Mercenary Read online

  Mercenary

  Blood Trails, Book 5

  Jennifer Blackstream

  Skeleton Key Publishing

  Contents

  Copyright

  Summary

  Also by Jennifer Blackstream

  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

  Next Book

  From the Author

  Other Books by Jennifer Blackstream

  Did you find a typo?

  Ahoy, ebook pirates!

  MERCENARY

  A Blood Trails Novel, Book 5

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  JENNIFER BLACKSTREAM

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  Mercenary

  ©Copyright Jennifer Blackstream 2018, Skeleton Key Publishing

  Edited by 720 Editing

  Cover Art by Yocla Designs © Copyright 2018

  * * *

  This is a work fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form without the written permission of the author. You may not circulate this book in any format. Thank you for respecting the hard work of all people involved with the creation of this ebook.

  Political intrigue is for wizards.

  Shade has never agreed with her old mentor’s advice more than she does now. But if unraveling a political conspiracy is her only chance to escape the past month of magical boot camp and goblin-sparring, interspersed with seductive attempts by her sidhe master to make their relationship permanent, then so be it.

  A government spook saw something he shouldn’t have—a glimpse of the Otherworld. Now his life is in danger, and it's up to Shade to save him. Unfortunately, there are a lot of monsters behind the scenes pulling political strings. Demons, sidhe, sorceresses, even the vampiric crime lord of Cleveland himself. Any one of them could have frightened the political fixer into madness.

  And they’ll do much worse to Shade if she threatens to uncover their secrets...

  * * *

  Blood Trails, Book 5

  ALSO BY JENNIFER BLACKSTREAM

  * * *

  Join my mailing list to be alerted when new titles are released.

  * * *

  Urban Fantasy

  * * *

  Blood Trails Series

  Deadline

  Monster

  Taken

  Corruption

  Mercenary

  * * *

  Paranormal Romance

  * * *

  Blood Prince Series

  Before Midnight

  One Bite

  Golden Stair

  Divine Scales

  Beautiful Salvation

  Bonus Novel: The Pirate’s Witch

  * * *

  Blood Realm Series:

  All for a Rose

  Blue Voodoo

  The Archer

  Bear With Me

  Stolen Wish

  * * *

  Join my mailing list to be alerted when new titles are released.

  * * *

  Short stories are not listed here, but can be found on my website here.

  “There are no morals in politics; there is only expedience. A scoundrel may be of use to us just because he is a scoundrel.”

  - Vladimir Lenin

  Chapter 1

  “How many goblins do I have to fight before you’ll tell me what the case is?”

  My voice shook, and I tightened my grip on the thin metal arms of my chair. The scent of sweat and blood filled my nostrils, and the hairs on my arms stood straight up, vibrating in the static aftermath of too much spent magic.

  “For the third time, I will tell you when you’re done. Keep second-guessing me, and we’ll add obedience lessons to your weekly routine as well.”

  The threat in the words did nothing to take away from the leannan sidhe’s smooth voice, that sensual promise that echoed in everything Flint said regardless of how mundane or how threatening. I sucked in a breath, trying to get oxygen into my abused lungs, only to be rewarded with the scent of warm bedsheets and a hint of expensive aftershave. I scowled. We were at the Chiron, a gym designed for Otherworlders to train magically and physically. No one should smell that good here.

  Against my will, my gaze traveled over Flint’s pale denim jeans that were more white than blue. The bleached denim made his snug black T-shirt look all the darker, a near-perfect match to his black hair.

  “If you’re done complaining, drink this.”

  I squinted at the small plastic medicine cup pinched between Flint’s thumb and forefinger. The June sunlight streaming through the window struck the potion, making it look like cherry-flavored candy in the hand of a handsome stranger. The red liquid inside was thicker than it should have been, more like syrup than water. “Your potion master overcooked it. Again.”

  Flint’s hand didn’t waver. “It is not overcooked. It is concentrated for increased potency. Last week you tripped on your way into the circle, and an embarrassment to you is an embarrassment to me. Now stop being childish and drink it.” Amusement glinted in his eyes and he tilted his head. “Unless you’d like to defend against Asher without the benefit of spellcasting? Have your hand-to-hand combat skills improved since last we tested them?”

  Behind him, a handful of goblins snickered from their position leaning against the gym wall. The tallest one, a sharp-featured man with yellow skin like old parchment and eyes that held the red shine of polished holly berries, winked at me.

  That would be Asher, then.

  I took a deep breath through my nose. “I’m not trying to be disobedient. I want you to understand the consequences of what you’re asking me to do.”

  Asher’s grin widened, revealing too-sharp teeth and lower canines that were longer than the top. I held his stare, waiting for him to look away first. You could not show weakness in front of goblins. Not unless you wanted to be dinner. Or worse.

  “I’ve been training for four hours,” I continued. “I’m tired, and I’m spent, and I need to rest. If you keep pushing me like this, I’ll be worse than useless to you.”

  I sat up straighter, encouraged when my body responded to my commands despite feeling as if my bones had turned to lead. “Spellcasting takes a physical toll the same way physical activity takes a toll. You wouldn’t ask me to run all day, then make me get up and keep running after I’d fallen. You’d know what a horrible idea it would be to stick a needle in me and use a shot of adrenaline or a steroid or some other artificial means to make me push my body beyond its limits.” I jabbed a finger at the cup. “This is the same.”

  I nodded to the goblins standing along the back row. There were five of them, all with the angular features, pale yellow skin, and bright red eyes that goblins shared. Three of them were nursing injuries I’d given them, ranging from burns to frostbite —and in one case, a broken arm. They’d all refused the attention of the gym’s healer, and the one with the broken arm insisted on trying to catch my eye as he poked and prodded
the break, scraping a claw over the exposed bone and smearing the blood in a spiral down his forearm. They were all smiling. Goblins enjoyed pain.

  And that wasn’t even the most disturbing thing about them.

  “Haven’t I done enough for the day?” I asked.

  Flint took my hand and wrapped my fingers around the small cup without sparing the goblins so much as a glance. “You have made the same argument every week since we began training a month ago, and I will give you the same answer. You are weak. Weaker than someone of your background should be. You are the apprentice of the most powerful witch in existence—that carries expectations. So far, it is that reputation alone that has kept the worst of the consequences for your rash behavior at bay, but that won’t last long. You’re making enemies that would frighten someone ten times as powerful as you. Soon one of them will come for payback.” His voice hardened. “Drink it, and get back in the ring.”

  I looked at the training ring that I’d not so affectionately nicknamed the tenth circle of Hell. One inch thick blue mats had been cut into a circle, with a ring of silver around that, followed by a ring of copper. Wards etched into the floor inside the two circles kept the magic thrown about inside from striking anyone in the neighboring training circle, or the fight cage at the other end of the room where the more physical Otherworlders came to practice their skills. Wards inside the main circle, underneath the padding, held stabilization spells that could be activated with a shout, and would keep a person alive long enough for the gym’s healer to get to them. Most witches and wizards spent a significant portion of their apprenticeship in training centers like this one.

  I hadn’t.

  Why? Because the most powerful witch in existence considered magic to be only one of many tools in the witch’s arsenal. No more or less important than a reliable spatula.

  Maybe less.

  “Drink,” Flint prompted. “The sooner you defeat Asher, the sooner you can get to work on the case I have waiting for you.”

  He was hinting this would be the last fight of the day, but I’d fallen for that trick before. My hand itched with the urge to slap the cup out of his hand, but I grabbed it instead. If he really had a case for me, then I’d much rather get to that than face another day of train-the-witch.

  The potion tasted as awful as every other potion Flint had given me during these infuriating sessions. I drank it not because I agreed with him, but because I believed he’d follow through on the threat of obedience lessons. And, of course, because he still owned me for another ten months. I’d signed the contract, and to break my word would be to risk being forsworn, something that could cost me my magic, my familiar, and every hope I had of serving the purpose I felt called to.

  “Feel better?” Asher asked.

  Something about the goblin’s eager tone made my magic writhe in response, a deep-seated instinct telling me this was not going to be fun for me. I kept my lips pressed together, not trusting the potion to stay down if I attempted a sarcastic retort. Instead, I concentrated on the bond between me and my familiar, sending a pulse of concern down the metaphysical link.

  An answering pulse of confidence met my probe, and my shoulders relaxed. I’d told Peasblossom to stay out of sight during this round of training. Goblins could get antsy waiting for their turn to fight, and given their affinity for pain, it would be just like them to try their hand at catching a pixie.

  The potion swept through me with all the finesse of a charging rhino, and I winced as the weariness was forced from my muscles. Adrenaline burned through me, shoving me to my feet, and I rolled my head in circles to ride out the sudden surge in energy. My magic ricocheted inside me, and I took a deep breath, willing it to quiet. To wait for my command.

  “All right, let’s see how you fare against Asher.” Flint gestured for the goblin to enter the ring. “And this time, I want to see you push yourself. No more frost and fire, and stop putting fog and summoned creatures between you and your enemy. I want to see not just power, not just strength, but a show of both. An attack should not only take care of one opponent, it should make your other opponents think twice about engaging with you at all.”

  “The sizzle sells the steak,” I muttered. “I get it, you want me to be more flashy.”

  Flint narrowed his eyes. “You underestimate the value of intimidation. The best way to survive an attack is to avoid it in the first place. Now be scary.”

  With the overcooked potion humming with false positivity inside me, I stepped inside the circle. Asher stood on the blue mats across from me, and it was probably my paranoia making his red eyes look darker, more of a blood red than a happy holly berry. He watched me like a man watches his virgin bride step out of the bathroom in her honeymoon negligee, and suddenly my palms felt clammy.

  A tingling sensation ran down my arms as Flint activated the circles. The goblin took a step closer, standing less than ten feet away from me, his body vibrating with excitement. He raised a hand tipped with vicious black claws in a welcoming gesture, and when he spoke, his voice held a rasp of something that sounded unpleasantly close to arousal.

  “Ladies first.”

  Anticipation lit his eyes and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, claws fanning the air as he flexed his fingers. He chafed under the need to attack. I suppose when you were a creature Nature had endowed with extra organs to compensate for the consequences of a brain that registered pain as pleasure, fighting would be a good time.

  It made me feel a little better about what I was about to do to him.

  I straightened my spine and squared my shoulders. It wasn’t easy to look intimidating in a plain black cotton T-shirt and pink and purple leggings, but I’d had a lot of practice. And when a witch fixed you with the evil eye, the last thing you noticed was her clothing.

  The evil eye was one of the least magical things a witch could do, and one of the most powerful. It held all the emotions no one ever wanted to see, the emotions all humans dreaded. Disappointment. Derision. Disgust. I looked at Asher as if he’d failed me, as if he always failed me and would always fail me. He was nothing, not to me, and not to anyone else. Pathetic. Worthless. Unworthy of my time.

  The weight of the evil eye thickened the air between us. Asher’s chest stuttered as it grew harder for him to draw a breath, and his head bobbed with the effort to resist dropping his gaze to the gym floor.

  “You are an insult,” I said, my voice low and hard. “I’ve beaten four of your brothers, and still the best I’m offered is you? You, who lack the discipline for a weapon?” I gestured at him, noting the lack of blade or gun. “How dare you step into this ring with me, knowing you have nothing to offer?”

  It was much more likely that Asher had no weapon because he didn’t need one. Goblins were vicious killers, and when you liked pain as much as they did, you were all too willing to get up close and personal. Which is what I needed him to do.

  Asher’s jaw clenched, and his body tensed as if he were fighting the urge to take a step back. “I want to pet your heart.”

  A shiver ran down my spine as the goblin’s strained whisper rushed to paint a macabre picture in my brain that would very likely play a large part in tonight’s nightmares. I shoved it away and took another step, leaning forward as I forced myself to meet Asher’s eerie red stare, pushing more power into the evil eye.

  “You’re boring me.” I poured more disdain into my voice. “Such a disappointment. I suppose I should be grateful that Flint saved you for my final match. It’s not often he decides to show mercy and allow me an easy battle to end my day of training.”

  Unlike the witchy look, the evil eye was not meant to dissuade an attack. It was meant to weaken it when it came. Asher dove, sweeping his clawed hand toward my midsection like a reaper’s scythe. I gritted my teeth, but didn’t move out of the way. Flint said be scary. I could be scary.

  Asher’s claws left trails of burning fire in their wake, turning my stomach into a hot mess of pain. I swallowed a hi
ss and stood my ground, lifting my chin. As expected, he hadn’t tried to gut me, hadn’t tried to do anything more than draw blood. Goblins needed foreplay in battle, especially a training fight that had no chance of ending in death.

  Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt though.

  I didn’t fight when he grabbed my hair, curled his claws against my scalp, drawing more of my blood. He held still for a long second, his breathing ragged, his eyes glazed over as he waited for me to strike back. He wanted to feel pain so he could continue our battle in the euphoric state goblins lived for, rejoicing in the midst of mutual blood and agony.

  I laughed, pushing the sound above the roar of my pulse in my ears, the scream of my instincts to break away. With a flex of my will, the laugh turned to a cackle. Sadistic joy and the promise of doom filled my voice, washing over Asher and touching the despair the evil eye had inspired. The cackle pushed the despair deeper into the goblin’s body like a shot of adrenaline carrying poison to the heart. The air soured around us, filled with the bitter scent of fear and defeat. Asher tightened his grip on my hair, the other hand raising to strike again. I concentrated on the feel of his fingers against my scalp, anchored to my head by his grip on my hair.