Chaos Unlocked Read online

  Chaos Unlocked

  Unlocked Book One

  Lana Kole

  Copyright @ 2019 Lana Kole

  Chaos Unlocked

  First publication: July 19, 2019

  Editing by Jess Rousseau & Heather Long

  Formatting by Kathryn Moon

  Cover by Lana Kole

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Lana Kole

  [email protected]

  www.lanakoleauthor.com

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chaos Unlocked

  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

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  Also By Lana Kole

  About the Author

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.

  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in, or encourage, the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

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

  This is a Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance and is not suited for those under the age of 18.

  Created with Vellum

  Kathryn,

  This book has been yours from the start.

  Thanks for everything, my little moon witch.

  DARIA

  Daria knew the moment her mother left this world. Not because of some internal instinct built by their loving bond. No, she knew because in the next moment, she was no longer alone in her head.

  “No. No, no, no. You’re not real. This isn’t happening.”

  While her mind reeled and the room spun, she grabbed the edges of the sink, biting down on the toothbrush between her teeth. Grounding herself as her life spun out of her control.

  At first, they didn’t speak, but they were there all the same. A buzzing in her head, moths fluttering by a night-light.

  A voice slid across her mind like a fingertip across the top of a coffin. Soft, with a rasp. “Well, Daria. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Her hand shook as she turned the water on, spitting into the sink and resisting the urge to gag as grief threatened to puncture a hole in her heart, and guilt clenched her gut.

  “You’re not real,” she argued—no, begged.

  “Oh, we’re very real.” A gruff voice grated across her senses, the words heavy with anger.

  Ignoring the voice, she squinted under the fluorescent lights of her bathroom, eyeing her reflection to see if anything had changed. She still looked the same. Maybe she was dreaming?

  When she hit the lock button on her phone, it lit up to show the correct date, exactly thirteen minutes after her alarm had gone off. It was still the day of her interview. She was still Daria Locke.

  When she spoke, she met her own gaze in the reflection as if that made talking to herself less weird, “No. You’re not fucking real!”

  But her voice shook with the declaration.

  Gritting her teeth, and ignoring the voices in her head, she dressed her best and curled her hair. By the time she’d applied her makeup, her hands were almost steady. Adjusting her shirt one last time in the mirror, she nodded her head in confirmation. She could do this. She had to. It didn’t matter she now heard voices, just like her mother claimed she’d been hearing for years. For a half second, she considered checking herself into the nearest psych ward.

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” the gruff voice warned.

  No, she’d just ignore them. If she ignored them, they weren’t real, right?

  Trying to convince herself of that fact, she made her way downstairs to find caffeine. Were crazy people supposed to drink caffeine?

  “Oh, you can drink whatever the hell you want. You’re not crazy.” This voice was different from the gruff one, lighter, teasing.

  Daria braced her hands on the counter and hung her head, chanting, “Not real, not real, not real,” three times to match the three different voices she’d heard, speaking louder when the voices in her head argued.

  They stopped. She sighed a breath of relief and reached for her coffee mug. At the last second, she veered to the right and grabbed the larger, stainless steel travel mug.

  When a damning realization hung at one’s subconscious, one needed more than eight ounces of caffeine to jolt into motion. She sat at the kitchen table, staring out through the window to her left as she grappled with her situation, the truth creeping closer with every second that passed.

  Her phone alarm went off far too soon, warning her she had fifteen minutes to make the seven minute walk to the office, and for just a moment, she considered not showing up. Crawling back in bed and crying the day away, letting pity swallow her whole.

  But just because she was going crazy, didn’t mean the rest of the world would wait on her. If she wanted to keep this roof over her head, she needed to leave.

  With hands a little more steady but a head no less swirling, she grabbed her travel mug and messenger bag before heading on her way.

  The demons talked back and forth in her head as if her mind wasn’t threatening to shatter, and her chin quivered as she lifted her face to the sun. She’d have to get used to it.

  The longer she walked and passed everyday people on the street with the demons’ bickering her soundtrack to the morning, the longer the obvious threatened to dawn on her. It loomed just on the precipice of her mind, but she refused to accept it. All she could do was grit her teeth and hold tight to her denial.

  “No.”

  They were her secrets now, and she’d have to protect them with her life… just like her mother, her grandmother, and great-great-grandmother… according to what her mom had told her so long ago.

  “No,” she argued against the glaringly obvious, ignoring the strange looks from passersby.

  All the way back to her first ancestor, Pandora.

  “No!”

  “Yes.” That smooth, light voice slid through her mind again, daring her to recognize it as truth.

  Daria blocked him out, wiping tears away before they fell, her flats whispering across the concrete as she walked a block over to the downtown area of Maleston.

  On Main Street, homecoming banners waved proudly while kids held hands with their parents and yelled excitedly over the promise of pancakes. Down by the bay, gulls called, and sailboats creaked at their moorings. And behind her, three blocks west, where the hill curved and the shadows began, the darker side of Maleston flourished, bars and tattoo parlors crammed side by side with pawnbrokers and payday lenders... as well as Daria’s apartment building.

  Her breath was only a puff of heat as she chanted to herself, trying to rein in her emotions before she spiraled out. This interview was everything. She wanted out of the seedy life she’d subjected herself to.

  The metal an
d glass building loomed before her and she took a deep breath before wrapping her fingers around the cool metal handle. Today, she was applying for a personal assistant job at yet another communications firm. You are superwoman.

  Rent was due. Unless Daria had a paycheck to hand over, she’d be getting an eviction notice. And she’d been jobless for far too long.

  Hopefully today that would change, voices be damned. A personal assistant was a piece of cake compared to what she used to do and was definitely something she could handle. Daria was organized and totally knew how to order coffee. She could do both of those things in her sleep, so why not get paid for it? Even if the thought of working in public relations again made her sick to her stomach.

  As she walked through the lobby, she exuded confidence with her shoulders held back and head high, while the demons in her head chattered about every person she passed.

  “He’s gonna die in three weeks, what’s his job? Apply for his job so you can get a promotion,” one of the demons announced when she passed a handsome young man carrying a travel mug. She raised hers in a good morning cheers, and he returned it with a blinding smile.

  That one must be Death. “Can you not say things like that?” she thought back at him, her cheeks flushing with anger and embarrassment. “Now, all I want to do is go warn him.”

  No! Don’t entertain them, she chastised herself.

  A soft tsk fluttered across her senses. “Accept it, Daria. We’re real.”

  By the time she made it upstairs to the glass offices and carpeted lobby, she was mentally exhausted from the arguing and all the random facts she’d learned about her, hopefully, future coworkers. The pretty brunette at the central desk greeted her when she arrived, and Daria approached the round partition with a smile pasted on her face.

  “Good morning. My name is Daria Locke and I’m here for the interview with Mr. Bowman.”

  “Ah, yes, he’s been expecting you. If you’ll have a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  “Thank you.” Daria smiled politely and took a seat in one of the cushioned chairs.

  It was cold in the lobby, and she was thankful for the cardigan she’d worn over her button up blouse and black skirt. As she stared out the window, she studied the passersby below; jealous they were able to spend their time out in the sunshine rather than tearing their hair out in nerves over an interview. Rather than hearing voices and wondering if they were crazy or worrying if they would be homeless this time next week.

  Please let me get this job.

  She really didn’t want to leave her apartment.

  Thoughts rushed in when she only wanted to focus on the meeting ahead. But they slipped through any attempt to block them out.

  Her career had crashed and burned months ago, she’d eaten through her savings, fallen behind on her bills, and now a truth too blinding and painful threatened to crumble whatever kind of life she had left.

  “Ms. Locke?”

  A deep voice called her name and she jerked her head away from the window to find her future boss. Hopefully.

  He was older, maybe in his fifties, with graying hair and a belly that could do to cut back on the breakfast muffins, but as bosses went, he wasn’t bad looking.

  Nope, not going down that road again.

  With a smile on her face, she stood and greeted him, and he introduced himself as Chester Bowman, owner and CEO of At The Top Communications. As he showed her into his office, she noticed his hand strayed awfully low on her back, and she tensed before forcing herself to relax. Then, the lock snicked and she rolled her eyes while his back was turned.

  When he seated himself across from her, she noticed a dash of color on his shirt collar and fought the frown that threatened to cross her lips.

  Then the interview began. Bullshit questions that she answered perfectly, brown nosing the entire time. She hated to admit it… but she leaned forward so Mr. Bowman could get a good shot of her cleavage. Anything to help, right?

  Well, not anything, she thought with a grimace.

  One would think her extensive resume from working in PR would be enough for this guy, but he seemed unimpressed with the paper in front of him and more focused on her legs and breasts. She ground her teeth, but as long as she had a roof over her head and a paycheck in her account, she was better off. If she had to flirt a bit, it wasn’t the worst.

  “So, Daria. What could you contribute to the team here at ATC?”

  “Besides wearing short skirts and grabbing your morning joe?” the lighthearted demon answered in her head.

  Her smile tightened before she gave Mr. Bowman a better-suited answer about fresh ideas and excellent organization. He seemed to like her words, or maybe it was the way she crossed her legs in her pencil skirt. A weight settled on her chest and she couldn’t tell if it was nerves or a warning.

  “Hey, look at the bright side. He’s only got four years, three weeks, and two days left before you can have his job,” the one who must be Death muttered in her head, bitterness flavoring his teasing words.

  After a few more grueling questions, Mr. Bowman sat back with a sure smile on his face. “So, Daria,” he said, waving his arms around the office with a grade-A view of the city below, “what do you think?”

  Daria didn’t know why the words came out of her mouth, but she couldn’t stop them if she tried, like something pulled them off her tongue and slapped them down on his desk. “What do I think? Well, I can tell you’re a lawsuit waiting to happen. From the lipstick on your collar, and the sense of desperation wafting from the last few virile years you have left, the last assistant probably wasn’t the only one you’d fucked out of the job. Quite literally.”

  Daria’s mouth dropped open as Mr. Bowman processed her words, a look of shock blanketing his features. Then the anger rode in on the wave of red color in his cheeks and Daria stood hastily, hands waving in the air as if to disperse the words she’d just spoken in a moment of… truth.

  “You bastard!” she cursed at the demon in her head. The lighthearted one she knew now to be Truth.

  Turning at the last second, she almost pleaded with Mr. Bowman but the look in his eyes was unforgiving. “I should just—I should probably go, right?” She paused in a moment of hope, desperation leaking from her features, but he only met her with a dry look. She grabbed her travel mug and pointed to the door. “Yeah, leaving.”

  “Motherfucker!” she cursed, once she was outside the building. Ignoring the looks she received from the late morning crowd around her, she stalked down the sidewalk, fingers clenched around the mug in her hand.

  Anger felt good. Sadness, the guilt that loomed, it was all too much, but she opened her arms wide to the anger and annoyance that flooded through her. Daria steamed all the way home, and the demons in her head were dead silent. Of course, now they were silent. She couldn’t even catch a breath for how angry she was.

  At least the weight on her chest was gone.

  The walk to her apartment wasn’t far from the office, which was why it’d been such a perfect place to work.

  “Dammit!” she yelled as she slammed the door to her living room. “You motherfucking bastards! You couldn’t just keep your influences to yourself for thirty minutes until I was employed? I can handle a few ass gropes if it means I can keep a roof over my head! My god, you unbelievable, terribly timed bastards—”

  She went on for a while, pacing around her living room as she thoroughly berated the demons in her head.

  When she ran out of steam, she collapsed on the couch, tears welling at her misfortune. It was all too much. Every responsibility was weighing on her, and Daria had counted on getting that job to lift some of it. Instead, rent would come due and she’d be another month behind, and Jimmy would come knocking, and she’d have to move. Tilting her head back on the cushion, she stared up at the ceiling until the tears died and then stood, hands on her hips.

  “You are superwoman,” she stated, trying to convince herself.

  “N
ot quite,” Truth murmured.

  “You, shut up. You’ve lost speaking privileges until I find a job.”

  Daria stomped into her room to change clothes, something less office-Barbie and more going-to-the-bar-Daria. So, naturally, she settled for jeans, a basic black top, and a pair of boots that honestly had seen better days. Daria felt the same way.

  Why do you think drinking will solve all your problems? Hope asked from inside her own head, gleaning her intentions as she fluffed her hair.

  “I don’t know. It won’t. I just don’t want to sit here all night and watch reruns of another TV show,” Daria spoke out loud, but knew the five demons could hear her just fine.

  She stood in front of the floor-length mirror and turned to the side, feeling good in her simple outfit. “Well, how do I look?”

  “Like you’re dressed for the most casual funeral ever,” Death purred.

  “Gorgeous,” came from a soft, deep spoken one.

  “Sexy,” a gruff growl answered.

  One of them just moaned and mumbled something about how he wished he was able to go out. But the lighthearted one… she should’ve known better.

  “Eh, I don’t know. Your hips look a little big.”

  Daria’s arms dropped as the others hushed him and glanced once more in the mirror before shaking her hips back and forth.

  “That’s okay. I think I can still convince someone to come home with me, right?”

  They all chorused agreements, but she was already on her way out the door before they could make her change her mind.

  At the last second, she grabbed the newspaper, her favorite purple pen, and slammed her door behind her as if she could leave all her demons behind.