House of Ash & Brimstone Read online

  House of Ash & Brimstone

  Megan Starks

  HOUSE OF ASH & BRIMSTONE

  By

  Megan Starks

  Copyright © 2019 Megan Starks

  Edited by Heather McCorkle.

  Cover Design by Angela Ku.

  All stock photos licensed appropriately.

  Published in the United States by City Owl Press.

  www.cityowlpress.com

  For information on subsidiary rights, please contact the publisher at [email protected]

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either 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 and not intended by the author.

  Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior consent and permission of the publisher.

  To my husband, Scott,

  for encouraging me every step of the way.

  Praise for Megan Starks

  “Starks doesn’t waste a moment launching readers into the heady, paranormal world of her action-packed debut. The complex mythology and feisty characters will hold readers’ attention. An enjoyable fantasy from an author with a lot of promise.” – Publishers Weekly

  “I fell in love with the nuanced characters, the original world Megan’s built for them, the impossible situations in which they find themselves, and the transformations they undergo over the course of the story. I was haunted by the book, couldn’t stop thinking about it. About halfway through, I realized how much I cared about Shade and Gigi. Three quarters of the way in, I started to dream about them at night. By the time I finished the last page, I decided there was no point in fighting fate!” – Emily Colin, New York Times Best-selling Author

  “A fun mix of action, romance, and demonic intrigue, full of memorable characters and sultry tension. Fans of urban fantasy: here's your next binge read.” – Hayley Stone, Author of the Machinations series and Make Me No Grave

  “House of Ash & Brimstone is an outstanding debut! Packed with deliciously dark humor, steamy romance, and heart-stopping action, Gisele is a fierce heroine sure to appeal to fans of Nalini Singh and Sarah J Maas. 5 stars! Can't wait for the sequels!” – Nicole Brake’s Books & Cakes

  “With a fun cast of unique characters, this thrilling offering from Megan Starks will keep you up late into the night, eager to see how it ends!” – Carrie Pulkinen, Author of the Crescent City Wolf Pack series

  “Shade and Gigi are my new UF power couple.” – Janet Walden-West, Author of Salt + Stilettos

  “This book drew me in with opening pages and never let go! House of Ash & Brimstone is a hot, action-packed escape into a dark, sexy underworld—great read for any fan of urban fantasy.” – Carolyne Topdjian at Write it Sideways

  “Gisele and Shade’s story pulls you in and doesn't let you go until the last page.” – Gia de Cadenet at Women Who Dare

  “House of Ash & Brimstone is a thrill-ride adventure helmed by a badass, take-charge heroine and the hot-as-hell demon who loves her. You won't want to put this one down for a second!” – Anne Raven at Raven’s Rambles

  Contents

  Want More City Owl Press Books?

  Keep Reading Urban Fantasy

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Sneak Peek of Waking the Dead

  Keep Reading Urban Fantasy

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  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  Additional Titles

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  Want even more urban fantasy? Try WAKING THE DEAD by City Owl Author, D. B. Sieders, and find more from Megan Starks at www.fictivate.com

  The road to hell begins when the reaper darkens her door.

  A chance encounter with a dying stranger opens an empathic connection between down-on-her-luck caregiver Vivian Bedford and the world of spirits. The supernatural seek her at every turn, and the cost of protection isn’t worth the price. When guardian spirits make an offer to help as long as she works on their side of afterlife management, she soon learns these guardians are no angels.

  With her ability to channel energy from the living, she has only one bargaining chip left to play. And becoming a soul broker might cost her more than she’s willing to pay, even if the grim reaper comes in a seductive package. Will Vivian’s power be enough to save her soul and her disabled sister, Mae, from a fate worse than death?

  Only death knows.

  BUY NOW!

  1

  Gisele Walker landed in the fighting pit face-first, and her mouth flooded with mud. Bruised, she scrambled onto palms and knees, spitting out the warm red clay.

  Her stomach churned as she struggled to her feet, wiping her chin with the back of one arm. Mud sucked at the hem of her jeans, had plastered her tank top to her chest.

  This wasn’t how she’d planned to spend her Friday night.

  Overhead, a rich green-and-gold circus tent arched, burnished with ropes of amber globe lights. Empty stands surrounded a checkered stage that extended out from the pit. After hours, the place was quiet, deserted aside from the show’s performers.

  The ringmaster, a bald, jaundice-skinned demon in a crimson jacket and gray plaid kilt, leaned over the lip of the ring—at least fifteen feet high—to leer down at her. A cobra tattoo wound up his neck to swallow the top of his head, two fangs dripping venom into his greenish-yellow eyes.

  “Thought you could s-steal from us-ss?” he stutter-hissed.

  Well, yeah. Actually, she had.

  At a quarter past two that morning, she’d crept through a country field littered with smashed popcorn and gummy worms, sneaking up to the tightly circled caravan of circus boxcars. She’d broken into the one with “Curios and Oddities” hand-painted on its side, and from a dusty display case, she’d filched the Mardoll—a shrunken head on a straw doll body. It was the magical curio her client had hired her to find, and for the last fifty years, it’d been on exhibit with the traveling entertainers, demons known as the Curators of the Cursed.

  Breaking in had been easy. Sneaking back out? Not so much.

  One of the Curators, a sword swallower she’d seen perform as she’d cased the circus earlier that evening, reached his entire arm down his throat. With a hacking cough, he extracted a heavy, dinged-up cleaver sword. “This the one you wanted for her, Can
aan?”

  Mother-of-pearl ornamented the two-handed hilt. It gleamed beautifully in the amber light. But the wide blade appeared dull and scratched—tarnished with age.

  Wide-mouthed, the ringmaster grinned, and Gisele saw that his teeth had been filed into points. “Give it to her. Ss-so we can place betss.”

  Canaan turned, signaling to someone she couldn’t see with a flourish of his hand. The entire stage rattled beneath the approaching clomp-scrape of heavy hoof steps.

  Oh, no. It had to be the cow-headed beast from the ‘taming’ exhibition mid-show. Her heart had panged while he’d charged around the stage, bullwhipped and slavering. She’d watched as they’d spun plates on his shoulders and horns.

  Then, he’d just snorted and clacked his teeth in protest. Now he brayed, piercing her eardrums—the sound like boulders cracking together.

  They’d brought out the minotaur.

  The sword swallower tossed the cleaver into the mud, and Gisele dove for it as the monstrous demon barreled into the pit. She rolled, then crawled, elbows digging into the ground as she dragged the heavy sword to her side.

  Stomping one hoof, the minotaur regarded her with unnerving, side-slitted eyes. He stood upright like a man but on backward bent legs, at least seven-and-a-half-feet tall, and crushed her hundred-and-twenty-five pounds by a good five hundred more. Stocky, with wide sloped shoulders, his body was a solid mass of muscle. Mud-splattered, dark brown fur covered him from top to hoof-tip, and a dirty, black mane lay matted to his head and neck. Two large, curved horns, one of which had been cut in half, curved out from his temples.

  He wore only what appeared to be a rawhide loincloth, and she did not want to know what was underneath the flap.

  “Um, this is a little awkward,” Gisele said, belly-down in the mud.

  With a snort, the beast charged for her, faster than she would’ve thought possible. His meaty three-fingered hand tangled in her dirty-blond hair, lifting her onto her knees.

  Heart kicking like a rabbit on the run, she swiped for his legs. Blood flowed, and he bellowed, flinging her across the pit. She landed with a flailing splash, and a round of jeers exploded from the rim of the ring. Popcorn fluttered down like buttery snow as the Curators leaned over, hurling both insults and food.

  “Don’t let him kill you before he breaks your leg,” a strongman shouted. “Be a doll and win me an extra two-fifty!”

  Groaning, Gisele tried her best to tune them out.

  She crawled to her feet, trembling, scraping the tip of the sword through the mud as she backed away. As a half-demon, she was stronger than a human, but the weapon felt unwieldy in her grip.

  Again, the minotaur stomped a hoof, preparing to advance.

  “Easy, fella,” Gisele said, one hand outstretched to placate the beast. “I didn’t come here tonight to hurt you.”

  Intent mattered, right?

  His nose was black and wet, nostrils flaring wide as he sucked in breath. He hesitated, and she took her chance.

  “Right now,” she blurted, “they’re taking bets on us. Thinking you’re going to kill me. But you don’t like doing what they want, do you? And they don’t know everything about me. Like how fast I heal. You can gore me, trample me. Choke me. I’ll get back up again.” Eventually. “So instead of chasing me around this ring ’til we’re both tired and hurting, why don’t we turn the tables on these creeps and get the hell out of here?”

  “S-stalling won’t sssa-ave you,” the ringmaster warned.

  Sword up, Gisele sidestepped, walking a slow sweep of the ring that the minotaur mirrored. When he stepped forward, she jabbed with the cleaver and he retreated.

  Live and learn. Hopefully.

  She licked her lips, tasted clay mixed with blood. “All I’m saying is, I could really go for a stiff drink and a hot bath after this, if you’d care to join me.”

  The minotaur leveled her with guarded, teal-blue eyes, contemplating. Then he flicked an ear in agitation. Violently, he stomped a hoof into the ground.

  His left hoof. He’d been doing it off and on all fight. What was it about…?

  And then she saw it. He was wearing a metal cuff around his ankle, so coated in mud that she hadn’t noticed it before. The cuff had been in place for so long, it’d rubbed the fur around his ankle raw. It was a collar, a cage.

  Palms suddenly sweaty, Gisele swallowed against what felt like cotton candy lodged in her throat clogging her airway.

  With a terrifying bellow, the minotaur charged. She twisted and ducked, lashing at him with her cleaver. He knocked the blade aside, opening a bone-deep slash in his arm, and got her in the gut with his fist.

  The air exploded from her lungs, and she doubled over, in a world of pain. The Curators roared and stomped their feet, clamoring for a bloody, drawn-out finish.

  If she couldn’t get the cuff off of him, one of them was going to have to kill the other. And despite what she’d said…she wasn’t sure she’d be the one to walk away.

  Gisele retched, then sucked in heaving gulps of air. She rolled away before he could grab her again, and as he lumbered after her, she dropped, sliding in the mud. His cuffed hoof stomped near her head, and she got a good look at the magical device. It was remotely powered, pulsing as it fed from an external source. The metal was tarnished silver and etched with symbols she didn’t recognize.

  Whatever spell it cast was powerful, but the cuff itself didn’t look too difficult to break. Wielding the sword like a bat, Gisele swung the flat side of the blade against the ankle cuff hard enough that her entire arm went numb on impact.

  The cuff looked undamaged. Frustrated, she grabbed it with a bare hand and felt electricity arc through her body. She screamed and wrenched away, palm scorched.

  Leaping leviathans from Linger! The damned thing was a shock collar.

  How the hell did the minotaur withstand it? And more importantly, how the hell was she going to get it off him?

  Before she could come up with another plan, the minotaur reached down and clamped a thick-fingered fist around her neck. He lifted her by her throat, and she choked, sneakers dangling off the ground. His breath blew hot in her face, gusted her bangs off her forehead, and coated her own tiny horns with sweat.

  Her pulse shot into a wild, adrenaline-fueled race.

  He was going to kill her.

  Stupid godforsaken minotaur. He hadn’t given her enough time.

  Her vision swam red, and her head pounded. Her nails bit into the palm of her hand around the grip of the sword, sharp as claws.

  She bared her teeth at the minotaur. They cut into her lower lip, drawing blood as if she’d suddenly sprouted fangs, but if he noticed, he didn’t react. He was too busy, turning—winding up with all his strength to toss her into oblivion—and then she was flying, sailing high overhead. She crashed hard into a boxy metal unit, hurting and disoriented.

  Her side screamed, ribs bruised or cracked.

  Moaning, it took her several moments to realize that she was actually above ground.

  He’d tossed her onto the stage, near the best seats in the house—front and center. He’d thrown her right out of the pit!

  Curators scattered like loose marbles. Twin acrobats and a bird-masked harlequin scrambled to flee while a fire breather in a brass dragon-scale corset rushed for her. Planning to roast her on the spot? She was welcome to try.

  Others—including an improbably milky-eyed fortune-teller—screamed at the minotaur, furious and panicking.

  Oh, yes. Gisele was going to make them pay, every last one. She was going to rend them from neck to navel.

  She just needed to get up first.

  Her head throbbed, her normally tiny, knobby branching horns feeling thick and heavy where they jutted from her skull. She blinked back the headache from Hell, focusing in order to take in her surroundings.

  The equipment she’d landed on hummed low with power, and Gisele’s excitement soared as she realized what it was: a transmitter. The Curators must
need to keep it within range of the cuff. And the minotaur had hurled her right into it.

  That beautiful, brilliant beast.

  Miraculously, she’d kept a grip on the cleaver through the crash landing. Struggling up onto her knees, she jabbed the full length of the blade into the front of the power box and was blasted backwards from the resulting electric surge. Heat sliced up her skin. The unit sparked and fizzled, leaving the acrid taste of charred magic in the air. It was dead, and the binding spell with it.

  There was nothing controlling the minotaur now.

  A soul-shattering bellow erupted from the pit, so intense that the ground shook. The minotaur clambered out of the pit and charged the ringmaster with unnerving speed, horns angled down, ready to gore.

  She didn’t want to watch, but couldn’t tear her eyes away.

  Canaan recoiled and fell. Blood sprayed from him in a thick mist that sifted through the air. His jacket was torn, red strips gaping like an open wound over his muscled abdomen.

  It happened so fast that she wasn’t sure how exactly the minotaur had hurt him. But maybe he hadn’t. The viperous demon was laughing full-bodied, shaking, hissing. The minotaur’s efforts to kill him… They amused him.