Prologue

“You summoned me?” Trik knelt before Lorsan and his mate Ilyrana, the leaders of the dark elves. He kept his eyes on the floor as he waited for his King to address him and tried not to show his irritation at having to wait.

Lorsan stood, tall like most males of his race. He wore traditional black fitted pants and a black fitted shirt made of a supple material that moved with the body so as to prevent any hindrance of movement during battle. His warriors donned black vests while he wore a vest of gray. His boots came up over his pants and laced up his calves. These were also crafted in such a way as to provide maximum efficiency in battle. They hugged the foot and calves so well that one wearing them couldn’t even tell that he sported any footwear at all. His hair was long, hanging down past the middle of his back and dark as midnight. His eyes were catlike in shape and glowed a deep shade of gold. He was handsome according to the females of his race though a human might find him quite disarming.

He folded his arms across his chest as he continued to stare at his most faithful warrior.

“Tamsin is planning something.” Lorsan’s mouth tightened as he said the name of the leader of the light elves. His eyes narrowed as he looked down at Trik. “I need to know what it is.”

“Forgive my boldness but why do you believe he is planning something?” Trik asked.

“Oh for goodness sake, stand up,” Lorsan told him in exasperation. “Since when do you submit to anyone with such grace? It doesn’t suit you and frankly it bores me.”

Trik stood slowly with the grace of a cat unfolding itself from a long nap. He looked at Lorsan with a smirk and brushed his long, dark hair from his face; hair so dark that it held a purple hue and shimmered in the firelight from the torches that lined the walls of the throne room.

“Far be it from me to be the one to bore you. How shall I entertain you my Liege?” Trik asked giving a dramatic bow. “Shall I dance? Perhaps sing you a song, one of the old ones? Enchant you with one of the many stories of how the dark elves have corrupted the innocent and bathed in the blood of our enemies? Or maybe you would like me to wow you with magic and mind blowing feats of daring?” Trik rose from his bow and winked at the smiling Queen, obviously enjoying his flippantness.

“What I would like, Triktapic, is for you to do what you do best. Be invisible. Follow Tamsin’s warriors to the human realm and find out why they have been spending so much time there.”

“Do you want me to bring one of the pasty ones back?” Trik asked. Lorsan snorted at the nickname his most trusted spy had given the light elves, poking fun at their immutable pale skin.

“No, I don’t want to draw their attention just yet,” said Lorsan. “Just hide and watch. Leave immediately.” Lorsan dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

Trik let out a chuckle at his King’s seemingly careless brush-off. He walked slowly toward the door waiting for the inevitable.

“Oh and Trik,” Lorsan’s voice carried through the room echoing off the high ceiling.

“Liege?” Trik asked not bothering to turn back around.

“Try not to get yourself killed. I would hate to have to train another spy and assassin.”

“Since you put it that way, I’ll have to stay alive. We both know that there is none such as I,” Trik chuckled.

Lorsan let out an exasperated breath. He knew Trik was right; there was no other elf that even came close to matching Trik’s talents, if that’s what you wanted to call them. When it came to covert operations and undetected killing, no elves, light or dark, could compare.

“And stay away from the human females,” he heard Lorsan’s raised voice as he shut the door behind him. Just before it closed, Trik responded. “No promises there.”

Chapter 1

“Halloween is here and once again I’m struggling to pick a costume. Once again I am trying desperately to ward off Elora’s attempts to turn me into some sort of gothic princess or dark fairy. If you happen to see me strutting down the street in a halter top with wings, glitter in my hair, and three inch heels, please shoot me on sight.” ~ Diary of Cassie Tate

“I’m not wearing that Elora. You might as well take that pattern and stuff it back into the bag of long lost costumes that should never see the light of day.” Cassie climbed into her best friends beat up Dodge Neon. The door creaked ominously as she opened it. Chipping red paint sloughed off, revealing a layer of blue beneath it. Who knew what color lay beneath the blue. Elora’s car had been painted several times by her older brother, Oakley, when he had started working at the auto body shop his senior year and the original color was since long forgotten. Few little sisters would have voluntarily allowed their brothers to practice painting on their vehicle, but Elora didn’t have much of a say in the matter. At least he had finally covered up the skull and crossbones he had jokingly, and quite poorly, painted on the hood.

“I’m telling you now, as your friend, if you try and wear a costume like you did last year, I will personally put you out of your own misery, not to mention my own,” Elora said in her signature dry voice. She rolled down the window, letting the crisp fall air blow through the car that had, despite the increasingly cool temperature, still grown hot from sitting in the asphalt parking lot that boasted absolutely no shade for the student parking.

“Seriously?” Cassie’s jaw dropped open. “That costume was so creative.”

Elora rolled her eyes as she started the car. She shifted into drive and pressed the pedal to the metal, coaxing the sputtering little engine to deliver its maximum effort, which resulted in a loud squeal from the tires as the girls pulled out of the school lot. Cassie latched onto the door unconcerned about the loud noise; well acquainted with her friend’s maniacal driving skills.