Her feet tangled in the folds of her skirt. She stumbled and grabbed a pew for balance. Rage and madness warred with her rational mind. She righted herself and continued her backward steps, widening the space between them.
“Look what you’ve done! Look what you’ve done to me!” He struggled to his knees. “If not for Icarus, you’d feel my retaliation. And trust me, my lady, I wouldn’t grant you the kindness of death.”
“Kindness? As if you know what that word means. Let me assure you, Brother, I’d rather be burned alive than endure any more of your kindness.”
“I’ll see you suffer. Listen to you scream as Icarus drains you.”
Fire pulled at her restraints. She held his gaze and slowly allowed the blaze to take control. There would be no talking her way out of this situation. The monk was mad. Her senses screamed a second before he lunged, but she’d already found her focus.
Powell’s movements slowed, his attack becoming exaggerated and predictable, like he struggled through viscous liquid. A blanket of silence cloaked her, dampening the angry cry he spewed. One…two…three. She counted her slowing heartbeat and concentrated on the center of his chest, sinking into a trance.
The fire took command, wielding her body as a weapon.
Her vision altered, and Powell ceased to be solid. Blues and greens swirled where his body had been. A black, snakelike entity slithered unheeded within the colors, and a ruby orb pulsed where the monk’s heart should have been.
Flame and light raced down her arm, gathering in her hand. She launched the energy toward the beating orb. The ball struck dead center and the black snake writhed as threads of lightning coursed through the colors.
Powell catapulted backward and bounced when he hit the stone floor. The swirling colors reverted to solid. He lay sprawled and unmoving.
Her heavy release of breath echoed through the chapel. Control gave way to rational thought, and her body began to shake. No line had existed between her and the fire. Never before had the power demanded her submission and compelled her to do its bidding.
Nausea washed over her. “Holy Mother. What should I do?”
The sight of Powell’s still form pulled at her and she crept forward, her muscles tense. She nudged him with her toe but he didn’t stir. Her question remained unanswered, but The Sainted Ones’ silence held all the condemnation she could bear. She rubbed her hands over her face.
Few knew of Brother Powell’s depraved character, but her strange ways and evil nature were well-known within the abbey. They would turn their accusations toward her first and his murder would be all the proof The Order needed for one of its sanctified demon hunts.
Until now, the abuse from Powell had been worth the food in her stomach and a roof over her head. Her life hadn’t been happy, but it was better than scrounging for survival in a world she knew nothing about. Inside the abbey, she was safe and she had the girls.
The girls. Who would protect them?
She hauled back and kicked him in the ribs. “Bastard.” She glanced at Angela. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”
She gathered her heavy skirt and fled the chapel, racing down the dark corridors of the abbey. When she reached the wide staircase, she took the steps three at a time, her ascent resonating off the walls.
Blood pounded in her ears. She rushed into her cell and looked around. There wasn’t much to pack. The few items she owned were shoved into a bag and within seconds, she was ready.
An ancient tome lay open to the page she’d been examining before falling asleep. She slammed the cover closed and dumped the book into her sack. The minor theft of abbey property seemed insignificant at this point.
As a last thought, she grabbed her cloak and rushed toward the outer stairs that led away from the chapel. The steps blurred before her as she spiraled down and around the stone staircase. Panic beat against her, but she tamped down the alarm and locked away her fear.
She was fleeing the only home she’d ever known.
At the bottom of the stairs, she flung open the heavy door. The night and rain hit her like a physical assailant, threatening her bravery. She slipped into the shadows and plastered her body against the abbey wall. Her breathing came in short puffs. Keep my head. I must keep my head.
Foot by foot, she edged along the back of the building, mustering her courage for her final flight. A stray curl fell across her eyes and she pushed it away with a trembling hand. The chill air ruffled against her skin, pulling the heat from beneath her cloak. She gripped its edges and tugged the folds tighter around her, squinting at her destination.
She tucked the bag under her arm and took a deep breath. Hundreds of frantic butterflies beat inside her stomach and up into her throat. Everything familiar…gone. Ahead of her was the unknown, a faceless future…
It’s now or never.
Before doubt could rob her of her courage, she pushed away from the wall and sprinted for the gate. Cold mud splattered her legs. Her hood fell back and needles of icy rain pelted her face. Her frantic breathing swelled and mixed with the driving wind.
The thump of the chapel door echoed across the courtyard. The irritating bite reengaged, chewing and gnawing her arms. She kept running.
“Stop!”
Chapter Two
Thousands of chafing bites bristled against Rhys Blackwell’s skin, alerting him to the presence of a demon. The irritation was the most basic warning for a Bringer Shield, but after 300 years, he barely noticed the annoyance.
He waited within the trees, hidden from view and sheltered from the rain. He watched the abbey, but all was dark and silent now. His awareness raked the sky and woods around him, searching for the dense void of the Bane. He lived for the hunt, and though he tracked and dispatched the evil back to the Shadow World, the abominations couldn’t be killed.
At times, the heavy responsibility he imposed upon himself threatened to bend his fortitude, but he remained strong. He had no choice. It was no less than his father would have done. After all, the only thing standing between the humans and the Demon Bane was him—the last full-blooded Bringer, the protector of mankind.
His methodical sweep searched the landscape. For an instant, his scan touched a black void, but just as quickly, the vacuous aberration disappeared. This was a clever demon, possibly a Spoil, the most cunning and dangerous evil incarnate. He doubled his concentration, staying the dark impulse to hunt.
A second energy hummed against his body, lighter and more delicate. If not a demon, then what? Often times, when he patrolled the area around Menda Abbey, an unfamiliar presence tapped at the part of his psyche where impossible desires huddled, cold and forgotten. His honor wanted to claim he patrolled the area to protect the humans. Honor before self. But the second energy resonated on a level much deeper than duty. He fastened his mental shields in place, unwilling to submit to its allure.
He tensed and narrowed his gaze at a movement within the abbey grounds. Now, who would venture out on such a foul night besides the Demon Bane and me?
…
Ravyn turned to see Powell stumble from the chapel and limp into the open. His good hand clutched at his chest.
“No.” The word rushed from her, releasing the panic she had struggled to contain. “No. You’re dead—no, no, no.”
Powell’s limp turned into an uneven shuffle, picking up speed across the courtyard.
Run.
Adrenaline pumped through her veins.
Run.
Powell’s shouts from behind propelled her forward.
Run!
Mud gave way under her feet. She slid, her body slamming against the gate and toppling into the muck. Panic drained coherent thought, replacing it with the simple act of survival. The heat of her energy slipped away like a coward fleeing a fight. She struggled to her feet, the metal bar scraping her skin as she grabbed the iron for support. She would not fall apart.
She looked back and saw Powell slip in the mud and fall to his knees. Within seconds,
he was back on his feet, his course and purpose clear. The gate’s tall spires towered above her. She braced herself and heaved her bag over the top.
A wide reservoir ran directly under the gate, the trench dug deeper by the wheels of many wagons. She stepped into the hole to gauge its depth and gritted her teeth against the numbing cold of the water.
He was almost upon her.
She grasped the iron bars and stepped out to crouch at the water’s edge. The inky black liquid rippled below, its bitter embrace waiting for her body. She unhooked her cloak, letting the wrap fall, and eased to the ground next to the trench. Cold sludge pressed against her back, finding its way between the threads of fabric to her bare skin. Shivers splayed along her neck and arms, the smell of mud filling her nose.
She slipped into the water and gasped. The icy wet blanket flowed over her and through her dress. Every inch of her skin quivered in protest. The points of the gate hung under the water’s surface, jabbing her legs as she shimmied them under the barrier first, testing the space.
She sucked in a deep breath and submerged her head in the dirty water, pushing under the gate. The tips of the iron spikes scraped her forehead, but she didn’t stop until she surfaced on the other side, gasping and sputtering.
Powell hit the gate and dropped to his knees, frantically grabbing for her foot or a handful of material. She kicked at him and rolled away, putting as much distance as possible between them.
“Get back here!” He stood and tested the depth of the ditch. “Icarus, she’s escaping!”
The sodden wool wound around Ravyn’s legs as she gained her feet and backed away. She swiped at the mass of dirt and hair plastered against her eyes, praying he didn’t possess the only key to the gate.
“You can’t run!” Powell rattled the metal bars. He braced his foot against the gate and kicked, but the lock held. He shook the bars again. “He wants you, Lady Ravyn. You’ll never escape.”
She ignored his taunt and scooped up her belongings. With a quick tug, she secured the ties, tucked the bag under her arm, and limped toward the rutted road.
“Get back here!” Powell raged.
Thunder sounded above her, and the black sky and rain obscured her vision. Heat prickled along her arms, telling her more than her eyes ever could. The irritation intensified and spread up her shoulders. She stopped in the center of the path and glanced at the monk, but his attention was not on her.
As he stared at the night sky, his mouth thinned in a cruel smile. “You’re no longer on holy ground, my lady.” His taunt rolled toward her, turning her already chilled blood to ice. “All the worse for you.”
A strange presence pushed at her mind. The pressure hummed on a different vibration from what she’d experienced in the chapel—not malevolent, but still dark.
She pushed back. Pressure thrummed against the inside of her skull. “Get out.”
The force retreated.
The thunder roared above her, drawing her attention to a physical danger. Her fire flared, speeding heat the length of her body. She swiveled and blasted the air, but struck nothing. She shuddered and wrestled to control the energy.
Night masked all that wanted to be hidden. She turned in a circle and scanned the sky, dread tightening in the pit of her stomach. Someone besides Powell hid in the dark. Better to flee than fight the unknown.
She spun and ran, but only made it two steps before something large hit her from behind and knocked her to her knees. Her bag flew from her grasp. Heavy wings knocked her sideways.
Powell’s laugh billowed from behind her. “Yes, yes. Oh, this is too perfect.” He shook the bars violently. “You’ve merely escaped the cat to be caught by the hawk, Lady Ravyn.”
She struggled to her feet and shot another ball of energy blindly into the night. Her mind searched for a sliver of reality within the unfolding nightmare. Throbbing fire nullified some of her panic. With hands held ready, she stood. Her heat burned from the inside out. She clenched and unclenched her fists as it coiled through her body.
The blackness of the night thickened. Thudding wings echoed from all directions. Her attacker was everywhere and nowhere. She turned to follow the sound. Without warning, the creature dropped from the sky.
Large talons drove deep into her flesh and latched onto her shoulders. She stumbled forward, screams ripping from her throat. The creature held tight, dragging her through the mud. With each powerful stroke of the monster’s wings she slowly ascended.
Skin and muscle tore. Warm blood flowed down her chest as she swung helplessly, pinned by the talons. The edges of her senses dimmed. She battled unconsciousness, though she didn’t know why. Unconsciousness would free her.
New thunder penetrated her torment. The noise pounded out a different rhythm than that of the large, black wings above her. The thumping grew louder and she squinted into the darkness. Her eyes fluttered closed, certain the dark form racing toward her was the Angel of Death coming to carry her away.
Something collided with the demon, knocking them all toward the ground. The creature’s talons gouged deeper into her flesh as it attempted to keep its hold. It screeched above her, twisting to find the new attacker.
Screams peeled from her throat, the torture unending and inescapable. Her vision blurred and refocused. The monster ascended again, lifting her with it. Like a rag doll, she hung from its grasp, unable to move; sure her body was ripping in two. She closed her eyes and prayed for death.
A flash of orange flared behind her closed lids, the crackle of fire erupting around her. Heat singed her cheeks. She dragged her eyes open as her attacker released a ball of fire into the black sky, but hit nothing. Another blow from the invisible assailant pummeled the creature.
The demon released its hold and Ravyn plummeted toward the ground. Something black captured her, cushioning her fall as she hit the soggy earth and continued to roll. The breath rushed from her body. With barely enough time for thought, Ravyn registered that a man, not the monster, held her.
He rolled to his feet, and ran toward the trees, taking her with him. Ravyn held on to a thin thread of consciousness. None too gracefully, he deposited her in a mass of brambles and raced away again.
Sounds unlike anything she had ever heard echoed around her. She lay unmoving within the feeble protection of the foliage. Death neared. As the fight to live ebbed, so did her pain. Peace encompassed her. The noise of battle faded to a distant muffle. She watched a leaf dance in the falling droplets of rain and waited for the dark angel’s embrace.
No longer in control, her soul shifted and pulled free of her body. She drifted away from her limp form and the fight that raged several yards away. Her soul hovered, held to her physical body by a single delicate thread. Need to pass through the Veil called to her.
The man was suddenly standing over her body. “Don’t leave me.”
His command broke through the muffled haze surrounding her spirit. The need to obey him warred with the desire to be free of the physical world. The stranger’s body began to glow with amber light. Copper and gold flecks swirled within his growing radiance. It reached toward her in the darkness.
She recoiled from his light, somehow knowing it would hurt. His brightness flared and captured her soul. She fought against his control. Please, don’t make me return.
His distant voice yanked her from the peace she craved. “Don’t you leave me!”
She strained to drag her spirit from his will and go where there was no pain, but his commands ordered her to return to the fight.
His power poured into her and filled her with a strength she didn’t want, but her traitorous body drank deep. She gorged herself on his healing light, which saturated her dying body.
Heaviness pressed her. Golden cords of light wrapped and tightened around her ankles, wrenching her spirit toward her limp form. She fought the pull, but the increasing speed and force slammed into her corporeal body. Her physical form awakened and took command of her spirit.
Air p
oured into her lungs as she broke through the surface that separated the living from the dead. Pain and panic once again gripped her. “The creature?” She coughed. “Powell?”
The stranger crouched beside her but didn’t touch her. “Gone, but not for long.”
Chapter Three
Agony mired in determination stared at Rhys through ice-blue eyes. The demon’s attack had taken its toll on the girl and with every second, her defensive wall weakened. Pain—her pain—drummed against his mind as her mental shield crumbled. Hiccups of energy escaped like puffs of steam with each spasm that wracked her body.
What was she? The fire she’d shot into the sky suggested a full-blooded Bringer.
“Can you stand?”
“No.” The word sounded raw, as if it grated against her throat.
He reached to touch her but stopped when her eyes rounded with fear. “I won’t harm you. I need to get you away from the road and hidden. Can you trust me?”
Her nod was barely discernible, but he took the small movement as a yes.
He slipped an arm around her back and lifted her into a sitting position. The contact roused a long-forgotten thirst he hadn’t experienced in decades. A familiar nudge pressed against his psyche. Now in her presence, with her in his arms, he knew she was the force that had drawn him to the abbey. The connection was undeniable, though denying it was exactly what he tried to do.
He tethered his thoughts and stood. The prickling of the Bane still lightly played along his arms. He scanned the area but saw no sign of the monk or Icarus. He shifted her in his arms and she stiffened. A visceral protectiveness rose inside Rhys at her discomfort. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m all right.” Such brave words spoken with frail conviction. The lethargy in her voice belied the truth—if he didn’t heal her soon, she’d die. Her head lolled against his shoulder and her arms lay limp in her lap. Blood soaked through her dress. Eventually, her body would give up its fight. Desperation flowed into him as quickly as the sands of her life spilled out.