Aequus Read online

  Aequus

  Copyright © 2017 by Randi Cooley Wilson

  All rights reserved. Thank you for purchasing an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without written permission of the author or publisher.

  Published by SECRET GARDEN PRODUCTIONS, LLC

  Editing by:

  Per Se Editing

  Cover design © Hang Le

  Interior Design & Formatting by:

  Christine Borgford at Type A Formatting

  AEQUUS (A Royal Protector Academy Novel, Book Two)

  Randi Cooley Wilson

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition March 2017

  ISBN-13: 978–1519394224

  ISBN-10: 1519394225

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.

  THE ROYAL PROTECTOR ACADEMY NOVELS

  VERNAL

  AEQUUS

  NOX

  THE REVELATION SERIES

  REVELATION

  RESTRAINT

  REDEMPTION

  REVOLUTION

  RESTORATION

  THE DARK SOUL SERIES

  STOLAS

  VASSAGO

  LEVIATHAN

  Table of Contents

  AEQUUS

  ALSO BY RANDI COOLEY WILSON

  Dedication

  Chapter 1 ~ THERE'S A STORM COMING

  Chapter 2 ~ FADE TO RED

  Chapter 3 ~ FIGHT FOR YOU

  Chapter 4 ~ A CHILL IN THE AIR

  Chapter 5 ~ CHOSEN

  Chapter 6 ~ WAR NOT PEACE

  Chapter 7 ~ I GET TO LOVE YOU

  Chapter 8 ~ THE GARDEN OF THE DEITIES

  Chapter 9 ~ BREAKING YOUR HEART

  Chapter 10 ~ DANCE WITH ME

  Chapter 11 ~ SECRETS AND DECEIT

  Chapter 12 ~ OLD FRIENDS

  Chapter 13 ~ END GAME

  Chapter 14 ~ THE LION GUARD

  Chapter 15 ~ QUIET MOMENTS

  Chapter 16 ~ ACTS OF WAR

  Chapter 17 ~ GOODBYES

  Chapter 18 ~ DARKEN THE HEART

  Chapter 19 ~ COMFORT THE GIRL

  Chapter 20 ~ BACK TO YOU

  Chapter 21 ~ FATED

  Chapter 22 ~ STONE COLD

  Chapter 23 ~ DEVASTATION

  Chapter 24 ~ TORCHES AND DRAGONS

  NOX ~ COMING NOV 2017

  Excerpt from STOLAS

  Excerpt from REVELATION

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  For Dave–

  Because when the wind rises, you always shield us.

  She made herself stronger

  by fighting with the wind.

  Frances Hodgson Burnette

  The Secret Garden

  Serena

  THE DARK TEMPEST LURKS ON THE horizon, casting an ominous shadow over the cloud-filled sky. Heavy gusts slice through the graying atmosphere in quick, angry bursts.

  With each surge of air, the ache in my chest recedes, allowing me to breathe. To feel. To exist.

  For me, the wind is the epitome of strength and power, and in an odd way, I’ve always envied the currents because they move freely and can’t be captured—or tamed.

  As I’m an elemental gargoyle, air nourishes my spirit and strengthens my supernatural gifts; the currents are essential to my well-being, allowing the gargoyle vitality to flow freely within my royal protector blood. It is a strong reminder that there is more to our worlds than what we see.

  The dry riverbank beneath my feet is a stark contrast to the lush forest that surrounds me. My gaze roams over the Killarney National Park and slides up Torc Mountain, focusing on the peak of the waterfall. A shudder runs through me at the thought of the entrance to the woodland realm hidden behind the cascading liquid.

  Where he is.

  Mere steps from me, but worlds away.

  With a quiet growl, I shove thoughts of him away to focus on my surroundings and the task at hand.

  I ease back into a comfortable position and calm my breathing while manipulating the wind’s speed. I strain to move the currents until I’m exhausted.

  I’m hoping the directional changes will bring the Irish mist and end the drought.

  The way the air floats between the clouds and trees determines if a storm will appear. And right now, more than anything, I need the rainfall.

  The howling wind calms into a soft sigh as I drop my hands from exhaustion and everything around me stills.

  My eyes float across the unmoving land. It still amazes me that with a simple flick of my wrist, I hold the power to create calm and peace or chaos and destruction.

  I miss the days when the skies naturally became dark and the raindrops fell lazily from the sky in their gentle dance.

  Three months. My heart stutters at the thought. It hasn’t rained in three months—not since Tristan left.

  Tristan Gallagher.

  My gargoyle protector.

  And prince of the woodland realm.

  When Tristan returned to his court, not only did he take my heart, but he also took the rainfall. And in its place, the angry winds arose, both in nature and in my core.

  As time stands still, the ache in my chest spreads. I savor the shadow of darkness that has fallen across the land.

  It’s a dark reminder of the sadness and emptiness I feel.

  It was only a few months ago that, like the wind, Tristan blew into my life, bringing the storm with him and taking it when he went away, leaving me with the quiet of the curling air, devoid of the tiny drops of water.

  I hate the calm. I used to love it, but now, it’s too still.

  The lack of chaos provides time to think.

  To remember.

  To allow the hurt to seep in.

  Once it had been second nature to savor moments of peace like this. Once I dreamed of being someone else—until I knew Tristan existed. Then all I dreamed of was a day when it was just me and him.

  I release a throaty laugh, because that’s not likely to happen anytime soon—or ever—considering he is betrothed to another: Freya, the princess of the water realm.

  Even though Tristan is half gargoyle, he was raised by his mother, Queen Ophelia, in her kingdom, the woodland realm. Months ago, Tristan killed a royal protector, an enemy who had infiltrated the woodland army and planned to murder the queen.

  Though he acted in the name of protection, he spilt gargoyle blood and almost started a war between our worlds. The violation could not go unpunished by my clan, the London clan of gargoyles. The royal family.

  As a favor to his old friend—and Tristan’s estranged father—Gage Gallagher, my uncle Asher, king of our race, assigned Tristan to protect me, which he begrudgingly agreed to, avoiding his sentence of stone petrifaction.

  While it may seem cruel, Tristan’s severe punishment was merited in our world. Instead, he was ordered to protect me against a possible attack by the Diablo Fairies—a legion of ancient warriors who practice black magic.

  They’re a new breed of supernatural creatures, created by the king of the Nine Hells to end my existence. After the death of his mate, Lady Finella, the demon Asmodeus declared revenge on my family and the entire protector race, making it clear that I’m a primary target. As such, my family felt it vital to add another level of protection to my royal guard.

  Enter Tristan Gallagher.

  If Asmodeus and the Diablo Fairies succeed, it leaves the protector race open to attack, ending our existence—and the future of the human realm.

  The Diablo
Fairy army has backed off—for now.

  Our victory was short-lived because Tristan is also half satyr and next in line to the throne of the woodland realm.

  For centuries, the woodland and water realms have been teetering on the brink of war. It’s a power struggle between the two dimensions—one that has escalated over the years.

  To solidify their alliance, Tristan was promised in marriage to Freya, daughter of Oren, emperor of the water realm. He doesn’t love her, but such is the cruelty of the supernatural world.

  Soon after beating Kupuva and her Diablo Fairy army, Tristan left his post as my protector and returned to his realm to fulfill his oath and secure peace for his kingdom.

  I look up at the clouds and, with a quick, angry flick of my wrist, attempt to coerce water to fall from the sky.

  Manipulating the wind releases the storm that stirs within me, but the rain . . . the rain stabilizes me.

  Calms me.

  Since Tristan left, it hasn’t rained. Not one day.

  “If you keep forcing the elements to bend to your will, out of anger, you’ll create a nightmare of a shitstorm.”

  I inhale, not recalling the last time I heard that voice.

  “Besides, you will fail. The water realm is the reason for the lack of rainwater,” he adds. “It’s Oren’s way of throwing his power around the supernatural worlds.”

  As my anxiety picks up, so does the wind. It hisses through the trees as Zander approaches me from behind.

  Zander, Tristan’s stepbrother and best friend.

  I peer at him over my shoulder with a vacant glare.

  His strides are measured as he approaches and steps next to me. Nervously, he brushes raven strands of hair away from his sympathetic eyes. When I meet his gaze, it causes me to release my hold on the elements; the chaos I’ve created around us falls silent and the forest stills.

  “Serena,” he tips his chin in a gesture of respect.

  My lips twitch. “Zander.”

  The nymph lowers his voice. “The strong winds you keep conjuring have spilt over into the woodland realm. The trees are bending painfully and the leaves are trembling in fear, as if something dark is on the horizon.”

  My response is a one-shouldered shrug. “Maybe it is.”

  Zander watches me with his stormy jade eyes and inky rock-star hair. He looks nothing like his brother.

  Tristan’s hair is a warm caramel color, and it’s longer on the top and messily styled. The flecks of gold in his serious, cognac gaze are deep, allowing you to become lost in them.

  Tristan looks like the calm before the storm, whereas Zander looks like the darkness that will overtake you.

  Appearances can be deceiving though, when personalities come into play. Zander is lively, warm, and inviting. Like a blanket. Tristan is full of darkness, a haunted coolness, and an impassive indifference.

  Except with me.

  “This upheaval wouldn’t have anything to do with my brother’s upcoming nuptials to a certain nymph princess?”

  At his words, rage consumes me, and the winds lift again, whipping around us.

  The reality of my situation hit me full force ten seconds after Tristan walked out of my life. Since then, the gloomy days match my dark mood.

  Male protectors should come with a warning label.

  They aren’t good for the heart.

  Period.

  The End.

  “I guess that would be definite yes,” Zander teases.

  My attention snaps to his face as thunder rolls in and lightning strikes over the lake multiple times.

  Zander’s attention shifts to the sky. “You need to get past this, champ. He needs to focus on his duties and oaths.”

  I scowl.

  “You should know, whenever the clouds roll into the realm, he frowns, knowing it’s you hurting,” he continues.

  When he came into my life, I was given a taste of freedom. Something I’d never had before. Yet, that free will wasn’t unrestricted; it came at a price—the loss of my heart.

  In order for Tristan to safeguard me, his protector mark was infused with my blood. It’s the only way a gargoyle can truly protect a charge. Once it’s broken or begins to weaken, the blood-bonded gargoyles become short-tempered and sullen.

  I’ve been told that with time, the hostility will fade.

  Just like my memories of Tristan.

  I shiver, feeling lonely and rejected.

  “The bond we share doesn’t leave me a choice,” I snap.

  Zander doesn’t get angry at me for my short temper.

  Instead, his demeanor becomes softer, understanding.

  “You do have a choice,” he pacifies.

  Elemental chaos reigns around us with my heightened emotional state. “Wrong,” I state sharply. “If I had a choice, I would have chosen Tristan and he would have chosen me.”

  Zander swears under his breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. My gaze homes in on the dark circles that frame his eyes, and I’m suddenly aware of how drawn he appears.

  His lips pull into a tight smile. “You think he likes this, Serena? Do you think Tristan isn’t hurting in the same way you are? My brother is miserable. If you thought he was dark and broody before his time with you, he’s worse now. Each time the lightning strikes our realm, a sharp pain literally rolls through him,” he forces a bark-laugh. “It’s true. He rubs at his heart—daily—at an ache that has settled there, a longing,” he pauses and calms. “For you.”

  My words catch in my throat and my shoulders fall in defeat. I know Tristan feels this too. How can he not?

  Maybe I should move on.

  At the thought, the small mark behind my ear comes to life, reminding me it’s there. I lift my hand and rub at it, trying to soothe the sudden burn.

  Zander’s ink-clouded focus narrows in on the motion.

  “Have you told him yet?” he asks.

  “About what?” I feign ignorance.

  Rolling his eyes, Zander folds his arms across his muscular chest. “The mark. Behind your ear, Serena.”

  I look away. “Why would he care about a freckle?”

  “A freckle in the shape of his insignia,” he counters.

  Tristan wears the Sun of Vergina symbol on a necklace.

  It marks him within the supernatural world as nymph royalty. Oddly, the same mark is branded on my skin.

  Sighing, I shake my head, suddenly losing the ability to argue anymore. Instead, I swallow the dryness in my throat.

  “I have no idea why it’s there, Zander. Until I do, Tristan doesn’t need to know. Not now anyway—with everything else he’s dealing with,” I whisper.

  Zander shakes his head in disagreement. “There is a deeper meaning behind it. It isn’t just a coincidence.”

  He’s right. Before Tristan left, he handed me a note, which read: The Sun of Vergina is our cessation.

  The words contain a hidden meaning that I can’t decipher. I’ve been going over and over them again in my mind, trying to figure out their importance. Exactly, how, or what, the insignia will stop or end, I have no idea.

  “Do not tell him, Zander,” I demand. “Until I understand it, Tristan doesn’t need to be bothered with it.”

  “He’ll be pissed off that you withheld this from him.”

  “I’m not afraid of Tristan’s wrath,” I mumble, kicking and staring at the dry gravel under my feet. “I fear nothing.”

  He releases a heavy sigh. “You’re too stubborn for your own good. Fear is not a sign of weakness, but of strength.”

  Slowly, I raise my head and lock eyes with Zander.

  “Why are you even here?” I snap.

  “Freya’s father has moved up the date again.”

  I try unsuccessfully to hide my surprise at this news.

  “I wanted to let you know in person before you heard about it another way. I thought—well, you should know.”

  “Why?”

  He smiles sheepishly and waves toward the winds twist
ing the landscape. “Given how you took the news the last time, I thought perhaps I could convince you to harness your anger and fear into a less elemental outlet.”

  I school my features, pretending not to have heard him.

  “Serena?” Zander questions at my quiet state.

  “I meant, why has Oren moved the ceremony up, again?”

  He shrugs. “I assume it has to do with Tristan’s recent visit to the earth realm. Freya has her father’s ear and I’m sure she has mentioned my brother’s newfound fondness for you, which most likely made him afraid that Tristan would change his mind. As you are aware, Your Highness, this agreement binds the two most powerful lands across all realms. It doesn’t take a genius to smell Oren’s desperation and desire to solidify that partnership. And quickly.”

  I glance from the good-looking nymph to the waterfall cascading gently behind him, and then back to him again.

  The tightness in my chest constricts, and I’m forced to push out a sharp breath. Something about this seems off.

  “I think the real question is why the desperation? Why does Oren seek the backing of the woodland realm with such furiousness that he’s willing to force nuptials for land he will never govern?” I ask. “It’s as if he’s afraid, or knows something is about to happen to threaten the realms.”

  His face pinches. “Perhaps he plans to rule both.”

  “That’s impossible. The only way Oren could rule both realms is if Queen Ophelia and Tristan—” My brows rise. “You don’t think he’s planning to kill them?”

  Zander shakes his head. “Oren is too smart for that. That said, he won’t be able to control my brother once Tristan reigns. No one can,” he adds with pride. He pauses, looking around uncomfortably before dropping his voice. “Perhaps Oren is hoping Freya and Tristan will produce an heir right away, one that he eventually can control?”

  I swallow the bile in my throat at Zander’s words.

  “Then he’d be out of luck. Tristan would never—I mean . . . he wouldn’t let a—his child, be controlled by Oren. Or anyone else,” I bark out. “As his best friend, you know this.”

  “Maybe it’s truly as simple as Oren fearing Tristan will change his mind, given his feelings for you,” he reasons.