First Ritual: Supernatural Battle

FIRST RITUAL SUPERNATURAL BATTLE: COVEN CAVES KELLY ST. CLARE 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 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 About the Author Chaos Pact While You Wait Books By Kelly St. Clare Join the Book Barracks! First Ritual by Kelly St. Clare Copyright © January, 2023 All rights reserved This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, media, and incidents are either products of the authors’ imagination, or are used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author. Edited by Hot Tree Editing Cover design by Covers by Christian The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment 1 I swore I’d never do this—never go there. Yet here I was on the precipice of entering a cage. If I lived that long. “Gunpowder gimlet, please,” I muttered to the barkeep. The guy wiped his hands on the cloth hanging from his belt. “Gunpowder what?” “Gimlet. The cocktail.” The eyes of the early-thirties human widened in confusion. I’d admit to a fondness for humankind, but they did tend to spend their lives looking baffled. I waved a hand to stop the inevitable “what’s in it, I can try to make it” route. “Never mind. I’ll take a shot of tequila. Three, thanks.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Hard day?” “Hard life,” I answered. Hmm. The guy wasn’t hard on the peepers. Couldn’t be more than ten years older than me. This could be the last night of my life. Perhaps I should flirt a little. Even if this wasn’t the last night of my life, it’s not like I’d be able to relax my guard while in the cage. I should definitely kiss this guy. The barkeep lined the small glasses in a tight row and drizzled tequila until the alcohol brimmed at tipping point. Once he’d left, I stared after the guy and snorted. He couldn’t be aware of the danger that lurked nearby. No way would he have arranged the lemons and salt so neatly beside the glasses. And if he did know what the Buried Knolls contained, he was either brave or stupid. That went for everyone in this bar—including me. Sprinkling salt on the back of my hand, I licked it off and tipped back a shot, then sucked on the lemon. Spinning on my barstool, I took in the company. A burly man sat at a low table digging into deep-fried food. He had more hair on his arms than the taxidermic stag head on the wall. Far corner. Woman in a leather vest. Her high ponytail was as red and tight as the anger pulsing from her. Phew, she must have one hell of a grudge against someone. Or something to prove. Something to come back from. I had enough shit going on without dipping into her energy to solve the mystery. My stomach warmed as tequila started its trek through my system. I lined up the second shot and knocked it back, then glanced at the third occupant in the bar. Shadows shrouded the guy, which would seem mysterious except the shadows were from the tower of kegs stacked beside him. One muscular forearm was in sight where he gripped his drink on the bar counter, though. Not the bulky kind of muscle. Lean and defined. Just how I liked it. Where there were muscular forearms, often as not there were muscular arms. Sometimes muscular chests could be found between those arms. If a gal got lucky enough, that chest connected to a muscular torso and two thighs that created the frame for what particularly interested me about men. His dick. I was talking about his dick. Unfortunately, the appendage of interest would have to remain a mystery. Harmless flirting and a kiss were one thing—I didn’t have time for anything more exciting. “It’s just you and me, little guy,” I crooned to the last shot of tequila. I lifted the glass to my lips and closed my eyes. Agave. Spice. Wood undertones. The delicious aroma couldn’t distract from the simple fact that these lips made an oath that I’d never do what I was about to do—that I’d never return to the place Mother ran from. Despite the crushing drive I’d experienced over the years to understand the traumas of my past, my promise to her had held true. Only two things could’ve tipped the balance to make me break that oath—both of them impossible. Despite the choice I’d come to, breaking oaths to my ancestors wasn’t something I took lightly. I remained eyes closed and drink balanced as I absorbed the weight of severing that promise whispered with certainty so many years ago. I may not know why Mother ran. I did love and trust my mother. If she ran, there was an excellent reason why. Keeping my oath had never been difficult. But the impossible had happened. That changed things. That had convinced me to put my life on the line tonight. Tilting my chin, I left the salt and lemon untouched and tipped the shot back. Only when the burn down my throat abated did I open my eyes. Gone. My last excuse not to walk out those doors. Grabbing my duffel, I tossed cash—and some to spare—on the counter, then slipped off my