Circle of Dreams (The Quytel Series Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  CIRCLE OF DREAMS

  Introduction

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  CIRCLE OF DREAMS

  The Quytel Series - Book 1

  JANE S. MORRISSEY

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  CIRCLE OF DREAMS

  Copyright©2017

  JANE S. MORRISSEY

  Cover Design by Melody A. Pond

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN: 978-1-68291-297-3

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  To my grandparents

  for their love of romance novels.

  Introduction

  ~ The Quytel ~

  (pronounced “Kwai-tell”)

  Born with psychic abilities and branded with genetic markers, those who are chosen and survive the deadly initiation become Quytel. Three Judges, three Seekers, seven Warriors, and a Commander make up a Quytel Circle. Seven Circles are bound to specific geographic territories.

  Through near immortality, powerful psychic abilities, and an unbreakable bond tying them together, they are the servants of justice on Earth.

  Prologue

  Sedona, Arizona

  Jonah Drummond surveyed his office absently, barely able to appreciate the antiquities he’d collected over the centuries. This underground sanctuary often brought him solace, although today he found no comfort in the rich surroundings. The intricately carved wooden door stood ajar, partially revealing the ancient symbols of power and protection adorning it.

  Mack, Jonah’s second-in-command, entered and stood stiffly at his desk, disapproval heavy in his steady gaze.

  “You can’t keep this from her much longer,” the tall, Quytel warrior cautioned brusquely. His golden eyes flashed, accentuating the harshness of his hawk-like features. “Psychics are being targeted and that puts her at risk.”

  Jonah rested his head on the high back of his leather chair. “I know, Mack. It needs to be handled properly and when the time is right.”

  Displeasure darkened Mack’s expression and shone in a face that hadn’t aged past thirty despite the passage of over six centuries. It was both a blessing and a curse to be so long-lived. The pair had been together as long as Jonah cared to remember. Six hundred and fifty years sometimes seemed an eternity, and yet others had endured far longer than either of them.

  Even after all this time, Mack remained the most dangerous of the Quytel Warriors under his command. Jonah’s respect for him ran deep, but he didn’t appreciate Mack’s increasing challenge to his decisions these past few years.

  He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. “Our immediate order of business is discovering who is behind these psychic murders.”

  “You think it’s Anton d’Arc,” Mack stated matter-of-factly.

  Jonah shook his head slowly. “I’m not entirely convinced. Anton was an incredibly powerful mage. His mastery of spells and dark magic enabled him to elude the justice of the Quytel. He didn’t have the power required to kill in this manner, nor the longevity to still be among us.”

  Mack shifted his weight. “Anton was focused on upsetting the balance of paranormal power on earth for hundreds of years. Who else do you think it could be?”

  “He’s been quiet for nearly a hundred years,” Jonah reminded him.

  “Gathering his strength,” Mack challenged.

  Jonah shrugged, irritation building. “It could be a rogue Quytel, a demon. There are other possibilities we’ve can’t afford to overlook,” he suggested.

  Dismissing the evasion, Mack pressed his point. “Anton has a personal vendetta against you and your family. And that puts Bri directly in danger. You could lose her.”

  Jonah stood abruptly, palms flat on the smooth surface of his desk, facing off with his second-in-command. “Don’t you think I know that?”

  Intense power crackled in the air around them. As the Commander of this Quytel Circle, Jonah had absolute control over the Warriors, Judges, and Seekers bound to him, including Mack. Jonah could harness the psychic abilities of the thirteen Quytel in his Circle and channel it into a destructive force that could level a city.

  “Then stop avoiding this,” Mack bit out, standing as a moral beacon to his betrayal. The bastard wasn’t intimidated by the energy Jonah whipped around him, enough to prick his exposed flesh and pull the shirttails of his white button-down free of his trousers.

  To see Mack looking disheveled was a rare occurrence, and Jonah found some satisfaction in it. He took a deep breath, reaching for calm, and the display of unrestrained magic dissipated into the air. “It’s not time.”

  Mack shook his head, giving no quarter. “The longer you wait, the harder it will be for her to forgive you. She’s smart and curious. She may not be able to imagine what you are, but any investigation will lead her down a dangerous road, and you need to be prepared.” His voice carried its own command.

  Jonah walked around his wide wooden desk, tired of the lecture. Crossing his arms over his chest, he met his friend’s glare. “Who am I to disappoint now?”

  Golden eyes flashed at him. “If you don’t tell her very soon, I will.”

  “It is not your place,” Jonah replied evenly, the th
reat clear. “She has no idea anything beyond human reality exists. It would be devastating to her understanding of life.” With the bitterness of truth lodged in his throat, Jonah closed his eyes. “Mack, I swear if you weren’t my closest friend—”

  Mack leaned toward him. “You can’t hide who she really is forever. She deserves to know. You owe her that.”

  The air between the two men pulsed. Neither made a move for several moments. Then, finally, Mack’s shoulders dropped.

  “Your soul was damned long ago,” he said with resignation.

  Jonah gave a dry, humorless laugh.

  Chapter 1

  Seattle, Washington

  Struggling against the damp bed sheets, which had become wrapped around her long legs during her fitful sleep, Brianna Doherty kicked them off in frustration. The clock on her nightstand read two-thirty. She groaned. Another sleepless night.

  Bri tossed on her robe as she made her way to the bathroom. Splashing cold water on her face, she assessed her reflection in the mirror. Her mouth creased into a deliberate grimace. Large green eyes, slightly bloodshot, stared out at her from a flushed face. Hands shaking, she pulled her long mess of blond hair into a tangled ponytail and took a deep breath to steady her racing pulse.

  Oh, Bri. Get hold of yourself.

  The nightmare hadn’t visited her yet tonight, although she felt the ache of it deep in her subconscious. She snapped off the light reluctantly and stumbled in the dimly lit room to her bed.

  “Damn!” she bit out through gritted teeth, as she stubbed her toe on the large wooden trunk at the foot of her bed . . . again. She needed to move the unwieldly thing into another room, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It had been her mother’s chest and contained the few items she had to remember her by. Inside were several photographs of her parents, a child’s sized, hand-knitted blanket, her mother’s favorite scarf, and a few trinkets Bri had been able to collect before she’d been taken from her house.

  Flopping on her back, Bri pushed down the thoughts of her long-dead parents and touched lightly on the nightmare. She tried to think of it as a dream. It had less power that way, although it still frightened her to the core. As a reporter, she’d seen and heard countless horrific stories, her scientific mind picking them apart and examining details until the puzzle made sense.

  Work usually didn’t get to her. This did. It felt personal. Bone-chilling. Terrifying. It made her want to scream until she lost her mind.

  The nightmare had started a few weeks ago, and she was sick of it. For just one night she wanted peace, to rest without dreaming, to wake refreshed and unafraid. She knew this meant allowing the dream to come without fighting it. And tonight she would do that—on her terms.

  A week earlier, Bri had started diligently researching lucid dreaming; the ability to be consciously aware during a dream. She figured it might be the only way she could get to the bottom of what the nightmare meant.

  According to her research, she needed an object to focus on in the dream. She’d chosen an old coin that had been in her mother’s things. The images, of a small horse on one side and a deity to something on the other, were smooth and worn. Grabbing the object from her nightstand, she lay back, her fluffy pillow not nearly as comforting as usual. The coin lay cool in the palm of her hand, and her fist curled tightly around it. The uneven metal edges bit into her soft flesh. Closing her eyes, she deepened her shallow breathing.

  Her heartbeat quickened with apprehension.

  The nightmare rushed in with frightening clarity, and she was helpless against it. Paralyzed. Flashes of light filled her mind and senses. Pain ripped into every fiber of her being. Bri heard her own scream, high-pitched, bloodcurdling, and only in her mind. She couldn’t breathe. Panic rose in her throat. She tried swallowing past the constriction and nearly choked. Losing concentration, the nightmarish world of overwhelming pain and insidious fear swept her away.

  The ever-elusive figure up ahead floated out of reach. The woman had long hair, silver against light-blue robes swirling around delicate ankles. Her body glowed, shimmering with untold power—an ice queen standing before a high altar at the far end of a crystal cave, stunning and terrifying. The high flickering flames of tall black candles reflected off the crystal-lined walls, creating an unearthly prismatic effect throughout the otherwise shadowy space.

  Bri made out a collection of objects scattered on the surface of the altar: bones, a satchel of herbs, a few metal trinkets, a dagger. The weight of ancient magic and the dark arts hung in the air. Although Bri had no idea how she retained knowledge of these things, she knew the truth of it deep in her bones. What happened here was an abomination of nature that interfered with the cosmic harmony of the universe.

  Great sadness and incredible longing suddenly rolled through her. The despair drove her to her knees. She froze, able only to watch, waiting with the terrifying knowledge something awful was about to happen that she had no way of stopping. A thousand nails pierced her brain, and blood rushed like wildfire in her veins. She struggled against paralysis, to no avail.

  Countless voices screamed, threatening to shatter her mind. A shock wave of intense pain overwhelmed her, and she couldn’t defend even one small corner of her mind against the onslaught. All thought slipped away in the aftermath of that horrific moment when a soul was ripped unwillingly from its body.

  Bri searched the haze of devastation and anguish in her mind, needing an anchor for her sanity. Feel the object in your hand. Notice you are in a dream.

  Lucid dreaming. Right. This is only a dream. A nightmare.

  She tried to catch her breath. Focus. The coin. Straining with the effort, sweat popped out on her forehead and under her arms. Forcing her mind away from the mesmerizing figure, she pushed against the terrifying ache in her joints.

  This isn’t real! Her scream reverberated in her mind, bouncing off surfaces flickering in the light of the cave, into dead air. Silence.

  Breathe. Focus. Feel.

  Bri felt it. She held something. Squeezing, hard edges of cool metal dug into the flesh of her palm.

  The figure turned to face her in a swirl of robes and silver hair. Green eyes, so much like her own, stared her down.

  All the air left her body in a rush, and Bri was propelled backward, hurtling through space and time. Her eyes popped open, and she fought to breathe. She shivered as the fine sheen of sweat covering her body began to dry. When her mind cleared, she sat bolt upright in bed.

  Who the hell was that?

  She’d had it all wrong. It wasn’t her nightmare, or her pain.

  Bri rubbed her burning eyes, remembering. Grabbing the picture frame that had been at her bedside since she was five years old, she stared at the woman in the photo as she had so many times before.

  This time was different.

  Those had been her mother’s eyes.

  Chapter 2

  Long Beach, California

  Cole Courtland shivered, but not from the cold night air. Both man and wolf lived inside him, a hunter and a predator, deeply connected to the power of the earth. He sniffed the air again, detesting the concrete beneath his feet. His connection to the earth solid and unquestionable, he could collect information, track movement, and gather power from it. Concrete just irritated him.

  In human form for now, his heightened animal senses pierced the night as he sniffed, tasting his quarry. He would recognize the scent of the man and woman they followed, regardless of location.

  Cole’s team was on the case tonight, tracking a string of hideous murders, mysterious deaths of unknown psychics. Too many bodies had been found deflated and empty, clearly tortured.

  Highly specialized paranormal investigators, they moved without hindrance or oversight or authority. Shadows. Few who hired them knew about their particular talents, only that they go
t results.

  Two weeks earlier, one of their most trusted informants, Gary, had called a meeting. They’d been through a lot together, and the man had been as close to a friend as an informant could be. He was reliable. When Cole had arrived, Gary frantically told a fantastic tale of suddenly being able to move objects with a thought. He couldn’t control it and felt he was being hunted. With nowhere else to turn, he’d called Cole.

  Cole had immediately offered his friend their protection, but Gary ran, too afraid to trust even Cole and his team. Two days later, they’d found his body. A skeleton draped in desiccated skin; his body sucked completely dry—like the seven others they had found since.

  Courtland, Inc., their private investigation firm, made plenty of money, which allowed them to take on a few pro-bono cases. None of the team wanted to leave this one alone. They had all liked Gary and respected the quality of the information he’d provided them over the years. His death had been horrific.

  Since they’d accepted the case, they had discovered psychics who seemed to newly come into their power. They emerged only to disappear a few days later. Hunted. Murdered. This case had become as much about stopping the carnage and bringing the perpetrator to justice as self-preservation.

  The trail of depleted skins littered California’s west coast and had finally led them to this warehouse on the docks in Long Beach. Close to midnight, the place was deserted.

  “You daydreaming over there?” Cole whispered to Jay, connected to his teammate over a nearly invisible earpiece.

  Whip thin and light on his feet, Jay’s spiky red hair and freckles gave him the appearance of a perpetual seventeen-year-old, which often helped him blend undetected into a crowd. As their telepath, Jay had picked up the thoughts of new and unexplained powers and the trace of implanted commands in the two people they followed.