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  To think, humans had given him the only useful thing.

  Even that fool Fontaine had been useless, though what he’d learned about controlling the shades was something he was able to incorporate into his plan.

  What most people—supernaturals included—didn’t know, was that sorcerers weren’t just born from any old demon, oh no. A sorcerer was only born between the mating of a human and an upper level demon. And every so often, that sorcerer would inherit some of the abilities of said demon.

  And as it turned out—his upper level demon mother was called the Mother of Shades. She was the source of all shades—very own little demon slave pets—and it was only by a stroke of sheer luck that he managed to inherit a portion of her ability to control them.

  Granted, the constant effort required to control them was exhausting, and every so often one of them would break free from his control to wreak a little havoc on the shifters down below.

  But that wouldn’t be a problem much longer. Not now that he’d found his precious phoenix shifter.

  His skin tingled in delight as he imagined how quickly they would bring the world to its knees, his lovely little phoenix and him. He could almost feel the power of her fires, and his mind filled with images of her phoenix filling the machine, and all the wonderful, mindless shifter slaves it would produce.

  He was downright giddy with joy.

  Skipping a few steps, he made his way down the empty corridors of the castle he owned in the north of France. He’d gone to great lengths to hide it from any and all eyes, making it seem abandoned. Little did they know, he had filled it to the brim with supernaturals of all species for years. There was nothing much of it—after all, between himself and a bunch of shades, how much did they really need?—save for a few pieces of furniture and long table that served as his work station in what he called his lab.

  He began to whistle as he approached the locked room at the end of a particularly long hallway, and, reaching out with his empty hand, he placed a single finger on the hole of the round lock holding the door in place.

  A sharp prick bit into his finger before the lock released.

  Another little trick he’d picked up from man—using DNA mixed with machines and a dab of magic. It was genius, if he did say so himself.

  Which he did.

  Pushing the door open, he continued whistling as he waved a hand, magically commanding the unlit torches to burst into flame.

  Okay, yes, he was all about machinery these days, but he was also a sucker for tradition, and nothing screamed traditional world-conqueror like torches in a castle.

  He smiled brightly at the limp form curled up in black vines on the floor at the far wall. Striding across the room, he leaned over the dark head of ragged hair.

  “My, my. You don’t look so good, teacher.”

  Dark eyes peered up at him through the shaggy hair, filled with hatred and loathing.

  “Well that’s not way to look at your student, and future ruler. If I choose to let you live, which, as of yet, I remained undecided on.”

  “Former.” The man on the floor rasped out of a tightening throat as the thorns along the black vines dug into his skin, creating little rivulets of blood that streamed down his neck.

  “What was that?”

  The man coughed harshly. “I said…former. You’re my former student.”

  Alekter’s eye twitched. Reaching back as far as he could, he flung his hand forward, slapping the man so hard he flew back into the wall behind him. The sound of flesh hitting flesh, and then flesh hitting stone, was endlessly gratifying.

  He would be lying if he said he didn’t get off on it.

  “Now, Daromir. That was rude, opening up an old wound like that. You know how much your abandonment hurt me.”

  “There was never anything to hurt. You’ve always been empty.”

  Alekter rolled his eyes to the ceiling, very much like a parent trying to figure out how to deal with a wayward child. “You really shouldn’t be so cruel. Did you ever think that maybe it was you who made me this way? Maybe if you were more emotionally available, I’d have been different. Did you ever think of that?”

  “No.”

  Sighing heavily, Alekter crouched down in front of Daromir. “Of course not. Typical, selfish Daromir. Always thinking of yourself.”

  Daromir remained silent.

  “Doesn’t matter. Nothing you can say will bring me down from the pure joy I’m riding on. You see, I’ve finally found it. The missing piece to my most vexing puzzle. And to think, you had her hidden this whole time.”

  Daromir’s shoulders stiffened, and he looked at Alekter for the first time with real fear.

  “Ah, yes, that’s right. I found your little phoenix. Now, the real fun can begin. And you get to have a front row seat for the entire show.”

  The End

  Keep reading for the first chapter of Angel Eyes by D.S. O’Neill available now.

  Angel Eyes Description

  My name is Ria. Like Leah, but with an R? My life is pretty normal, I guess. I’m a waitress at the one and only Mexican restaurant in my tiny little no-Starbuck’s town, I live in a fairly typical studio apartment, and I people watch at the local bar in my spare time.

  Well, I guess normal isn’t quite the right word. After all, normal people can’t control other people’s emotions with just a touch. Tantalizing pleasure, exhilarating joy, even paralyzing fear—I can make you feel it all, or I can take it all away. Drain you of every single emotion.

  I try really hard not to, though. Normal, remember?

  But things start to go from almost normal to straight-up bizarre when not one, but four insanely gorgeous men stumble into my life. And if you thought I wasn’t normal, these guys have me beat any day.

  They aren’t even human.

  A slow burn reverse harem fantasy romance.

  Angel Eyes Chapter 1

  "Punta gorda..."

  Ria's lips pursed together in a desperate struggle to hold back the smirk threatening to flash across her face. "Which one? The one whose neck is so big it looks like she's choking on an entire lemon?"

  Ria's closest attempt at a friend, Marta, huffed an affirmation. "Damn lady says the sauce is too spicy. She ORDERED spicy. Said, directly to my face, 'I want the spicy sauce on the enchilada'. I knew that gringa could never handle the spicy red sauce." She wiped a quick hand over her forehead, brushing back the miscreant strands of her deep brown bangs she insisted on getting without considering the repercussions as a waitress.

  With another frustrated sigh, she plopped the plate of unwanted enchiladas on the pick-up counter of La Rosa, the one and only Mexican restaurant in the tiny little no-Starbuck's town they both called home. While Ria had only called the podunk town home for just under four months, Marta Castellanos was lucky enough to be considered an official staple by the locals. Actually, she pretty much was a local, and damn if she would take any shit from the gringas and gringos that rolled through town on their way from one big city to another, thinking it would be so quaint to stop through like the stereotypical tourists they refused to lay claim to being. Not that Ria could really blame them--Marta had, after all, insisted on buying a massive sign just outside of town boasting of their 100% authentic Mexican food, the only to be found in a roughly 700 mile radius in any direction. Those stuck up tourists were Marta's bread and butter. Not that the locals didn't also enjoy it; there simply were not enough locals to put Marta's three boys through college. And those boys were going to college, especially if Marta had anything to do with it. Which, of course, she did.

  "Well next time stop making delicious enchiladas and chimichangas. You've only yourself to blame," Ria responded sarcastically, throwing a grin in Marta's direction to lessen the blow of her sometimes too spot-on sarcasm.

  Marta didn't seem impressed. "No, hija, I'll never in my life make an enchilada that is not perfection. Speaking of, do you want this enchilada? I can'
t stomach the thought of throwing a perfectly good meal away."

  "No, I already had an entire plate of Papa's taquitos, so I'm fuckin' stuffed." Ria ducked the oncoming swat from Marta meant to dissuade her from the usual f-word she threw into nearly every sentence like seasoning on fajitas. "But I'll pack it up in a to-go box and give it to Eddy on the corner. He always looks like he could use a meal."

  "That's because he can, the pobrecito," Marta agreed solemnly, referencing the chronically homeless man who always sat on the corner down the street from La Rosa. "Pack some extra guacamole in there--he loves it."

  Forty-five minutes later and Ria found herself waving goodbye to Rosa as she threw on her parka and made her way out the door and down the street. Her tiny and albeit rather rundown studio apartment was only a 15 minute walk from La Rosa, allowing her a brief spot of time to enjoy the deep evergreen trees that nearly overran her small town. Meandering down the street, she quickly spotted Eddy in his usual spot under the streetlamp, huddled down in his old, stained wool coat he consistently refused to part with. It seemed no matter how horribly it smelled or how wet it became, he would never allow the ratty piece of cloth to finally be ritually burned like it deserved. In fact, the mere mention of replacing it with something newer and warmer nearly brought him into a fit of psychosis.

  Ria's steps momentarily faltered as a flash of childhood memory lit into her mind of her biological father, Jeremiah, with his face contorted into an expression of pure terror as he clutched a scrap piece of fabric in his hands. She had been only a few short steps from the garbage, prepared to dispose of the piece of trash like a good girl, because good girls help daddy keep everything picked up, right? Oh, how wrong she was, and to this day, she couldn't understand why that stained piece of cotton had held so much importance to her father. Of course, her counselors tried to explain to her many times that it wasn't the fabric itself, it was the fact that her father was not of sound mind. It was Schizophrenia. She learned that word at a very young age after hearing it thrown around by her social services case manager. He was insane, believing he heard the voices of angels as he tried so desperately to follow the commands he believed they would bestow upon him. Commands such as 'bathe your child seven times a day, because seven is a holy number, and your child is unholy'.

  He said she was unholy. His words, forever printed in the papers of her CPS folder. She could still hear him screaming those words, the sound echoing down the halls of the Department of Social Services as she was led away.

  Suppose she couldn't blame him. After all, when at the tender age of 2 she managed to briefly remove his mental pain with only the touch of her hand, who could say anything about that was normal? Or healthy? Or... not evil?

  With a small shake of her head, Ria plastered on a bright smile as she approached Eddy. "Hey, Eddy, what's going on? How's business? Been good today?" She slowly lowered herself to a crouched position and placed the to-go box of tasty enchiladas in front of the ragged man.

  A pair of glassy brown eyes drifted up to her face. "Oh, you know... doin' okay. Made thirty-six bucks this afternoon. ‘Bout to head down to the shelter, see if they got my bed open." The St. Mary's homeless shelter made it a habit to keep a bed open just for him, seeing as how he was basically a regular customer. At least on the nights he wasn't sleeping off a drunken stupor in the county jail. Damn, she really hoped that money wasn’t about to go to another bottle of vodka.

  “Well, Marta wanted me drop this off for ya. It’s got extra guacamole on it. She knows you love their guacamole.” Ria motioned towards the box before standing back up, pulling her parka hood tighter over her head to keep out the light mist that had begun to fall from the sky. Hopefully she would have time to drop by her favorite wind-down joint before it really began to pour.

  Eddy eyed the box of food before gradually lifting his hand to reach for it. A ghost of a frown travelled is face as his eyebrows drew together. “She’s so good to me, that Marta. I asked her to marry me once, you know… before I was… like this.” His throat worked hard as he seemed to choke back tears. “If only I were a little… better, ya know? Just… MORE…” He coughed and sniffed at the same time, sounding something like a dog trying to bark but whose vocal chords had been removed. The thought made Ria shudder, and she awkwardly gripped her hands together in front of her.

  Seeing Eddy, broken and weeping before her, she couldn’t help but feel her heart aching in her chest. Before the thought had even registered in her mind she found herself reaching out and placing a small, delicate hand lightly on Eddy’s shoulder. With a steadying breath, she reached out with her heart and pulled.

  The sensation was as instantly unsettling as it always was, not that she did this often for fear of exposure as the “unholy” thing she was. It was like a cold ache spreading from her fingers, up her arm, and gradually into the center of her chest. She immediately tucked it away in the little space inside her chest she reserved for the negative emotions she occasionally gleaned from other people. She wasn’t too sure what happened to it after that, whether it just sat there or whether perhaps it was somehow cleansed into good, useful energy, but she never seemed to have to worry about it causing negative consequences. And to be honest, she didn’t particularly care to dwell on it either. She just took it as the one good thing she could do for people and left it at that.

  The effect on Eddy was visual. His shoulders began to loosen and his breathing slowly evened out. Tilting his head back slightly, he let out a deep sigh, as if the weight of the world had been stripped away from him, leaving only a feeling of airy lightness. It wasn’t an expression of happiness, per se, but more a look of simple contentment. Which, in Ria’s mind, was far better than happiness anyway. Happiness was fleeting, like a flakey roommate who always stayed out with her boyfriend and never paid their half of the rent on time. Not that she even had experience with a roommate, but she figured that must be an accurate comparison.

  “I guess I better be heading home,” Ria stuttered awkwardly, hoping beyond hope that Eddy wouldn’t notice the slight change in her voice. “And you should probably get to St. Mary’s before they close their doors.”

  Eddy grinned up at Ria like a mischievous child. “They’d never close their doors to me. They love me.” With that, he heaved his slight frame up off the ground and, to-go box in hand, began to make his way through town to the shelter. “God bless you, Arianne. You certainly deserve it.”

  Huh, Ria thought to herself bitterly. I doubt that.

  Jumping up on the last barstool on the right side of the bar, directly next to the wall so there was only one stool left to defend against the odd creeper, Ria shoved a tired hand through her long, auburn locks. Using her “abilities”, for lack of a better word, always left her feeling kinda shakey and queasy. Like when a person goes too long without eating and finds themselves in desperate need of crackers or toast.

  One deep breath and the average, sane person would turn right around and leave that bar in the dust. Hell, they wouldn’t even need to get to that point—one glance and most people turn tail and run. But not Ria. It wasn’t necessarily that The Dive (yes, the bar was honest-to-God called The Dive) had any redeeming drinks or appetizers or even employees. In fact, the employees were pretty much all sluts or assholes. It was simply the fact that Ria could sit back in relative anonymity and watch the odd assortment of people trudge themselves into the bar and order a beer like it was the last drink they would ever have. You had the men in their mid-forties who were miserable with their wives, who in turn were probably equally miserable with their husbands. You had a few town drunks who had no family (or money) to their name at all. There were also the young ones in their early 20’ s who were still trying to get the “let’s get drunk every night” out of their system. Then you would occasionally get the drifter who thought it would be neat (or maybe cheap?) to drop by a bar called the Dive. You know—just to see if it really lived up to its name. It also happened to be the only b
ar bar in town, as every other drinking establishment came attached to a restaurant with far too many people who would know your name and run away to tattle to mom or wife or whoever. All of this, for some odd reason, was refreshing for Ria to observe, as if the opportunity to witness someone else fuck up their life made her feel as though her own personal fuck up’s were just… normal. Like she was normal.

  “Hey… you seem kinda young t’be in a place like dis,” a slurred voice drifted over Ria’s shoulder, the smell wafting with it one step below repugnant, if that were possible. This wasn’t an unusual occurrence for Ria, seeing as how her hourglass figure, creamy skin, and thick dark-red hair were basically honey for the male gender. However, unusual or not, this was a situation that Ria had little to no patience for.

  “Yup.”

  A heavy body plopped down in the barstool immediately to her left and the overwhelming smell of stale beer and onions (ugh, ONIONS) increased to nearly unbearable. “Thas’ okay. You’re still legal, right?”

  Ria’s skin nearly crawled right off her body at that not-so-subtle proposition. “Okay, first of all, ew. Still legal? That’s disgusting, bruh. Second of all… ew. And in conclusion—EW.” Brushing her hand over her shoulder as if she could brush away the offending body invading her space, she turned herself firmly away from the man she had yet to even fully observe.

  “Hey, now, thas’ not nice, Offender-in-Chief grumbled drunkenly as he attempted to lean further into her personal bubble. “You should be nice. Din’t your mom eva tell you is’ rude to be… uh… rude?”

  Don’t make me bust out my super-shit on you, fucker, Ria warned inwardly as she leaned all the way into the wall, trying desperately to escape the pathetic excuse for a male. “Look, here’s the thing—I’m really not interested. Not trying to be rude, but I’m just… not. In fact, I’m not interested in anyone. It’s not you in particular--” It’s totally you in particular, you disgusting douchenozzle. “—it’s men in general. So please, let me enjoy my peace.” Crossing her arms tightly over her chest, she attempted to physically restrain herself from turning her ability from a blessing—like with Eddy—into a terrible, heart-wrenching curse. I don’t want to, but I swear to every god in existence, if you don’t leave me the fuck alone, I will make you feel every fear you’ve ever felt in your entire existence compounded into one, single moment. Just. Try. Me. Me.