Stormwind (The Storm Chronicles Book 3)

The right of Skye Knizley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him/her in accordance with the Copyright,

Designs and Patents Act 1988.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it was published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, items, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design by:

Vivid Designs.

Edited by:

Elizabeth A. Lance

Formatted by:

Inkstain Interior Book Designing

Copyright© Skye Knizley 2014

Raven Storm™ and The Storm Chronicles™ are trademarks of Skye Knizley

All rights reserved.

v a m p t a s y  p u b l i s h i n g

www.vamptasy.com

To Jamie—

for not killing me.

Forget what you think you know about the world. There is another world, a world where true evil exists, lurking in the darkness. Vampires, Lycans, Demons, the Bogeyman and all the other things that go bump in the night walk among you, rub shoulders with you…and feed on you.

I'm something different. I was born to a pureblood vampire and a human man. I have a vampire’s strength and abilities and almost none of their weaknesses. They call me Dhampyr, or day walker. And that's when they're being nice.

I'm a police detective for the Chicago Police, Homicide Division. This is my city. When darkness comes crawling out of the pit, I’m the one who sends it screaming back to hell.

I am the Night.

I am Raven Storm.

A LONE FIGURE DRESSED IN black leather pants and a dark green blouse stood atop the Second Presbyterian church, her flame-red hair streaming in the spring wind blowing in from the west.  She held her silver Automag in her hand and watched the distant thunderstorm roll toward Chicago. Lightning crackled inside the purple and black clouds and she could feel the electricity teasing along her skin even at this distance. The sensation made her shiver involuntarily and she stared a moment longer. She didn't like portents or drama. They complicated her already complex life and this one felt like it was somehow going to be a royal pain in the ass.

Raven Storm sighed and crouched, peering into the dark alley below. In the gloom of the oncoming storm she could see only shadows. She closed her eyes; when she opened them emerald orbs had become the feral slits of a master vampire. Through the twilight she could see the blue and red image of Rupert Levac crouching in the shadows behind a dumpster. His beige trench coat hung around him like an old rag, his tie flapped in the wind and she could smell the mustard and old food wrappers in his pockets even this far away. But his new ten millimeter Colt was in his hand and he was ready to back her play, as always.

Across the street she could make out their suspect, Jammer Creed. He was a rail thin man with almost unnaturally long arms. He sported a green Mohawk and wore a yellow motorcycle jacket under which Raven knew he’d hidden a pair of wickedly curved knives he'd been using to butcher helpless young women for the last two weeks.  Levac had fit the last piece of the puzzle onto the murder board just an hour before.

Creed was leaning against the wall of the subway stairs, no doubt waiting for his next victim. He wasn't called the Metro Murderer for nothing; he stalked and killed his victims on empty subway cars. He must have seen something he liked because a smile appeared beneath his hooked nose and he turned, disappearing down the steps into the station.

Raven dropped off the roof to land with panther-like grace a few steps behind Levac. He glanced back at her and made a face.

“I hate it when you do that,” he said. “Can’t you just take the stairs like everyone else?”

“Stairs are slow and we have work to do,” Raven replied, stepping into the light. “I’m not letting Creed get away again.”

The pair crossed between traffic, their sidearms barely noticeable in the oncoming gloom. Raven motioned with one hand for Levac to take the entrance to their right while she ran lightly down the stairs to the left.

The platform below was crowded with people on their way home; the sounds of cell phones and iPods mingled with the electric crackle of the distant train and made a symphony only Beethoven could have enjoyed.

Raven moved cautiously through the crowd, searching for her suspect. She moved with unconscious grace, stepping past people without jostling them or bringing attention to herself or her weapon.

On the far side of the platform she spotted a green Mohawk; Creed was stalking a blonde teenager who was standing at the edge of the platform, earbuds in her ears, oblivious to everything except her music.

Raven moved faster, pushing past people as politely and quietly as possible. Something gave her away however, and Creed turned to look at her, his wide grin in place. He acknowledged Raven with a wink and then began pushing his way through the crowd, shoving people aside with wanton disregard for anyone but himself.

Raven raised her Automag and yelled, “Chicago Police, everyone get down!”

The crowd around her spread out or hit the deck, giving her a clear line of fire on the retreating Mohawk. She aimed the Automag one-handed, her vision narrowing to the retreating killer’s head. She was about to squeeze the trigger when Creed grabbed a small girl still in pigtails away from her mother and threw her onto the tracks. By some miracle the girl didn’t land on the third rail, but she’d been injured by the fall; Raven could hear the child crying for help.

Raven snarled at Creed, who gave her a jaunty wave, and jumped down onto the rails. The girl, no more than seven or eight years old, had broken her leg and was writhing in pain, her blonde pigtails mere inches from the third rail.

“Come on, kid!” Raven said, glancing at the lights of the oncoming train.

She picked the girl up and held her tight. When she turned she realized the train was moving much faster than she’d thought; it was almost on top of her and far too close to make an escape look anything other than miraculous.

Without hesitation Raven tossed the girl up to some men waiting on the edge of the platform.  They hauled the child to safety just as the train hit Raven with a sound like silly-putty on a wall…

RAVEN GROANED IN PAIN AND held onto the front of the train car for dear life.

“Now I know how
Indiana Jones
felt,” she muttered, watching the tracks whip by only a few inches from her buttocks.

She hauled herself up until she could grab the chains that kept anyone from walking out the front door. When she reached the top she pulled herself over and flopped onto the steel landing like a beached fish. She rested a moment on the small step then tested the door leading into the train. The lock gave way under her strength and she stepped through into a thankfully empty car, grateful that the driver hadn’t seen her. She paused and pulled various bones back into place, biting her lip to keep from crying out in agony. She dropped to her knees when she was through and let her body take over. Bones knit, organs repaired themselves and in a few moments she was able to breathe a sigh of relief. She stood and staggered toward the back of the car, knowing she would need claret before the day was out. Using her powers always took a toll, a toll that had to be paid in blood or her body would begin to feed on itself.

She pushed through the next car and smiled at the handful of passengers on their way home. None of them paid her or her torn blouse any heed and she passed through the car without incident, entering the third and last car without looking back.  Raven closed the door behind her and turned to look at a collection of blank faces all staring at her. Alarm bells went off in her head and she gazed back, her eyes moving from face to impassive face. She saw what she was looking for about halfway down the car. Raven smiled at the nearest passengers and began moving through the train, stepping around the commuters as if nothing was wrong. When she reached a small group of leather-jacketed thugs in the middle of the car she stopped and grabbed a handrail, having picked out the largest of the men as being the leader.

“Those are pretty gang colors you’re wearing,” she said. “It’s a little warm in here for a motorcycle jacket, don’t you think?”

The man sneered and looked Raven in the eyes. “You’re one to talk. Nice pants, Chica.”

Raven made a face and let go of the rail. “You know, ordinarily I would do the whole banter thing with you, be all witty and subtly find out that you’re trying to rob the folks on this train. It would be very entertaining and you would probably insult me seventeen times before I crushed your face. But I’m in a hurry so do you think you could speed this up?”

The gang leader frowned. “Whatchu talking ‘bout, Puta?”

“I’m talking about all the frightened people staring at you like deer in the headlights, the Glock in your waistband and the idiot behind me who thinks I don’t know he has a knife in his hand, pendejo,” Raven replied. “I’m Detective Raven Storm of the Chicago police. Do you want to drop the nine mil and give up now or are we doing this the hard way?”

The ganger’s eyes widened and he pulled the pistol from his waistband. Raven moved with lightning speed; she grabbed the ganger’s gun and directed his first three shots into the knife wielder who had been standing behind her. The copper-jacketed slugs caught him in the chest and sent him sprawling to the floor, out of the fight and possibly out of this world. She then jerked the gun from the gang leader’s hand, her other hand pulling him face first into the metal pole he’d been using as a handrail. His nose cracked like an old egg and he howled in pain. Raven shoved him away and threw the Glock at the face of the next ganger while punching the fourth, knocking out two of his teeth.

In the space of a few heartbeats all four gang members were out of the fight. Raven zip-tied the living ones to one of the handrails and muttered, “Why do they always pick the hard way?”

She slid the Glock into her waistband and turned to the applause of the passengers.

“Is everyone okay?” she asked over the din.

There was a general chorus of “Yes,” and “thank you,” and Raven smiled.

“I’m glad I could drop in. I hate to run, but there’s a murdering scumbag getting away. Do me a favor and hand these bozos over to the transit cops at the next stop.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She spun on her heel and stepped out of the train and onto the rear platform. From there she could see Chicago speeding by at forty miles an hour, the station she’d chased Creed through now several miles away. She swore under her breath and vaulted the railing to fall between the slats supporting the rails and dropped seventy feet to the ground. A few minutes later she was racing across town on a borrowed Kawasaki Ninja, her vampire eyes glowing with anger and determination.

Her phone rang as she weaved through an intersection, narrowly missing several cars. Once clear she pressed the stud on the Bluetooth in her ear.

“Storm.”

“Ray? Where the hell are you?” Levac asked. “Witnesses say you saved a kid named Melissa Webb and got hit by a train!”

Raven guided the bike around a slow moving Mercedes and accelerated down a narrow alleyway. “That’s more or less right. I’m going to need some of our stash when we catch up. Where’s Creed?”

“He’s on a bike heading toward Old Town,” Levac replied. “I’m chasing him in the Bass but…”

Raven paled. “Why aren’t you in the Nash?”

“The Bass was closer,” Levac replied.

“Keep an eye on him, but don’t take any chances!” Raven said, accelerating even more.

“Trust me, I’m a professional,” Levac replied.

Raven ended the call and swerved into traffic on Clybourne Street, the fastest way to Old Town. The Ninja hugged the centerline and Raven leaned down over the handlebars, giving the bike as much speed as she dared. Several times she swerved into oncoming traffic to avoid slower moving vehicles only to veer back at the last moment, narrowly avoiding being crushed by oncoming cars.

Seconds ticked by and sweat ran down her back in spite of the chill wind. She didn’t know if she was more concerned about Levac, the car or Creed getting away.

Raven gritted her teeth and kept the throttle twisted as far as it would go. The Ninja’s engine whined in protest, but kept going and soon she saw the unmistakable black shape of her Bass 770, police lights flashing. Not too far ahead of the Bass was a pink Suzuki Hayabusa racing motorcycle, Creed visible in the saddle.

The Hayabusa passed under a green light, grabbing air as it headed down the alley on the opposite side. Levac and the Bass pursued, entering the intersection at breakneck speed. Raven saw it all happen as if in slow motion. A box truck laden with booze rumbled through the intersection and hit the Bass broadside. The Bass spun out of control into a retaining wall and rolled onto its side, smoke pouring from beneath the hood.

Raven felt rage rise behind her eyes; her familiar was in pain. She choked it down and skidded to a halt next to the ruined car. Already onlookers were gathering and the truck driver was approaching, jabbering into a cell phone.

“Detective Storm, Chicago Police,” Raven snarled at the crowd. “Back off and find something useful to do!”

The crowd, though affected by Raven’s tone only backed away to a safe distance. Raven ignored them, slowing only to pluck the cell phone from the truck driver’s hand and fling it at the wall with all her strength. The phone shattered into a thousand pieces that fell like black snow around her as she climbed up her destroyed car. Levac was belted inside, unconscious, but otherwise unharmed.

“Oi You! That was my phone!” the driver yelled from somewhere behind her.

Raven glanced at him then looked back into her car. “This was my car and my partner in pursuit of a fugitive under full lights and sirens. You, sir are guilty of a Class D Misdemeanor for failing to yield to a police vehicle. If you want to try for a felony, keep talking.”