Darkness Of Truth (An FBI/Romance Thriller~ Book 6)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Darkness of Truth

         
       By Morgan Kelley

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

©
Copyright 2013 by
Morgan Kelley LLC
All rights

reserved. No parts of this publication may be

reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any

means, electronic or mechanical, including 

photocopy, recording, or in an information storage 

or retrieval system without written consent from

the author. All characters are fictional

and any similarity to real life or individuals is

coincidental.

 

 

Cover ar
t
©
purchased 03/05/2013 Art by Tataurus

Called
;
Fallen Feather
on
www.Dreamstime.com
.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From the Author:

 

 

Native American Legend.

 

The Skinwalker is a creature that lurks the night, stealing the skins of animals to absorb their ‘power’. In the Native culture, all animals bring a special gift and thus are worshipped and revered. A skinwalker will kill the animal, take its outer coat, and then wear it as it hunts to gain the skills.

Many Native cultures, specifically the Navajo
have a special name for them-
yee naaldlooshii
.
In translation this means ‘Witch’. These individuals will find and use magic of all things around them. In many Native cultures, it is very taboo to kill certain animals, and yet the ‘walkers’ still do so.

Some even believe that you can be ‘possessed’ by a
skinwalker. By simply staring into your eyes, they can steal your essence and take over your thoughts. Again, this may be fiction in many of our minds, and yet it’s viable for those that grew up believing and hearing the legends.

Many Native tribes have their own stories of the skinwalkers, handed down from father to son. There is generally one main thread, tying them all together.

Magic.

As with anything, whether it’s good
or bad depends on the one trying to yield its power.

In this novel, I’m going to take us on a little trip to a Native
American Rez (or reservation) and explore one of the mysteries of a great noble culture. Please allow me to show you what goes bump in the night.

 

Enjoy,

 

Morgan.

 

 

 

 

 

Elizabeth’s Girlfriend code:

 

1.
       
Never lie unless it’s to protect her heart.

2.
      
Secrets are perfectly fine and expected.

3.
      
Your girlfriend will always have your back.

4.
     
Anything that happens between the girls stays between the girls. OR ELSE!

5.
      
Sex talk happens often, and is kept on the down low.

6.
      
Weight is never discussed, because your girlfriend loves you as you are.

7.
      
If there is one piece of cake, your girlfriend will try to steal it, and that’s expected- as is the slap fest to get it back.

8.
     
Husbands are not above Girlfriend Code.

9.
      
No matter how far apart you are in distance, you’re still on your girlfriend’s mind.

10.
   
When in doubt, hug it out.

11.
    
You’re obligated to remind your girlfriend’s husband about anniversaries, birthdays and what to buy.

12.
   
The secret code word is: Bacon. If your girlfriend is a vegetarian, well, the code word is still bacon.

13.
   
When your girlfriend is sick, you offer to bring soup- even if it’s in a can with a sleeve of crackers.

14.
  
You are obligated to help carry all your girlfriend’s worst secrets, and you take them to your grave.

15.
   
You never talk about your girlfriend behind her back, unless it’s to conspire with her husband on a present.

16.
   
You can always drop in, swing by, or stop at your girlfriend’s house. Just bring wine and the above code word.

17.
   
Never disparage your girlfriend, even if you disagree with her completely. Offer your opinion and accept her choices.

18.
  
Do silly things with her. It’s like a marriage and needs attention.

19.
   
Don’t judge. Chances are you’re just as crazy most of the time. You just don’t see it.

20.
  
Most importantly. Tell your girlfriend you love and appreciate her. Even when she makes you bat shit insane.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So begins Julian Littlemoon’s story…..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~Prologue~

Red River
Indian Reservation

           
March

 

 

Darkness is never to be shu
nned, especially when you spend all your time creeping through its inky blackness, working your magic. These skills were the essence of their kind and had been for hundreds of years. They were passed down from one generation to another in the form of myth and story.

Only it wasn’t legend in this case. It was truth and it was fact. They existed and were on the hunt to right the wrongs that were committed against them so long ago.

Their people endured.

They continued on despite it all.

And they held a wicked grudge over the man that
restrained them and crushed their dreams.

Now it was time to take that step from the darkness
, seeking revenge on those hell bent on destroying what was never theirs to begin. Soon they would pay with the ultimate price.

Their lives
.

He stood beside the fire, built to offer warmth as the cool air circulated around him and his next victim. Soon his
captive’s time on this side of the spirit world would come to an end. It was simply how it must be.

When you committed the ultimate sin, you paid the ultimate price.
There could be no bargaining or making of deals.

What’s done was done
, sealed in blood, and offered up to the hands of fate.

Pulling out his
deerskin sack, he rolled it out and inspected his tools of the trade. The blades were sharp and glinted in the moonlight and firelight. Everything was there and ready to be utilized in his quest.

Running his finger over the edge
of the knife, it drew a single line of crimson blood. Immediately, he placed it in his mouth, tasting the salty essence of life drawn from his body. It gave him pleasure and joy to feel the power in the sacred fluid.

It was all about that blood.

The sacred fluid was with us from birth until death.

In life, s
ome were born to Native mothers and others born of the outsider, but what it all came down to was who you were inside the shell, and what you could become.

Destiny could be decided with one moment of fate.

He had chosen to be one of the dark wanders
and that meant everything to him. His father had been the same, passing it to him in secrecy. Always warning him to not get caught, as so many wouldn’t understand why it needed to be done.

Protect their people.

Uphold his heritage.

Be strong and indestructible.

Remain a shadow, hidden in plain sight.

In life there
were many hidden secrets and deceptions needed in order to endure. That is true of all the ones who came before him, and those that were destined to follow. Existence is all about working your way to the top of the food chain and holding on for dear life.

It was exactly what he intend
ed to do.

Remain at the top.

Be the predator and not the prey.

He took the herbs from the pocket of his pants and tossed them into the fire, watching them burn in the flames
, filling the air with the acrid smoke.

Inhaling deeply
, he reveled in the ancient strength it gave him to carry on with his plan. Already the mix began taking effect. His vision wavered, his head fogged, and he was beginning the transformation. It was time to start the ritual, and doing what needed to be done.

Tonight was about protecting his people once and for all.

With a few words in his native language, he blessed himself, knowing he was indeed ready to take care of the prone victim, lying on the ground. With more spoken language, unbeknownst to his captive, he prayed to his ancestors for the strength to take the life before him, granting him the ultimate prize of his energy.

Stripping down to almost nothing, he dipped his finger carefully into the ash of the fire,
smudging it onto his chest in symbols that his father had taught him years ago as a boy.

They stood for justice.

They offered power.

They
revealed the truth for all to see.

Now began the ritual, and the start
to the beginning of the end. He danced around the flames, tossing more sacred herbs into the fire, needing more intoxicating smoke as he enjoyed the ritual as much as he knew he’d enjoy the killing.

Ultimately wasn’t that what it was all about?

Taking a life and making the energy yours was a thing of beauty, and something to be relished and enjoyed. Anyone could steal a life, but absorbing the good and the bad energy and building your own strength was a finely honed skill. 

It was
the skill of one of the skinwalkers and the harvesters of the night.

It was
that of the witch and warrior.

Most importantly, it
was a secret that none should see.

After the dance was done and the stage set, he moved to the body lying beside the tree. His hands were bound behind him, and
he was hogtied, so as not to escape. Not that it would matter. Then he’d simply hunt him down. The man had no clue as to where he’d been taken, and to run would simply mean being tracked like some wild animal.

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