Awakened (Auralight Codex: Dakota Shepherd Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  Description

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  1 Wake Up Call

  2 First Sight

  3 Synchronicity

  4 Awakening

  5 Denial

  6 Running

  7 Cold Truth

  8 Meeting

  9 The Pack House

  10 Heading Home

  11 Invitation

  12 First Date

  13 Shared Warmth

  14 Watching

  15 Catching Fire

  16 Supernatural Investigation Institute

  17 Blurry Words

  18 Training Wills

  19 Touching Base

  20 Dipping In

  21 Miralina

  22 Love Bites

  23 Pillow Talk

  24 Empty Walls

  25 Preparations

  26 Boarding

  27 Turbulence

  28 The Simms

  29 Calgary

  30 River and Sky

  31 Remembering

  32 Shifting

  33 Homecoming

  34 Conscience

  35 Answers

  36 Home

  More Dakota

  Before You Go

  More DarksbaneBooks

  Acknowledgements

  Pronunciation Guide

  About the Author

  Awakened

  Part of the Auralight Codex: Dakota Shepherd

  by Shei Darksbane & Annathesa Nikola Darksbane

  You can't unsee the truth.

  Geeky lesbian Dakota Shepherd was just a bored night security guard, working at a museum in Knoxville, Tennessee until one fateful encounter changed it all.

  A rogue wizard. A demonic ritual. A silver chalice.

  Dakota Awakened, Hellfire blazing from her hands.

  Dakota's powers are a danger to herself and everyone around her, and she has to learn to control them quickly or risk losing her one chance to finally fulfill a lifelong dream.

  While coming to terms with her new reality, she stumbles upon a secret that changed the course of her life.

  Now she wants to know who is responsible for the holes in her memory, the blocks that hold back her powers, and all the years she spent alone.

  Who put her back to sleep when she Awakened years before?

  Awakened

  A Dakota Shepherd Novel

  Part of the Auralight Codex

  By Shei Darksbane

  &Annathesa Nikola Darksbane

  Copyright © 2015 by Shei Darksbane.

  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.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  First Printing, July 21, 2015

  Darksbane Books

  247 Macedonia Loop

  Jasper, AL 35503-5959

  DarksbaneBooks.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people and events are coincidence.

  For my wife, without whom I wouldn’t be anything that I am, without whom this world would not exist.

  1

  Wake Up Call

  I watched in horror as sickly green flames erupted from my palms for the first time and the rest of my world just faded into the background. The police had just left, taking with them the stranger I’d tackled in the middle of what I’d originally taken to be a heist. Albeit, even in all the excitement of finally seeing an intruder on the job, I managed to wonder why anyone would pick, out of all of the far more valuable items available, the unremarkable silver cup the guy had been messing with when I’d spotted him. It was a cup. I mean, that’s it. Just a cup. Not a solid-gold cup, or one bejeweled and signed by Elvis himself. It was just a stylized silver chalice with engravings around the rim, and it couldn’t possibly have been worth enough to warrant the risk of breaking into a freaking museum.

  The dark-eyed crazy guy I’d caught messing with it seemed to disagree. I was still sitting in the middle of the mess he’d made, a ring of chalk encircling the display pillar where the silver cup sat, and an array of objects scattered around it that made it look like a scene from The Craft. Candles, crystals, bones I hoped had come from animals, and a sharp-looking knife still coated in the stranger’s own blood lay scattered around the scene in a pattern of ordered chaos. Or maybe, just a pattern I didn’t understand. I wasn’t sure what he’d been hoping to accomplish, but I was sure it hadn’t been a simple robbery.

  And the ritual had obviously accomplished something. Mostly on account of how my head was still aching from the unfathomable, deific voice that had invaded my thoughts, seeming to fill my mind to the breaking point; the words she had spoken still rang in my ears. “So be it. Thy pact in blood is made.”

  My eyes had drifted across the markings and components on the floor long enough for me to wonder what purpose all of them served, but my fascination with the scene waned, my attention returning against my will to the fact I’d been numbly hoping to avoid: that my hands were somehow on fire and yet not… burning. I stared at my hands entranced until the flames suddenly flickered out, leaving no trace of their presence to prove I hadn’t just lost it entirely.

  I panicked.

  I turned from the point of impact, and ran. I ran until I was out of the building, and I kept going. I ran all the way home. And somehow, though I don’t remotely remember how, I managed to wake up in my own bed the next morning, still in one not-on-fire piece, and at least arguably still sane. But something, something important, had changed.

  I walked outside to get the mail, and ended up standing there on the sidewalk in an oversized t-shirt that read “I am Sherlocked” and PJ pants, my short, brown hair sticking out in a ridiculous approximation of what a hedgehog probably looks like first thing in the morning, staring at the people walking down the street as if I’d seen a ghost. And for a moment, I almost wondered if I had. All the people looked somehow different than they had the day before. They looked, well, gray. Like the world was in color, but the people inside it were walking around in black and white, as if they’d marched straight out of an old TV show. After gawking for a moment, I realized, it wasn’t the case. I could still make out their colors; their skin, and eyes, and hair all still possessed various hues. But it was like there was no real vibrance or clarity to them. Like they were all missing something they needed very badly, but none of them seemed to notice.

  I went back inside and paced around my apartment, hugging myself with eyes wide and talking to myself out loud. “This isn’t real.” I said. “This isn’t happening. The people aren’t in black and white. My hands weren’t on fire last night. Was I drinking?” I knew that was ridiculous. I didn’t have a social life to speak of, I never drank anything heavier than malt beverages, and I’d never touched a drug in my life. I spent most of my spare time alone in my apartment watching shows like Sherlock on BBC, The Legend of Korra, and Castle and geeking out over the fandoms for said shows on Tumblr.

  But as humans, we sink so easily into a comfortable lie, especially when the alternative is an uncomfortable truth. Thus I managed to convince myself that I’d been to some kind of party or managed to let myself drink too much, and the whole night before and all the weird tricks my eyes were playing on me this morning were just the miserable consequences of chemical intoxication of one variety or another.

  So I called in for t
he night, grabbed a bowl of cereal, and curled up in the comforter from my bed as I plopped down on the purple camo bean bag in front of the low desk that held up my laptop. I turned on A Study in Pink, the first episode of my favorite show, and I spaced out for an hour or so, trying not to let my thoughts creep back to the unbelievable events of the previous night. And amazingly, they didn’t. Despite all of the craziness of the night before, and the very real shock and trauma I was experiencing at present, the only thing my mind kept drifting back to was… her.

  2

  First Sight

  “Dakota,” my boss called my name as I passed him, hurrying to the clock so I could check in for the night before it was too late to be on time. I glanced back as he hustled to catch up with me, and decided against cracking wise at the “big, strong man” having trouble keeping up with the only “short, skinny girl” co-worker he had. The last time I’d teased Joe about outperforming him, he’d put his money where his mouth was and let’s just say my mouth was better at winning wrestling matches than the rest of me. I turned to face him, jogging backward toward the clock with a shit-eating grin, which was really just about as bad as if I’d opened my mouth. Joe scowled as he caught up to me at the clock. “Hold the hell on. I got a special assignment for you tonight.”

  “A special assignment? What? Am I double-oh-Dakota now? Or should I introduce myself as ‘Shepherd. Dakota Shepherd.’?” I smirked at him as I went through the motions of clocking in. I could tell that it was driving him crazy. He’d worked with me long enough to know that smirking was my way of exuding snarky remarks without putting them to words. And if I didn’t say it out loud, he never had a chance to refute whatever I was silently teasing him over.

  “Kiss my ass, Shepherd.” Joe began with his usual level of eloquence, leaving it to me to keep the “witty” in our banter. “There’s some rich-assed patron coming through tonight and the curator has advised me that it’ll be the job of the guard on duty to see to it that she’s let in and given a tour.”

  I leaned against the wall and raised an eyebrow. “Oooo.” I cooed, “La-ti-da. So this patron’s so hoity-toity she can’t be assed to do her touring during the day when the museum’s actually open and there’s real tour guides who actually know what all this shit is and how to present it?”

  Joe scoffed and gave me a conspiratorial smirk. “I know right? Wish I was so rich all the normal rules didn’t apply to me.”

  “Eh. I don’t.” I shoved off from the wall and started down the hall toward the break room. “So what do I have to do?”

  Joe followed me and I stopped purposefully outpacing him since I actually wanted to hear his reply. “Let them in, walk them around and let them see the exhibits. Don’t let them steal anything. Make sure they leave and everything here stays where it belongs. Babysitting, essentially.”

  “Great.” I strode into the break room and approached the row of lockers we night security guards used to store our personal belongings during our shifts. I opened mine, and dropped my Captain America lunchbox inside along with a bottle of water. “This is going to go horribly, you realize?”

  Joe knew me too well. “Why do you think I’m leaving early?”

  I slammed my locker shut and turned to face him. “You are not! You’re kidding, right?”

  It was Joe’s turn to smirk at me. “Nah, Shepherd. You got this! Just check the folder over there for the details.” He pointed at a plain yellow folder laying on the break room table and started to back out of the room. “Besides, I got a date!”

  I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Right. You bastard. You owe me one.” Joe ignored me as he walked back out into the hall. “If I screw this up and get fired, I’m blaming you!” I yelled to the empty hall despite knowing he’d already departed from it. I sighed and walked over to pick up the folder he’d indicated and flopped it open. I read a list of names and general descriptions from a memo on company letterhead that was signed by the curator himself. Well at least I know this isn’t some dumb prank. I dropped the folder on the table and headed out to get started on my early-shift duties. The memo had said the patron’s party would be arriving around midnight. Who the hell visits a museum in the middle of the night?

  I was standing in the lobby at a quarter to midnight when the perimeter guard’s voice crackled through my radio to inform me that the patron’s party had arrived. I headed over to unlock the front double doors and let the fancy rich people inside. I waited as the outdoor guard escorted the small party of finely-dressed individuals just to the threshold before turning to abandon me - Me! The smart-assed one who couldn’t keep her mouth shut - to deal with the uppity fancy patron. It turned out to be the nicest thing he ever did for me.

  She walked into my life with slow, languid steps, the click of her heels on the polished marble floor echoing in the quiet, uninhabited entry hall. My body reacted to her presence the moment I laid eyes on her, tingling with some mixture of excitement and anxiety, or whatever you call the feeling an average girl would have the moment she laid eyes on the most beautiful woman in the world.

  She was utterly breath-taking, which, now that I think about it, could have been the reason for the tingling by itself. She was a little taller than average with the most perfect figure I’d ever seen, all luscious curves in all the right places. The woman before me was a porcelain-skinned goddess with immaculate ebony hair spilling down her back and over her shoulders. Her lips were this perfect shade of red that offset her look with the only splash of color it really needed. And it was the only splash of color I spotted, too. She was wearing an elegant black evening gown that clung to her breasts with its heart-shaped neckline which rose on one side to glide across her delicate shoulder where the dark fabric was decorated with intricate designs in silver and clear, shimmering gemstones that could very well have been diamonds for all I knew. The gown fit her curves perfectly, accenting her small, feminine waist and her softly rounded hips before flowing to her ankles like some inky waterfall, baring an enticing sliver of pale thigh as it parted just above the knee.

  I must have looked like an idiot, staring at her with a slowly slacking jaw as she entered, nodding her appreciation to the other guard and myself for letting her in. I stood for a moment in wide-eyed shock, feeling my cheeks warming pre-emptively as I must have known on some level that I was about to horribly embarrass myself.

  So of course, I flopped off my hat and gave an exaggerated bow. “Welcome, my lady, to the Knoxville Museum of Natural History!” I said in my best impression of a 1920’s radio announcer. Don’t ask me why I picked that. I still haven’t figured that one out. I replaced my hat as I straightened, and put on the world’s cheesiest grin. She glanced at me with a hint of humor in her wide blue eyes and a soft, sly smile curled her gorgeous lips. She tilted her head ever-so-slightly as a noble graciously acknowledging the peasantry.

  Her lips parted as if to speak, but before she could get a word out, another finely-dressed woman took hold of her arm and escorted her away, leaning in and speaking quietly as they passed from the entryway into the museum proper. So, feeling like a complete ass, I closed the door and locked it up as per my instructions, then trailed along behind her party of five with the most awkward feeling I’d ever had regarding the spectacle I’d just made. She spoke softly with her friends as they toured the museum, gliding elegantly from exhibit to exhibit, pausing to read the plaques and study the displays. I followed along as quietly as possible, hoping I wouldn’t be needed for anything, lest I embarrass myself further by having absolutely no idea how to control my idiotic sense of humor in the presence of such an insanely beautiful woman. Not that they needed me. The girl of my dreams seemed to know more about the exhibits than I did. Maybe that’s why she didn’t mind visiting in the middle of the night.

  An hour or so later, I was rewarded for my patience as we circled back to the front door and the late-night touring was over at last. I turned the lock for them once more, and the rest of her party was filing out into the
warm Tennessee night air when she paused, the other young woman still curled around her arm, to turn her attention to me. “Thank you for the tour.” Her voice felt like velvet: gloriously soft and warm, with a faint European accent I wasn’t fancy enough to identify. My typical Tennessee-Southern accent likely did far less for her than her soft, delicate syllables did for me.

  “You’re welcome. Any time. I mean, it wasn’t my fault-- er, that is… I’m just the night guard… but you know… I’d be happy to tour you anytime. Let you tour. I mean. That.” My face was probably actually on fire.

  She laughed and I could just see the flames erupting on my cheeks. But her sly smile returned and she leaned in, pressing a finger to the embroidered name on my shirt. “Shepherd?” Great. I just knew this meant she was going to report me for being a tool.

  “Yeah. It’s my name. And Dakota. That’s the other one.” I stuck out my hand out of general habit and immediately wished I hadn’t. But rather than staring at my proffered hand as if it were contagious like she did in the image my nervous mind had conjured the instant I’d reached out, she took my hand and shook it delicately, her eyes still sparkling with humor and delight.

  “Well, thank you, Dakota. It was lovely.” She paused and looked me over as if seeing me for the first time. The way her smile climbed to one side suggested some private satisfaction, or maybe she just thought I was funny-looking. “You’re a cute one.”

  What? I grinned stupidly and tried to think of something clever to say, but instead, I blurted, “Yeah? Well if you plan to tip, I’d take your number.” It was like I was on an embarrassment rollercoaster and I just kept going down big hills.

  But to my surprise, she laughed again and slid her fingers into a little purse I hadn’t noticed before and deftly removed a little black card with silver writing and offered it to me between two extended fingers. “Very well then.” I accepted the card with a goofy smile and turned it over to stare at the words written on the front. The shiny letters proclaimed “Amorie” in a flowing script above a phone number and email address. I looked up and smiled at her broadly, meaning to say my thanks, but the younger woman on her arm tugged at her and whispered something in her ear and the two of them turned away and vanished into the night, hours before I could recover. I was so bewildered by her smile that I didn’t really notice the daggers her companion glared at me as the two of them walked away.