the vehicle, making it one of a kind.

Kate pressed the button on the cargo hatch and it lowered shut. But you ate two orders of loaded feta fries.

The salad will balance it out.

Kate shook her head as we headed to the side alley. That might be true if you weren’t heading into a fight.

I feel fine, I said.

Shift-n-Groove was my new joy, but Sanguineum Harenae’s fight night was my guilty pleasure. It kept my battle prowess sharp. I enjoyed the idea of mundanes and supernaturals hanging out together. It also provided a means for me to support Sigi.

Sigríðr—Sigi, for short—was a valkyrie. She referred to herself as a disgraced valkyrie. However, the story behind why she left Valhalla made the truth obvious. She suffered from survivor’s remorse. Her coping mechanism was to feel unworthy of being a valkyrie. Sigi’s true disgrace came after she had left the Norse realm. Contracting her skills out to whoever would pay meant she had a lot of red in her ledger.

We had met as enemies, and I’d beaten Sigi into submission. It was a fight that created mutual respect. Friendship had blossomed from that respect.

Kate and I walked to the front of the line to the fight club. Ziggy and Marwell were checking a couple for weapons. They wore T-shirts with no sleeves to show off their ridiculously beefy arms—two towers covered in thick slabs of muscle. Unlike the nightclub’s security, Ziggy and Marwell were supernaturals—werebehemoths.

Behemoths were elephantine brutes. Their vocalization didn’t go beyond grunts and roars. These two had runes hidden in their tattoos. The nifty use of magic allowed them to shift into humans and increased their intelligence.

Ziggy was the first to notice us. Yo, Molly. Detective. How’s it going?

Kate’s hand nearly vanished in his grasp as they shook hands. Ziggy, I keep telling you guys to call me Kate.

Marwell grinned and enveloped me in a hug. Padia, good to see ya.

I patted his sides, my arms unable to wrap around his thick frame. Try not to break me before the fight.

Marwell put me down, and I looked up at him.

You still letting that grow out? I asked.

Marwell twiddled with his landing strip goatee. It had grown long enough for him to braid. Sigi says it makes me look good.

Ziggy bellowed out a laugh. I keep telling him to cut it off.

How about you cut that shit stain off your head, Marwell said, poking fun at the slicked-back strip of hair on Ziggy’s otherwise bald head. And her name’s Padia, ya moron.

Why the hell would I call her by her last name? Ziggy asked.

Marwell swatted Ziggy’s arm. Her name’s Molpadia.

Ziggy shoved Marwell’s shoulder. "No, her name is Molly Padia."

For reasons beyond me, Ziggy didn’t realize my alias was an alias. Kate was the only other person in my personal life that called me Molly.

I got between them. Guys, either name will do.

I was trying to get this dumbass to put some respect on ya name, Marwell said.

Hey! Kate shouted, snapping her fingers at them.

Both werebehemoths flinched.

You two better behave yourselves. Understand?

Sure thing, detective. Ziggy shrunk under Kate’s tight-eyed glare. Sorry, I meant, sure thing, Kate.

Kate gave them a sickly sweet smile that was just as intimidating as a scowl.

Ziggy and Marwell smiled uncomfortably and backed away so we could enter.

Kate was all of five and a half feet tall and about fifteen pounds shy of being petite, yet the werebehemoths were terrified of her.

We made our way into the underground club. This was where Sanguineum Harenae earned its name. Graffiti covered the stairwell walls. A colorful display of street tags and the taggers’ streetwise art. Runes hidden in the graffiti muted the sounds of the club below.

I bobbed my head to the blaring music that made me want to cut loose. White and neon-blue lights strobed to the beat. Bars lined three of the walls. A square hole, bordered by a steel railing, sat in the center of the club floor. It gave a sky view of the fighting ring and club floor below.

The infectious energy of the crowd was almost primal. It reeked of alcohol, smoke, and sweat, inspiring memories of old European fighting dens. Moving through the crowd of drunkards, I spotted the rear bar. There, red hair draped over a set of strong shoulders. I grinned and grabbed Natalie’s hand.

Sigi’s hair and feminine muscles were a dead giveaway. She had three percent less body fat than me and some of the most well-developed shoulders I had ever seen. A warrior of a forgotten time, like myself.

Shouldn’t you be in your office, looking down on us peasants? I asked, throwing an arm around Sigi’s shoulders, hugging her.

I prefer to keep my boots in the mud. Sigi smiled and extended a mug of beer to me.

Kate took it before I could grab it. No drinking before the match.

"Skál!" Sigi laughed.

She and Kate clinked their glasses together before chugging away.

A heavy hand latched around my shoulder. I flinched as it pulled me against a muscled chest for a half hug.

Molpadia, are you ready to get your ass kicked? You’re going to need more than a braided ponytail to win.

Don’t count your chickens yet, Nikolay, I said, shrugging him off and smiling. Werebear or not, I had no intention of letting him and victory meet.

Chickens? Nikolay handed me a shot glass. I only count vodka.

I lifted my shot glass to him, then chugged it before Kate could stop me. Thanks, Nikolay. I’m glad to know someone cares.

Neither of you should be drinking before the fight, Kate said, earning another full-bodied laugh from Sigi.

Please, Nikolay