Moonlight Captivation [Moon Shadows Book 1] Read online

  Humiliated, Nessa's temper flared. “Get your lazy, non-working, lying, cheating ass out of my place and take your fucking rabbit with you! Or, I'll shove a red-hot poker so far up your ass, you won't be able to sit down for the rest of your natural, scum-ridden life!"

  Nessa screamed, spun on her heels and ran back down the stairs. She kept walking, stubbornly swiping at the tears streaming down her face, while trying desperately to contact her best friend on her mobile to tell him what her cheating, now ex-boyfriend had done, but she only got his voicemail. Darren must have worked a double shift.

  She walked until she came upon a tavern. Nessa ventured into the bar and drank herself into oblivion, her drink of choice being Strawberry Snaps and Vanilla Dreams—sweet, smooth and highly alcoholic. The night then merged into nothing but a fragmented blur. Nessa swore she'd seen a cat and a hunk-a-luscious man, with the most amazing, golden eyes. Yes, golden eyes—at least she'd remembered something. Nessa looked down at the marks on her body. Maybe her dream hunk wasn't a dream after all. Great! She'd met the man of her dreams and couldn't remember who he was, or what they did. From the evidence, they had done a great deal—just her rotten luck.

  Three days later...

  Neman paced; he couldn't get her out of his head. He recalled every detail of her body, her pale blue eyes and her strawberry and vanilla scent, which maddened him. He left her in her apartment in the early hours of the morning after finding her purse back in the alley with her identification ID—Vanessa Myles. Just thinking about her made him hard and frustrated. He could find no trace of the demon he'd been tracking for the past month; Vanessa was just the candidate for the demon. She matched the profile of the demon's past victims—the right age, eye and hair color. Women, just like his Vanessa. He shook his head. It was dangerous to think of her like that. One consolation of the hunt was he'd stopped the demon from killing her, instead, she'd ended up a victim of his own lust.

  He shook his head, throwing another dagger at the target board in his training room. It hit the bull's-eye dead on. Having sex with her should never have happened, yet more than anything, he wanted it to happen again. Three days of continual hunting and hard physical workouts in an attempt to forget the encounter with his Vanessa, but still he was mentally and physically frustrated. “Damn it all to hell."

  "Someone's in a good mood; not got your Gorlon Kat demon yet, Neman?"

  "What do you want, Slazzamar?” Neman stalked across the room, wrenching each blade from the worn target board, not bothering to look at the half-elf/half-demon creature leaning against his weapons cage. Slazzamar served as messenger and general liaison and spy between the Realms; he was often more trouble than he was worth, as no secret worth keeping could ever be kept by him, but he often brought Neman news or the whereabouts of particular demons he was hunting. Neman once saved the elf's life, finding the elf in a fight with a Shadow demon he'd been sent to gather information on. Ever since, Slazzamar popped in and out at random, thinking he was repaying Neman with tidbits of information he gleaned from the Lower, Outer and Human Realms.

  "I have recently come across a luscious piece of information you're just going to love. It seems the Lower and Outer Realms are buzzing about a prophecy which is about to take place."

  "I don't care for prophecies and less for rumors, unless you know where the Gorlon Kat demon is."

  "If I knew that, then it wouldn't be a rumor, but fact."

  "All the better. Now piss off, before I need another target for my board."

  Slazzamar glanced at the shredded Supernatural poster. Everyone who was anyone knew Neman never missed and to never get in the way of his blades. “Wait a minute, you let it get away? The mighty demon hunter let his quarry get away?"

  "I needed to rescue a helpless, human woman.” What the hell was he doing, defending his actions to Slazzamar?

  "Was she pretty, this helpless human woman? Did she reward you properly for her rescue?” Slazzamar twitched his pointed ears, before smoothing back his long white hair.

  "If you know what's good for you, Slazzamar, you'll keep your trap shut.” But that was just the problem—he never did.

  "I love humans, so frail, so fuckable."

  Neman swiveled on his booted heel, a movement quicker than any mortal eye could see. He'd embedded the six throwing daggers deeply into the target board. Each dagger landed directly on the faces of the actors on the poster, pinned onto his target board, destroying the fragile paper in the process. His anger flared, as he turned on Slazzamar. “State what you want, then get out."

  "Hey, don't kill the messenger. I don't go demanding payment—my services come free of charge.” Slazzamar held up his hands. “I just thought you might want to know the prophecy contained info about the ‘Chosen One'—you know, the being of great power, who is destined to heal the fractures between the Realms and bring peace."

  "That's hardly news, Slazzamar.” Neman picked two long sabers from his weapons rack, and tossed one toward Slazzamar, who caught the hilt. He knew the prophecy, vaguely. The story was about a powerful prince who would send the demons back to hell and seal the fracture which allowed them to leak out. The fracture had been there for hundreds of thousands of years. Neman doubted the prophecy's validity. The Outer Realms had been warring with the Lower Realms for as long as anyone could remember. The fracture accounted for most of the demons Neman had to track and kill in the Human Realm, the Realm in which he also dwelt.

  "Spar with me, and I may decide not to kill you for bringing me useless information."

  "Where are your slaves today?” Slazzamar jumped to his feet. Despite his frail, skinny frame, Slazzamar was deceptively nimble and strong.

  "Mark and Mona have the week off, and I've told you before, they are not my slaves.” Neman lunged to attack, feeling the need to beat the crap out of something to help improve his glum mood over not having Vanessa.

  "Touchy—you're in a worse mood than I've ever seen you.” Slazzamar jumped out of the way, deflecting Neman's blow. “Since when has my information been useless? Oh, you're going to love this one. It's a real, as the humans, say ‘doozy.’”

  "Stop fucking about and tell me,” Neman responded, jumping forward and swinging his blade in quickly. Slazzamar caught it with his own blade, pushing Neman back.

  "The whole Lower Realm and all the demon rulers are in a panic; a woman is pregnant with this great ‘prince,’ and now the race is on to find her and kill both her and the child before it's born."

  "Who is the woman?” Curiosity got the better of Neman.

  "Isn't this the mystery everyone will kill to discover? You'd better roll out the welcome mat, Neman, because they're on their way to you."

  Neman frowned, lowering his sword. “What do I have to do with this?"

  Slazzamar laughed, making Neman's blood run cold.

  "You really should brush up on your prophecies, Neman. For an ex-god and demon hunter, you really are thick."

  Neman growled, taking a menacing step towards the half-elf/half-demon.

  "I am still a god, Slazzamar, so unless you want to move to the top of my hit list, spill it."

  "You're the Daddy, Daddy-O."

  Neman snorted. “Ridiculous, there is no way...” He stopped midsentence, suddenly thinking of Vanessa. His idiocy was now complete. He hadn't even thought of such a thing while his naked cock felt so good sliding into her unprotected, wet heat. Damn. The way he'd been unable to resist her...she'd been anointed by the gods, a potent ointment, known to be stronger than even Cupid's arrow tip.

  "You know who she is, don't you?” Slazzamar stepped forward, ears twitching at the information.

  Neman grabbed the creature by his black, skull-and-crossbones T-shirt, lifting him off his feet. “I want to see the scrolls."

  "Bring your reading glasses, old man.” Slazzamar gripped Neman's shoulders, immediately feeling the energy building, before the electric sizzle and pop.

  Neman looked around at the dimly lit archives o
f the Ancients. What did it make him? These archives were set up immediately before his time. Every modern scholar on earth would sell their souls to see the wealth of knowledge contained in these scrolls, tomes, tablets and books. Not surprisingly, Neman saw the bright flickering of computers down the far end of one hall.

  The long, marbled hall stretched for miles. Neman could feel the powerful spells hovering through the air, protecting the library from anyone, or any creature, who wanted to destroy it. But it was too valuable a source of information for all races for them to want to. It also served as neutral territory for warring races, Realms and any others, who needed to resolve their disputes.

  Slazzamar managed to untangle himself from Neman's grip during the teleport.

  Neman lowered his sword, knowing it was useless and glared at Slazzamar. “Well?"

  "Patience, Neman, patience.” Slazzamar strolled casually down the hall as if he owned the place, and Neman followed.

  Neman spent many years in this place, searching for a way to regain his stolen powers when his own relatives refused to help. He wanted vengeance on the demon, who had not only stolen his powers, but his whole life. Already skilled with a blade, Neman was forced to rely on his immortality and strength. He learned quickly, developing into a skilled and deadly warrior. He had thrown what was left of his life into hunting down and killing demons.

  Hooking a left turn into an older part of the archives, they walked past wall-to-wall stone shelving, with scrolls and clay tablets haphazardly stacked. At the end of the room was a long, stone table with scrolls laid out and opened.

  "These were translated from tablets a while back.” Slazzamar pointed to one of the scrolls. It was suspiciously laid out; no doubt, it had been read recently by others.

  Neman closed in, staring down at the opened scroll, the language as familiar to him as his own breath—Sumerian. “This was written after my fall,” he muttered, skimming over the words and noting the date—right between the fall of Sumeria and the rise of Assyria.

  "Well, it was written by Armod."

  Neman realized Armod was an old priest from his temple. But Neman still could not believe he was to be the father of the prophesied “prince,” who, in theory, had to be powerful enough to seal a fracture as great as the one between the Realms. Only an extremely powerful god could do something like that; most gods were too caught up in their own affairs to even bother doing such a thing.

  Fallen god of Ur shall rise again to sow his seed in the womb of the willing mortal, precious is she chosen to greatness. The moons shall shine brightly in his eyes. And the prince shall be brought forth, strong with the power to unite the powers under the heavens and earth. What is torn shall be made whole, what is broken shall be mended. Beyond the earthy planes.

  "Firstly, I'm not a fallen god, and my powers were stolen; secondly, there is no date or timeline here, and how the heck does anyone know a woman is pregnant with this supposed ‘prince'?"

  "Keep reading, Sherlock.” Slazzamar leaned against the ancient stone table.

  Chosen, marked, anointed is she, by her mark shall she be chosen. Stone of knowledge will shine like the stars, the moon glow in the season of the Chosen One, she shall bring forth the prince. Great peril, great evil awaits her. Beware, beware the evil ones, who seek to destroy. Now is the time of her beauty, now is the time to heal all things. Beware. If the God of Summer fails, darkness shall forever fall. Under the heavens, over the lands, over seas, over every kingdom, evil will reign to the end of time.

  Typically cryptic, but Neman got the main meaning. Anyone who wanted to retain any semblance of power in the Lower Realm would be after a helpless, pregnant woman. Doom and gloom for everyone, if the prophecy wasn't fulfilled.

  "Fuck!"

  "Oh, I think the fucking part is already over.” Slazzamar grinned evilly. “There are a few bits and pieces missing, but you get the gist of it. They have already been looking for her, Neman; I suggest you find her before they do. Personally, I don't want darkness over all the lands—there's enough shit to deal with as it is.” Slazzamar crossed his arms over his chest.

  Neman knew Slazzamar was right—he needed to find her again, and before the demons did. But how could he have missed this? This prophecy was as much about him and this woman as about this “prince,” created to bring peace. It was another pathetic way the gods amused themselves and palmed responsibility off onto others.

  Neman's anger flared. Vanessa was an innocent; as much as she had been created to bring forth a prophecy, Neman realized, she had been created only for him.

  Neman looked up and turned toward the glowing Stone of Knowledge on the table. His shoulders sagged; they were both in it, whether they liked it or not. He needed to find whether Vanessa was his chosen one and whether he impregnated her.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 3

  "Hi, Frank, what's your torment today? Salmonella Special or drop-dead pork rolls?"

  The bald-headed, middle-aged, potbellied janitor, who had large ears making him look like a taxi cab with both doors open, was clearly unimpressed with Nessa's humorous take on the cafeteria food.

  "I'm going for the heart-clogging, artery-hardening chips, covered in extra salt and sauce!” she said, cheerily reaching over him to help herself to the tray of chips and pile them on her plate.

  She'd been craving fatty chips all day and now indulged her craving. Mercy General Hospital in Sydney was known to have the worst food in the vicinity. The staff knew if you cared for your health, you brought your own lunch from home. But today, a headache made Nessa sleep in later than she'd intended; now, she was without her alarm clock. Note to self: buy new alarm clock. Second note to self: don't get a hangover and throw it out the window again.

  With her fries smothered in tomato sauce, she weaved her way through the peak-lunch-hour-crowded tables. Darren was waving at her from a table in the far corner, so she made a beeline for it.

  "Gracious, girl, you want to end up a patient here?” Darren grimaced at her suffocating chips as she slid into the chair opposite.

  "I slept in. So sue me."

  "I'll go get the coronary paddles ready after lunch.” Darren pulled out his perfect tuna and salad lunch.

  Nessa rolled her eyes.

  "Not everyone is as perfect as you.” She shook her head. “You know, I don't know what it is, but I've had the weirdest morning on record. I'm all achy, I swear my abdomen is swollen, my breasts hurt and I didn't drink a drop last night. I've been starving all day long, and yet, I've eaten everything in sight."

  "Uh-huh. Well, those aren't going to help; it sounds like you're premenstrual, honey."

  Nessa tossed several fries into her mouth, chewing them thoughtfully. “Gee, thanks, Mum. I know it can't be that; maybe I'm just coming down with something."

  "Only you would punish yourself by coming into work sick.” Darren stuck his fork into his salad.

  "Well, I don't want to stick around the apartment in case idiot Larry turns up; I got rid of his junk only yesterday."

  Darren chuckled. “Took you long enough. So, is it in a pile outside the apartment?"

  "And litter Sydney with more useless junk? Please, I like to think of myself as an environmentalist; it's in the dumpster out back."

  Darren studied her for a brief moment. “You're looking kind of pale, honey. Maybe you should go home.” He slipped a fork full of tuna into his mouth.

  Nessa licked the sauce off her fingers. She and Darren had been friends for six years and counting, ever since Nessa got her job in Medical Records, otherwise known as “the dungeon” of the hospital. Darren, a nurse in the ER department, strode in with a pile of records for her to file. He quickly picked up on her quirky sense of humor, and she made instant friends with the seriously gay nurse. Ever since, they shared many ups and downs, date disasters, girls’ nights in and out on the town—after all, they both had similar taste in men.

  "Maybe I should just give up on men altogether
and buy myself a cat.” She sighed.

  "Don't you bloody well dare. I'm allergic to cats."

  "No, you're not."

  "Oh yes, I am—I'm especially allergic to single women with cats.” Darren dodged the chip Nessa threw at him. “I haven't given up on love yet, and I'm not about to let you give up either."

  Nessa smiled fondly at her friend. “Thanks, Darren. What would I do without you?"

  The two friends finished their usual lunchtime break before heading back to their designated workstations.

  "Back to the dungeon again.” Nessa sighed, fatigue setting in.

  "Nurse Manny is off again—I have to work a double tonight."

  "No rest for the wicked, eh? I'll see you tomorrow, then?” Nessa turned, and a sudden wave of dizziness hit her. “Darren!” she managed to croak out before her view of the world tilted, descending into darkness.

  "Am I in Hell?” Nessa cracked her eyes open, seeing Darren's worried face hovering above her.

  "If Hell is Mercy Hospital ER, then sure, honey."

  "What happened?"

  "Casper has nothing on how white you went before taking a vertical nap. You've been out for a good hour and the docs have run a few tests. I told them you were stressed from a recent break-up, but, Nessa, they found something else, as well."

  Nessa swallowed with sudden worry. “Please tell me they found out I was switched at birth and I'm really the daughter of a wealthy billionaire."

  "If only we were all that lucky. Nessa, there's no easy way to tell you and better coming from me, than Dr. Deranged out there."

  "Will you just tell me?"

  "Honey, you're pregnant."

  "Pregnant?” Nessa repeated, as if she hadn't heard the word in her life before.

  "Yes, you're pregnant."