“Here we have the Nightmare King and Queen –” Amunet stopped and glanced again at Helena. “Not your kinds of nightmares, mind you, but pretty grotesque all the same.” She turned and eyed the Nightmare King with obvious approval. “Though I have to admit that in their human forms, they’re pleasing to the eye. It makes sense; Nightmares are actually incubi.”
Helena couldn’t argue with any of that. They were hot. The Nightmare King could give a ninety-year-old hot flashes.
“This one’s double the trouble in bed, too,” continued Amunet. “Seeing as how he’s actually two Nightmares in one. Aren’t you Nicholas? Or do you prefer Nero?”
Nicholas or Nero – whichever he was at the moment – simply narrowed his gaze on the dark haired woman. His face was passive, but Helena caught something in there anyway. It was distaste or displeasure, as if he were seeing something in front of him that no one else could see, and it was butt-ugly.
Amunet ignored the look and moved on. Helena was trying very hard to not only compartmentalize the information but to search amidst it for a clue that would help her, help them all, defeat the Night Terrors.
“There you have the Shifter King and Queen, all ready to pop and grind into new forms this very minute, I’d imagine. Samantha is the legendary ‘magishifter,’” she said, making the quotes sign with her fingers, “and can take on the forms of any supernatural monster. Supposedly.” She winked at the woman. “I’m betting you’ve never had a crack at some of these guys.” She gave a little nod to the tree line and its crowd of beasts and made her way to the next waiting couple.
They were running out of sovereign couples now. It would soon be time for Helena and the others to do something once and for all.
“And this is the Warlock King Jason, and his little sex slave Chloe. Oh yes, don’t think I don’t know all about your particular tastes in the bedroom, handsome. After all you share them with half the Kings here.” She grinned. Then her grin slipped and she raised both brows and nodded. “Make that pretty much all of them.”
Helena, for her part was utterly flummoxed by the woman’s behavior and introductions, but the Warlock King and Queen seemed completely unfazed. They continued to stoically watch Amunet just like everyone else there.
“And at last we come to the Dragon King… and the Dragon Queen.” Now Amunet stopped before the couple, and she zeroed in on the Dragon Queen with the kind of attention that could only be personal.
The Dragon Queen was a beautiful woman, one of the most lovely Helena had ever seen – but then every woman in that field was gorgeous. The Dragon Queen shared Helena’s blue-black hair and fair skin, but her eyes were such a luminous purple, Helena could see the color across the field. She was tall and she looked strong. And right now she stood perfectly still, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression readily defiant.
“You could have been so much more Evangeline,” Amunet told her, clearly speaking to the Dragon Queen alone. “But you spurned your chance at greatness for this.” She glanced meaningfully at the man beside her, a tall, dark and handsome man like most of the men in the field. Helena felt the woman’s hatred swell. “And so you will get… this.”
Amunet stepped back.
Her companion at the center of the field raised his arms a little more. He opened his eyes, and illumination flashed from them like they were lighthouses. The Night Terrors all along the tree line slowly ebbed inward like a tide of death.
Chapter Fifty-three
Amunet turned back to face Helena and called out over the growing noise of the approaching monsters. “Welcome to your new timeline, Helena Dawn! Just remember – Cain gave you another choice!” Her amber gaze flashed bright yellow like two raging suns. “You’ve made your bed,” she hissed.
The Night Terrors and other creatures were bathed in the cold blue light of a full moon, and emanated far more hostility than they collectively should have. Some of these animals were not naturally aggressive. Wicked magic was moving through their systems, egging them on.
“Ahriman is controlling them,” said William. His eyes were radiating emerald green light, and his gaze was focused on the beasts emerging from the woods. “He’s a Nomad. He and Amunet both are. Very powerful,” he said, glancing down at her.
Helena touched her forehead, looking from the “Nomads” to the monsters. “If we hurt those creatures,” she said, shaking her head, “we’ll be hurting innocents.”
Helena noticed the other sovereigns were turning in place, watching the monsters closely. Their brains must have been scrambling, trying desperately to figure out how to get out of this mess, if not win this fight. Helena did a quick count. There were thirteen pairs in total, and there was the redhead at the center of the field with the others, but who appeared to be on the good guys’ side. She’d called Amunet “sister.”
So twenty-seven good guys, one of them possibly as strong as the two Nomads. The monsters lining the field were in the hundreds.
They were drastically, horribly, ridiculously outnumbered.
As if to confirm her fears, William said, “I’m not sure accidentally hurting them is our biggest concern right now.”
She looked up just as William turned his attention from the monsters to the man controlling them. His gaze narrowed. “Frankly I’m more concerned with this fight spreading.” With that, he lowered his head and whispered, “Kat. We need a shield.”
The woman in the center of the field who was Amunet’s sister turned to face William. She started to run toward them. Amunet saw her do this and clearly knew something was up. The evil Nomad rushed forward and grabbed her sister’s arm. When she did, the redhead spun, landing a roundhouse punch to Amunet’s jawline with so much force, Helena heard the crack of the impact all the way from where she was standing.
Amunet released her sister, and Kat ran. Ahriman lowered his head behind them, his terrible bright gaze glowing as hot as ever, and watched the redhead leave the field. When she reached William and Helena, William shoved her behind the tree. The two exchanged a private nod, and Kat dove behind the base of the tree and began chanting.
William turned back to face the Nomad couple. “Helena, I trust you know how to take care of yourself,” he told her without looking at her. “But remember things have changed. In battle, try everything you can think of. You never know what might work.”
With that, a bubble-like film of sheer energy shot up and over the vast field owned by Helena’s family, covering the area and its monsters and inhabitants in a kind of dome. At the same time, William Balthazar Solan vanished. He simply blinked out of existence in front of her – and reappeared behind Ahriman in the center of the field. At once, he grabbed Ahriman in a vicious headlock and jerked the Nomad violently backwards, breaking the man’s concentration and disrupting his spell.
All along the tree line, the monsters and animals began to scramble. Some turned tail and fled back into the forest, clearly not of the mind to fight. Others however, the Night Terrors, set their sights on new victims and rushed in to attack. Helena watched as the Kings and Queens of the different realms began reacting in their own ways.
The Warlock King and Queen were casting spells. The Winter King and Queen had pulled swords of ice from some unknown location. The Goblin King was wielding a sword as well, a massive, wicked looking weapon he used to fight off a herd of Peytons. And the Dragon Queen, in head-to-toe black armor, was equally armed with a terrible black blade.
Helena looked on as the Goblin King’s wife Diana spun around an oncoming monster, a relatively young Fearfell, then slammed her hand down onto its rainbow fur from behind. White light spread from beneath her touch, enveloping the beast. It whined at first, arching its neck as it howled. But then the white light swallowed it completely, and when the brilliance faded a second later, it revealed a Fearfell with different attributes.
Its teeth had been smoothed out, its gums no longer absorbing the slicing impact of so much jagged sharpness, and its claws had been given the sa
me treatment, the stone polished and round at each talon’s tip. The Fearfell looked down at itself and slowly raised its hand to its mouth. When it was able to touch its face without cutting into it, it experienced obvious surprise – enough so that it wobbled unsteadily on its legs and finally fell over onto its rump. It sat there on its furry bottom and turned its claws over again and again, marveling at the difference.
Meanwhile, Diana the Goblin Queen moved on to the next monster that attacked her.
Helena blinked, her eyes widening. Well, that’s nifty, she thought. No wonder she’s the Goblin Queen.
Helena turned away from the Goblin sovereigns and that side of the field, wanting to see how the others were handling the oncoming enemies, curiosity now driving her almost as much as anything. But she wasn’t given the luxury of spectating any further. When she turned around, she found herself face-to-face with the one monster she had truly hoped she would not meet in that field that night. It was the one she’d confronted when she was a child, the one that killed her father.
The Terror.
That’s what she called it. That’s what it was to her.
Helena was an open-minded person. You had to be when you were a warden. You were hired by monsters to track down monsters. You couldn’t be picky about who you worked for, or you wouldn’t eat. Plus, she’d been around enough supernatural species and humans alike to know that humans were just as bad as monsters, and usually worse. So she retained her judging and kept it for when it was due. With the Terrors, there were no two ways about it. They were evil to the core.
The Terror had two forms. One form appeared human. They could even live as humans as long as they wanted. Some of them passed for neighbors and coworkers for years before they were found out. By the time they were, it was always too late. They’d learned so much about their victims, managed to get so close, the slaughter was all the more deplorable, and all the more impossible to defend against.
In their “monster” forms however, they resembled drakes, which were like dragons but leaner and longer – more like Chinese dragons. In fact, Helena often wondered whether that was what the Chinese had actually witnessed when their artists first began rendering images of what they’d seen. She’d never had a chance to ask her mother, who had been born in Halkou, China, before her mom was taken by the Terror. And since that day, she had to admit she’d stayed away from things that reminded her of her mother. Even looking in the mirror was sometimes enough to make her chest ache.
But it didn’t matter. The Terrors were like drakes all the same but for the fact that they had wings. They also possessed camouflaging capabilities, and were able to change the color of their leather hide like a chameleon. A Terror’s underside was usually light in color during the day, and dark gray to dark blue at night. From below, its prey rarely saw it coming – just as from above, a swimmer rarely caught the approach of a Great White.
The topside of a Terror however, was always shimmering red. It was enormously long, the length of half a neighborhood block, easy. And it had both wings and legs, giving it the ability to walk, run, and fly.
Worst of all, it had the innate power to possess a being. To accomplish this, the Terror had to slice its victim open. Even a small cut would do. Once a direct pathway was created to the victim’s bloodstream, the Terror simply dissolved into red shimmering mist and entered through the new wound. Once there, it could pretty much do anything it wanted. Almost no one had enough willpower to fight the mental commands of a Terror.
When they weren’t hunting just for food and were looking for a body to possess instead, they usually sought out the inhuman. They preferred creatures who were strong, like them. Vampires were a favorite.
Helena should know.
But that wasn’t what made them evil. Even ghosts felt they had no choice but to possess someone once in a while to get their message across. What made the Terror evil was the fact that they did it for fun. They toyed with their prey. They hunted for pleasure rather than solely sustenance. One kill could keep them alive for years. But they killed over and over again, sometimes destroying a life a day in their domain.
They were the vicious, mad serial killers of the Dark World. And the one in front of her was smiling.
Chapter Fifty-four
Helena swallowed against her dry throat. She couldn’t really comprehend what she was seeing at first. Enough details made it through her mind to tell her what kind of monster it was, but the much more important aspect of its identity took a little longer for her to digest.
Against all reason, the Terror remained right where he was, hands in the pockets of his jeans, and let her take him in. It was as though he wanted her to recognize him. He wanted her to remember.
And after several long moments, she had no choice but to admit to herself that she did.
But it was impossible. He was supposed to be dead. She’d watched her father kill him! Her father had died killing him, damn it!
“No,” she shook her head. No. “You’re dead.”
“Really?” he teased, glancing down at himself. “Could have fooled me.” He dared to appear to her in human form. Same black hair and sapphire eyes because it was night.
“But…” She stammered like an idiot, doubting everything now. “I remember.”
He smiled a fanged smile and said, “I remember you too, little girl.”
All around Helena, the chaos of the massive battle grew to a steady crescendo. The shield dome Kat had erected over the battleground took countless blasts of magic, suffered a tirade of blunt force trauma from body after body slamming into it, and yet it held. The outside world would know nothing of the war going on beneath it.
But she was alone in that tumultuous mess. The other Queens were locked in their own chaotic struggles. Even William was toe-to-toe and neck-and-neck with Ahriman, the Nomad. And Helena could not bear to glance in his direction… just in case the Nomad had the upper hand.
The Terror’s grin broadened. “I’m flattered that you remember me, by the way.” He looked her up and down. “You know, your mother tasted so damn good when my vampire puppet drank from her, I have to admit,” he chuckled, “I got a little addicted.” Then he said matter-of-factly, “She was the reason I let you live when I killed your father. She was the reason I allowed you to believe he’d won.”
He tried to step toward her, but she lifted the gun in her now shaking hand and cocked it. Her heart was beating rapid-fire in her chest, despite the fact that it was in the process of breaking all over again.
She had four bullets left. He wouldn’t know it, not likely, but she would only have to use one of them to take him down. She wouldn’t miss.
The Terror stopped and glanced down the barrel of the gun, then slowly slid his gaze back to hers. “You sure you want to do that, Helena?”
Helena blinked. He’d called her by her name. How could he do that? How could he know her name? Or remember it after all this time?
“That’s right,” he told her. “I know a lot about you, Angel.” He used her mother’s nickname for her, and somehow she just knew he was doing it because it was her mother’s nickname for her. “I know everything your mother ever told me.” Now he did move forward, and damn it all to hell she let him. Because he had something of hers. He had memories of her mother that she didn’t have. He had a piece of her – and she wanted it back.
“Would you like me to share them with you, Helena? The stories your lovely mother confessed to me when she was too tired to lie?”
Yes.
“Go to hell,” she told him fiercely. But her heart wasn’t in it. Instead, her heart was in two throbbing pieces, and barely keeping her alive. And she knew she was screwed when she realized she was lowering her weapon.
The Terror watched her for a moment, noting the lowered gun, and failed to hide his victorious smile. He then glanced at the field around them. “Looks like I’m already here,” he said. The dome-covered battleground was littered with bodies, painted with blood, and s
corched black, purple, and green with everything from fire to poison.
He turned back to her. “But I know you don’t mean that anyway. So I’ll just do you a solid and tell you a few of your mom’s secrets. If…” He glanced at her neck, where she’d been attacked by Cain but no longer bore his marks. Then his gaze slid down the length of her body again. “…you let me have just one more sweet, sweet taste.”
Suddenly Helena realized what was happening. It hit her like a slap to the face.
Just like that, her warden training kicked in and she somehow recalled that the single-most dangerous thing about a Terror was its ability to get close to its victim. Really close. Because up close and personal was where it hurt most.
“Fuck you,” she said. Then she raised her gun arm, took quick aim, and squeezed the trigger. The bullet left the chamber, drilled through the Terror’s forehead, and exploded out the other side of his skull.
Helena watched the monster stand there before her, stunned and silent as blood trickled in a thin line from the fresh wound. And then she watched him fall. Finally she stepped over his body, aimed her gun a second time and emptied one more round into him just to be sure. After all, she’d thought he was dead once already and she’d been wrong. When she finished, she stepped back and felt strange.
“Tell me something, Time Queen,” said someone behind her. Helena spun, raising her weapon instinctively.
Amunet the Nomad watched her with absolutely zero fear. And rightly so.
Helena wasn’t certain how she knew this, staring the other woman down, but the information came to her as if she’d possessed it all along. It’s because I’m the Time Queen, she thought. Time was the record keeper of everything that happened. And hence… she would come to know everything too. But she was learning it in stages, thank the gods. Or she’d probably go mad.