Corruption: The Bureau, #1

By Kim Fielding

Once a proud demon of the night sky who carried nightmares to humans, Tenrael has spent decades in captivity as the star attraction of a traveling carnival. He exists in miserable servitude to men who plunk down ten dollars to fulfill their dark desires.

Charles Grimes is half human, half… something else. For fifteen years he's worked for the Bureau of Trans-Species Affairs, ridding the country of dangerous monsters. When his boss sends him to Kansas to chase a rumor about a captive demon, Charles figures it's just another assignment. Until he meets Tenrael.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tin Box Press
• Release date: Nov 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223057765

Kim Fielding

Kim Fielding is pleased every time someone calls her eclectic. Her books span a variety of genres, but all include authentic voices and unconventional heroes. She’s a Rainbow Award and SARA Emma Merritt winner, a LAMBDA finalist, and a two-time Foreword INDIE finalist. She has migrated back and forth across the western two-thirds of the United States and currently lives in California, where she long ago ran out of bookshelf space. A university professor who dreams of being able to travel and write full-time, she also dreams of having two daughters who occasionally get off their phones, a husband who isn’t obsessed with football, and a cat who doesn’t wake her up at 4:00 a.m. Some dreams are more easily obtained than others. Blogs: kfieldingwrites.com and www.goodreads.com/author/show/4105707.Kim_Fielding/blog Facebook: www.facebook.com/KFieldingWrites Email: [e-mail] Twitter: @KFieldingWrites

Book preview

Corruption

Corruption

Kim Fielding

Copyright © 2017 by Kim Fielding

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All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

www.kfieldingwrites.com

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Cover Art:  Reese Dante   http://www.reesedante.com

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Cover content is for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted on the cover is a model.

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Contents

Chapter 1

Untitled

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

About the Author

Chapter 1

The crowd was restless tonight. Men reeked of sweat and liquor as they shifted on the creaking wooden seats. Rough voices whispered, and sometimes one of the men called out. Demanding words, angry words. Tenrael knew that by dawn he’d be bruised and bleeding. His back to the audience, he tried to stand straight despite his fears, tried to keep his breathing steady. But he couldn’t stop the slight tremor of his wings. A black feather drifted down and landed near his foot. His owner would collect it later and sell it to someone for a dollar or two.

The air inside the tent was sultry, and sweat trickled down his bare skin, making him want to twitch. He would have liked to wipe the stinging saltiness from his eyes. But Davenport preferred to begin the show with Tenrael bound, his wrists shackled overhead and his ankles tethered to the stage. Even his neck was kept in place, a tight chain fastening his collar to a metal support. The chains weren’t necessary—Tenrael couldn’t flee—but they gave him a mystique of danger, which excited dark fantasies in the marks’ heads.

Davenport began his usual patter, punctuating his words with occasional slaps of his cane against Tenrael’s body. The blows were calculated to make impressive noises more than to hurt, although the stings made Tenrael flinch.

Tenrael didn’t listen to Davenport’s words; he could easily have recited them himself. He stared at the wall of the tent, imagining figures in the stains on the dirty canvas. One splatter of mud resembled a soaring bird, another looked like the moon rising over faraway mountains, and a third was the crest of an enormous wave.

That ain’t no demon! yelled a familiar voice from the crowd, interrupting Davenport midsentence. Them wings are fake. As intended, the rest of the audience rumbled agreement.

Davenport whacked Tenrael’s ass; then he poked his cane tip into the narrow space on Tenrael’s back, between his wings. "I assure you, this is the genuine article. But perhaps you’d like to come closer and see for yourself, my good sir."

As the crowd cheered and clapped its encouragement, the caller—in fact, Davenport’s employee, Ford—stomped forward. Tenrael fought not to tremble as Ford clomped onto the small stage. The man wouldn’t do him much damage now, not while he was playing the part of a mark. His favorite time for torment was very late at night, when Tenrael was already raw from whatever the marks had done to him. Ford was an artist. He knew that in those cold, dark hours it would take only a few well-placed touches with a blade to set Tenrael screaming