The serpent and the ange.., p.1
The Serpent and the Angel (The Shifter Chronicles 8), page 1
The Serpent and the Angel
The Shifter Chronicles 8
Scrolls Book Two
M.D. Grimm
The Serpent and the Angel
The Shifter Chronicles 8
Scrolls Book Two
M.D. Grimm
Cover Art by Catt Ford
Copyright 2021 M.D. Grimm
Smashwords Edition
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
Want To Continue The Series?
Predator and Prey excerpt
About This Book
Chronological List of Series
About M.D. Grimm
Other Titles by M.D. Grimm
Connect by M.D. Grimm
Prologue
The father fell ill. He knew his time on the earth was growing shorter. He asked the mother to bring their son to him. Grieving, but strong, the mother did what was asked of her. Their son entered the longhouse, which had been respectfully emptied of everyone but the son and the father, giving them privacy. The father lay on a thick pile of blankets, and the son knelt beside him, taking his hand, holding it tightly.
The son choked back his own tears, wanting to be strong.
His father smiled. “It won’t be long before I join the Great Spirit,” he said in his people’s language, his voice soft, hoarse. Sweat shone on his face, and his breathing was uneven.
The son swallowed hard. He nodded.
“But before I go,” the father said, “there are things I must tell you. There is something I must give you.”
The son nodded again.
The father tightened his grip on his son’s hand, his eyes dark and intense. “What I must tell you, not even your mother knows. She has no need to know. But once I tell you what I can, you must leave our tribe.”
The son’s eyes widened. “But Father—”
“No.” The father coughed, hacked. The son used a damp cloth to wipe his father’s brow and then helped him drink some water.
“You need to rest, Father.”
The father shook his head. “No, I will rest soon but not now. My son, it was always to be you who would continue to carry the burden I’ve carried my entire life. Then, when the time comes, you will hand that burden to another. You will know who and when to do this, just as I knew the moment you were born.”
The son didn’t understand, and he listened carefully to his father’s words.
“You have the wandering spirit,” his father continued. “You always ran or flew farther than any of the other children and were the most reluctant to return. I’ve seen you grow more restless as you age. Don’t try to deny this.”
The son shook his head. “My place is with my tribe.”
“No,” the father said gently. “You are meant to follow the wind. You are meant to protect what I give you. The world is changing faster with every year that passes, and our tribe is no longer safe. What I protect is no longer safe.”
“What do you protect, Father?” the son asked quietly.
The father’s fever-bright eyes bore into his son’s, and despite his illness, he still exuded the strength and intelligence of a warrior.
“I will tell you all that I know. But when you leave this house, you must find where I’ve hidden it, and then you must depart. Do not wait. Speak to no one, not even to your mother. I will tell her what she needs to know.”
The son could barely hold back his tears. He nodded, determined to be strong like his father, who he loved above all others.
“But Mother will need me.”
His father smiled. “She has our tribe. She will need you to do as I tell you to do.”
The son nodded again.
The father cleared his throat and took a deep, rattling breath. “Now, listen closely.”
A story of darkness and light, death, betrayal, and the hope of life, was told inside that longhouse. When the son emerged into the open air, he felt burdened but also alive with purpose. The people of his tribe walked to and fro around him, but he barely saw them. He barely heard them. His father was right; he had always been restless and more interested in following the wind than hunting or socializing with his tribe. It wasn’t that he bore them little love—it was that he was curious to know what was beyond his home. He wanted to see unknown lands, taste unknown foods, learn strange languages. He wanted to see and know and learn all that he could. Now he had his chance.
His mother approached him. He hugged her tightly, knowing this would be his last chance to touch her, smell her. While he resembled his father in the shape of his face, his eyes, and his stature, his coloring was all his mother, a woman of light skin and hair. She’d been part of the Dutch invaders before choosing to join their tribe as a young woman. She took to their ways without hardship and though she was much younger than his father, deep love and respect had grown between them, and their union had been blessed. Perhaps his restlessness came from being born of two worlds.
His mother pulled back and touched his cheek. “Did you say goodbye?”
The son swallowed hard, struggling against the lump in his throat. “Yes, Mother.”
“Then I shall say mine. The Great Spirit will welcome him with love.”
The son nodded. His mother walked into the longhouse. The son stared at the door for a long moment before turning away and striding quickly to the hiding place of the object his father had been tasked to protect. Grief, excitement, and fear churned inside him, and he didn’t know which one to focus on. He would never come back. He would never see their faces again. But what worlds awaited him beyond his tribe? What strange people and customs?
The son stopped walking as the wind suddenly blew harder. He closed his eyes and spread out his arms, embracing the wind as if he was in his bird form. The wind was cool and soothing, ruffling his hair, kissing his cheeks and neck, whispering to him.
Eyes of dark gold opened and stared into the clear, blue sky. His father would make the great journey that night, he was certain of it. It was time now, for him to make his own.
Chapter One
The foolish think the eagle weak, and easy to bring to heel.
The Eagle’s wings are silken, but its claws are made of steel.
~ Sidney Sheldon
The Colorado Territory, 1866
Tobias stalked down the wide dirt street. His long strides ate up the ground, and he neither looked left or right. Anyone who saw him promptly turned around and went in another direction. He passed the saloon, the barbershop, even his own place of business, the sheriff’s office. The wind blew strong that day, stronger than it had in a while. Tobias barely noticed it. It couldn’t bring a chill as the sun burned down on the small mining town in the Colorado territory.
Tobias knew how to intimidate, to make others fear. Lord knew it was his greatest skill. He had a deadly stare, aptly like that of a rattlesnake, and his eyes, his expression, were blistering cold. His boots thumped up the two steps of the general store’s long porch before he entered the building itself. He turned smartly to the counter where an older gentlemen, one in a snappy suit, stood, waiting for the few customers inside to purchase their items. The man’s gaze shot to Tobias’s, and he visibly paled, his eyes widening.
With a casual lean on the counter, which didn’t fool anyone, Tobias lifted the brim of his hat a fraction before considering the man.
“Good morning, Mr. Thompson.”
Mr. Thompson needed to clear his throat before he found his voice. “Good morning, Sheriff.”
“I hear we might have a problem.”
He blinked. “Problem, sir?”
“Aye, a problem. Namely, a problem you might have with a few of the hardworking miners the coal mine employs.”
“I got no problem with those men.”
Tobias’s lips lifted slightly. It wasn’t a smile. “Right glad I am to hear it, Mr. Thompson. That puts my mind at ease. Now, I’ll just leave here and go tell those n ice hardworking Chinese men that you don’t have a problem with them.”
Mr. Thompson scowled, his wrinkled face becoming more wrinkled. “Damn Chinamen. What kinda trouble they causing now?”
Tobias lifted his eyebrows. “They claimed, mistakenly, I’m sure, that you be raising the prices for them, while keeping the prices reasonable for the other miners. I reckon that ain’t true, is it, sir?”
Mr. Thompson, while obviously still wary of the sheriff, didn’t want to appear cowardly. There were a few decent women in the store, including his seamstress wife, who were openly staring at the two of them, eager to know what transpired.
“They come to this country, stealing work from decent folk. Lord knows they gotta damn pay for it.”
Tobias tilted his head slowly to one side, his eyes flat, his face emotionless. Then, without warning, Tobias lashed out. He gripped Mr. Thompson’s collar and yanked him forward, causing his upper half to lie flat along the counter. Mr. Thompson gasped and choked, his eyes reeling. Tobias shoved his face closer to Mr. Thompson’s, their noses almost touching.
“Let me make myself perfectly clear, Mr. Thompson,” Tobias said in a low voice only the two of them could hear. “Consider this your only warning. Whether it’s a Negro, Chinaman, Indian, or a damn dandy who walks into this store, you had better treat them with the same decency you treat those who look like you.”
Mr. Thompson sputtered. Tobias tightened his hold, his strength absolute.
“I don’t got a use for bigots in this town, and you know how I feel about useless folk.”
Mr. Thompson paled even further, his eyes growing dark with terror.
Tobias paused, making sure his point sunk into the man’s thick skull. “If a person got a use in this town, they get the same damn items for the same damn price. Have I made myself clear?”
“Aye.” It was nearly a squeak.
Tobias let go and shoved Mr. Thompson lightly on the shoulder, sending him back across the counter. Mr. Thompson stumbled and panted, his hands shaky as he attempted to straighten his clothing.
Tobias gripped the hem of his vest and gave a light tug to resituate it, then smoothed out his shirt. He sniffed and lowered the brim of his hat again, casting his face into shadow, his eyes gleaming.
“Remember, Mr. Thompson, I only give one warning.”
Mr. Thompson nodded vigorously, gulping. “Y—yes, sir.”
Tobias spun on his heel and tipped his hat to the stunned ladies standing behind him. Then he was gone, striding out of the store and back down the lane. The sun glinted off the sheriff’s star pinned to his vest as he now observed his surroundings. Parkers Hollow was a tough town with tough people, and he had damn well be tougher. That had never been hard for him. He was cold, detached, and merciless. He’d never pretended to be otherwise. Lord knew he was exactly the type of sheriff a town like this needed.
He lived by one rule: If a person had a use, then that person deserved his protection. In these rough lands, there wasn’t any room for laziness or parasites. The last sheriff had learned that lesson quickly… when Tobias put a bullet in his brain. The man had been a corrupt, drunken horse turd in fancy suits. He’d certainly had no use whatsoever.
There’d been protest, of course, but Tobias was skilled at making people see things his way. A genuine smile touched his lips, albeit a small one. Parkers Hollow wasn’t anything special. It was just another coal mining town south of Denver and Colorado Springs. It wasn’t an exceptionally small town, but it certainly would never reach the size of its northern siblings. They weren’t near the mountains, but there were many hills around them, full of coal, just waiting to be dug from the earth. To Tobias’s mind, coal mining was the only useful sort of mining to do. Gold and silver, what were they useful for? Except for making jewelry and glittering. No, give him coal any day: it powered the trains, light, and to his mind, the west itself. He’d chosen to be a coal miner for that purpose, before realizing he was more useful as the sheriff.
He walked to where he’d tied up his faithful mustang mare, Shadow Dawn, and grabbed the reins before agilely mounting her. Brown and white with a black tail and mane, Shadow Dawn had been with him since she was a filly. She’d been a runt, but he’d seen the usefulness in her. As most horses whinnied with fear when he came too near, Shadow Dawn had depended on him, trusted him, and was now the only horse he ever rode. He was also the only man who ever rode her. The few others who tried found themselves eating dirt right quick.
He flicked his gaze to the wanted posters tacked to the wall beside the front door of the sheriff’s office. Among the numerous faces he didn’t know, there was one that stared out, mocking him. Randall Travers. He’d known the man a couple of years ago. They’d never liked each other, and he would love to be the one to collect the reward on his head. Travers was an ex-soldier and leader of the Devil’s Bandits, which Tobias always considered too much name for petty thieves and cattle rustlers. The Texas Rangers wanted him alive. Tobias figured they wouldn’t mind if he was missing a limb or two. Technically, he’d still be alive.
Tobias turned away, clicked his tongue, and Shadow Dawn started moving. He never used his spurs on her, which he considered an ugly practice. He smiled fully as she happily cantered toward the Chinese encampment just outside the edges of town. Their tents came into view first, but then the smell of their food hit his nose, and his mouth watered. He liked their food.
It wasn’t that he liked Chinamen more than others. He didn’t really like anyone. No, it was their usefulness he respected. They were industrious people and never caused a ruckus or made a mess. Tobias appreciated that. They didn’t complain or whine about the coal mining work they had to do or the violence they often received from bigots. It was actually rare they said anything about the way they were mistreated. But the higher prices for them were hard to handle or ignore. Tobias was glad they’d come to him—it meant they trusted him.
Several men stepped forward as he pulled up inside their camp. He dismounted and tipped his hat to those gathered. He explained that the problem was handled, and the few who understood English nodded happily and professed their thanks. Tobias waved them down, embarrassed by their gratitude. But when they offered him some food, he couldn’t resist. He wasn’t much of a cook, so he immediately took advantage of any free meal.
It was an hour before he managed to leave and return to the town. The sun only grew warmer, and he started to sweat. But no amount of discomfort would have him stripping down to only his shirt. He firmly believed in first impressions and in looking how a sheriff should, which was professional with a hint of the civilized east in his bearing and speech. That wasn’t so hard for Tobias, as he’d been born and raised in Virginia.
Shadow Dawn trotted past a few homesteads, and he noted the women corralling younger children or doing laundry or shaking out the indoor mats. He inclined his head to them, and they stopped their work to acknowledge him. The children stayed clear of his horse, which he was entirely thankful for. Shadow Dawn was a lot like him: not very social or friendly. Before he entered the main part of town, with its businesses, he was greeted with a sight that made his anger flash cold, as it usually did, and his fingers brushed his pistol. He was an oddity, he knew, in the way his anger came upon him. His anger was rarely if ever the hot, bubbling kind. When it came upon him, it was cold, frozen, like a sheet of ice at the end of the world. His anger focused his mind and strengthened his determination. And it was always there, floating just below the surface, simply waiting for the moment he needed it. He’d felt the hot kind perhaps twice in his life, but it was useless anger, the kind that made a person stupid instead of smart. It got in his way instead of showing the way. He had no use for such anger.
He pulled on Shadow Dawn’s reins before dismounting. He approached five men, ones he knew well, Lord help him, who were currently getting their asses handed to them by a lone man. Tobias didn’t recognize his face and figured him for a stranger. His clothes were plain and dirty around the cuffs and knees, indicating he’d been traveling for some time. He had a bag with him but lacked a hat.
