Blood of Stars and Gods Page 24

  Cold rushes over me, settling into my bones with unexpected suddenness. The sharp breath from Liam tells me he feels it too. “Fucking Valoin. … A day early. Guess tradition means shit to Blood Mages, eh?”

  My thumb’s on the keypad of the GoSky in my pocket, furiously sending a mass warning text while keeping the tree line in my peripheral vision. I look to Liam as if in casual conversation. “Archer. White oak over there.” Unobtrusively I turn my foot, toe pointing toward the intruder. “We’re his target. Now.”

  The Fae-forged steel arrow breaks the silent, frigid air with its sonic whistling, precise in its mark. Me.

  With a quick step to my right, it catches my sleeve rather than my chest, and I catch it in my hand mid-air, furiously tearing the damn arrow from the velvet. “Everybody’s a fashion critic today,” I remark, already at a full run toward the tree, Liam mere feet behind me, snickering. “Shove it, Cargo Boy. I still look better than you.”

  I’m less than halfway there when I launch the arrow like a javelin at its owner, smirking in sheer satisfaction as it lands directly between his eyes, and he plummets from his perch to the snow-covered ground with a victorious (for me) thud.

  “Clifford already shifted. There’s a small frontal attack on the estate.” Liam tells me. I nod, yanking the arrow from the bloody, pale head and unsheathing the sword at his side, testing its weight. Fine workmanship as most elfin swords have, terribly ostentatious hilt, yet it’ll do. Liam’s head is swiveling back and forth between the woods ahead of us and the rest of the property behind us. “Looks like Clifford—“

  “Quit reporting that he’s doing exactly what he knows he should.” Theo’s right. Liam spends far too much time stating the obvious during tactical situations. Surveying the damage to my sleeve, I frown. It’s couture and irreplaceable. I lop off the elf’s head before delving into the woods. “Let’s follow suit.”

  “Fine. Sounds like a party to me.” With the dagger from the archer’s belt, he disappears in the dense trees to my left.

  I spot another elf fifteen yards ahead, creeping stealthily in my direction and crouch out of sight, aiming the arrow. The whistling doesn’t even have time to catch his attention before he’s on the ground with a shiny steel arrow adorning his eye socket.

  Damn, I’m good.

  “They make bows for that.” Falcon steps out from behind a nearby tree, sneer in place. Well, that’s one way to ruin a perfectly good battle. “Nice jacket. I see the elves made an improvement.”

  Striding over to my kill as if I barely notice Falcon’s presence, I’m disappointed to see it’s a tad bent. Hardheaded elf. Taking his sword in hand, I find it’s about the same weight as the other. Hm. Double-handed sword battle it is.

  “Perhaps they can improve your face, too, Falcon.” And without so much as a glance back to see his reaction, I continue on my quest to hunt elves.

  Cait won’t take kindly to me killing Falcon. She has an annoying appreciation for “Snarky Dragon”. Snarky. I’m snarky. Falcon is condescending and pissy.

  With a growl, I don’t bother to hide my approach, startling two elves at once. I quickly relieve one of his head and plunge the second short sword through the other in a swift upward angle, sternum to heart—a fitting death, the way Z murdered Corrin. He meets my eyes, a glimmer of life left in them, though it’s fading fast, but I see nothing in them to discount for the darkness of his soul as he chokes on his own blood.

  “I’m feeling rather vindictive today, seeing how my brother and my friend were just murdered. That’s a pity for you.”

  Slowly, I slip the sword back out, letting him drop to the ground, drowning in his blood and darkness.

  A black-haired elf’s body lands limp and bloody in front of me, falling high from the tree, Falcon dropping to the ground on his feet after it, bow and quiver of arrows in his hands. I smirk. “Nice bow. Too bad elves don’t use katanas, Legolas.”

  “We will root out more of these pests if we do not remain together.” He either ignores my remark to irk me or because he didn’t understand it and won’t admit it, either way …

  “Yes. Excellent. Consider it an order. Go away.” I’m not wasting the opportunity to get him out of my hair.

  He darts silently into the thick of trees to my right, and I push eastward, ducking behind a spruce for a moment at the sound of footfalls. Three elves, two black-haired and one white, come into the bright clearing beyond my current cover. Setting the swords down, I shed my torn overcoat, improving shoulder mobility if I’m going against three elves at once in human form. I’m certainly not calling Falcon back to help.

  But the first one moves too quickly through the clearing, walking right into me. He pulls a small dagger, though not before I remove his head with my bare hands. I arm myself once again and turn, sidestepping a far graver injury, catching a nick on the forearm instead, and parry this opponent a few steps back, blocking a rather brave attack from the raven-haired youngling. He’s a vicious fighter, but too inexperienced, and I toy with him more than truly fight, engaging in a banter of parries and attacks as his kindellman watches warily. When he missteps, I’m finished playing, and a blade through the jugular ends the game.

  I turn on the last one, prepared to end him immediately, no more wasting time. His stark, white hair, those coal-black eyes, it’s startling how well I know them even now. “My how you’ve grown up.”

  “Three hundred and nine this year. I’m surprised you recognized me, Claaron Graywyne.” He speaks my name with such venom where once there was great affection.

  “A dragon’s memory is long, Ramiel. You may have only been eight when I last saw you, but you have your sister’s eyes. Of course I recognize you.”

  “Do not speak of my sister.” He howls the words, lunging at me, and I block the attack, pushing him hard, landing him on his ass against a nearby tree.

  “Rainelm was my wife. I loved her. I’ll damn well speak of her if I wish to.”

  “You disgraced her. She brought dishonor on our legacy because of you, dragon.” The little bastard spits on my shoe.

  I take a calming breath, staying rational rather than kicking in his pale, sneering face. “She was not the eldest. It mattered none if she bore no children. Raelin already had four sons.” Try as I might, I can’t push the image of my wife’s cold, blank stare, or her limp, broken body felled so violently and bloody on the sitting room floor. “Your father chose the death of your sister, chose to call it an ‘honor killing’ and place the blame on me. Our marriage was no disgrace to your legacy. You were simply too young to understand.”

  He stands, chin raised to me, chest puffed out, defiant and proud like an arrogant peacock. “I could hold my own sword, and the elders deemed me a man. I sat on the legacy council and voted among the men just as my father did. It was not his decision alone. Rainelm was a disgraceful whore and deserved to die.”

  Through the blur of my tears, I miss his neck and remove his head from the shoulders up. I don’t even care what a shoddy swordsman I am at the moment. I kick my shoes off and away, ripping my vest and shirt from my body.

  Fuck faux crocodile. Fuck velvet and couture and designer labels. These bastard demons slay their own sisters for loving.

  The burn swells inside me at the thought, consumes every cell in my body, and courses through my veins.

  Rainelm’s own father murdered her because she admitted to falling in love with me.

  I give in to the burn, shifting and taking flight, seeking my next dark-souled victims. I will show no mercy. The North Star guides us toward a future of love, and it will surely give us a greater strength within in our hearts and souls—greater to care for our wards and greater to best our enemies.

  Goddess help these heartless demons. They’re going to need it.

  *Theo*

  “You shouldn’t be near the window, Cait.” I wrap her in my arms, wishing I could bear the weight of her fears on my shoulders as easily as I can carry her.

  “Wh
y not? You think they don’t know I’m right here?” She pushes me away, spinning around to face me. “You said we had three days, but they’re here. Here after only two, Theo. Do you see what’s going on out there? The elves clearly flipped Claaron’s switch. He’s fire-bombing half of Evan’s woods.”

  Cait ducks under my arm and jumps on the bed, wildly tossing the pillows off, and I take a look outside. A quarter acre of trees are ablaze, and Claaron’s fierce silvery wings peek above another grove, sounds of his vicious attack cutting through the glass window. I pull the blinds and turn back to Cait just as she raises my knife in her hand, lifting her arm over her head victoriously, mocking me with that grin.

  I thought I hid it well enough she would not find it between the mattress and the headboard. I should know thinking does no good against a determined Cait.

  “Mine is still in my room, so I need yours.”

  “Of course. What is mine is yours, ahn temme.” Snapping my mouth shut, I swallow hard and want to take the words back. I may say many things, but those are words for the likes of Dante, not me. “Use the knife, Cait, but keep your wits about you, and quit showing off with it. And get some clothes on for Goddess sake. We’re under attack. As much as I appreciate the sight of you in my Led Zeppelin shirt, it isn’t appropriate for battle.”

  She crawls off the bed, and I occupy myself by tossing pillows back onto it, ignoring (or trying to) the way my shirt rides up as she moves. But when she holds the blade of my knife between her thighs and slips the shirt over her head to change clothes, my time is far better spent retrieving my sword than keeping eyes on Cait.

  I believe I would hinder the fulfillment of my own demand that get she get dressed. I know I would.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Cait huffs. “Over there muttering and growling. You’re always quite the morning dragon, so that’s not it. Fighting makes you practically giddy.” I lay my sword on the bed, unsheathing it and giving the blade a more intense inspection than necessary. Her tone turns serious as I hear her approach. “Is it Oliver? During the last attack …”

  She doesn’t finish, and I most certainly won’t. “I’m a dragon, Cait. Such things are temporary for me.”

  “But their effects aren’t.”

  “No.” With her hand resting on my back, I lay the sword back down and close my eyes, focused on the feel of her cool touch through my thin shirt. “We walk a fine line, Cait, a razor’s edge between our hearts and our heads with one another. Now, more than ever, you are dangerous to me. I will not walk away and will not turn my back on you. I cannot. My heart would not allow it. But you distract me from my duty to protect you and place us both at great risk. If I die, you will mourn, so will the others, and they will protect you until I return. However, you are not yet eternal, and if you die, I cannot join you in the Sacred Land. There is no other realm for dragons. We are too dark for the Sacred Land, too light for the Underworld, and too burdened by this world for the High Realm. We are bound to the Earthen Realm for eternity.”

  A chill creeps over me, a chill unlike the pleasure of Cait’s gentle touch, the hair on my neck bristling at the sensation. I reach behind me, guiding Cait as I step backward, taking my sword in hand, and press her into the corner, my body as her shield.

  “Theo, what in Hades’s name are you doing? Move.”

  “Valoin is coming, Cait. In this, I am your dragon, your guardian, your protector, and you will not push me.”

  She pushes me anyway. Not hard. I am well aware the point she makes. Cait will do what Cait wants.

  Cait does stay behind me.

  The temperature plummets around us; each breath hangs as a fractured crystalline cloud, and every muscle in my body tenses in sickening anticipation. “Jai.” She whispers his name; voice laced with hope, mouth against the fabric of my shirt, as far out of the corner as my stance will allow her.

  “He’s on his way.”

  But as the frigid cold of dark magick creeps farther into the room, a shimmering cavern of icy blackness opens near the door. The heavy footfalls of booted soldiers echo out, and I know he cannot reach us in time. Even Jai’s gifts have limits. The lead elfin warrior barrels out; sword raised, prepared for battle, his archer following at his heels. “On the floor now, Cait,” I roar, rushing the swordsman as I hear her knees land in compliance.

  Black-eyed and aged, he wears many gold bands down his warrior’s braid. His formidable swordsmanship shows through well-timed blocks and powerful, quick parries, attacking with great vengeance. I push forward in my attack and gouge his right shoulder, causing him to fall backward into the archer. Bow pulled taut, prepared to take aim; the arrow launches through the swordsman’s neck and remains protruding from his throat.

  As it falls to near freezing in the room, the youngling archer drops his kindellman to the floor and reaches quickly for another arrow from his quiver, but I give him no time, gutting him with my broadsword.

  “A fine little show there, Theo. I thought you might like something to play with. Consider it a reward for keeping Cait safe.” Valoin’s voice is light, casual, and oil-slick in its dangerous skin of falseness.

  Shivering in fury and cold, I turn toward the shimmering cavern, a black hole of nothing created by the dark magick of a Blood Mage, and he stands at its edge. “I did not do it for you. The North Star belongs to the Dracopraesi.”

  “All I need is her blood.” He laughs, a cold and depthless sound, echoing through the room. “You can have the rest of her.”

  A guttural growl rises in my throat, leaving in a deadly warning and snarls. “Over my dead body.”

  “So be it.”

  I swing hard, slicing right through Valoin as if he’s a ghost, despite his solid appearance. A thin sneer splits across his face, mouth opening wide as his laughter fills the room, hands rising from his sides.

  “Did you think I would be such an easy foe to overcome, dragon? A weakling like my brother?” The sense of Jai’s worry grows to panic outside the door, a blockade of dark magick leaving only me between a Blood Mage and our North Star. “He was my brother, and yours deserved to die in return, but he served his purpose. Z was a warrior, a military leader, and now I have an army at my disposal. Quite useful.”

  He steps forward, cocks his head as he looks me over, and I stand my ground.

  I do not know how to defeat him. I have strength. I have fighting skills. I do not possess magick like Jai. I cannot bring storms like Dante. I have only known of a handful of Blood Mages in the past and not one for over two thousand years. Hades himself came down from the High Realm to destroy them, enslaving their black souls to the Underworld.

  But I will die to protect Cait.

  Once more, I try my sword with the same result and drop it to the floor, a useless weapon. I growl and clutch at Valoin’s throat, finding a physical attack effective. He gasps for air, losing his balance, and I drop him to the ground, quickly gaining the upper hand, pinning him to the floor. Yet he laughs maniacally, and my hands burn with the bitterest cold imaginable as excruciating numbness crawls a prickly path along my arms.

  Trembling and growling in pain, I refuse to let go, refuse to let him simply have Cait, but my grip weakens, and he struggles beneath me, thrashing madly as the cold clouds my head, disorienting and dark.

  The pain in my chest is sharper, more distinct than the biting cold, and the ringing in my ears makes it quite difficult to hear Cait’s scream clearly, but I know she’s closer before I fall.

  *Cait*

  Watching Valoin bury a dagger in Theo’s chest, the moment feels as if it freezes, much like the temperature in the room, and a piece of me wants to curl up in the corner where Theo told me to stay, accept the truth that I’m about to be murdered by a psychotic, freak-show elf hell-bent on magickal world domination.

  But that weak little piece is easily overridden by the enraged rest of me already charging across the room, screaming in fury, wielding Theo’s knife, prepared to ‘do or die’.

 
He leaps to his feet, spinning around to meet me head-on, blood on his empty hands, and I’m about to stab him when he captures my wrists in his frigid grasp as if it were effortless.

  Valoin grins, baring his fangs in my face. The way he wears his long, raven-black, thin hair down around his face rather than pulled back, braided like his brother and with his iridescent irises surrounded by the deep red of vampiric anger, he resembles old legends of the devil. Dark. Evil. Belonging nowhere but the Underworld’s blackest pit.

  Taking a deep breath, I don’t break eye contact. I may be smaller, but I’d bet anything I’m angrier. A low, pained growl from Theo reminds me just why, and I let out my own growl right in Valoin’s face.

  He laughs, hands growing painfully colder. “Your little dragon doesn’t have to die, girl. Come with me willingly, and I’ll heal him.”

  I snort a laugh of my own. “Oh, you have the nerve to try killing Theo and insult him then think I’m going to happily tag along for my own murder? I am not stupid, and I’m not just a girl.”

  “Well then, Cait …” His tone is sickly sweet and too aristocratic at the same time. “Your beloved guardian isn’t in the best condition at the moment, and as long as my portal is open, your Mage dragon, dearest demigod, and that do-gooder Ero can’t enter this room. So how do you suggest we move forward in this matter?”

  Recalling the funeral, saying goodbye to Oliver and Corrin, I relax in Valoin’s grip and step forward, raising my chin defiantly. “I’ve burned dragons and kings to ash,” I say in a low, threatening tone. “I say we light this party up.”

  But this time, I don’t close my eyes, and it isn’t pain and grief that trigger the flames. It isn’t an unconscious action. I watch him, stare at him, into him, search his soul and find it unworthy of anything other than this. The warmth returns to my body, the ambient temperature rising steadily, but where the elf touches me, this evil Blood Mage, not fully elf, not fully vampire, not fully Mage, a sacrilegious entity of them all that doesn’t belong in this world—where he touches me goes beyond warm. My skin scorches his until he resists touching and lets me loose.