When his wife died aboard The Defender in the Matrovean attack, all Michael wanted to do was join her in death. He sought oblivion but the Guild needed his skills as a cartographer as they sent teams inland to survey the planet outside of the town limits of Haven. Pulled back from the edge of oblivion for one last job, Mateo promises Michael that there are plenty of things on the alien world that could kill him if he looks hard enough. Hoping for a quick death, Michael agrees, but soon finds out there is more to the survey than he expected. Will Michael find the death he craves and doom the rest of his team into the bargain?
Michael Lewis Morrison was drunk; really, really, drunk. He leaned himself back gently, head resting on the wall behind him and legs stretched out across the bed. He was in that stage of drunkenness where holding on to a thought for more than a second was next to impossible. The thoughts his mind tried to send him drifted away only half formed as his attention skimmed the vast universe behind his eyelids. It was a tenuous state at best and he knew from experience that it wouldn't last long.
It was a fine line, drinking enough so that the world's edges became soft and blurry, but not enough to send him into unconsciousness where dreams lurked, waiting with sharp talons to tear him to shreds.
Recently he had become an expert in finding that very fine line and walking it with precision.
A sound off to his left made him frown and open his eyes. For a minute the world didn't want to hold still and he feared he would be sick. Being sick would throw him too close to reality; he clamped his jaw shut and swallowed convulsively. To his relief, the world slowed from a rapid spin to a wobbly, but less vomit inducing, image. He frowned when he realized he was looking at a row of buttons. The buttons were blue and sewn onto a darker blue shirt in what he thought might be a straight line. At the moment it was difficult to tell.
Against his better judgment, he lifted his gaze, following the trail of buttons up to a shirt collar topped with a face. The face looked familiar. He was sure he knew it, but he was just as sure that he didn't want to remember why he knew it. The face was scowling down at him, age lines helping to make the scowl deep and darkly forbidding, the short white hair bristling as though in a temper of its own. Deciding that looking up had been a bad idea, Michael let his gaze fall back down the shirt buttons, his head moving in sync with his eyes until his chin was resting on his own chest. He closed his eyes, smiling to himself when the scowling man disappeared.
Michael heard a heavy sigh. "If I don't see you, then you don't exist." Michael said, or thought he said.
He wasn't sure if he opened his mouth or merely thought the words. The thought drifted around his brain, lasting longer than it would have a few moments ago and he knew he would have to take another slug from the bottle soon to maintain the balance and not tip over into either true consciousness or complete unconsciousness. He tried to remember where he had set the bottle down and if he could find it again without opening his eyes. Despite his firmly held belief about the unreality of his visitor, he didn't want to test the disappearance by opening his eyes again. He figured if he was still there, than Michael would have to work that much harder to erase him a second time.
He had just about decided to risk a blind grab when he heard the man's shuffling footsteps. Michael relaxed, figuring that the man decided Michael's version of reality was better and made himself vanish in compliance. He cracked an eye open as a wave crashed into him. Michael sputtered and wheeled his arms about as though trying to swim to shore.
Suddenly, he realized there was no more water. He stopped flailing and opened his eyes again, realizing as he did that he pinched them shut as the water hit. As his eyes opened, he saw the scowling man standing in front of him, holding an empty bucket.
"What was that for?" Michael sputtered. This time he was nearly certain the words came out of his mouth.
"You stink," the older man said.
Michael wondered if that was a general statement or an answer to his question. Before he could decide, the man turned the bucket upside down and sat on it as though it were a stool. This put the man slightly lower than Michael, who straightened up in reaction to his dousing.
"Do you know why I'm here, Michael?" the man asked.
It sounded more like a statement and less like a question. Michael stared into the icy blue of the older man's eyes and couldn't formulate a response.
"Im here," the man continued granting Michaels overheated brain the relief from finding an answer on his own. "Because everyone else has run out of options. In fact about an hour ago, I was sent for because they thought you might have actually managed to kill yourself. I can see why the mistake was made. God knows you certainly smell like something three days dead."
"I'd be better off dead," Michael said softly. He was drifting from the line of oblivion and coming dangerously close to reality, he could feel it, lurking, waiting.
"Allie wouldn't have wanted that," the older man said.
The name hit like a punch to his gut and Michael felt the air whoosh out of him, felt the pain so deep it left him a hollow, brittle shell. He gasped for air, felt it scorch his insides like damnation. Why was he still breathing? Why was he still moving when life had already left him?
A flash of light blazed behind the older man, and for a moment Michael thought it was the end, the bright white tunnel all near death survivors spoke about and he almost wept for the joy of relief, only to have the hope torn away as he realized it was merely the door opening, letting in the morning light. It was morning, he hadn't known.
Another day without Allie.
Would his torment never end?
The man who opened the door stepped inside. With the light behind him, Michael could only make out the general outline of the newcomer. "Commander
McLaughlin," the shadow man said. "You asked for assistance?"
The older man nodded and stood. "Yes. Help him to the bath house. The cold water might help sober him up a bit, but get him clean regardless. Have a couple of the others clear this place out while you do. The bedding goes along with any drink you find. See if you can get him to eat anything and then let him come back and sleep the rest of it off. I need him sober."
"Yes, Commander," the shadow man said. He stepped forward a little and Michael could see the contempt in the man's eyes. McLaughlin caught the look too and placed a hand on the man's arm.
"His wife was the pilot of The Defender," McLaughlin told him.
Michael watched the man's eyes soften with pity and he slumped. At least with the contempt he could hope that the man would let him drown in one of the large communal baths that were the standard in Haven before he could actually manage to get sober. Michael hadn't been sober since the day of the memorial. It was not an experience he wished to endure.
The commander left the circular, one room cottage and Michael watched the pity in his new caretaker's eyes harden into determination. Michael sighed, realizing that he would be helped no matter how much he didn't want it. Apparently for now, it had been decided that he would live.
"This is going to hurt," he decided. The thought stayed stamped in his brain, solid as stone and Michael realized he had lost his grasp on that thin line of oblivion.
Sober," he said resignedly. "If that doesn't kill me nothing will."
Unbeknownst to most people, the world is divided into three realms, the normal human world, the world of the Fae and the Borderlands between where both species mix with each other and a third group, humans with magic. Detective Danny Faraway born into a powerful magic family, left and became a homicide detective in the human realm, content to forget the Borderlands existed. As bodies start piling up, it turns out a homicide detective is exactly what the Borderlands needs. With six dead, Danny is on the hunt for a killer. All is not as straightforward as it seems and soon Danny realizes that the fate of the Borderlands themselves is at stake.
Brownie Oxford, now going by the name Bonnie Brown, is trying her best to avoid notice. She found someone to teach her the skills she needs to control her abilities and people have stopped leaving dead bodies on the lawn in front of her apartment building. Unfortunately, she is surrounded on all sides by Federal Agents trying to confirm she is Brownie Oxford so she once again be an asset. Maintaining her guise as a mild mannered seamstress and student of fashion isn’t easy, especially when the beast supposedly trapped by the Searchers starts visiting and ghosts start making demands. Can Brownie manage to keep this new life she built when even one false step could betray her?
After the dawn ritual on her eighteenth birthday, Cassie is welcomed by those of Abraham's pantheon. While she knows she isn't a Walker no one is quite willing to tell her exactly what she is other than 'family'. They are excited about the skills she might develop as her training begins and she realizes that she is the latest entertainment to break up the long monotony of their eternity. As she struggles to maintain her place in the regular world and complete her midterms, the mystical world and her newly developing abilities threaten to intrude. The line between her separate worlds is thin and beginning to blur. How long can Cassie remain a part of both?
After surviving an attack by the Brotherhood, Ivy tries to get back to normal life preparing for the launch of Wildwood's retail venture. Unfortunately others have different expectations. The head of the Seers shows up demanding Irina and Nick be turned over to him and Hamilton demands she figure out who else the Brotherhood paid off. Can Ivy figure things out before more attacks occur?
After being shot, Ivy Chambers settles in to her home in Wildwood to recover and read through her purloined files. Her recovery time is interrupted when the Head of the Mage Clan calls reporting that the golems running the Shadow Council Headquarters are malfunctioning. While she knows very little about golems, Hamilton can't risk anyone knowing he's lost control and since Ivy's ancestor created the golems, she's the one who needs to fix them. With a crash course in golems under her belt, Ivy returns to the archives, but it isn't only her family's actions causing problems. It seems more than the golems are malfunctioning. Can Ivy settle things without taking more damage or is the world destined to spin even further out of control?
Brownie Oxford is on the run. After the death of both Matheson and Dave in the Mayenfield Cemetery, she takes Matheson's rental car and sneaks out of town, eluding those watching her. Unable to resist the lure of finding out more about her own past, Brownie finds herself making a brief stop at the Matheson Estate before finding a place to hide out. Unfortunately, the brief visit leaves her with more questions than it answered. Away from the estate, Brownie starts a new life under an assumed name and alters her appearance. As Brownie attempts normality a serial killer starts stashing the bodies of his victims in cemeteries bringing the attention of Swift and threatening Brownie's attempt at a normal life. Is Brownie's disguise enough to fool her old handler into believing she is someone else? And just who is killing all those people?
Eliza Greer was abandoned by her mother, raised in an orphanage, and sold to the Burns family at 19. Even though she marries Mason Burns, the other people in the Burns family look down on her for her poor identity and want to try every way to bully her. Unexpectedly, they all failed. Eliza's hidden identities are gradually revealed in one incident after another, which astonishes everyone.
“You need a bride, I need a groom. Why don’t we get married?” Both abandoned at the altar, Elyse decided to tie the knot with the disabled stranger from the venue next door. Pitying his state, she vowed to spoil him once they were married. Little did she know that he was actually a powerful tycoon. Jayden thought Elyse only married him for his money, and planned to divorce her when she was no longer of use to him. But after becoming her husband, he was faced with a new dilemma. “She keeps asking for a divorce, but I don’t want that! What should I do?”
In her previous life, Kimberly endured the betrayal of her husband, the cruel machinations of an evil woman, and the endless tyranny of her in-laws. It culminated in the bankruptcy of her family, and ultimately, her death. After being reborn, she resolved to seek retribution against those who had wronged her, and ensure her family's prosperity. To her shock, the most unattainable man from her past suddenly set his sights on her. "You may have overlooked me before, but I shall capture your heart this time around."
Darya spent three years loving Micah, worshipping the ground he walked on. Until his neglect and his family's abuse finally woke her up to the ugly truth-he doesn't love her. Never did, never will. To her, he is a hero, her knight in shining armour. To him, she is an opportunist, a gold digger who schemed her way into his life. Darya accepts the harsh reality, gathers the shattered pieces of her dignity, divorces him, takes back her real name, reclaims her title as the country's youngest billionaire heiress. Their paths cross again at a party. Micah watches his ex-wife sing like an angel, tear up the dance floor, then thwart a lecher with a roundhouse kick. He realises, belatedly, that she's exactly the kind of woman he'd want to marry, if only he had taken the trouble to get to know her. Micah acts promptly to win her back, but discovers she's now surrounded by eligible bachelors: high-powered CEO, genius biochemist, award-winning singer, reformed playboy. Worse, she makes it pretty clear that she's done with him. Micah gears up for an uphill battle. He must prove to her he's still worthy of her love before she falls for someone else. And time is running out.
Ethan always viewed Nyla as a compulsive liar, while she saw him as aloof and insensitive. Nyla had cherished the notion that she was dear to Ethan, yet she felt coldly rejected when she realized her place in his heart was insignificant. No longer trying to break through his coldness, she stepped back, only for him to alter his approach unexpectedly. She challenged him, "If you trust me so little, why keep me around?" Ethan, who had once carried himself with pride, now stood before her with a humble plea. "Nyla, I've made mistakes. Please don't walk away from me."
"You're a creepy bastard." His eyes smolder me and his answering grin is nothing short of beautiful. Deadly. "Yet you hunger for me. Tell me, this appetite of yours, does it always tend toward 'creepy bastards'?" **** Widower and ex-boss to the Mafia, Zefiro Della Rocca, has an unhealthy fixation on the woman nextdoor. It began as a coincidence, growing into mere curiosity, and soon, it was an itch he couldn't ignore, like a quick fix of crack for an addict. He didn't know her name, but he knew every inch of her skin, how it flushed when she climaxed, her favourite novel and that every night she contemplated suicide. He didn't want to care, despising his rapt fascination of the woman. She was in love with her abusive husband. She was married, bound by a contract to the Bratva's hitman. She was off-limits. But when Zefiro wanted something, it was with an intensity that bordered on madness. He obsessed, possessed, owned. There'd be bloodshed if he touched her, but the sight of blood always did fascinate him. * When Susanna flees from her husband, she stumbles right into the arms of her devilishly handsome neighbour with a brooding glare. He couldn't stand her, but she needed him, if she was ever going to escape her husband who now wanted her dead. Better the devil you know than the angel you don't. She should have recalled that before hopping into Zefiro's car and letting him whisk her away to Italy. Maybe then, she wouldn't have started an affair with him. He was the only man who touched her right, and the crazy man took no small pains in ensuring he would be the last.