Drake of Tanith (Chosen Soul)

  According to the fire servants, the steward of Malphas – Adonides – was indeed dead. But it was Darken who’d killed him, not Drake.

  Raven shivered as she replayed all of this information in her head. With a sinking feeling of lost hope, she glanced over her shoulder at the room behind her. It was a darkly beautiful room, furnished simply and richly with what Raven could only imagine were the finest, most expensive things in any land. The floor was constructed of black and gray marble, with streams of real ruby running through it. It was polished to perfection, its smooth plane reflecting the flames of the fire place against one wall. Raven almost shook her head as her eyes fell upon the massive hearth. There was little need for one in Nisse, and this one had clearly been added purely for aesthetic purposes.

  It was a monstrosity of a fire place, its enormous ruby-hewn casings carved in intricate, impossible detail, and at its mantle, the visage of a beast had been formed from the stone. The eyes of that beast glowed with the light of the fire that burned steadily beneath it. Raven felt as if it watched her.

  The rugs that covered the stone floor were black and thick, taken from some giant, furry animal. There was a leather-backed chair in the room, tall and intimidating. The only other piece of furniture in the chamber was the bed.

  Raven glanced at it and shivered. Four thick posts made of what looked like onyx or obsidian had been carved from floor to nearly a foot beneath the high ceiling above. Sheets of blood red satin or silk, or perhaps a mixture of both, adorned the mattress. She hadn’t yet summoned the courage to sit on the bed, but it looked soft. It looked as if you could fall into it – and keep falling forever.

  Raven closed her eyes and turned away from the bed and the rest of the room and once more stared out over the endless circle of Nisse. She had already tried twice to open a portal out of the room. Of course she’d failed. Not so much as a spark of her power worked within the castle’s walls. She’d wasted so much energy trying too many things too many times, and now she felt diffused and empty.

  She knew she needed to feed, but she’d never felt less like doing so. The desolation and desperation of Nisse was getting to her, it was seeping into her bones and her blood. It could be worse, she told herself wryly. She could feel the magic of the room protecting her as surely as it kept her prisoner. In here, the heat of Nisse couldn’t touch her. Out there, where the horizon of black met red, she wouldn’t last long. The harsh realm gave her the impression that she would fade into ash as surely as she breathed.

  Frustration coiled in Raven’s belly. Drake had been left unconscious and bleeding on the ground in the Witherlands. She had no idea where her brother was, though her gut told her he was alive. And her lack of magical ability meant that her chances of leaving Nisse alive looked grim.

  Raven curled her hands into fists and bowed her head. I have to get out of here. She knew that Asmodeus was using her as bait for his son. She knew in her heart that everything that was happening revolved around the infamous bounty hunter. Raven was a pawn on a chessboard covered with kings.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” came a voice from behind her.

  Raven spun to face the room. Lord Darken stood in the doorway on the other side, his tall frame absorbing the space like a hungry shadow.

  “I’d say you were more like a queen on a board covered with kings,” Darken told her, clearly stealing the thoughts from her mind. “You’re far from defenseless, after all.” He stepped into the room and made a show of looking around. “Well, perhaps in here you’re defenseless, but there’s an exception to every rule.” The door closed behind him, sealing them in together.

  It was wholly disconcerting to look into Darken’s face. It was such a handsome, familiar face. But it hurt her heart, because the eyes in this face were cold and merciless, not the quicksilver heat she so desperately wanted to gaze into. Darken was nothing like Drake. Darken was cruel. That much was plainly clear. And she hated him for what he and Asmodeus were planning to do to the bounty hunter.

  “Where is my brother?” she asked right away.

  “The honest truth? I have no idea. And I couldn’t care less.”

  “Please come closer,” Raven said, fear and frustration spurring a fury that by all rights she should not be showing. Not here, not to these particular men. “Come closer so that I can carve you up and rip you limb from limb.” Her gaze narrowed and her teeth were bared. “I may no longer have my powers and I may not be able to freeze you from the inside out, but I still have my hands, and so long as I do, I swear I will use them against you.”

  Darken cocked his head to one side and considered her thoughtfully. “I’m beginning to understand all that Drake sees in you.” He turned away from her to pace around the room’s outer perimeter, his hands clasped easily behind his back.

  Raven watched him move, like a predator, a shark. He wore Drake’s armor and he moved like Drake. He even smelled like him.

  It was killing her.

  “I admit that Asmodeus may be right.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “You’ll make a fine queen.”

  Raven had never felt more like throwing magic at a being. Not even in the streets of that fishing village last month, when she’d unwittingly fried a group of violent thugs in the snowy streets, had she been harboring as much anger as she was right now.

  Darken raised a brow and stopped pacing to face her fully. “I can feel your wrath coming off of you in waves, Raven. Do you really despise me that much?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “But you love Drake.”

  Raven blinked. She’d never said she loved Drake…. Had she? But I do, she thought. Gods, I do.

  Darken lowered his head to peer at her through the tops of his cold metal eyes. “He and I are one, Raven. Surely you understand that.”

  Raven shook her head. “You’re the mess he left behind when he kissed this world goodbye. And now you know you’re no good without him. But he’s a hell of a lot better off without you.”

  Something nasty flickered across Darken’s handsome features, and Raven’s breath hitched. She’d gone too far, maybe. Pushed her luck.

  “You’re Dark Royalty,” Darken said as he boldly looked her up and down. “So, I can’t read your mind as well as I’d like. But I’m guessing he’s been too gentle with you.” A cold numbness began to settle in Raven’s stomach. Darken took a step toward her. “I’m guessing he hasn’t even taken you to bed yet.” He smiled darkly at the apprehension she felt cross her features. “In bed, a queen learns her place. I’m looking forward to teaching you yours.”

  “I’ll never be your queen, Darken. You may as well just kill me.”

  “And that has to be the emptiest promise an Abaddonian has ever made,” Darken scolded, taking a step closer. “You know that as long as Asmodeus prefers you alive, no one in Nisse would dare to kill you. What you don’t know is that this is the safest place for you at the moment.” Another step closer and a thoughtful cocking of his head. “Do you have any idea what is happening beyond these walls at the moment, princess?”

  “Don’t call me that.” Drake always called her princess. He did it with acid on his tongue and a growl in his throat, and he still put more love in the word than Darken could. She couldn’t stand to hear it come from Darken’s lips.

  Darken chuckled. “Your surface thoughts, I have no trouble reading,” he told her, almost reprimanding. “So it troubles you when I remind you of him, does it?”

  “Keep coming,” Raven hissed, feeling the iron slip from her fingertips as her claws lengthened. At least she still had that. It was the one thing the magic of the room couldn’t take from her – her true Abaddonian form.

  Darken glanced down at her hands and then back up at her face, and at once, his expression became impatient. Even bored. “Charming,” he said lowly, “but really, princess, what do you hope to accomplish? Even if you managed to kill me,” he said as he took another step and Raven glanced down at his boots. “You most likely wouldn’t get p
ast that door.” He gestured casually to the door he’d come through moments before. “And if you somehow did manage that, you’d have to get out of the castle. Never mind difficult,” he taunted, coming closer still. “For you, it would be impossible.”

  Raven took a step back – and then hated herself for it.

  “But I’m still game,” said Darken, shrugging as if he were playing along with some make-believe scenario. “So, you make it out of the castle and into the land of Nisse. Well,” he said, shaking his head. “Now you’ve really fucked yourself, haven’t you? The air outside of these walls is choked with ash and death. You come from Caina, where everything but the oxygen has been frozen from the skies. You wouldn’t last six hours.”

  He came another step closer, narrowing the space between them to no more than ten feet, and Raven felt her Abaddonian form rear its head. Her skin began to change, her eyes shifted, and she was seeing the world through different hues.

  Darken clearly noted the change; his intelligent eyes took absolutely everything in. But he didn’t stop. He was undaunted. Driven. “But for the sake of argument, Raven, let’s say you do survive.” His voice had lowered, becoming more personal. “Where will you go princess? There are no doors to Nisse. No entryways, no exits. What will you do then?” But he didn’t wait for her to respond. Instead, he went on. “Right now, there are assassins loose in Abaddon, killing off the lords of the nine. They aren’t my men.” He shook his head. “But I am who I am because I’m good at knowing what I know. These assassins are able to sneak poison in past tasters – they were sent by the gods, Raven. Gods who know what Asmodeus has planned and will do anything to stop him. Their attacks wreak havoc on the lawful system Abaddon has in place and cause problems that the Lord of the Nines is forced to fix. But the gods didn’t stop there. No,” he said, taking another step. Eight feet remained between them. Raven felt her fangs lengthen in her mouth. “They sent assassins after you as well, princess. Because without you as a bargaining chip, they believe Asmodeus will fail to bring his plan to fruition.”

  What plan? Raven thought. What is the Dark Lord planning to do that would have the very gods in turmoil?

  “There is only one being in the realms who can kill Asmodeus,” Darken told her.

  “Drake….”

  Darken inclined his head. “When Drake succeeds in killing his father, Asmodeus will join the ranks of the gods as one of their own,” Darken told her easily. “As the next god of death.”

  Understanding flooded Raven. It all made sense now. The ranking of Death God had been open since she’d killed Cruor. Asmodeus wanted the position.

  But he wouldn’t get the chance if Drake didn’t kill him. And Asmodeus was using her as bait. “And without me to use, will he fail?” Raven asked suddenly. She grabbed onto what Darken said, realizing that he’d made a mistake. He shouldn’t have told her there was a way to foil Asmodeus, no matter what the price of that way was.

  “Not quite,” Darken said, shaking his head. “You see, all Asmodeus needs is for his son to come back to Nisse…” He hesitated and the world filled with the sound of held breaths. “Tanith would kill his father to save you,” Darken said. “And he would kill him to avenge you. Either way, Asmodeus wins.”

  Raven had no idea what else to say. She was at the precipice of bewilderment, overlooking a chasm of hopelessness, and Darken had gotten behind her to push.

  “So you see, princess,” he said. Another step, and Raven felt his power wash over her. “There are no reasons to kill you and quite a few reasons not to.”

  She fought the pull of him, struggled like a drowning woman, and concentrated on the act of drawing in another breath of air. “I hate you,” she said. Whispered. Her voice shook, her legs felt like jelly. “So much.”

  “I know,” Darken said, finally taking those last steps that closed the distance between them. He raised a hand to gently run the backs of his knuckles along the side of her face. It felt so wrong to Raven. It felt familiar and it burned and it felt like a horrible lie. “But that will fade with time.”

  “I’m not willing to wait that long,” she said just before she reached back, allowed her claws to extend completely, and shoved her fist through Darken’s stomach. It took every ounce of strength and speed she possessed. Her body moved with Abaddonian quickness, blurring into action. The iron claws sank fast and deep, slicing through his muscle like a fin through water.

  But she’d underestimated the king of Phlegathos. And when he only exhaled, looked down at his wound, and shook his head, Raven realized that he’d seen it coming. He’d let her attack him. He’d done nothing to stop her. It was as if she were obsolete, a non-threat, a misbehaving child and nothing more.

  Very slowly, Darken reached down and gently grasped her wrist with his fingers. Then, as he looked deep into her eyes and reminded her far too much of Drake, he just as slowly pulled her claws from his midsection. Raven felt his blood coating her fingers. She could smell it, powerful and tempting… like Drake’s.

  She licked her lips and felt her breathing hitch as her hunger spiked, reminding her of how she needed to feed. At the same time, renewed fear sent her heart dancing. He would hit her now, certainly. He would bash her around like the boys in Aster Hollow had done. He would punish her for lashing out, and the torture of Nisse would begin. Just because Asmodeus wanted her alive was no reason not to beat her to a pulp.

  Darken’s fingers slid softly along her wrist, a touch so tender, it ramrodded through Raven as surely as a punch to the gut. She glanced down to see those fingers encircle her wrist as a lover’s. When she looked back up into his eyes, she went very still. There, in the cold metal that she’d come to despise, was a flicker of warmth. It was molten and liquid and so very different from what she’d expected, she didn’t know what to think.

  “I could never strike you,” he said. His tone had softened, its deep timbre smoothed out, as if someone had shaved its rough edges. It sounded like Drake’s. For the briefest of moments, everything about him was like Drake. And Raven’s heart cracked.

  Darken’s wound was already healing; he paid it no heed. “You’re hungry,” he said instead, his gaze again sliding down her body. But this time it felt as if he were assessing her, studying her, determining what she needed as a healing priest would. “You need to feed.”

  “Not from you,” she said stubbornly. It was all that remained of her defiance, and she brandished it like a shield.

  “No?” he asked, lifting the hand that she’d plunged through his stomach. His blood was drying where it coated her fingertips. “Would it not please you, princess?”

  Oh, by the gods, Raven thought. The scent of him was getting to her. The leather, the closeness, and the way he sounded so much like the bounty hunter, were all playing games with her head…. And the call of his blood was driving her mad. Her own blood rushed through her veins as if hurrying to prepare for company. It hummed to life, lighting the glow in her eyes and sharpening the tips of her small, perfect fangs. She wanted to sink them into him. Into his wrist, into his neck – his neck. Raven glanced at the strong curve of his neck where it met the muscle and armor of his shoulder, and her mouth went dry. May the gods help her, she wanted it.

  Darken leaned closer, towering over her, caging her in. As he did, he maintained his grip on her wrist, drawing her further into him. Raven closed her eyes.

  “We are one and the same,” Darken told her, and Raven knew he was referring to Drake again. “You are in love with a man you know only half of. But you can’t do that, princess,” he scolded softly as his other hand slipped around her waist. “If you take him, you take all of him. You take me.”

  Raven heard the sound of his heart beating and she opened her eyes. The blue of his vein beckoned. She exhaled sharply, her breath cascading across the taut flesh of his neck. He’d pulled her into his arms, embracing her fully, and his lips hovered threateningly above the vein in her own throat.

  “Do it, princess,” he commanded
, tightening his grip on her waist as he spoke. “Drink and regain your strength. If you want to leave here, you’ll need your powers.”

  Raven heard her own blood rushing through her ear drums… but she heard something else as well. It was that cruel edge to Darken’s words. It was back, that deep, dark, demand in the tone of his voice that brooked no room for mercy. It was all Darken, not at all Drake, and it chilled Raven to the core.

  At once, she raised her arms and shoved at Darken’s chest as hard as she could. But her hands had reverted to their normal human form, and she realized with a fading sense of hope that the rest of her had as well. Without the added strength that came with her Abaddonian form, she lacked the strength to be free of his grip. He was right; she was weak, and in her human form she got nowhere before he was retaliating with stunning speed.

  Darken suddenly fisted his hand in Raven’s hair, yanking her head back with violent menace. She hissed a quick intake of breath and tried not to cry out from the pain. “He’s been far too gentle,” he said, shaking his head and showing her his own set of impressive fangs. “But that will change too.”

  With that, he released her, shoving her toward the massive bed that waited at the center of the room. Raven stumbled, but managed to catch herself on the bed post and straighten. Her hair had fallen into her eyes ,and she hurriedly brushed it from her face with her other hand.

  By the time she looked back to where Darken had been standing, he was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Wrap this around your nose and mouth,” Grolsch instructed, handing Loki a cloth that he had just soaked with water from his wine skin. They’d been in Nisse for what Loki would guess was about an hour and already they’d hit those wine skins hard. Fortunately, they’d been provided by a god and naturally possessed magical properties. As soon as Loki set the skin back on his belt, it refilled with water, and Loki once more mentally thanked the god of magic.