Karolina Dalca, Dark Eyes Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for M. R. Noble

  Karolina Dalca, Dark Eyes

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing

  Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  “Who are you anyway?” I asked.

  “Andre,” he said. “Private Investigator, but I’ll do anything for money.” He winked.

  “You’re not human,” I said. “What are you?” I stretched out my Charmed senses and felt magic within him.

  “I’m a vampire, princess. Same as you, but with a little extra dark superpower. I’m a full vamp though, and from what I can tell from your dismal amount of speed out there, you’re half.”

  He dragged a chair from the wall and sat across from me.

  “You have the Dark Charm?” I asked. “I should have figured; you ooze sleaze bag.”

  “And you have a little special magic up your sleeve too, don’t you, princess? I bet you get a little hot now and then, don’t you?”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  “And with a name like Karolina Dalca…I bet you’ve got enough training to back up that look you’re giving me.”

  He knew my name, my powers, and where to find me. My eyes fell over his body, sizing him up as he sat across from me. Strong jaw, tall, six feet and maybe four inches, and muscular broad shoulders. I could take him—if I took him by surprise.

  Praise for M. R. Noble

  “This book grabs you by the throat and does not let go! A fast paced, enthralling journey through a hidden underworld of vampires, werewolves, and other beings of the night who wield a fascinating array of powers to devastating effect. Compared to the more stay-at-home-type of vampires and werewolves I know, these protagonists are pushed beyond the human limit. I highly recommend you acquire this book and hole up somewhere safe for the ride.”

  ~Stuart Rutherford, actor from

  What We Do In the Shadows

  “Fans of Kim Harrison will be drawn into the imagery of Noble’s first book of the Dark Eyes series. In between bouts of fighting and the intensity of paranormal, dark fantasy, there are moments of comedy that make this series opener a real page-turner.”

  ~Booklist

  Karolina Dalca, Dark Eyes

  by

  M. R. Noble

  The Dark Eyes Series

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

  Karolina Dalca, Dark Eyes

  COPYRIGHT © 2020 Margarita Rose Noble McBurnie

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Kristian Norris

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Black Rose Edition, 2020

  Trade Paperback ISBN 978-1-5092-3278-9

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-3279-6

  The Dark Eyes Series

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to

  every down-on-her-luck-woman out there

  who needs a reminder that her inner strength

  is the sharpest tool she has.

  Acknowledgments

  A special thanks to my sensei, who taught me that perseverance is a lifelong skill.

  A scream from the rooftops thank you to Kirsten Koza, a brilliant writer, champion of wacky travel, friend, and humorist extraordinaire.

  Thank you to my agent, Marisa Corvisiero, and my editor at the Wild Rose Press, Melanie Billings.

  Thank you to the earliest reader, a fellow vampire enthusiast who encouraged me to “murder my darlings.”

  To my fellow members of the WCYR, gratias vobis ago.

  Lastly, an emotional heartfelt thank you goes to my husband, friends, and family for their interest and support.

  Chapter One

  Karolina Dalca

  I was born in Romania, but it never had the chance to be my home. Instead, I wound up in northern Ontario, completing an extra credit internship in my tiny town, staring down the face of an alleged flasher. I readied the paperwork before my mentor, Constable Danny, interviewed the perpetrator. It wasn’t an ideal way to spend the summer, but my psychological profiling exam blew into flames—literally—and extra credit was the only way I would pass.

  It was one-way glass, but as he looked ahead, it unnerved me to stand in his gaze.

  My cell phone lit up with its silent ringtone. Mama called for the twentieth time. I hung up on her in an argument. She should’ve known better than to play with a vampire’s mood—half vampire or not. Mama immigrated here with her parents to start a new life away from the crime of the ‘old country.’ After this morning, it was safe to assume violence was everywhere, even in the towns with dirt roads.

  Still, she insisted the arms of the vampire underground were out of range—if I obeyed the rules of my father’s kind. I grew up sheltered. The Charmed people of Romania stuck with their own. Grampa Dalca had an unnatural sense for people sneaking in and out of the house. I never knew if it was my family’s earth magic at work or if it was just his lived experience. I would have been grounded double my age by now if I wasn’t such a great negotiator.

  Still, I was lucky to have a father figure to teach me to control my vampiric side and how to defend myself. As I looked down at the photos of evidence, the perp’s bruised penis, it was clear he’d picked a little girl who’d been taught to give a swift kick to the nuts. Not many girls are.

  Constable Danny primed the perpetrator to enter the interrogation room.

  Control, I reminded myself. It was the mantra Grampa Dalca gave me. I fought for my independence my whole life, and I only got this far by staying in control…mostly. If I lost myself when they finally let me sit in on an interrogation, I would fail.

  “Are you ready?” Danny asked me.

  “I couldn’t think of a nicer way to spend my summer than listening to you chat up perverts,” I said with a royal inflection.

  “Does that mean you’re ready?” he asked, fighting a grin.

  “Yes.”

  “All right, kid. Just observe the process for booking. We’ll overlook the final paperwork when I’m done.”

  He called me kid all summer even though I’ve got boobs and I’m of legal drinking age.

  Danny guided the perp into the interrogation room.

  I t
railed behind them.

  The perp looked up at me and smiled. It was the type of smile which peels back one’s skin with the sick feeling that he is liking what he sees. But nineteen is too old to be his type, way too old.

  I thought of his provocation of the girl and the hairs on my arms stood at attention. A boiling feeling in my belly rose to my chest. My heart thumped like a battering ram against my ribcage. My fire magic pushed into my throat. I held it back, making my knees sink to the floor. This was my father’s doing. I inherited the genes for fire magic from him, and if I knew him, I’d tell him what an ass it made him. I focused on my mantra and my earth magic. While I did, my vampiric senses slipped through my concentration.

  The light blinded me. My hearing overwhelmed my ears. The beating hearts of those around me banged out like drums. My fangs slid down from the roof of my mouth. I was seconds away from the crippling thirst for blood. I concentrated on a bland memory of my childhood, sitting with my family by the fire. Forbidden to play with other kids, except Roman, Mama would make dolls out of clay which awoke with a breath of magic.

  When I got older, I did what any teenager did—I rebelled. Going to Carleton University in Ottawa for Political Science, with the ambition of becoming an officer, was more than my family could take. Mama blamed the death of her parents on the fact their hearts couldn’t take my leaving. Twenty-four-hour pneumonia was the real killer.

  Thoughts of my family grounded me. I rose from my semi-crouched position.

  The other officers’ stares drilled into me.

  But I knew how to portray my internal struggles as low blood sugar. My goals were simple. Stick to the rules of the law, whether this man deserved them or not, and don’t reveal my powers.

  “You can stay down on your knees if you want to, love,” the perp said to me as he positioned his crotch closer to my face.

  Before my eyes processed the flash, a rippling heat left my hands.

  Then the perpetrator was screaming.

  Danny seized the fire extinguisher and attempted to spray him as he ran flaming through the room.

  The evaluating constable yanked a fire blanket from a first aid kit on the wall and tackled the perp to the ground. He wrapped the cloth around him snuffing out the fire and spreading the ashy remains of his coat across the checkered floor.

  To my dismay, the pervert was okay. His clothing wasn’t. His wrinkly rump laid sunny-side up on the floor, the image forever etched into my eyeballs.

  ****

  Earth magic was a parboiled study of mine, but I was able to use my magic to spell the police sergeant into writing me up instead of firing me. They didn’t know what caused the fire, only that it originated from my hands. I blundered through their memories with my magic. Hopefully, they weren’t going home to their wives forgetting an anniversary or birthday. For the moment, I was safe and so was my internship. Which meant my measly income for university residence was secure.

  I rolled my shoulders against the car seat, trying to release the tension from the day. I cranked the dial up on the radio and let the song “Ibiza” massage my sore spirit. Afternoon mist floated above the pine hills like steam and disappeared behind the curve of the road.

  Movement caught my gaze. The trees jolted back and forth on a hill. Something big was out there. My tires kicked up rocks. I swerved, just missing a speed sign.

  Pay attention, Karolina. Grandpa Dalca’s words chimed into my head. I remembered his thick accent: Does the dog wag the tail, or does the tail wag the dog?

  Taming my vampiric nature took years. My family picked up animal remains from the butcher and, if I rationed well, I kept my blood lust at bay. When I toted a padlocked deepfreeze to my dorm, I told my roommate I only ate game meat because it was ethically harvested. The backlash was she committed to the cause—not only did she want to use my freezer—posters started showing up in hallways. It was better than ripping her hipster neck out at night. Nothing was a substitute for blood from the source, and the night is catnip to Vampires. My shameful preference for bunnies was the only way I weathered through most nights. It was the cost of abstaining from human blood.

  I arrived at the main road. Just a little longer and I’d be at home with my mother.

  The question was what would coax her into finishing our previous conversation?

  I turned into the parking lot of Mama’s favorite sweet shop and checked my makeup. My eyes looked like two melted blackbirds in a nest of hair. I hit the showers after my shift, but I only had time for a quick body rinse. There was no denying the day I had.

  I got out anyway. I walked into the store and a tingling draped my shoulders. The familiar feel of magic. The doorframe had orphic markings carved into the top—an ancient custom of the Charmed people. Our house was full of them too; it was how we identified our own.

  The store clerk was behind the counter.

  I waved, and then took a moment to review the trinkets for sale. Some carved plaques hung from twine between packaged incense and a taxidermy albino falcon. The falcon’s eye shone like liquid still flowed within its body. The first plaque read Charmed with earth, know your worth, for no one can go forth.

  The Earth Charm was the most common inherited magic, but one could invoke it too. Those Wicca parties advertised at your local occult shop were no joke. The Water Charm was used by spiritual humans, like priests and shaman. The Air Charm was hard-won if one wasn’t born with it, and Fire even more so.

  I flipped to the next plaque. This one read Beware of shadow that consumes, your soul it dooms, unless the light you love exhumes. I shivered at the memory of Mama’s terrifying fables. Just like the elements, there are also the Light and Dark Charm. Sparking the Dark Charm takes an intense act of malice, and I would have to want its power. The more extreme version is Shadow Forging. I didn’t want to think of the acts I’d have to commit to Forge. The change would shred my soul and rip apart my body…

  The Light Charm is much more pleasant. Whenever I read a story in the newspaper about a miracle, Mama said it was the magic of a person with the Light Charm.

  I paid for a box of candies and wished the shopkeeper a good day.

  I turned the corner just outside the door and faced Roman Lupei. Our families emigrated from Romania to Canada at the same time—naturally they converted into extended family—and our parents dreamed one day our relationship would be more.

  Now, he tried to make their dreams a reality. When we were a couple of lanky teens, I would’ve laughed. But after high school graduation, he’d learned his father’s trade and became a carpenter. The family business was his now—and so was the body of an Olympian.

  “Hey, super chick,” he said.

  “You wanna be the bad guy?” I asked, my voice flat.

  He fiddled with his keychain, a creepy piece of bone set into a bronze disk. I hated it. He pocketed his keys, putting the old trinket out of sight.

  “Some guy was asking around for you today,” he said. “Saw him at the coffee shop when I was there.” His dark hair reflected the now setting sun, giving it an auburn hue. A golden glow faded from his eyes, and I knew the tip of the sun had just set behind me.

  “Tom,” I said.

  He grunted and shook his head. “He doesn’t have your number, so he resorts to tracking you down in your hometown?” he asked. “What a loser.”

  Tom wasn’t a stalker. We were in the same program at university, and he was interning in the next town over. I stopped responding to his texts a while ago. Fighting the urge to plunge my fangs into his artery while we made out really put a damper on things.

  I’ll probably die a virgin.

  “We weren’t serious,” I said.

  “Looked like he wanted to be,” he said.

  “I stopped talking to him a while ago.”

  “So, you ghosted him? Next time I see him around I’ll tell him to send a carrier pigeon.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Listen, now’s not the time, Ro.”

  “Why? Did
something happen today? Is it the cravings? Do you need blood?” His hand brushed my hips, trying to draw me into his whispers. It would’ve have been a fatal idea, if the cravings were a problem at this moment.

  He waited for my response and put his hand into my hair, grabbing a hand full. He let the strands run through his fingers.

  The gesture sent an invisible caress down my back. Why was he doing this? He knew my secret. He knew seducing a hungry vampire was volunteering for a bloodbath.

  “You’re lucky I gorged this morning.”

  “I’m not scared,” he said. “Are you admitting it’s not the blood that has you red faced?”

  I should have retreated, but I looked up and saw his chest rise and fall. The image of it without a shirt traipsed into my head, and then I was leaning against him. My eyes continued upward and…stopped. In the heat of the moment, I couldn’t get farther than his neck.

  Carotid artery be dammed.

  “I’m just stressed,” I said. “I’ve got to run, Ro. Mama’s waiting for me.” I shifted out of his arms and stepped around him.

  “Okay, I’ll drop off the wood for the reno at your house on my way home,” he said.

  I walked to the car trying to combat thoughts of Roman without clothes. My blood pumped hard behind my ears. I slammed the door shut and cracked a window. The cool breeze felt good on my face. Shit. I tossed the box of candies on the passenger’s seat. Besides wanting to be a blood bag, what did he want? To ruin our friendship over a lay? Even if we could have sex, I didn’t want to end up like one of the washed-up cheerleaders who screamed at him for not calling the next day.

  On the drive home, I followed the edge of the forest ridge. We lived a half-hour from town. It was the price of an amazing view.

  I drove up to our century-old home. Next to the historical plaque was a sign which read Dalca tilted sideways toward the ground. The September wind struck again. Dalca is my mother’s family name; it’s Romanian for lightning. Grandpa Dalca liked to brag it was the magic of our family blood which made us so lethal. He told me I had to fight like lightning itself.

  I stooped to fix the sign, and then paused to eye the walkway. The weeds overtook the flagstone pattern which had been my summer project.