Circles five and six were ruled by the same Abaddonian king, Lord Chiron. The fifth circle consisted of a vast, bottomless river that none could cross. It was neither hot nor cold and, contrary to many legends spread through the Terran realm, it did not actually consist of blood or poison. It was simply water. However, it flowed so fast and its edges were so slippery, to fall into the River Styx meant that you would never be pulled out again. You would die there and your body would rot there, forever flowing swiftly past the iron boundaries of the sixth circle.
That sixth circle was an endless city of iron, its walls and towers tall enough to pierce the sky, its foundation so deep, it was told that the city grew from iron roots that no one had ever seen the end of. It was from Castle Dis, a citadel deep within the heart of this iron city, that Lord Chiron ruled.
The sixth circle of Abaddon supplied the Dark Realm with its terrible armies. From the Iron City, Lord Chiron acted as general, commander, and king, and his soldiers were auctioned off to the highest bidder in much the same manner as were the slaves of Trysta. At the moment, it was Lord Malphas and Lord Asmodeus who commanded the majority of Chiron’s armies, for obvious reason.
Astriel had never stepped foot in the sixth circle of Abaddon. Iron was caustic to elves; he wouldn’t have made it past the first gate. And if you weren’t venturing into the Iron City, then there was no reason to traverse the Styx.
It was the seventh circle that Astriel was interested in at the moment, and it was its door that he sought in the misty, shadow-filled Woods.
Phlegathos was the safe haven for all things crooked and dark. It was the land of thieves, assassins, and bounty hunters. Lord Darken, ruler of the seventh circle, was all three of these things. His dark, nearly incorporeal presence in a room could make it turn cold. His victims never saw him coming, and their dying ears never heard him leave.
Darken was the reason Astriel was here.
Along with the circlet that would protect Raven from the mind-altering influence of anyone who attempted to control her, Princess Zeta had given Raven a Cloak of Fog, a garment which shielded her from the scrying eyes of all Fae, including him. However, though Astriel was helpless to find Raven so long as she wore the cloak, the princess of Caina wouldn’t be able to hide from the scrying eyes of a devil – especially one so very good at tracking people down as was Lord Darken.
Astriel had things to take care of. He needed his father to vacate the throne so that he could claim it before Raven became queen of Caina and fulfilled Zeta’s promise. There were many ways he could ensure this came to be. He could have Raven killed.
But that wasn’t going to happen.
He could force her to marry him and become queen of the Fae – but Astriel had been down that rocky road with her before and knew now that it wouldn’t go over well.
His final option was to stall Raven. He’d found over the years that an excellent way to slow someone down was to have them disappear for a while.
For the right payment, Lord Darken could make Raven disappear for as long as Astriel needed her to. Darken could find her, abduct her, and sequester her some place where her father and the other Dark Royalty would be hard pressed to locate her.
That would give Astriel the time he needed to take care of Zeta.
As far as that matter was concerned, Astriel had already set the wheels in motion. Lord Oberon was now considering the newly opened position of Death God. What better entity to fill it than Oberon, Lord of the Hunt? The Hunt, in and of itself, was an act of death. Every year, in October, Oberon led the Hounds through the forests of the Fae and hunted everything and anything in his path. Those who heard the cries of the Hound and did not join the Hunt to destroy life became hunted themselves, killed, and joined the hunting ranks anyway. It had been going on for centuries – millennia. Oberon had amassed quite a few souls under his belt. The ascension to the rank of Death God was perfect for him.
And as soon as he realized that and claimed it for himself – Astriel would be king.
Chapter Nine
The bonfire Drake had created on the sandy beach was a welcome warmth in the pre-dawn hours of morning. Raven didn’t normally get cold; a tolerance for low temperatures was hardwired into her soul. But this morning, she felt edgy, and chills continued to roll through her.
Loki and Grolsch had gone to hunt for more firewood and Raven had been left alone with Drake, despite Loki’s obvious reservations.
Raven shivered and hugged herself. It felt like a warning, as if her blood were trying to tell her something.
Something’s coming.
“How are you feeling?” The deep voice raised goose bumps of a different kind on Raven’s flesh. She closed her eyes for a moment and then turned to look up at the man in black who stood so tall above her.
A pulse of something needful went through her as he caught her gaze in his, so silver, so hot. The expression on his chiseled, handsome face was as dark as ever, as secret, mysterious, and promising as the man himself.
It was the first time she’d gotten a good look at him since they’d left the smoky darkness of the forest. And that meant that it was the first time she’d really laid eyes on him since he’d stepped into that portal after the battle with Cruor and disappeared into the Witherlands.
There was an edge to his gorgeous features that she wasn’t sure she’d noticed before. If she didn’t know him at all or had never met him, he would have simply terrified her. He was handsome, yes. But he looked hard. He looked closed off from the world and unaccountably dangerous.
And right now, as he gazed down at her so quietly, he looked… hungry.
Raven swallowed hard, fighting past the lump of unexpressed emotions that had lodged in her throat. And then quite softly she said, “Better.”
She wasn’t certain whether he was going to sit beside her or not, but suddenly feeling overwhelmed by his presence and stature, Raven decided she needed to be up on her feet. She had taken off the blue cloak Zeta had given her and laid it over her body as a make-shift blanket. She was about to remove it entirely in order to get her legs under her when Drake was suddenly lowering beside her, and his gloved fingers were wrapped around her wrist, staying her action.
The touch sent a jolt through Raven. It was a thrill and a challenge and suddenly, she was imagining him holding her down.
“Don’t,” he told her as he deftly grasped the cloak with his free hand and pulled it back over her body. He was so close, she could feel the heat radiating off of him. She could smell the leather of his armor, as she always could when he was near her. It was intoxicating. “Keep the cloak in contact with your body,” he went on. He locked eyes with her again, and she felt the weight of his words as if they were a command. “It’s protecting you more than you know.”
Raven stared at him for several long beats, and then her gaze slid to her arm where his fingers were wrapped securely around her. He still hadn’t released her wrist. Drake looked down as well. She could see some emotion flicker across his face; a muscle ticked in his jaw and his broad shoulders tensed. But he didn’t let her go.
Instead, he used those fingers to slowly turn her arm over, exposing the long blue veins in her wrist to the light of the fire. Raven watched his gaze intensify. His grip tightened, and the leather made a threatening sound.
“Drake….” She bit her lip, and then, “When was the last time you fed?” she suddenly asked. She wasn’t sure what had given her the courage to ask it. But she knew that look. She’d been there before.
Slowly, Drake turned to regard her. His pupils had expanded to swallow the light and what iris yet remained showing was glowing like the moon on fire. It stole Raven’s breath, and she went very, very still. She felt every ounce the prey now, caught in the sights of the hunter.
“I could feed a thousand times and it wouldn’t quell this hunger,” he told her. His voice was gravelly, as if a beast had a hold of him. A thrum of some sort of dark, forbidden excitement shot through Raven, and her
own pupils dilated. The night took on a different cast. Her mouth watered. She remained frozen, trapped in Drake’s grip as he speared her with his gaze. “You’re driving me crazy, princess.”
Raven swallowed. “Sorry,” she said softly. But she wasn’t. Not a bit.
Something flashed in Drake’s eyes, and he shook his head. His grip tightened further, becoming nearly painful. Suddenly, he stood, his body rising in one strong, fluid movement. As he did, he pulled her up with him.
Raven cried out in surprise and loss of balance, but Drake easily yanked her up against his chest, and she fell into him.
Their eyes remained locked on one another; he’d never released her from his unbreakable hold. “Where we come from, Raven, a woman is punished when she lies to her king.” The hint of fang could be made out from behind his lips as he spoke. He towered over her, and she felt drunk with the scent of him – leather and sandalwood and dark magic.
“You’re not my king,” she breathed, barely managing to get the words out.
Drake fell silent. His gaze narrowed thoughtfully. There were secrets behind it that Raven almost didn’t want to know.
“Listen carefully, princess,” he whispered. His demeanor had suddenly changed. The hunger was still there, but something else was as well. “Do not toy with me. There are forces at work here which you cannot possibly hope to comprehend.” He shook his head just enough that the silver in his eyes glinted menacingly. “You have no idea how much danger you’re in right now.”
Raven stared up at the bounty hunter, flashes of memory returning to her – Drake’s ropes, his tight grip… his kiss. His blood.
And her mouth went dry even as her anger spiked. She suddenly wanted to say a thousand things at once and could think of none of them, not with him so close. Not with him staring at her the way he was.
She tried to take a step back, to distance herself from him and pull out of his grip, but his free arm snaked around her waist and yanked her body back up against his so fast, she lost her breath of air and all thoughts flew from her mind.
“Trouble follows you like leaves on a wind,” he told her, his tone having softened a touch. His breath, hot and scented like cinnamon, touched her lips. “You think you’re in the clear now,” he continued. “But Cruor was just the beginning.”
The hard length of Drake’s body pressed threateningly – promisingly – against her, making her mind spin into a whirlwind of dark possibilities. But the razor edge of what he was saying, the acid-like meaning of his words, somehow managed to slice through the fog of her consciousness and hit home.
The thing was, Raven wanted to know how much danger she was in. She wanted to know about the monster that had attacked them in the forest. She wanted to know why Drake had come for her in the first place. She wanted to know what he was talking about right now – because he was right. She was the Chosen Soul. And that soul attracted danger like a beacon on a stormy night. “Then tell me,” she said softly, her voice cracking ever so slightly. “What danger am I in?”
“You’re going to get blood all over you when I kill the bounty hunter,” came another voice, loud, recognizable and clearly angry.
Raven’s head whipped around to find that Loki had joined them in the clearing. He was alone; Grolsch was not yet with him. Her brother glared at Drake through the tops of his amber colored eyes. He dropped the armful of wood he’d been carrying and scowled. Loki knew good and well who and what Drake of Tanith really was. Now the priest had all the reasons in the world to distrust, if not hate, Tanith. And he hadn’t liked him in the first place.
But if Loki was going to attack someone, he wouldn’t announce it first. Raven knew her brother well enough to know that. He would have simply gone for his bow or tried some priest spell from a distance.
She was right. Loki simply shoved his sleeves up his arms, picked up one of the logs he’d dropped, and tossed it onto the top of the bonfire without taking his burning gaze off of Drake.
Raven turned back to look up at Drake, and it was clear from the tiny glint in his metal eyes that the bounty hunter knew Loki wasn’t going to attack him. In fact, it appeared that Drake found her brother’s anger… amusing.
Raven held that gaze a moment longer and then raised her arms to shove against Drake’s chest. He could have held on to her; she knew how strong he was. He was the son of Asmodeus, and his powers were undoubtedly mind blowing. However, he let her go, allowing her to stumble back a step to straighten her singed tunic and ruined leather breeches.
“Tanith,” came a gruff voice. They turned to see Grolsch rejoin them. The ork held two dead jackrabbits in one of his large hands. He raised it up and speared Drake with a meaningful look. “It’s dinner time.”
“I don’t –” Raven began.
“Eat animals,” Drake finished for her. He gave her an exasperated look. “We know.” Then he moved toward Grolsch, took one of the rabbits, and began setting up a skewer on top of the bonfire. “There are two tins in my pack,” he told Raven as he worked. “Open them and you’ll have your food.”
Raven glanced at the small leather black bag Drake carried when he traveled. It was truly tiny. No one would believe that it contained anything other than the gold or platinum Raven knew Drake used to buy information, housing, and weapons. But Raven had seen the proof to the contrary.
When Drake had first come after her at Astriel’s behest more than a month ago, he’d succeeded in capturing her. And then he’d set out a blanket and pulled two small metal canisters from his leather pack. These, he’d opened to reveal magically prepared food. Steaming soup. Warm baked bread. Cheese. Fresh, sweet strawberries.
Raven wanted some magic tins like that. She wondered how much they cost. Knowing Drake and the vast amount of wealth he had no doubt amassed over the thousands of years that he’d existed and made a living at tracking people down, they weren’t cheap.
She made her way to his bags and opened them. The tins were right on top. “I remember,” she mumbled without realizing it.
“So do I,” came Drake’s deep voice.
Raven froze over the packs and looked up to meet his gaze. A moment of heat passed between them, and then Drake pulled a large knife from the inside of his boot and Raven looked away, unable to watch what he was about to do.
The containers looked just as she remembered. Raven’s stomach growled at the thought of what they would reveal when she opened them. Hastily, she sat on a nearby rock and popped the top off the larger of the two.
At once, the smell of heated spices and cream wafted over her. She closed her eyes, put the canister of soup to her mouth, and took a sip. Broccoli cheddar.
Bread, she thought. Bread would be perfect with this.
Hoping that she would get lucky, Raven carefully placed the soup on a flat part of the sand before her and opened the other tin.
It was bread.
Now grinning broadly, Raven took the steaming fresh baked roll and dipped it into the soup. She took a bite so fast, broccoli cheese smeared the corner of her mouth, and she hungrily licked it off.
“Looks good,” said Loki, who had come up beside her.
She smiled up at him.
“Smells good too,” he added.
“It is.” She broke the bread in two and handed him the tin of soup. He sat down beside her, and they ate together in silence. Every once in a while they stole glances at the other two members of their “group.”
Drake and Grolsch were more or less hidden by the high flames of the bonfire. Their outlines were all that Raven could make out. Perhaps this was done on purpose by the bounty hunter, as what they were doing to the rabbits Grolsch had killed was most likely not something Raven wanted to see.
“You know,” said Loki, “Drake is eating that for a reason.”
Raven swallowed the bit of bread she still had in her mouth and looked down at the container in her hands. “I know.”
“Do you need some?” Loki asked.
Raven turned to look
at him. Concern etched his features.
Devils needed to consume life in order to regain what strength they lost while using their magic. This meant eating animals – or drinking blood. Raven had used magic since leaving the castle, but not much. She’d killed the Rakshin, however she’d done so with a single attack. The truth was, she wasn’t feeling weak at the moment. She was just tired. The pain of the burns she’d sustained had taken a lot out of her and now sleep was encroaching.
“No,” she assured him. “I’m alright.”
Loki nodded, satisfied with her response. And then Raven reopened the container that had given them bread the first time. This time, there were raspberries. She smiled again and held the container out to her brother. “Berry?”
“Wow,” said Loki, shaking his head as he pulled out a few of the ripe, dark pink fruit. “These canisters are amazing. I want one.”
“So do I,” Raven agreed.
“I wonder how much they cost.”
Chapter Ten
Lord Malphas rose from his throne when Adonides entered the room. His steward was a tall, strong devil, with skin of pitch like coal and eyes that burned like suns. His long black hair cascaded down his back, and his giant bat-like wings folded gracefully behind him as he made his way across the throne room with practiced grace and stealth. He was dressed in the blue and black leathers of his office, the seal of Caina emblazoned on his chest. At his waist rested the hilt of a sword whose blade was hewn of solid ice. It had been a gift from Malphas years ago.
Lord Malphas signaled to the devils guarding the doors that he wished to be alone with his steward. The devils bowed low and stepped out into the vast icy halls beyond, pulling the massive doors shut behind them.