The Drow Grew Stronger Goth Drow™ Book Four Martha CarrMichael Anderle This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both. Copyright © 2020 Martha Carr and Michael Anderle Cover Art by Jake @ J Caleb Design http://jcalebdesign.com / [email protected] A Michael Anderle Production LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture. The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights. LMBPN Publishing PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy Las Vegas, NV 89109 First US Edition, August, 2020 eBook ISBN: 978-1-64971-109-0 Print ISBN: 978-1-64971-110-6 Contents 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 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 Chapter 62 Chapter 63 Chapter 64 Chapter 65 Chapter 66 Chapter 67 Chapter 68 Chapter 69 Chapter 70 Chapter 71 Chapter 72 Chapter 73 Chapter 74 Chapter 75 Chapter 76 Chapter 77 Chapter 78 Chapter 79 Chapter 80 Chapter 81 Chapter 82 Chapter 83 Chapter 84 Chapter 85 Chapter 86 Free Books Author Notes - Martha Carr Author Notes - Michael Anderle Connect with The Authors Other Books By Martha Carr Books By Michael Anderle The Drow Grew Stronger Team Thanks to the JIT Readers Angel LaVey Daniel Weigert Deb Mader Diane L. Smith Jackey Hankard-Brodie John Ashmore Kerry Mortimer Larry Omans Paul Westman Peter Manis Veronica Stephan-Miller If we’ve missed anyone, please let us know! Editor The Skyhunter Editing Team Dedications From Martha To everyone who still believes in magic and all the possibilities that holds. To all the readers who make this entire ride so much fun. And to my son, Louie and so many wonderful friends who remind me all the time of what really matters and how wonderful life can be in any given moment. From Michael To Family, Friends and Those Who Love To Read. May We All Enjoy Grace To Live The Life We Are Called. Chapter One This can’t be real. None of this is actually happening right now, is it? Cheyenne Summerlin stalked through the corridors of black stone, blinking at the bright code scrolling across the walls. Grimacing at the distraction, she reached behind her ear and ripped off the silver activator coil. The code flickered and disappeared with the buzzing pinch that still made her eyes water. She jammed the activator into her coat pocket and kept moving. Beside her, L’zar Verdys moved with long, purposeful strides away from the Heart at the center of Hangivol. The drow thief stood tall, his hands clasped behind his back and a daring, infuriating smirk on his dark-gray lips. “Look at this,” he muttered, gesturing toward the crowd of snarling magicals gathering in the wide archway of a branching corridor on their left. “They look happy, don’t they?” Cheyenne stared expressionlessly at the Crown’s servants and attendants cramming into the archway, who were shoving each other against the black walls. “Happy enough to jump out and try to rip us to shreds.” “Oh, they could try, yes.” L’zar raised his eyebrows at the sneering, hissing magicals glaring at them, a multitude of races, skin colors, and facial features. He didn’t even bother to lower his voice when he passed a foot from the archway. “Then they’d find themselves at the foot of the deathflame with nothing but oblivion to greet them there.” A slavering rat-faced skaxen drew her head back and spat violently at L’zar. The drow’s fingers flicked toward the furious servant in a fraction of a second, sending the foamy wad of spittle flying back toward its owner, where it landed with a grotesque smack. The skaxen screamed and reeled away from the corridor, clamping both clawed orange hands to her eye and pushing through the crowd to withdraw the way she’d come. No one else said a word. L’zar clasped his hands behind his back and kept up his brisk but unhurried pace through the Crown’s inner fortress in the center of Ambar’ogúl’s capital. “You know, for the first time, I think I like the way things are headed in this place.” On the other side of Cheyenne, Ember Gaderow snorted. “Because no one can do anything to stop you.” The drow chuckled and cast the fae girl a sidelong glance. “They wouldn’t have been able to anyway. The only difference is they know it now. It’s about time the willing slaves in this place pulled their heads out of their beloved Crown’s ass and opened their eyes to the truth.” And he thinks the truth is that he’s much better than she is. I’m still not buying it. Cheyenne and Ember shared a quick glance, and the fae girl shrugged. They followed L’zar down too many twisting corridors for Cheyenne to count until they finally stopped at two broad metal doors the same black as the walls, stretching a full twelve feet up to the equally black ceiling. The drow turned toward his daughter and her fae Nós Aní and dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Ladies, I believe our reception awaits.” “What are you talking about?” Cheyenne stopped when he slammed both hands against the doors and pushed them open into the room beyond. The Crown might not be able to do anything to him, but I sure as hell can. L’zar marched into the room as the massive doors thumped against the walls. Dozens of low black metal tables lined the wide, tall room, each of them with matching benches like picnic tables. Every surface was cluttered with every type of magical and non-magical weapon imaginable, daggers, maces, clubs, swords, throwing stars, axes spears. Mixed in with these were the same floating metal orbs the Crown had sent out into the
