Fall of Ashes

FALL OF ASHES AN URBAN FANTASY ROMANCE ASHES TO FLAME BOOK 2 ALEXES RAZEVICH Copyright © 2023 Alexes Razevich All rights reserved This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidently and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the author. Requests for permission should be sent to [email protected]. Cover design by Deranged Doctor Designs Created with Vellum For Chris, who will always be my one. CONTENTS 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 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Also By Alexes Razevich About the Author 1 The man sitting across from me had umber skin and curly salt-and-pepper hair so lush and thick it looked almost unnatural. His tailored, probably bespoke, black suit and blood red shirt shouted of wealth and vanity. He uncrossed his leg that had lain over the other at the knee, set both feet flat on the elegant Persian carpet beneath our chairs and leaned forward. “You’ve been quite the slippery fish, Nic Forester. Several times, we thought we’d caught you, but you slithered from our grasp. But not this time. Now, you and the stone are ours.” I held my tongue. Let him be the one to speak. Let him spill his secrets. I could wait. The room was large and furnished with a long beige couch bookended by brown leather wing chairs. The walls were a light sky blue; the floor was carpeted in a spill of beautiful, undoubtedly valuable, rugs. The chairs he and I sat in were more like dining table chairs–armless and covered in a nubby green fabric. The air was musty in that way homes where the windows are kept shut could be–not too surprising given that the room was windowless. The faint odor of a barnyard mixed with the musty, dead air scent. I tried not to breathe in too deeply. My purse sat near my feet. Three things I treasured were inside–my Tarot cards, the pocket dragon I called Blue, and the magical stone that The Whispers, a secret society of magicals determined to bring magic into the open and to rule the mundane world, had killed my uncle to secure. They’d failed at that. So far. If they’d looked in my purse, they’d have seen the stone with its silver wrapping and silver chain. And Blue–they would have seen the tiny dragon as well. A new knot of worry formed in my chest next to the ones already there. I held the man’s eyes and resolutely didn’t look at my purse. If they hadn’t opened it yet, I wasn’t going to encourage their curiosity. Rain as sharp as needles pounded the roof. In the room without windows, lit only by overhead lighting, I’d lost my sense of time. I’d been grabbed in the night but didn’t know if now was an hour, a day, or several days later. It could be morning, afternoon, or evening out in the world. Time no longer seemed to exist as something passing. It was now. Only now. Always now. I didn’t know if my feeling of time/no time was real or something The Whispers made happen. I had no idea what sort of magic The Whispers had. I didn’t know how strong their magic might be. The knots of worry in my chest grew bigger. I tried to keep my eyes on the man but the sound of a door opening and closing and footsteps coming toward me was too much to resist. A quick peek revealed a stunningly handsome, pale-skinned man with jet-black hair flowing over his shoulders and piercing amber eyes. He carried a chair identical to the ones the curly-haired man and I sat in. The handsome man set the chair next to the curly-haired Whisper, sat, and crossed his legs at the ankles. “What has she told you?” the handsome man asked. Curly turned his head to regard the gorgeous creature next to him. “Nothing. We’re just getting started.” The handsome man smiled, showing pointed canines. I was pretty sure the curly-haired Whisper was human. This new one clearly wasn’t unless filed teeth were all the rage where he came from. The door opened again and an older woman with steel gray hair fashioned in a long plait down her back walked in carrying a matching chair of her own. She looked in her seventies, maybe, and wore a simple dark gray caftan that covered her from neck to ankles. Her skin was a lighter shade of gray than her hair and dress. She set the chair down on the other side of Curly and sat. Leaning forward, she took me in from head to toe and back up again. A slow smile spread across her mouth. My mouth went dry. I was outnumbered in this room. “Trust your instincts,” Uncle Jordy used to say. “Trust yourself. You weren’t put into this world to fail. Trust that the universe will deliver what you need when you need it.” I could use a king-sized delivery of what I needed right about now. Trust yourself. So, fuck these people. They wouldn’t win. I’d find a way to bring them down. That would be easier with Blue and Maddox along to help. The police had Maddox, or they’d had him that