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  AMNESIA

  The Adrsta Chronicles (Book 1)

  Canada Jackson

  Edited by Tonya Blust (Copy)

  Edited by Stephen Parolini (Structure)

  Illustrated by Trung Tin Shinji

  Copyright © 2019 by Canada Jackson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  To Mimmi Moo Cow, the smartest girl I know with light browny hair on her ‘ead

  and the eensy weensy spider James

  * * *

  and you Davey Jay for showing me love that’s worth writing about.

  Contents

  The ADRSTA CHRONICLES

  1. Amnesia

  2. Grasslands

  3. Temporary Lull

  4. Night Creatures

  5. Paradise End

  6. Dark Recollections

  7. Rheese City One

  8. The Sketchi

  9. Wild Lands

  10. Invasion

  11. The World Stood Still

  12. Dangerous Encounters

  13. The Yimmyrd

  14. Deception

  15. Sacrifice

  16. Deal With The Devil

  17. Discoveries

  18. Suspicion

  19. Return To Throm

  20. Sibling Rivalry

  21. Loss Of Innocence

  22. Sealed Deals

  23. Covet

  24. Sweet Rebellion

  25. Reckless Adventures

  26. Conflicted

  27. Lust

  28. Full Moon

  29. Dreams And Visions

  30. Helpless

  31. The Monarch Strikes

  32. Allegiances

  33. Dark Victories

  34. Deceptions

  35. Tri-Marriage

  36. Magic Denied

  37. Painful Truths

  38. Temporary Bliss

  39. Betrayal

  40. Illicit

  41. Agony

  42. Checkmate

  43. Endings and Beginnings

  About the Author

  Also by Canada Jackson

  Excerpt from Forbidden

  The ADRSTA CHRONICLES

  The concept of Adrsta

  Things that cannot be attributed to nature from a scientific point of view. It includes phenomena and the inexplicable.

  These occurrences are manifestations of Adrsta, a super-sensible force behind all things unknown…

  * * *

  By Canada Jackson

  1

  Amnesia

  The rocking back and forth made her nausea worse at first and she opted to lie still, willing the queasiness that clawed at her stomach to go away. Slowly the sensation ebbed until only the dull ache in her forehead remained. She tried to remember where she was and clenched her teeth when memories flared and faded in her mind. Her cry of despair caught in her throat when she realized she had no idea who or where she was as she embraced the sweet oblivion of sleep.

  She woke up to the same strange rocking sensation. Her headache had dulled, but she still did not recall anything. Thoughts were slippery, remaining just out of her reach until one stopped and took root.

  She was Amber Jacobs.

  Memories appeared briefly in her mind but they failed to stop and take root, dissipating like tendrils of smoke through grasping hands. She forced herself to remember something … anything … until a sob of terror left her mouth. Lethargy consumed her again, dulling her fears, dragging her into an abyss that was dark but less threatening.

  Hours passed before she opened her eyes again.

  She was still on her back, the surrounding air warm and musty, the scent foreign and unrecognizable. She tensed, waiting for the vile sensations of nausea to return but was greeted with no dizzy waves, no dry heaving, and for the first time in a long while, no pain.

  She tried once again to make sense of her surroundings.

  Yellow.

  She closed her eyes and opened them again.

  Everything around her was still yellow.

  Yellow and unsteady, her cocoon continually rocked back and forth. She reached up toward the soft ceiling but her hands fell short and she rested them at her sides, running her fingers over the material beneath her, her mind racing with possibilities.

  It was a tent of some kind. But even if she had a host of camping memories, none would include a tent suspended above the ground that swayed when she moved. She moaned with frustration. Her mind was eager but she still lacked the strength to sit up and investigate more.

  Sleep.

  Sleep would help her heal.

  She woke up in her same yellow rocking prison. Her eyes darted wildly from the ceiling to the walls.

  No more sleeping; she needed to stand up and escape.

  Daylight faded outside, and she had little time left.

  Her stomach reeled when she realized the desire to escape implied imprisonment.

  Am I a prisoner?

  Thoughts of kidnap, murder, and mayhem spurred her on as she scrambled about, calling for help as she ran her hands over the floor and the sides of her “tent” in an urgent search for a way out. The structure swayed in response to her sudden movements but her efforts came up with nothing. Eventually, she sank to her knees and wiped the sweat from her brow. It was so dark she could not see her own hands as she tugged and grasped the edges of the tent. She froze when she heard a strange rustle outside. For hours, it had been so quiet. All she heard was the sound of her panting and her shouts for help, but now something or someone was outside.

  Instead of elation, panic rose within her as the tent swayed and a blast of cold wind enveloped her, fanning her hair from her cheeks. Someone or something had gained entry.

  Amber shuffled away from the sound, sick with dismay. “Who is there? Where am I?” she called out into the dark.

  Two warm hands grasped her shoulders, and she screamed and flailed wildly until she felt a pinprick in her arm.

  “Hush, Amber,” the male stranger said. “You’ll fall asleep now.”

  As her consciousness faded, eyes not quite tan and not quite yellow glinted at her in the dark as she fought in vain against the numbing effect of the drug.

  * * *

  Daylight.

  She was still in her yellow prison.

  She was Amber Jacobs.

  Nothing else came to mind.

  The rest of her memories consisted of sleeping and waking in a suspended tent and a foreigner with strange tawny eyes holding her. She touched the soft, thick jacket she wore and the matching dark pants that fit perfectly. She had been in her underwear earlier; the stranger from the night before must have dressed her.

  What else had he done?

  She ran her hands over her body in a panic, but there was no pain, and no unfamiliar invasive sensations. Whoever he was, her captor hadn’t raped her.

  Yet.

  Do not go there, Amber!

  She forced herself to resume her search instead, certain she had overlooked the entrance to her cage.

  Tugging, kicking, and pulling.

  She found nothing.

  Nothing but the sound of her woeful cries for help. No cars, no sighing wind, no birdsong.

  The shadow that suddenly appeared outside the canvas had her scrambling backward. Her heart began to beat so furiously in her chest, she thought it would explode.

  She heard a grunt. The tent lurched and swung with the arrival of the stranger.

  Amber watched as a boot much larger than hers appeared through the opening she h
ad been unable to find. A long leg with a muscular thigh followed until all of him crouched before her.

  Amber was certain she had never seen him before. She would never forget a face like his. She searched her imperfect memory as his strange eyes narrowed and studied her. It had to be the light, or the fact that she was dizzy, for she was sure the color of his eyes changed as he gazed at her.

  “Amber?” he said slowly.

  He knew her name at least, and his voice held concern.

  She grasped hold of the positives.

  So, this was the stranger who had dressed her.

  He moved closer, and she reeled backward, cowering in the corner. Her mind raced through alternatives for escape but nothing spurred her bravely forward. His eyes changed color again. They glowed and dimmed from honey to gold and then dark brown.

  She had not imagined it.

  It was undeniable.

  “Your memory is temporarily impaired. The best course of action would be for you to recover it slowly.”

  Deep voice, weird accent, still no recognition.

  Amber remained in place, protectively hugging herself.

  “I need us to move on from here,” he said deliberately, still crouching before her, his stance unthreatening. “But first you need to eat something, to keep up your strength.”

  He appeared to wait for her to relax. When she did not, he reached into his bag and rolled some kind of fruit toward her.

  She watched as it hit her boot.

  She did not recognize its weird shape or color and even though her stomach rumbled, she remained where she was, arms wrapped about herself in protection. Her eyes darted from the strange fruit back to him.

  He took another from his small, square bag and bit into it encouragingly as he sat down.

  “Please eat.”

  After a few moments of watching him, she began to feel a little stupid about her reactions.

  He hadn’t jumped her or moved toward her. He appeared to know her, had dressed her without doing anything untoward.

  She lifted the fruit to her lips, embarrassed by her shaking hand, and took a small bite. Her eyes remained riveted to his at first, but then she slowly allowed herself to take a good look at him.

  He was alarmingly large and unrelentingly male.

  Chiseled and hard.

  Escape would be futile if she was in danger.

  Not his face, though. His face was something altogether different from the hard masculinity of his physique.

  He was strikingly handsome.

  His features almost feminine … feline … perfectly aligned. He was … beautiful.

  Thick jet-black hair fell over very broad shoulders and covered his ears as he leaned on one knee and ate his fruit.

  She expected to find them pointed, for despite his large size he reminded her of an elf.

  Elf.

  Books.

  Lord of the Rings!

  She felt elated but frustration followed when nothing more came to mind.

  Great!

  One memory and it was useless. Her chest deflated and he frowned, watching the myriad emotions on her face. She had a hundred questions, but she needed to ask the ones that would restore her sanity first.

  “You obviously know me.” She sounded so small and scared.

  “Yes, I know you. I know you well.” He smiled just a little.

  Wow.

  If the “well” meant what his grin implied, she didn’t think her heart would ever slow down again.

  “Who are you?” she asked breathlessly and berated herself for focusing on his handsome looks instead of the situation at hand.

  He could be a psychopath, Amber!

  His strange eyes narrowed, “I am Wrexel.”

  His name meant nothing.

  “Where am I?”

  He lost his smile. “We were travelling. We … crashed.” His gaze moved to her forehead, and she lifted her hand instinctively to touch a pronounced bump above her temple.

  “We crashed,” she repeated, hoping it would evoke a memory but nothing came to the fore. “What is this?” she pointed up to the yellow wall of their enclosure.

  “I put us up here to protect us from the … animals … at night.” He had the strangest accent though his English was perfect.

  Amber continued to frown as he removed something from his bag.

  It looked like an iPad!

  She remembered her own, some favorite movies and a decent playlist.

  Apparently, she liked rock but kept classical music at the top of her playlist so she wouldn’t be judged.

  Judged by whom?

  Another vague, unhelpful recollection.

  Oh well, at least her memory was returning, albeit slowly.

  She watched as his large hand moved deftly over the screen and she craned her neck to see what he was doing. Her brow furrowed when she did not recognize any of the symbols on the tablet.

  “What language is that?” she asked.

  “Not yours.”

  Helpful! She wanted to snort but a projection of symbols rose above the monitor and lit up the tent as he worked his hand over it.

  No iPad she had owned did this.

  She opened her mouth to ask more questions, but he leaned to the side and his hair fell back from his temples.

  Not an elf, she mused.

  His ears were perfectly normal although one was pierced at the top with a gold ring. A hint of a tattoo showed at his collar.

  When he finally set down his hand-held monitor and focused his honey eyes on hers, she recoiled a little but tried to hide it.

  He frowned at her actions. “I’m not going to hurt you, Amber.” He held her gaze. “There’s no need for you to be afraid of me.”

  Several questions rose up in her mind but his eyes were glowing and changing in hue so vividly, she ended up with, “Your eyes … change color.”

  A look of unease flitted across his face but he lowered his offending eyes as he packed his iPad away and stood up.

  “We need to get going, I can answer more questions later, but right now moving on is more important.” He ran his hand over the canvas and she watched it slide open with a hum.

  She stood up, eager to be free of her prison but her head began to swim when the tent lurched beneath her feet. He reached forward, his hand extended to help her.

  The dizziness was overwhelming.

  “Come to me, Amber,” he insisted when she declined his hand and grasped for the sidewall to steady her spinning mind instead.

  She stared at his hand in horror.

  Oh God!

  It wasn’t the first time he had said those words.

  The horrible memory slammed into her.

  “No!” she screamed; how could she have forgotten?

  It was him!

  Wrexel!

  Her surroundings slowly faded as she sank back down to the soft tarp floor.

  You have to remember, she told herself in her moment of clarity, you have to remember what he has done.

  * * *

  Amber awoke to the sight of the now familiar yellow tent. Her mind was foggy and disoriented as she wrestled again with stubborn memories that eluded her. The man with the unusual eyes, an accident, the fruit, and something else … something upsetting.

  She frowned, unable to recall it.

  Nothing.

  Just his name.

  Wrexel.

  He knelt at her side, running his hand over her brow, his eyes filled with concern as he gently examined her head.

  “Do you think you can walk? Try to get up so we can see if your legs are steady,” he said once he seemed satisfied with the status of her skull.

  She sat up slowly. The dizziness did not return as he rose with her, helping her to her feet.

  “Good,” he said when she dropped his hand and took a solid step away to hold the side of the swaying tent.

  She didn’t think she was in danger anymore, but he still unnerved her.

  He was too big,
too good-looking, and she didn’t want to get started on the question about swirling eyes!

  He lifted his small, square bag and slung it over his shoulder. The yellow canvas opened at his touch.

  “Amber… things may be… different… from what you remember. Try not to panic if it doesn’t make sense at first.” He looked resolute when he added, “You don’t have to be afraid. I am stronger than anything that may be out there.”

  What did he mean “may be out there’? Didn’t he know?

  Perhaps it was a warning against anybody who would attempt to save her.

  “Come...”

  “Oh God, it's high.” She peered out of the opening and clutched his arm, then snatched her hand back almost immediately.

  He removed a thin rope, tucked at the side of the tent, and lowered it to the ground, “Do I need to hold you, or can I use both my hands?” he asked.

  When she merely stared at him, he pulled her forward and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “Hold tight,” he ordered.

  Amber looked down again and gave a small yelp when he cupped and lifted her by the buttocks.

  “Lock them,” he told her.

  She obeyed and crossed her ankles tightly around his waist. She struggled to ignore the shiver of awareness that fluttered in her stomach. It intensified when they dropped down from the tent that hung from a very tall tree.