New World Order

  New World Order

  Crimson Shadow

  Nathan Squiers

  Copyright © 2020 Nathan Squiers

  Published by Literary Dark Duo Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Cover art by Rebecca Frank @ Bewitching Book Covers

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

  “When the suicide arrived at the sky, the people there asked him: “Why?”

  He replied: “Because no one admired me.”

  Stephen Crane (1871-1900)

  “To live is to suffer,

  to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.”

  Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1990)

  PROLOGUE

  Like A Dream Come True

  Xander can’t help but feel like he’s in a dream; in a perfect dream.

  It is so beautiful.

  She is so beautiful.

  Estella, skin like a flawless pearl and eyes glimmering like an exotic sea, approaches him; her steps slow, methodic. Perfect. A parted sea of friends and family sit on either side of her path, most of their eyes shimmering with the threat of tears as she passes. She draws nearer. Her smile grows as she does. It is hidden behind a veil the color of the sky reflected off a glittering snowcapped mountain, but Xander sees that smile all the same. Like it always does, it makes him smile back.

  Seeing her son’s lips draw upward in response to the sight of his soon-to-be bride, a sob that only half-disguises itself as a cry of joy slips past Emily Stryker’s lips. Xander, in an impossible feat of strength, tears his gaze from Estella and catches sight of his mother—sad-eyed and lips parted in a smile of intense and impossible joy—just as his father, Joseph, drapes a comforting arm over his own wife’s shoulder. As the two Stryker men’s eyes meet, a silent moment of prideful exchanges pass:

  You did good, son; found a real angel with her.

  Thanks, Dad—for everything, Xander says through the connection, then, to himself, he thinks, It pays to have a psychic father.

  Behind Joseph, grinning knowingly and patting him on the shoulder, is Depok. Beside him on his right is Marcus; Stan on his left, closest to the aisle. Most of this row—the groom’s row—is nonhuman colleagues with the Odin Clan and a handful of Xander’s closest friends, mythos and human alike. Compared to this row, however, the opposite set of seats—assigned to friends and family of the bride—is occupied by far more humans. There’d been an inside joke between Xander and his father earlier that the doorman could easily identify which side a newcomer would be seated at by checking what sort of teeth they had.

  It was, admittedly, a lame joke, since both Xander and Joseph could easily pass for humans, as well.

  As far as anybody who wasn’t a mythos was concerned, however, everyone in that room was one-and-the-same species: a “fact” that Xander, his father, and many of the others in attendance worked hard to maintain.

  That a second Stryker in just as many generations was marrying a human—that a second Stryker had exposed the truth to a human—is the reason for the two scowling faces in the back of the room. Though the Stryker family and the Odin Clan has assured The Council that such a step is unnecessary, the two hybrid vampires—armed with the assets of both sangs and aurics as well as a set of silenced Berettas and serrated blades—represent the closest thing to an agreement.

  An agreement that almost everyone on the groom’s side of the room shared an eye roll over.

  Estella had been among the eye rollers, but now, stepping past Stan and still wearing the ever-growing smile, she shows no sign of irritation at the armed vampires overseeing the ceremony. Catching her once again in his gaze, Xander watches as his soon-to-be bride offers his sobbing mother a reassuring smile. Her chin dips in the slightest of nods, and Emily stifles another cry—the sad sounds never reaching her joyful expression—and, beaming a loving smile at her, brings the fingers of her right hand to her lips to blow her soon-to-be daughter-in-law a kiss. Estella, without breaking stride, makes no effort to hide the gesture as she mime-catches the airborne love and presses it to the modest dip where her chest disappears under her gown. Xander can’t help himself, and he lingers on the sight of the bride’s cleavage, a tantalizing view on any occasion. It’s too perfect to not appreciate at this moment.

  Estella catches him looking.

  Seeing without seeing—thanks for the mind’s eye, Dad—Xander sees a dark eyebrow arch over sparkling blue eyes behind the mist of Estella’s veil. There’s no frown accompanying the gesture. Instead, Xander sees, with his eyes this time, the curvature of Estella’s breasts swell beneath her gown as she puffs out her chest for him. Already past the final row of seats, the display goes unnoticed by all except Xander and Father Tennesen, whose aura shifts but remains otherwise silent about it.

  The old priest, who is standing before them not because of his role with the church but because of his friendship with the Strykers and, through them, his ongoing relationship with the Odin Clan. He calls himself an exorcist—off the record, of course—and, though he’s accepted there’s plenty he doesn’t know, what he does know has proven useful more than enough in the past. Today, however, his knowledge and his power aren’t what matters; he’s here to lead the service and marry the two.

  And, apparently, stealing an eyeful of Estella’s cleavage as she presents it to her soon-to-be husband. Xander could roast a marshmallow on the flare of Father Tennesen’s blush, which he needs neither his eyes nor his mind’s eye to know is there. His grin widens, unable to even feel jealous at that moment.

  Manipulative little minx, he speaks without speaking, sending the taunt directly into her mind.

  But something in that doesn’t sound right in his head…

  A shrug so subtle that nobody else would notice—save for the minister, perhaps—tugs at the left edge of her gown, and her smile grows. A twinge of rapacious mischief presents itself behind her eyes; laced throughout her swimming aura.

  It’s like she’s put him under a spell—intoxicated him with some sort of enchantment—and Xander almost—almost!—forgets that his soon-to-be wife, this beautiful, glowing bride of his, does not know how to use magic. She’d always expressed an interest in his and his father’s abilities after he’d confessed the truth to her; after he’d confessed that he was an auric vampire. His mother and father had both been present for that conversation, Joseph feeling it was only right that he oversee the exchange—it was a touchy matter, after all; opening up to a human—and Emily, a human who’d once been on the receiving end of that same conversation with her own husband, felt it only right that Estella have a kindred spirit present. When he’d finally told her, however, she’d surprised all three of them with two words:

  “I know.”

  She hadn’t known. Not really. She’d had suspicions, and with these she’d formed theories. And while none of these were necessarily on the mark—“my boyfriend is a vampire who feeds on psychic energy,” was, understandably, not an immediate go-to hypothesis in most cases—she was open-minded enough to bridge the possibilities she’d been working on to the eventual truth.
>
  With the family secret out, Estella became aware of one of the greatest secrets the world over: that of mythos, of nonhuman creatures that fed on the life-force of others, changed their shape, and wielded deadly powers of speed and strength and magic. Being aware did not mean being afraid, however, and Xander came to find that, while not interested in the gory, violent details of his and his father’s outings, she was intrigued by the things he could do with his aura. Though not magic in the traditional sense, his ability to move things with his aura—the energy field he could manipulate as easily as any limb but unseen by her eyes—and read minds seemed no different to her than a show she might have seen on a stage or, as she preferred to say, the magnificent things that the wizards of her favorite books and movies could accomplish. She’d often tease him by calling him “Gandalf” or “Dumbledore,” stating that he should consider growing a long, gangly beard. He didn’t bother to mention that such things would look foolish when he and his father went out to gun down rogues or investigate supernatural happenings. And while she never ceased to be amused by Xander’s “magic,” she never wanted to know how it was done or whether or not she could learn.

  “The only reason I would ever want to do such things,” she’d explained on one of the occasions he’d offered to teach her, “would be to help you.” Then, framing him with her fingers, she’d added, “But between you and your father basically being superheroes, I think I’d be happier having my own private magic show and not having the tricks spoiled.”

  Admittedly, Xander didn’t need any help when it came to being protected. Between the weapons and combat training he’d gone through with his father and the support of the mythos clan that Joseph had helped build, there were few threats that couldn’t be faced. Despite all her interest, it appeared that, without an immediate threat to Xander to motivate her, Estella was fine with living her life never learning the arts.

  Then why do I keep wanting to say ‘witch’? Xander thinks, catching himself as a frown begins to birth itself across his face.

  His chest aches, a deep, breath-robbing sense. Like his lungs…

  Oh fuck! he thinks. They broke my ribs!

  Then, as the pain subsides and his breath comes back to him, he suddenly wonders what he was thinking.

  Who’s ‘they’? he wonders, And why can’t I stop thinking ‘witch’?

  The two Council guards shift uncomfortably in the back, making no effort to hide the widening gate of their stances or, despite being in control of them, the aggressive flaring of their auras. Xander sees without seeing as one of them sets a rough, twitchy hand on the hard area over his suit jacket. He doesn’t need his mind’s eye to know there’s a gun waiting there.

  The other guard makes no move short of widening his stance, but Xander thinks he sees his aura snap out and—

  “Hey,” Estella’s voice is more of a subtle breeze as she breathes out the word. She’s made it to Xander’s side while he was…

  What had he been thinking?

  Embarrassed, realizing he’d let his mind wander without having a single viable thought to show for it, he blushes, blinking—awestruck—at the beauty before him.

  Estella.

  His Estella.

  Estella Edash…

  Soon to be Estella Stryk—

  “This… this isn’t…” Xander’s whisper trails off as he tries to decide how best to say that he’s thought this before—done this before—and he’s distantly aware that the guard’s aura is—

  Don’t fight it.

  The words come into his head so easily that Xander’s almost positive they were his own thoughts, but why would he—

  The guard…

  “Hey,” Estella’s voice is more of a subtle breeze as she breathes out the word. She’s made it to Xander’s side while he was lost in thought.

  Random thoughts.

  Nothing important.

  Xander shifts, discomforted by this. Letting his mind drift today of all days? A part of him—a part he’s not familiar with and, therefore, unprepared to mentally cope with—flares up with an intense fury. Plenty of times before, during clan missions and outings with his father, he’s felt anger and, yes, even rage towards his enemies—enemies who meant great harm to others—and, channeling it, he had destroyed them.

  Now, however, thinking thoughts—random thoughts; unimportant thoughts; thoughts that make him feel… wrong—during his wedding day turns that rage inward.

  How dare he spoil his and Estella’s wedding, if even only in his mind!

  Self-loathing is a foreign feeling to Xander, yet it carries with it a strange, almost comforting sense of déjà vu. He can’t be sure how or why, but hating himself for spoiling this perfect moment feels…

  Real.

  Xander instantly wonders why that should be the first word that comes to him. Self-loathing is joined by confusion, and confusion urges him to—

  Just stay up there and DIE!

  Those aren’t my thoughts! Xander decides. They’re not my—

  Both of The Council appointed guards’ auras flare this time, and—

  “Hey,” Estella’s voice is more of a subtle breeze as she breathes out—

  Xander hates himself for it—a foreign-yet-familiar sensation—but he frowns at her.

  “How long have you been standing there?” he asks.

  No! Just play out the scene like a good boy; just go along with it and DIE!

  “Hey,” Estella’s voice is more of a subtle breeze.

  Man, Déjà vu is a hell of a thing! Xander thinks, and he smiles and says “H-hey” back to her, flinching only slightly at his stammer.

  However, given the vision he’s taking in, how can he not stammer?

  “Good boy.”

  Xander blinks and almost asks Estella if she’d said something just now, but the guards begin to take a step and he remembers that’s foolish.

  “The bride and the groom have prepared their own vows,” Father Tennesen says, and Xander can’t help but feel that he’s skipped something.

  Isn’t there supposed to be a ‘dearly beloved’-part first? he wonders.

  But that’s just a random thought; nothing important.

  You probably just drifted off into more random, stupid thoughts and missed it, he thinks, then immediately wonders why he’d think of himself as—

  One of the guards fondles his Berretta; Xander wonders why he’s…

  You did good, son, Joseph Stryker calls into Xander’s mind, and he turns slightly to catch sight of his father giving him a loving, approving smile. Found a real angel with her.

  Something in the sight of his father there, happy and approving and alive, relaxes Xander, and he smiles back. Thanks, Dad—for everything.

  There. Doesn’t that feel better?

  “I like to begin all journeys with the guidance of those wiser than me,” Estella says, beginning her vows. Somewhere in the back of Xander’s mind, he thinks he hears Stan’s disembodied voice whisper—good advice—but he can’t quite make out the words.

  Random. Unimportant.

  Estella’s smile holds him, and something in that is so peaceful it almost seems wrong. “… a quote from one of my favorite philosophers, Aristotle:” she pauses to clear her throat, and the moment of broken eye contact has Xander wondering if he’s heard this all before.

  Love is composed of…

  “‘Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies,’” Estella says, and her smile holds him; her eyes trap him.

  NO!

  Estella’s smile holds him, and something in that is so peaceful it almost seems…

  Estella’s smile holds him as she goes on:

  “No greater sentiment can be said about my love for you or your love for me. Throughout these years, you have been everything for me—the strong arms to catch me when I fall, the shoulder to cry on for everything from stubbing my toe to watching my entire world getting ripped apart… but, most importantly, you have been a reliable…”


  “…a reliable savior to you—well, to everyone, actually…” Xander finishes for her, beginning to take a step back.

  Straight into one of The Council’s guards.

  When had he—

  We’ll behave or—

  Why would I think of myself—

  I’ll behave or—

  Why would I threaten—

  I’ll behave. I’ll behave, and everything is alright. This. Is. My. Wedding day!

  Xander feels a wave of nausea as he realizes he is letting his work as a mythos warrior carry over; his defenses and constant readiness for the worst on the battlefield are making him think crazy thoughts on his and Estella’s big day. And, to make matters worse, all those crazy thoughts are…

  That’s right. Random and not important.

  “… but, most importantly,” Estella goes on, tears welling in her eyes, “you have been a reliable savior to me—well, to everyone, actually.” She pauses then to let a momentary hum of agreement pass around the crowd then, then says, “No matter the circumstances, you make things better. Throughout all the good, the bad, and the ugly—and we all know there were a lot of ugly moments in the—

  Wait… there were ugly moments. But what were—

  “No matter the circumstances, you make things better. Throughout all the good and the bad, you stood strong beside me. I thank you for making every day special for me. I thank you for going out of your way day-in and day-out and I thank you for going out of your way in ways you think I don’t notice just to make me smile. I thank you for not trying to become my confidence, but working with me to help build and mold my own. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t realize just how lucky I am to have you in my life. I truly found my soul mate with you and I look forward to spending many more years growing with you and even creating a family together. I love you, Xander Stryker.”

  Wasn’t there more? Xander wonders. I could’ve sworn there was—

  Nope.

  Didn’t my vows come fir—

  Nope.