Blood River (The Ruby Callaway Trilogy Book 3) Read online

  BLOOD RIVER

  THE RUBY CALLAWAY TRILOGY (BOOK 3)

  D.N. ERIKSON

  WATCHFIRE PRESS

  Copyright © 2017 D.N. Erikson. All rights reserved.

  Published by Watchfire Press.

  This book is a work of fiction. Similarities to actual events, places, persons or other entities are coincidental.

  Watchfire Press

  www.watchfirepress.com

  www.dnerikson.com

  Cover design by Kerry Hynds

  www.aerogallerie.com

  Blood River/D.N. Erikson. – 1st ed.

  CONTENTS

  Also by D.N. Erikson

  Get Bone Realm

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  ALSO BY D.N. ERIKSON

  THE HALF-DEMON ROGUE TRILOGY

  Half-demon Kalos Aeon lives by a simple code. Don’t screw over people who don’t deserve it. Talk is cheaper than a fool’s gold. And always deliver what you promised.

  Demon Rogue (Book 1)

  Blood Frost (Book 2)

  Moon Burn (Book 3)

  The Complete Half-Demon Rogue Trilogy (Books 1, 2 & 3)

  THE RUBY CALLAWAY TRILOGY

  After twenty years in supernatural lockup, bounty hunter Ruby Callaway finds the world she once knew has changed. And this one’s not so friendly to magic...

  Lightning Blade (Book 1)

  Shadow Flare (Book 2)

  Blood River (Book 3)

  1

  Colton Roark’s strong, firm fingers glided across my shoulders, brushing lightly against the zipper of the little black dress. I arched my back, allowing him to pull the zipper down. Bathed in the neon glow of the skyscape below, our skin was awash in a blend of pastel reds and aquamarine blues. I reached for the curtains, but Roark caught my hand and wrapped it gently within his own.

  “No need.” His cool blue eyes stared deeply into mine. The relaxed strength of his words made my heart flutter. “304th floor. No one’s watching.” He leaned forward, lips against my ear. “Unless you want them to.”

  “I’d consider it,” I said, body buzzing with the excitement of possibility.

  The stainless-steel fixtures of the bedroom glowed softly as I kissed him, tasting his aftershave. The light, soft stubble gracing his jaw rubbed against my cheek. I breathed in sharply, wondering how we’d gotten here.

  The day had been a whirlwind of events—hardly one that should end with us on favorable terms. I’d hacked into Roark’s computer, using his life’s savings to short MagiTekk’s stock. But a girl had to pay an elf dragon to burn down MagiTekk’s warehouse full of a newly developed essence suppression serum somehow, right? After that, I’d gone rogue, infiltrating the Cathedral of St. Peter alone. But, upon storming the secret joint FBI-MagiTekk-Crusaders of Paradisum facility in Old Phoenix, I’d soon found myself dangling over an ancient mana wellspring housing the remains of a long dead god.

  Roark had arrived with the cavalry just in time. Both safe, both alive, but trust in tatters from what had gone unspoken.

  Yet here we were, friends again.

  More than friends.

  I guess he understood that old cliché about breaking a few eggs to bake a cake.

  Or that other one about using his retirement account to pay a renegade elf dragon.

  Same thing.

  The tight dress slipped from my shoulders as we pressed against each other in the sheets, his bare lean chest against mine. Somewhere in the middle, we both wound up naked. His fingers traced along the faint lines crisscrossing my back. Souvenirs from over twenty years spent in the Tempe Supernatural Internment Camp.

  I pressed against his chest, feeling the silver plate along his abdomen. It rippled and tensed, almost like real musculature—but not quite. A reminder of when Solomon Marshall had shot him.

  Of when he had almost died.

  Roark pulled away, blue eyes shining, an odd expression taking over his face.

  “You’re stopping now?” I batted my eyelashes and rubbed my fingers along his thigh.

  He caught my hand. Not quite as sweetly as he’d done only moments before. “There’s something I have to do.”

  “Later.” The bed vibrated around us, rocking back and forth. I reached up to kiss him, but he avoided me. “Hey, come on.”

  “When the time comes, Ruby.” His brown hair dangled over his forehead, just above my nose. “You remember, right?”

  I blinked, halting a shiver from running up my spine. The feeling of déjà vu was thick enough to cut with a knife. Hadn’t we had this conversation before? We’d been talking about what would be necessary to end MagiTekk: for his father, the Chief of Security, to die.

  Roark hadn’t hesitated then. He said he would kill Malcolm Roark when the time came. The wisps flitting around him had been all-in, too. But even my intuition couldn’t be certain he would follow through. Killing your father, no matter how evil, was no small task.

  I squinted, trying to read the situation. I noticed with a start that the wisps had abandoned me.

  “Do we really need to talk about this now?” I wrinkled my nose and made a face.

  “Do you think I’ll hesitate to pull the trigger?” Roark’s eyes went glassy. “That I don’t hate him for what he’s done to the world? To me?”

  “I don’t know.” My heart raced faster. “I—I guess I can’t believe you. Not until the deed is done.”

  The words spilled out before I could stop them.

  “Good.” Roark smiled, the glassiness in his eyes turning into a stony gray. “You realize what will need to be done.” His head dropped, and I thought he was going to kiss me again. Instead, in an ominous whisper, he said, “And that it will all fall upon you.”

  “But I’m already awake.”

  “It’s time to really wake up.”

  I glared at his pleasant smile.

  Why did all good dreams have to end?

  Or worse—turn into nightmares?

  2

  The buzzing intensified into a magnificent, blaring ring, and I jolted upright, hitting my head against the metal bedpost. Unleashing a stream of curses that would’ve made my long-dead mother blush, I rubbed my forehead and glanced at the thin phone plugged in on the nightstand.

  Roark.

  The half-empty bed loomed in my periphery, my mascara smeared across the linen where I’d fallen asleep. The phone continued its buzzy assault as I wiped the sleep from my slightly drunken eyes. This was becoming a thing: Roark calling to wake me from a tipsy night after we’d had words.

  Except there had been no words this time. He just hadn’t shown.
<
br />   Adjusting the too-tight black dress and wincing from the bright neon advertisements filtering up from the dark streets below, I finally answered on the last ring.

  Hopefully, that would adequately convey how pissed I was.

  “I was having a dream about you,” I said, the words escaping before I could corral them. A quick look at the phone’s display told me it was well past midnight. Roark was supposed to meet me at my apartment more than four hours ago.

  Had texted me that he’d even gotten off work to do so.

  Yet here I was, alone and irritated, with no Roark in sight. Groggy and in pain, I struggled with the phone as I stumbled around the bed to draw the curtains. I wobbled slightly in the heels as I threw the tan fabric over the windows, blocking out Phoenix’s neon skyscraper jungle.

  My head pounded and my throat was dry. I looked sorrowfully at the empty wine bottle on the nightstand. As the hours had rolled on, a friend had joined it.

  Ruby Callaway, broken-hearted cliché.

  I gagged at the thought. But it might have just been the wine coming back to taunt me.

  “Was it a good dream?” Roark asked. The background noise on his end sounded like wind whipping past a car’s open window.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m sorry, Ruby.”

  “You promised you’d come.” Again, not what I was going for—more angsty teenager than two hundred year old bounty hunter. I dragged myself into the bathroom, where a little holographic diagram on the mirror cheerily told me I was intoxicated and dehydrated.

  “Tell me something I didn’t know.” I slapped at the display, which did nothing.

  “What?” Roark sounded confused.

  “I’m talking to the mirror.” I splashed water on my numb cheeks, trying to restore brain function. “So tell me, Roark, what’s better than a night with me?”

  “Someone offered me the truth.” There was a long sigh. “About what happened to Sam.”

  “You were supposed to say nothing’s better.”

  “Have you been drinking?”

  I sidestepped the question and said, “You already know what happened to your brother.”

  “I know that Solomon Marshall killed him. But who created Solomon Marshall?”

  “You’re chasing ghosts.” I rubbed the red rings around my mascara-streaked eyes. That only made the situation worse. “Let it go, man.”

  “Someone had to arrange for Marshall’s return from the Underworld.” Roark’s calm voice had a diamond hard edge. Reason wouldn’t cut through his singular determination. “Someone made him.”

  “You agreed,” I said quietly, staring back at the lonely bed and the faint neon glow seeping through the drawn curtains, “we’d fight MagiTekk. This is our war. We’d end it together.”

  “I thought of all people…you’d understand, Ruby. Why I had to do this.”

  “Tonight?”

  “You know what it’s like. Time-sensitive information. I had no choice.”

  I’d spent more than twenty years wreaking revenge on those responsible for Pearl’s. But, upon my release from lockup three weeks ago, the spirit of vengeance had died—with three names still remaining on the list. I’d found a true purpose with Roark—something bigger than myself.

  Or maybe time softened the edges of hatred. I wouldn’t quite call it forgiveness.

  But it was something.

  “Well, I don’t understand.” I scooped cold water into my mouth from the faucet. Finishing, I gave a pat to my red, tingling cheeks and walked unsteadily back to the bed. “Why don’t you explain it to me?”

  “I just have to know the truth.” Roark gave a long sigh. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t want to put you in danger.”

  “So you’re calling as you’re running away?”

  “I’m not running from anything. I never wanted to answer to my father, anyway.” There was more to that statement. A lifetime of distrust and missed opportunities for familial bonding. But I didn’t dig deeper.

  “And this is how you honor Sam?” From recently anointed FBI Supervisor of the Phoenix Field Office to explorer of unsubstantiated rumors regarding his brother’s demise. “We can get Malcolm from the inside. That was the damn plan. We’re this close.”

  I held my fingers up just a sliver apart, even though he couldn’t see me.

  “We’ll make a new plan, Ruby. It’ll just have to wait.”

  “Unbelievable.” The words came out as a bitter hiss. “Who told you about this rumor?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does if you’re just going to leave me again.”

  “I—I care about you.” Roark coughed, searching for the right words, but finding none of them. But what do you say to the girl you just stood up? That’s a sticky trap the likes of which Casanova would have trouble escaping from. Roark has charm in spades, but I wasn’t exactly feeling it currently. “I only had one shot. And it’ll be closed by this time tomorrow.”

  “You should’ve called four fucking hours ago with your lame excuses.”

  “If I don’t return…” Roark’s voice was swallowed by the windy background hum. “I’m getting out of range. Everything’s in my office. What I’ve learned.”

  “Then I’m headed over right now.” I rose from the bed and almost face-planted.

  Heels and red wine were a deadly combination. I was going to burn all the evidence from tonight. Silly me for going out and even buying this outfit. Whatever. The little black dress look wasn’t really my style.

  Although I did look good. Or had, four hours ago. Now? More like I’d slept in a particularly prickly and inhospitable bush.

  “My office is locked for two weeks,” Roark said. “Don’t look for me until then.”

  “Where are you even going?” I asked, kicking my legs against the edge of the bed. The dull blur of drunkenness was wearing off, replaced by a raft of other emotions that had been buried deep over the past two hundred years.

  “The Tributary.” The rest of Roark’s words crackled off before the call ended with three sharp beeps.

  I pulled the phone down slowly from my ear.

  And then, like a totally sane person, I threw the device into the open bathroom. It collided with the shower door. That had predictable results, as both phone and door shattered into thousands of little plastic shards. I leaned back inside the bathroom, surveying the damage.

  A bad pop songwriter would’ve used that as a metaphor for my heart. But I wasn’t feeling broken-hearted. At this point, I wasn’t even sure I loved Roark.

  No, I felt something else.

  Anger.

  My reflection in the mirror adequately covered every cliché you’ve ever heard about a woman scorned. My eyes were lit by a fierce red glow at the edges; my hair was tussled from sleeping in a ball; my mascara left oil slick streaks running down my rosy cheeks.

  The tight dress itched. I adjusted the thong burrowing its way uncomfortably into my ass and breathed deep, focusing on the situation at hand.

  Roark had left me alone while MagiTekk was still standing.

  I sighed, staring at the worn-down woman in the mirror. My bones ached, and I felt defeated.

  “Tomorrow’s a big day, Ruby Callaway,” I said, feeling fatigue rush over my body. “But tonight…”

  Well, tonight had just sucked. Promising start, but it had crashed and burned right after takeoff. No need to sugarcoat matters.

  With an exasperated groan, I shuffled back to bed. After wriggling out of the tight dress, I ducked beneath the makeup streaked covers and curled into a tight ball.

  Today hadn’t been my day.

  But tomorrow, I was going to kick some real ass.

  3

  Hour 0

  Thud. Thud.

  Two loud knocks at the apartment door woke me from my deep sleep. I snapped to attention, senses quickly returning. Rather mercifully, I’d avoided a wicked hangover. Some dead god had to be keeping watch from afar. Red wine usually didn’t b
estow such kindnesses upon me.

  The knocking intensified. I checked the clock, finding it was a little past eight.

  Who the hell was visiting me so early in the morning?

  I reached into the nightstand’s drawer, taking out the lightning blade Roark had given me. The carbon hunting knife with nano-augmented electric steel had once belonged to his brother Sam. Roark had insisted I take it upon breaking me loose from the camp. Having used Lightning Blade as his FBI callsign, giving me the blade had been no empty gesture. A symbol of our partnership.

  Gripping the knife rubbed salt on still open wounds. But, after last night, at least I knew exactly where I stood on Roark’s list of priorities.

  Well below first.

  The blade might have stirred up unpleasant memories, but it was still less noisy than the alternative—which was my shotgun. Naked, I slipped into the living room. A gray, overcast light seeped through the open curtains, glinting across the glass table that doubled as a supercomputer.