Warrior's Crown (Cascade Saga Book 3) Read online

  WARRIOR’S CROWN

  CASCADE SAGA

  By

  M.A. Kastle

  Warrior’s Crown Copyright © 2022 M.A. Kastle

  Copyright Cover Design by Maria Spada

  Edited by Melissa Ringsted of There for You Editing Services

  All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Author, Publisher, except where permitted by law.

  M.A. Kastle

  PO Box 812

  Helendale, Ca 92342

  Publisher’s note: The stories within are works of fiction, names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locals are entirely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.

  Warrior’s Crown / M.A. Kastle. -- 1st ed.

  Paperback: ISBN 978-1-7359534-6-5

  Ebook: ISBN 978-1-7359534-7-2

  Welcome to the third book of the Cascade Saga! I want to thank everyone who has supported me on this grand adventure and has enjoyed the world of Cascade.

  To Mr. K and the Minions- Love you always.

  Books by M.A. Kastle

  Cascade Saga

  Bone Chimes

  Dark Awakening

  Warrior’s Crown

  Cascade Wolves – Crimson Series

  Crimson Moon

  Moonlight Territory

  Wolf Within

  Horror

  Tales of Woe (Collection)

  A Curse Revisited – The Legend of Noah Blyth (Novella)

  “This isn’t Mother Nature. It’s magic.”

  Jordyn Langston, Soothsayer, Cascade Pack.

  “If I wore a crown it would be made from thorns and stained with my sins, of that, I’m sure.”

  Rutger Kanin, Director of Enforcers, Second to the Alpha.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Tires crunched through layers of fresh snow and ice as he crept up to the roll-up door and came to a stop. Beyond the falling flakes of white, an aged industrial light cast a hazy, pallid halo, its blurred edges creeping over the hood, the dash, and into the cab. While he waited for the rusted metal covered in frost to roll into itself, the façade of age working to conceal the level of upgrades going on inside, he checked the terminal. Scanning the list of names, he confirmed Ansel Wolt, Captain of Enforcers, was at the office, then switched over to active calls. There were none. The unpredictable storms sweeping through Northern California had everyone staying indoors and out of trouble, the break giving enforcers time to train. He entered his status as unavailable and closed the screen.

  Jo hadn’t signed in, which meant she wasn’t on her way home, was at work, and with Detective Watt. As if sensing his unease, jealousy, and dark mood, the wind pushed on the sides of the truck, lightly rocking it as the night sky dropped thick, white flakes that cascaded over the hood, windshield, and windows. His anxiety and the pressure of the storm created an edginess, bringing fragments of images to haunt him. Crimson. Ivory. Torn flesh.

  “Enough,” he growled. It was dream. Nothing more.

  With his patience fading, he waited for clearance, then slowly entered the warehouse, the same one he had hidden Jo’s SUV in—because it didn’t have global positioning system, GPS—when he and Ansel set out to hunt the witches. Slipping out from under winter’s claws, his mind went to that July night, the tangy scent of their fire, and the gritty iron from blood crept over him, making his wolf howl in victory. He avenged the young wolf, Zachary Taylor, the murdered werewolves, and Jo, by taking a year’s worth of rage out on them. The witches wouldn’t hurt anyone. Ever. Despite Baron Kanin’s lectures, being spied on, his movements tracked and reported, and the homicide detectives focusing their case on him, Rutger kept the pack and Jo safe.

  “I would do it again,” he swore, his voice holding a growl. Witches. It made his pending appointment especially interesting.

  The klatch, the magic-born living under Baron Kanin’s rule, knew Rutger had been a suspect in Detective Cliff’s investigation into the witches’ disappearances and subsequent murders. He was found innocent when Flint, the coven’s leader, confessed to killing them for betraying him and then killed himself. Days later, Louis Myers, Jo’s human ex, showed up with Dr. Holmes, the leader of HAPI, Humans Against Paranormal Influence, with the intention of kidnapping her to cleanse her of her relationship to the Wolf Enforcer and the pack. The attention of the near kidnapping and then suicide brought Organized Paranormal Investigations detective, Thomas Watt, to their house. The detective questioned Jo, working to clear her name, as well as Rutger’s, which confirmed his suspicions about her traits. He used the information to blackmail her into working for him. The Organized Paranormal Investigations, OPI, and the Paradise County Sheriff’s Department were working their way up Rutger’s shit list.

  If he was the type, which he wasn’t and hadn’t been for weeks, mostly because Jo finished her probation period and had been promoted to detective with the OPI, he would have smiled a look of pure arrogance. She was more powerful than anyone realized, and he had shifted into the forbidden Bestial form—a seven-foot-tall combination of wolf and man—and became Jo’s warrior. His magic, sight, hearing, smell, and even taste amplified to incredible levels, and was continuing to evolve. He was powerful, and when in the Bestial form, he felt invincible. The images rushed back, giving him the room in glaring colors, torn flesh, and soft whimpers. He forced his mind to Jo … her strength, the way she called him her Beautiful Beast, the way her skin tasted, her lips, the spice from her wine, and that did make him smile, despite his mood, the images, and his continual betrayal.

  Streams of white from the headlights cut through the dark cavity of the warehouse, exposing slices of the interior, the ongoing construction, bare steel beams, and building supplies. After turning left, he parked his truck in front of a stack of electronics, made sure there was enough room for a second car, and killed the engine. He hated lying to Jo, the newly promoted Detective Langston, soothsayer for the pack, and hated feeling like he was betraying his fated mate. Future wife. He reminded himself while lying to Jo was wrong, what he was doing was against the canons of the pack and the Highguard. If Baron Kanin, his farther and alpha, found out, Rutger would face charges of treason, roguery, betraying the pack’s trust, and unfaithfulness to his allegiance to the Highguard’s canons with the intent of inciting a coup. Discipline would come hard and fast. First, he would face the baron and Elders of the pack, then the Highguard would demand their pound of flesh. With a public execution recorded in the Sacred Writ of Cascade, he feared the repercussions, and couldn’t risk a death sentence. Although, and it was his arrogance, Prime wouldn’t allow anything to happen to him when he was Jo’s warrior and fated mate. Prime, a descendant of Ceuthonymus—an ancient demon from Greek mythology—ruled over all magic-born and revered Jo, her power, and her loyalty to him. It was another reason the meeting had become necessary.

  Rutger held the tablet and tapped his commands, bringing bright LED lights to life while a softer gold glowed from the office, and the indicator for the heater came on. After placing the tablet in his messenger bag with his cell, he ran his fingers through his hair, rubbed the back of his neck, then grabbed the files from the passenger seat, and got out of the truck. The chilled air inside the warehouse made his exhales hang for seconds before fading into nothing, and he gazed at his creation. His office was built over what would become a state-of-the-art communication center, where he could oversee what was happening when the construction was complete. Besides communications, there would be offices, a gym, med room, dorms, and cafeteria, making it self-contained if there was an emergency. Once winter stopped hammering them with storms of snow and ice, construction on the roof would begin. There would be places for snipers, weapon and ammo storage, concealment, and a helicopter pad. Yeah, he was creating a stronghold. With his bag slung over his shoulder, he adjusted the Glock 21, .45 caliber pistol in his thigh holster and marched across the expanse and toward the stairs.

  Ten minutes.

  If she was on time. While he waited, he needed to go over the background information Ansel gave him. Twenty applicants, twenty files.

  One damn witch.

  He couldn’t believe he was entertaining the idea of her working for him as a mercenary. His team of Dark Rogues. The reason he could lose Jo’s trust, his place as Second to the Alpha, and position as Director of Enforcers, and risked being taken to Crystal Palace, the Highguard’s prison. Rutger would have laughed at the absurdity if stress wasn’t damning him. With early mornings, late nights, paperwork, security issues, politics, and the baron’s micromanagement, no one would go within a hundred feet of his office, let alone take his job. His fears of being caught were secondary when the mercs were an essential evil. A group called Krijgers, Dutch meaning warriors, were gathering their numbers in order to hunt and kill Potents, magic-born whose powers were mutating like Jo, himself, and others. The opposite of the Potents were the Standards—they weren’t powerful and would never be,
and with a touch of delusion in their thinking, considered themselves free from the escalating magic and uncertainty.

  That wasn’t the way it was going to work, fools. Their lives were going to change like everyone else’s, there was no stopping it. Several Krijgers trespassed on Foxwood to attack Jo, failed, and of the three captured, two were sentenced to the Highguard’s prison, Хрустальный дворец, Crystal Palace in Northern Siberia, and the other executed in front of thousands of magic-born. While the Highguard’s soldiers were continuing their hunt for members of the organization, those in charge, in a seek and destroy mission, Rutger knew they used every situation to further their own agenda. He wasn’t taking the chance and would make certain the group never entered his territory to attack Jo or anyone else. Despite betrayal nagging him, the merc team he was assembling, his thoughts went to Ansel for a split second, his near death at the hands of a dhampir, and the truth of his past. Rutger took the last stair, walked to the door, slid his keycard, entered his code, and heard the locking mechanism disengage.

  Nine minutes.

  He would see if she showed and was on time. He wasn’t going to deal with her if she was late. Part of him hoped she was a no show. While he didn’t hate witches, the Lapis Lazuli coven and their Esme had been nothing but helpful. However, they made his skin crawl and his wolf’s instincts howl. The Esme’s son, Dr. Bains, worked at Celestial, a magic-born specific hospital owned by the pack. Their cooperation with Cascade didn’t change the fact he didn’t want to be around them, and he didn’t want them around Jo. After setting the files on his desk, he hung the bag on the back of the chair, then retrieved his cell. No new messages. He wondered what Jo was doing. It was getting late, and she should have been heading home, except she hadn’t messaged him, called him, or talked to him. A low grumble of a growl mixed with his jealousy rumbled in his chest as he typed out a quick message and hit send. His attitude wasn’t going to help him, and he worked to bury his frustration … he didn’t need the witch knowing Jo, her job, and her partner were dings in his armor.

  Seven minutes.

  Rutger sat heavy in his chair, flipped through the files, scanned several, and finding the one he was looking for started reading. Forty years old, served in the military, recruited to special ops for counterintelligence, extensive background in magic, fire being her trait, poisons, weapons expert, a mastery with blades, and worked overseas specializing in seizing persons of interest. The military gave her a code name, Silent Death.

  She has a code name. Wow. Rutger shook his head. Her military and counterintelligence career were riddled with awards and her record was spotless. She was damn near perfect, save for the part about being a witch.

  Five minutes.

  If there was one thing he learned, overachievers had their weaknesses. Dr. Hyde came to mind. A Wight—half human, half werewolf—excelled as an enforcer, then as an emergency room doctor at Celestial, and was currently running Nearctic, the med room at Foxwood, but believed her status as a Wight set her apart. Her lack of confidence forced her to work harder, pushed her to prove she was equal with Purebloods and Illuminates—half magic-born, half shapeshifter. It also made her a giant pain in the ass to deal with. Rutger wondered what kind of flaw the witch was going to have. Closing the file, he wanted to know why she left the military and was back in the States, in Trinity, her status with the coven, and why she was willing to risk soiling a spotless record by becoming a Dark Rogue. A terrorist in the eyes of the Highguard. What did she want in return?

  From his post behind his desk, Rutger looked down at the open door, the night held at its entrance, the snow flurries drifting inside to dust the concrete floor with white, and the tracks the tires made. The property the warehouse sat on bordered Cascade’s Summit Sanctuary where they held their meetings, pack runs, and events. The baron made him sign a contract stating in case of an emergency the pack was allowed to use the warehouse. All legal and everything, like they weren’t father and son. Rutger shook his head in disbelief and frustration. When was the last time they interacted as father and son? Damn, he had no idea.

  It doesn’t matter, he reminded himself, I have a job to do. The contract made the remodel necessary, and when the construction was complete it would be able to withstand the apocalypse. The heater hummed inside the office, warming the forty-by-forty foot enclosed space enough he stood and took his coat off. The windows, like his house, were ballistic glass. There were spotlights throughout, each one capable of switching between UV light, amber, LED, and he threw cobalt in there as added protection. Besides protecting his heightened sight and allowing him to see, the lights were going to defend him against vampires, like Shadow Lord, the fae, and witches.

  Two minutes.

  The witch backed out. How did he feel about it? Relieved and angry at the same time. He didn’t need her and could have used her. Rutger closed the file, figuring he would make a couple of calls, then head out, maybe beat Jo home. He’d just chosen another background report when the computer screen lit up with views of the parking lot. A half grin tugged on the corner of his mouth as he sat back to watch the car drive around to the back, and in a second headlights broke through the curtain of snow. It slowly approached the opening, its hood brushed with flakes, the windshield wipers battling the squall of white. She drove inside, spotted him, then parked her four-wheel drive crossover beside his truck. Rutger estimated she was five-seven. He could tell she was in shape despite the heavy coat she was wearing, along with jeans and boots. She didn’t arrive trying to impress him by wearing a suit or a dress. He would have told her she wasn’t right for the job. They were going to be doing missions, not tea parties. Her red hair was up in a bun, leaving her face open, while curled wisps sat against her neck and scarf.

  One minute.

  He looked over a background report on a Pureblood fox from the Red River fold while she took the stairs. Then, standing at the door, she stared inside before knocking three times on the ballistic glass. Was that hesitation? Rutger looked up, keeping his face from betraying his thoughts, and motioned her to come in, then replaced the report in the file as she entered.

  Five seconds to spare.

  Standing, he indicated a chair. “Have a seat.”

  “Thank you,” she replied. If she hesitated, her reluctance didn’t sound in her voice. Rather it was strong, giving away an earned confidence.

  Rutger leaned forward, making a show of reading her file. “Raquel de Whit, member of the Lapis Lazuli coven, impeccable military career,” he began as he scanned the report. “Persons of interest. What does that mean?” Looking up from the page, he met green eyes.

  “If you have a problem with someone, they are of interest,” Raquel answered.

  “What do you do with people of interest?”

  “Treat them accordingly.”

  “How long have you been in the States?” Rutger sat back. He was going to hire her, and he didn’t know how he felt about that.

  “I moved back to Trinity in June.”

  “Did you retire?”

  “Affirmative, sir. I’ve traveled for decades, and felt it was time to come home.”

  “Your career, your experience, and your traits, you’re damn near perfect,” Rutger stated.

  “What’s wrong with perfect?” She stood, took her scarf and coat off, hung them on the back of the chair, sat down, and folded her hands in her lap. Her fitted top accentuated her slim frame—not from being thin, but from exercise—and she looked strong. He didn’t believe she retired.

  “It doesn’t exist. There’s no such thing as perfect,” Rutger replied as she stared at him. “Why are you here?”

  Raquel inhaled, then exhaled. “I was ordered to return after Mistress Langston’s kidnapping. The Esme felt those of us with military backgrounds were needed to protect the coven if Cascade retaliated.”

  She had friends in high places if she got out of a military contract. “The pack never considered the coven the enemy,” Rutger assured. “This was stated multiple times by Baron Kanin, the Elders, and Mistress Langston.”