Blood In Iron (The Iron Series Book 1)

  Blood In Iron

  ∞ The Iron Series ∞

  Book One

  Written by J.N. Colon

  Kindle Edition August 2015

  Copyright © J.N. Colon 2015

  All rights reserved

  www.jncolonbooks.com

  This eBook is for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or reproduced in any manner.

  This eBook is a work of fiction. The names, places, characters, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events or locations are entirely coincidental.

  Other books by this author

  Divine Darkness series

  Dark Souls

  Dark Sins

  Dark Prophecy

  Dark Goddess

  Secret Salem series

  Stalked

  Hunted

  Haunted

  Tormented

  For all the fans of urban fantasy and paranormal romance. Without you there would be no one to write for.

  A new age of darkness is descending and the one girl who can save the world is the one girl who can destroy it. But she has no idea any of this is coming…

  Kory has never been afraid to walk down a dark street at night for two reasons. One, she can see the villains skulking in the shadows, hear their footsteps as they approach, feel their presence closing in. And two, on any given day or night she’s more dangerous than them. Or so she thought.

  When the rebellious teen discovers the true evil underbelly of Bishop City, Kory’s life and all she’s ever known is irrevocably shattered. She’s caught between simply surviving and following the path she never knew existed. Rex becomes her teacher and the chemistry between them is both undeniable and forbidden.

  Relationships and loyalties are tested and, as Kory falls deeper into this new supernatural world, dark secrets arise, hinting that her destiny might be more than she bargained for. Is she simply another demon hunter? Or is her blood the key to something darker?

  Contents

  Other books by this author

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty One

  Twenty Two

  Twenty Three

  Twenty Four

  Twenty Five

  Twenty Six

  Twenty Seven

  Twenty Eight

  Twenty Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty One

  Thirty Two

  Blood In Iron’s Playlist

  Darkness never bothered me and I was never one to shy away from danger. In fact I welcomed it because I knew no matter what I was coming out on top. I was the threat. I was the one to look out for, to stay away from.

  But whether I wanted it to or not my world was about to get a whole lot bigger…

  Prologue

  I SUCKED IN ONE LAST lungful of air before tensing my muscles and spinning around with the raised bat, expecting a bone shattering connection with the creep who was sneaking up on me. Unfortunately the guy stopped it with one hand, clutching it so hard his tendons protruded out.

  My gaze pulled up his tall form, shocked by not only his impressive strength but his aesthetically pleasing appearance. Brown curls of hair shone under the moonlight, glossy and smooth, surrounding a sculptured face with high cheekbones, a straight nose, pointed chin, and pale pink rosebud lips. His skin was flawless porcelain, contrasting dramatically with his unnaturally bright green eyes.

  He was hot, but my senses detected something dark lurking under the surface of that pretty face. Proving my point, those rosebud lips slowly curled into a cruel smile while inky black spilled into his moss colored irises.

  A gasp tumbled out of my mouth, shattering the quiet night and my heart slammed against my ribcage with fear laced adrenaline. I unsuccessfully attempted to snatch the bat from his iron hold. Eventually I slipped my hands away, stepping back as confusion wove tendrils through my usually clear mind.

  What is he?

  His fingers elongated, curling around the bat and nails grew to glossy, lacquered points. Cracks echoed through the alley as his hand tightened on the wooden stem until it splintered, pieces raining loudly onto the cold concrete.

  I couldn’t think as I stared into those impenetrable eyes—like looking into the depths of the earth and it was a cold, hard, forbidding place. His mouth opened as his teeth elongated and sharpened, a second row emerging behind the first.

  I was certain of one thing. One thing only. He was not human.

  One

  THE CITY SMELLED tonight—as usual. Gasoline and exhaust mingled with urine and rotting food. Burnt rubber from hot tires laced the toxic mixture. Or it could have been the homeless druggies smoking crack inside the abandoned factory I was passing, a decrepit smokestack standing like a fractured bone against the pitch sky.

  Graffiti covered walls and overpasses in a multitude of colors, but it did nothing to mask the decay crawling over every edifice, bringing a sense of death to the air. Deep cracks ran the length of the road beneath my feet, spider webbing out. Most people would have fallen or stumbled. Not me. I knew the streets.

  I took another drag of my cigarette, the cherry flaming red in the darkness before flicking it on the ground to burn out. My breath fogged in front of me, mixing with smoke in the icy night air of Bishop, a small city in upper Maryland. A cold wind lifted my long dark hair, bringing with it a heady, unmistakable scent. My eyes glanced toward a busted streetlight and saw the outline of a guy.

  My heart didn’t even miss a beat. Why would it?

  I zipped my leather jacket up to my neck, the click of the teeth echoing down the quiet street. Footsteps resonated on the pavement as the guy who assumed I couldn’t see him ambled closer.

  “Hey baby,” he called out, blowing a cloud of smoke from his mouth. “What you doing on the streets all by yourself?”

  I didn’t answer. I shoved my hands in my pockets and kept walking.

  “Why don’t you come inside with me? I can get you set up with the other girls.”

  He was only a few feet away when I stopped and gave him the finger. “Screw you,” I hissed, my lips curling in disdain.

  The guy blinked, confused before recognition spread across his face. “Oooh. My bad Kory. Didn’t know that was you.” Derrick took a long, deep puff, the joint crackling and popping on the silent street. “I should have recognized that mean mug.”

  “Funny,” I sneered.

  He smiled, flashing his white teeth. “You want a hit?”

  “Nah man. I’m good.” Like I needed to be more paranoid. Plus I knew better than to smoke after a pimp. No telling what he did with his girls.

  “All right then. See ya around.” He slipped back into the shadows—or at least he thought he did. I could still see him.

  I continued down the street to my house, the small three bedroom bungalow in serious need of repair. The blue shutters were chipping, one even hanging off, the door needed a paint job and so did the siding that resembled the color of dinge rather than white. Like every house on this street it was falling apart. But who was going to fix it? Certainly not me.

  An overpowering scent of stale cigarette smoke assaulted me when I stepped inside, wrinkling my nose on impact. You’d thi
nk as a smoker the smell wouldn’t bother me so much. Light from the outdated bubbled television playing the news flickered against the faded white walls.

  “Another gruesome murder was discovered tonight in Bishop. Is it the usual gang related crime that has plagued the city? Or is there a new threat on our streets? The story tonight at eleven.”

  People died every day. Whether it was old age, drugs, a car accident, or murder—it eventually happened. No one was immortal.

  I turned the channel, returning the remote to the chipped wooden coffee table that held a stagnant glass of water and an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. The worn out beige carpet barely created a barrier between the concrete slab beneath and the eroding wooden legs. A wood burning fireplace was across the small room with a splintering mantle that had seen better days. A light blue threadbare couch was flush against the wall with a mismatched brown recliner adjacent and currently occupied by my aunt. The kitchen was on the right just before a short hallway leading to our bedrooms and bathroom.

  My eyes flickered to my sleeping aunt laid back in the recliner, an unlit cigarette dangling from her chapped lips. She might die in a house fire. Or a drug overdose.

  I shook the glib thoughts from my mind and pulled the cigarette from her mouth, laying it on the table. A stab of remorse penetrated my chest. I shouldn’t think those things. I shouldn’t be so damn ungrateful. Her life might have been completely different if she never had the burden of a seven year old kid forced upon her.

  My parents died in a car accident when I was seven and Maggie was my only living relative. When she took me in she was stunningly beautiful and full of life with a promising modeling career. It was pretty hard to get modeling jobs when you were forced to drag around a little brat so she quit. Then she had her accident. A broken leg and neck landed her in the hospital and in a shit load of pain killers. Once she was out of the hospital and her bones healed she couldn’t give up the high they brought.

  Most of the money my parents left dwindled quickly after that. Their stuff was crammed into a storage unit and—while there could be valuables—I sure as hell wasn’t about to set foot in it any time soon. Maggie didn’t even know I still paid the small monthly bill otherwise she and her druggie friends would have pillaged the contents by now.

  I sighed and gently spread a quilt riddled with several burn holes on top of her. My grandparents adopted her from the Ukraine and it was highly apparent we weren’t blood related, especially standing next to each other. Maggie has always been tall and willowy, but the effect of drugs over the years has thinned her frame considerably. Lackluster wheat colored hair curtained her delicate face and cerulean almond shaped eyes. Her pale skin was so light rivers of tiny blue veins were visible up close. A fragile quality surrounded her as if she was a piece of glass threatening to break any moment.

  I was at the other end of the spectrum. My hair was dark as soot and hung midway down my back. My soft face held round, dark brown eyes, a straight nose and full lips. I was barely 5’3” and where Maggie was frail and thin, I was curvier with taut muscles beneath my perpetually tanned skin.

  I ran a finger across her lined forehead, thinking she looked so much older than she should. She was only thirty-five yet looked forty-five. Drugs.

  I sat on the threadbare couch and pulled her purse into my lap, pill bottles clanking together. A couple different types of pain pills, two kinds of anxiety medication, and sleeping pills. I poured a few blue benzos into my palm, intending on taking a little of each. Don’t get it twisted—I wasn’t stealing them for myself. I’d never be caught dead chalk full of drugs. This was the best way I knew how to keep us afloat even if Maggie wasn’t aware of it. Those kids at school were always itching for something to take the edge off. Derrick’s friends were no stranger to mind altering crap either.

  Maggie unexpectedly stirred, coughing.

  My suddenly pounding heart was the only thing that didn’t freeze. I wasn’t afraid of a guy in a dark alley, but my aunt catching me stealing her drugs—well that was a different story.

  But her head just lolled to the side at an uncomfortable angle and she continued sleeping.

  My breathing resumed as well as my theft. I wasn’t really doing anything bad. I was actually helping her. The fewer pills she had the less chance she had of hurting herself. At least that was what I told myself to get rid of those itchy guilty feelings.

  On the short way to my room I caught my reflection in a mirror hanging in the hall, my dark eyes glinting in the dim light, igniting the inexplicable gold flecks in them like embers of a fire.

  I’d never met anyone else with eyes like mine. And for some reason it had always made feel lonely—like an outsider to the rest of the world.

  Two

  MY BREATH FOGGED IN front of me, mixing with smoke from my cigarette while I stashed my free hand in my jacket pocket to chase away the chill in the air. The cold weather descended upon Bishop quickly every year. It was barely autumn and the temperatures were dipping into the forties at night.

  I turned my back against the wind to face the opposing brick building I spent entirely too much time in. Duchene High school. That was right. I was still in high school. A senior with my eighteen birthday looming in the distance still months away. It wasn’t too bad because I had a certain reputation that kept most people away even teachers. Besides, what else was I going to do at seventeen? Get a job?

  Duchene used to be a snobby private school about ten years ago—hence the fancy name—but it lost a lot of benefactors and attendance dropped once the neighborhood turned to shit. And by shit I meant lower income housing, less curbside appeal, drugs, and shady businesses.

  Duchene went public.

  It may not be the upscale educational environment anymore, but it was still a far cry from hide-in-the-bathroom-‘till-the-gang-fight-is-over high school. No one was pulling out a gun or flashing a box cutter. At least not on me.

  I brushed black strands of hair out of my face to take one last puff of my cigarette just in time to see Adam Cleary walking toward me. Or rather twitching. He was one of my repeat customers always looking for a downer to calm the effects of his habitual coke problem. I wouldn’t normally give someone like him the time of day, but—well—money.

  I bit off another hangnail, tuning out the math teacher’s monotone voice only to get interrupted by Brett Baustic who was whispering to Katie Morris. When she was turned away he made an obscene gesture to his friend, alluding to doing her tonight.

  He was a privileged rich boy jock who thought he was God’s gift to girls. I was pretty sure he’d be dating someone else by the end of next week. We met freshmen year and he’s irritated me ever since then. His golden blonde hair, deep blue eyes, and all-American good looks only seemed to piss me off more.

  “Such a douche,” I mumbled under my breath as he continued to flirt with Katie as if he hadn’t just been demeaning her. I’d point it out to her if I cared about stuck up cheerleaders.

  He turned around to see who insulted him when a knock resonated on the heavy wooden door, an unfamiliar gangly teenage guy sliding meekly through the opening. Cropped copper hair was perfectly combed and parted on the side, surrounding a startlingly pale face that held a pair of thick black framed glasses. His white shirt was buttoned up to the collar and tucked into a pair of pressed khakis. A blue tie set the whole ensemble off. An actual tie. He had new kid written all over him and was shaking in fear like a dog cornered by the pound.

  Mr. Johnson, a squat rotund man with cottony white hair and wrinkled skin, left the dry erase board to take the note he was holding out. “Looks like we have a new student joining us.” His white fluffy mustache twitched as he spoke. “The more the merrier.” He clapped the new kid on the back with a thick, meaty hand, nearly knocking him over and sending most of the students into snickers and full on laughs. “Pick a seat Milton Hubbert.”

  More laughter followed.

  His face had turned the color of fresh blood
and a fine sheen of sweat broke out across his forehead. Jamal tripped him with his foot, sending his friends into a chorus of laughs. Brett threw a ball of paper at his head. More laughter.

  A tiny twinge of pity resonated in my chest, knowing he was going to get eaten alive at Duchene.

  And then he took the seat next to me.

  Surprise lifted my dark brow and the class grew still, waiting on my reaction. If any other seats were available students knew not to take the one next to me unless invited. Few were ever invited.

  The kid stared straight ahead, either completely oblivious to the sudden anticipation in the room or ignoring it. I glared for another beat then turned back to the front, deciding to let it go. He was going to get enough hell today. I’d let it slide this one time.

  “Pop quiz,” Mr. Johnson announced, grabbing a stack of papers.

  The class groaned in unison.

  Mr. Johnson chuckled, a twinkle in his dishwater eyes. “Don’t worry. Calculators are allowed. And Milton, you can take it, but I won’t count it if it’s bad.”

  I inwardly cursed as I realized I left my stupid calculator on my dresser. My eyes flickered around the classroom, searching for someone I could easily strong arm for theirs. I really didn’t want to fail another quiz.

  My forehead creased when I noticed the new kid staring wide-eyed at me. I was about to give him my best sneer when he unexpectedly slid his calculator to the edge of his desk. “I don’t need it,” he whispered with the hint of a southern accent.

  I blinked, suspicion winding through my veins. Why would he be so nice? What was his deal?

  When I didn’t take it he picked it up and motioned it toward me, sincerity playing in his eyes. “My grade won’t count anyways.”