The Peacekkeeper Journals: The Joining [Book 1] Read online

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  Whiskey Creek Press

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Copyright ©2007 by WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  THE PEACEKEEPER JOURNALS:

  THE JOINING

  by

  CJ England

  WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Published by

  WHISKEY CREEK PRESS

  Whiskey Creek Press

  PO Box 51052

  Casper, WY 82605-1052

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Copyright ©

  2007 by CJ England

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  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 permission in writing from the publisher.

  ISBN 978-1-59374-939-2

  Credits

  Editor: Louise Bohmer

  Printed in the United States of America

  WHAT THEY ARE SAYING ABOUT

  THE PEACEKEEPER JOURNALS:

  THE JOINING

  "Nobody tells a story quite like CJ England! She always manages to focus in on the emotional heart of a story and wring a wide range of emotions from the reader. THE PEACEKEEPER JOURNALS: THE JOINING is no exception and may be Ms. England's best yet in a career already peppered with exceptionally good books. Her flawless prose makes this seemingly complex story come vividly alive. The aura of mystery surrounding Kira and the Power only adds to the intrigue as this is one superbly written tale! THE PEACEKEEPER JOURNALS: THE JOINING is a sensuous fantasy novel that leaves the reader yearning for the next installment. CJ England weaves her magical storytelling wand and crafts a fantasy novel that is an instant hit."

  Recommended Read and 5 Klovers

  CK2S Kwips and Kritiques

  Reviewed by Anne

  "What an amazing joyride of love, passion, adventure and above all hope for the future. THE PEACEKEEPER JOURNALS: THE JOINING has everything a reader could ever hope for. Each character maintains his or her own storyline while at the same time, combining for an engaging roller coaster ride that will keep you on the edge of your seat from the beginning to the unbelievable end. I was heartbroken; I didn't want the story to end. CJ England is an outstanding storyteller who always manages to give her readers everything they want in her male characters; sexy, suave, sweet and strong. I cannot wait to read the next installment from Ms. England very soon."

  Recommended Read and 5 Angels

  Fallen Angels Reviews

  Reviewed by Amanda

  "CJ England has written a fascinating book with a story line that will keep the reader driven to finish this exciting story. The characters have a life that leaps off the pages and seems to be able to talk to the reader and keep this story going at a fast pace. This will have the reader unable to put this adventure down, and even when the book is done, the reader will be begging for more. CJ England has written a very well rounded book that will be one for the keeper shelf and make you a fan for life."

  Awesome Read and 5 Devils

  Let's Talk About Books Reviews

  Reviewed by Alma

  Dedication

  To Uncle Bob...

  whose stories and songs around the campfire will always be one of my best memories of childhood.

  Thank you.

  ...Day is done, gone the sun, from the lake, from the hills, from the sky.

  All is well, safely rest, God is nigh...

  (Taps)

  Prologue

  The night was cool and fragrant with the smells only a big city can have. The scent of Italian food wrestled with the sour odor of a drunk who had passed out in an alley nearby. Salt air and chocolate war with exhaust fumes. In the distance one could hear the sound of a cat fight and the scream of a junkie as he fought a friend for his next fix.

  This is San Francisco, the city by the bay. Elegant and charming, a city created by hard work and sweat. Now, it is a mecca of western civilization, known for its art and culture, hosting over sixteen million visitors a year.

  San Francisco, for all its charm and beauty has a dark side. The Lower City is a place for those who are different. Here live not only the freaks and the crazies, but a different sort all together. Each town has its racial neighborhoods ... it's just a fact of life. But the Lower City isn't a place for different races, but for those mentioned only in fairy tales or in stories around a campfire. The shops and stores, bars and restaurants don't advertise who or what they are about, but for those who have an open mind, for those who are curious ... the answers are easily found.

  This is a side of San Francisco tourists don't pay to see and most of the locals don't even know about. Safe and secure, tucked away uptown in their cute gingerbread houses and ivory towers, people see just what they want to see.

  But that is all about to change.

  Chapter 1

  No one noticed when the cab pulled up. It stopped out on the street, not even bothering to come into the parking lot. A small figure slipped from the cab, then bent back inside to pay the fare.

  "Are you sure this is where you want to go?” the cabby asked. He looked doubtfully at the strange marquee that topped the building. A neon crown of thorns flashed on and off garishly in the darkness. The thorns were tipped in bright red neon blood. Every time it came on one could see a drop of blood ooze off a thorn and fall into the darkness below.

  "If this is A Crown of Thorns, then I believe I am in the right place.” The voice was low-pitched and smooth.

  "All right,” the cabby muttered. “But I can't wait for you. Not down here in the Lower City."

  "It will not be necessary. I will be all right."

  "Okee-dokee!” The cabby wasted no more time, but hurriedly pulled away from the building and back to a safer part of town.

  The figure turned and walked toward the building. A small backpack rested on its shoulders. A soft black leather hat sat low on its head. The long matching leather coat covered the figure from head to toe. The walk was smooth ... almost catlike in its grace. The figure crossed the parking lot and stepped right up to the restaurant door where two men were controlling the crowd in lines.

  One stood about five foot eight inches and was stocky. Built like a boxer with a massive chest and powerful forearms, he had the face of a fighter. His nose had been broken several times and his ears were cauliflowered, easily seen since his head was shaved. His cool blue eyes swept the crowd for problems.

  The other man was his exact opposite. Tall ... almost six foot four inches, he was flat-out gorgeous. Beautiful, dark brown eyes and long blond hair showcased a face a model would die for. He too spent time in a gym, but wasn't
as huge as the boxer. He was laughing and flirting with the two women who stood at the front of the line.

  The figure stood before them quietly until the boxer noticed.

  "Back of the line,” he growled, staring menacingly down at the figure. When no movement came from the figure dressed in black, the other man tried.

  "You'll get in; it's a slow night. But everybody's got to wait their turn ... ya know.” He smiled winningly, before turning his attention back to the crowd. He was the handler, not the muscle. He knew his job.

  "Yeah!” snapped one of the girls in line. “Wait your turn like everyone else!"

  The figure slowly swiveled toward the girl. The head lifted and the girl found herself pinned by a pair of glowing golden eyes.

  "Shee-it!” The girl stumbled back into her friend, shuddering. She turned away hastily, her lipstick bright against her now pale face. The two guards stiffened and came together in a solid wall blocking the door.

  "I wish to see your master.” The voice was still low and soft.

  "Who the hell are you?” The model's eyes narrowed, as he tried to see under the leather hat.

  "I have business with your master. Please take me to him."

  The boxer scowled and folded his arms across his chest ... not an easy task for such a wide man. “You ain't getting in here without a name and you tellin’ us what you want."

  "My business is with your master ... not with you. I know what you are and I know what your master is. Please take me to him.” The voice held a trace of impatience now.

  The two bouncers frowned, showing their first sign of alarm.

  "You don't want to go there,” the model warned abruptly.

  The crowd, always curious, stilled and waited for the show.

  "I ask you one last time.” The figure in black's voice held warning as well. “I wish to see your master. Take me to him."

  "That's it!” the boxer grunted. Moving quickly, he grabbed the figure by the shoulders.

  The model stepped close to the pair and spoke quietly. “If you know what we are, then you know how this is going to end. Leave or you are going to get hurt."

  The figure surprisingly didn't struggle, even though the two men were twice as big. Instead the men heard a deep sigh. Two small hands came up and touched each man's chest. The head slowly raised and golden eyes trapped them.

  The men's eyes widened and they hissed in fear, showing sets of fangs for the first time, white against the red of their lips.

  "I know the Words of Death.” The figure spoke softly, yet the words pounded against the men standing on the steps. “I do not wish to use them. Take me to the master."

  The eyes freed them and the model backed quickly away.

  "You will take me to him?” The eyes speared into the boxer's, but the stocky man shook his head stubbornly.

  "You ain't getting through! You're just a kid. You don't know any words."

  "May ... be I should go get someone.” The model opened the door as he spoke and quickly disappeared inside.

  "We don't need anyone!” the boxer flung after him, angrily. He lifted the figure off the ground. “I can take care of you just fine."

  "I do not want to hurt you!” The figure stared at the boxer and those golden eyes began to glow. “Release me and show me the way. I do not want to kill you."

  The boxer laughed. “There is no way a little bit like you can hurt me. But I am going to hurt you!” With a snarl, he turned his back, shielding himself from the crowd. He grabbed the figure's head, exposing its neck.

  His fangs bared, he moved in to bite.

  "Emshaw dre kadeck

  Morelaw non vobesce."

  The voice sounded strong and firm and it stopped the vampire in mid-lunge. The hand on his chest began to heat until it burned like a fire.

  "Emshaw dre kadeck

  Morelaw non vobesce."

  The boxer's skin burned and he shrieked in pain. His eyes met the figure's, whose eyes now glowed like twin suns.

  "If I say the words a third time, you will die. Release me now!” the voice commanded.

  The vampire boxer shook his head to clear it, but all he felt was the burning in his chest as it began to work its way through his body. His hands clenched tighter in pain and the figure spoke again.

  "Emshaw dre kadeck

  Morelaw..."

  "Stop!” sobbed the boxer, as he dropped the figure to the pavement. He pulled away and leaned back against the restaurant door. His body was on fire and he slumped to the ground panting in pain. The figure leaned over and a soft hand caressed his cheek.

  "Be at peace.” The voice sounded cool and gentle now, and with the words, the burning disappeared as if it had never been. “You have done your job, but I must see your master."

  The boxer looked up into flowing golden eyes. “What are you?” he whispered.

  There was a pause, as if the question was a surprise. “I do not know,” came the hushed response. Then the figure moved away from him and slipped inside the door.

  * * * *

  He felt the power the moment it was released. Before Noah came slipping through the crowd to tell him of the stranger at his door. He listened to the rushed explanation then waved him away. He waited ... wondering. He'd learned patience after existing for over six hundred years.

  What did it mean? His jaw tightened as he thought again of Noah's stuttered narration. The Words of Death. Most vampires thought them a fable used to keep them in line, but Gallegar, King of the Vampires in San Francisco, knew they were no fable ... but truth. A truth passed down to all the vampires rulers.

  The Words of Death could kill.

  He gazed out over his restaurant. He was seated with several others at a long table on a dais above the rest of the restaurant floor. It gave him privacy, as well as a way to watch all that went on below.

  This was his place. He had designed and paid for every brick and stone used to build it. He'd had materials sent from overseas to give the place the rich look he desired. Decorated in dark wood and emerald green velvet, the club was as elegant and comfortable as any on the upper city's boardwalk itself. It was patterned after a turn-of-the-century saloon, where the only thing missing was the huge mirror usually placed behind the bar. He found customers were uneasy when they couldn't see the bartender's reflection in the mirror.

  Every night he sat, watching the byplay between vampires and humans. As long as he had lived in San Francisco, he made his home in the Lower City. When he became king five years ago, he immediately put his money to use by building this club. It was just one of several properties he owned, but now the club paid for itself and put plenty of money into his flock's coffers besides. It seemed both human and supernaturals alike enjoyed a good time.

  Of course the humans who frequented A Crown of Thorns were not your average Joes. These were a mixture of the curious and the faithful. Those who heard the rumors and those who traded their blood. And those few, the vampire wannabes, who wished desperately to join the ranks of the undead.

  Below the club was Sanctuary—the place where he and his people could rest during the daylight hours in safety. Only those of his flock knew how to get past the magick locks that protected the place.

  As vampire king, he had his own specialized room safe from all others, vampire and mortal alike.

  His attention was caught when he saw the door open and a figure walk in. It wasn't Bruce, the other door bouncer, so it must be the stranger. Gallegar carefully sent his power out to meet the dark-clothed figure. It touched, curled around the figure and met power such as he had never felt before. His muscles tensed with anticipation. Here was a power that could challenge him.

  After six hundred years, he had seen much, so anything new to him was interesting. He could not sense who it was, but he saw the figure sensed him. It turned and made its way through the crowded dance floor straight toward him.

  At the foot of the dais, the figure stopped, prevented from coming any closer by two more vampir
es guarding the steps that rose up to him. There was a moment of silence and then the figure spoke. The voice was husky and soft and it tickled along Gallegar's neck.

  "You are Gallegar, Vampire King of San Francisco.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Gallegar inclined his head. “I am he."

  The figure relaxed and took a deep breath.

  Curious. Knowing my name has given you relief. Out loud, he asked, “Who are you?"

  In answer, the figure shrugged off the backpack and long leather coat. They dropped to the ground. The hat was removed next.

  Gallegar drew in a deep breath, as hair the color of a silver moon fell down around a pair of shapely hips. Long legs clad in faded jeans led up to a small waist. Her frame was topped by a pair of pert breasts in a black tank top. Her body was healthy, tanned, and strong, but not tall. She stood only about five feet four inches in height.

  He saw the pulse beating in her neck. His gaze swept over her and his body hardened. Gallegar frowned. He had not felt that for a human in centuries. Then he looked at her face and his mouth went dry.

  Golden eyes lifted and met his with no fear, but with expectation. Her face was delicate, almost fey, with arched eyebrows and high cheekbones. Her lips were full and red, as were her soft cheeks and she had a dimple in her chin. Her golden eyes were tilted slightly, giving her an exotic look. She smiled at him and he realized she was beautiful ... and somehow familiar.

  "Who are you?” he repeated hoarsely.

  "I am Kira. I am the Peacekeeper. I have come for you."

  At that, the two vampires who stood guard at the steps came toward her, taking her words as a threat.

  Kira frowned at them, but they kept coming. “I mean him no harm. I am Peacekeeper. He is for me.” Her eyes glowed with power.

  The guards stopped abruptly, startled by her warning flash, but they didn't back away.

  The other vampires at the table who had been watching began to stir in agitation. The woman vampire sitting next to Gallegar was a pretty, well-endowed redhead. She hissed and bared her fangs at Kira.