Grabbing Ta Kale’s arm, Philippe pulled her close as he snarled, “Anything you want to say, darling?”
Lifting a slender, black hand, she lightly traced two fingertips along the line of his scalp, across his temple, and down his jaw. Her blue eyes bored into his as she whispered, “Sleep.”
Confusion clouded Philippe’s mind as the anger almost instantly dissipated at her touch. Slowly, the black that had been threatening at the outer edges of his vision closed over him. Philippe sank to the floor.
Chapter Ten
A gentle touch to the tender area of his head roused Kalylle. The wizard let out a low groan.
“Easy, wizard,” a woman whispered. “You’ll be fine.”
Kalylle snapped open his eyes. The black, elven seer knelt next to him. He lay sprawled half in a garden bed, and half on the wood-paneled path. A white, stone bench stood next to him. The pulsing ache radiating through him told him his head had hit the bench on the way down.
Memory of the fight with Philippe returned. His lover had attacked him. Kalylle had needed to stab him to distract him.
Seven hells!
“Where’s Philippe?”
His voice sounded rough to his ears. He struggled to sit up. If he had to go after the man, where would he even start looking?
“He’s resting quietly at the moment,” Ta Kale told him as she wrapped a slender, deceptively strong arm under Kalylle’s shoulders and helped him to a sitting position. “You’ve made a mess out of my garden,” she scolded with a smile. “As well as my dining room.” She handed him a dagger. He recognized it as his own.
“We’re sorry,” Kalylle apologized quickly. “That wasn’t our intention.” When she just continued to smile, he asked, “Did Deantmore incapacitate Philippe?”
Ta Kale shook her head. “Not exactly. Your elven friend is in pretty rough shape.” When Kalylle lifted a worried brow, she told him, “He is also resting. I’ve sent for a healer. He has a broken arm, a cracked sternum, and a deep gash on the back of his head.” She hesitated before adding, “Perhaps a broken nose.”
Using the nearby bench for support, Kalylle rolled to his knees, then to his feet. He straightened too quickly, and his head swam. He grabbed the nearest tree and waited for the sensation to pass.
“What happened?” he asked again.
The woman shrugged. “He was no match for an enraged darkling. After Philippe tossed you into the gardens, he and Deantmore came to blows. You may have stabbed the man, but his strength gave him the upper hand.”
“And Philippe?” Kalylle pressed. “Did T’ Pan help? Knock him out?” The wizard assumed the elven servant also acted as a bodyguard.
Ta Kale shook her head. “He didn’t have to. Philippe had lost a lot of blood. He was confused,” she told him. “He started toward me, but the remorse his human side felt over what he’d done to you and Deantmore was too much for him. His mind shut down, and he passed out.”
The wizard stared at her for a long moment, wishing he had Philippe’s ability to discern the truth in another’s words. The story seemed strange, but he couldn’t think of any reason the woman would lie to him. He nodded slowly, having to accept her word.
“Have I been out long?”
Shaking her head, Ta Kale stood next to him, seeming to have plenty of patience as she waited for him to feel strong enough to move away from the tree. “Just long enough for me and T’ Pan to move your friends.” Staring serenely at him, she asked, “Would you like me to clean the gouge on your head?”
Kalylle forced a smile at her kindness. The group had arrived unannounced and ended up fighting in her home. “In a minute. I’d like to see Deantmore first.”
Nodding, she led him out of the garden and through the dining area. He took in the scuffed floor, the broken chair, and the blood on the table. “I’ll help you clean this, and I can fix your chair.”
“No need to help clean. T’ Pan will take care of it shortly,” Ta Kale told him. “I’ll take you up on your offer to repair the chair though.”
She picked up a pouch from the table and handed it to him. Kalylle felt the reassuring weight of his rune stones, and a wave of relief filled him. Ta Kale turned away, beckoning him as she headed out of the dining area and down a hall.
Kalylle followed silently, taking in the sparsely decorated hallway, colored in hues of green and brown. This woman has a deep connection with the earth. When Ta Kale opened a door, it pulled Kalylle out of his musings. She motioned for him to pass through it.
After Kalylle entered the room, she closed the door without joining him. He approached the bed, taking in the splint on Deantmore’s right arm. The blanket was only pulled up to the elf’s waist, showing off the bandages across his chest and head. Sliding his focus up to his old friend’s face, he cringed upon seeing the discoloration already beginning to color the bridge of his nose.
Deantmore opened one brown eye and peered up at him. “Wow,” the elf grunted. He tried to smile, but only managed a pain-filled wince. “You look terrible. What happened to you?”
Chuckling softly, Kalylle grabbed a nearby chair and pulled it to the side of the bed. “Why don’t you tell me?” he asked, settling upon it.
“Mmm,” the elf groaned. “It was one hell of a fight.” Then he sighed, his eyelid sliding to half-mast. “He was quicker than I anticipated,” he whispered, his tone conveying his displeasure with himself. “And the strength! I’ll not underestimate him again.”
“I hope the opportunity doesn’t arise.”
Deantmore nodded slightly. “Do you know where he is?”
“He’s lying in another room. According to Ta Kale, he collapsed after knocking you out. Some kind of mental strain.”
“Hmm, lucky me,” the elf groused. Shifting on the bed, he frowned. “Are you going to help me out of here? You know I hate lying around.”
“A healer has been sent for,” Kalylle revealed. Upon seeing Deantmore’s brows furrow into a scowl, he smirked knowingly. “If the healer says you’re fine to be moved, then I’ll help you go wherever you want.”
“I don’t need a healer. I’ll be fine!”
Kalylle couldn’t help but shake his head upon hearing his friend’s words. “You always were so damn stubborn. If you don’t stay there, I’ll restrain you, Deantmore. You need to heal.”
Sighing, the elf admitted defeat. “Fine.”
“Rest now. I’ll return later.” Leaving his friend’s side, Kalylle exited the room. He shook his head, muttering softly, “Philippe warned me, but I didn’t listen. I thought I could control him.” Guilt riddled him. He should’ve known better than to push the already angered darkling.
Being Philippe’s lover had lulled him into a false sense of security. He’d been foolish. That first time they’d fucked, Kalylle had seen the daemon peering out of Philippe’s eyes. The darkling he was coming to care about and the daemon living within him…they were two very different beings.
It would do well for me to remember that.
Ta Kale, who’d been waiting outside the room, touched his arm. “We all make mistakes.” She smiled knowingly. “Even wizards.”
Kalylle nodded. The problem was, he couldn’t afford to make any more of them. Not if he didn’t want to inadvertently get someone killed.
“What’s so special about this darkling that you worry after him so?”
Focusing on Ta Kale, Kalylle took in her speculative expression. He really should have expected the question. Choosing his words carefully, he explained, “When I began this endeavor, I took him with me per the Council’s instructions. I was not pleased to have a…stranger join me on such a delicate mission.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he forced a bland smile as he continued, “As we traveled, his knowledge has saved us considerable time on more than one occasion. He’s also saved my life, and I’ve saved his. I consider him a valuable asset.”
Snickering, Ta Kale gave him a narrow-eyed look. “And that he is your lover is of no consequence?”
Kalylle fought back a blush as he admitted, “I do care for him. However that is not his only value.” He paused, the ache in his head increasing. Bringing a hand up to his temple, he rubbed lightly. “He was injured because he was helping me and the Council. I will not turn my back on him, especially now.”
Ta Kale gave a single nod of acceptance. “I’ll take you to see him now.”
“Thank you.”
Ta Kale turned, leading the way further down the hall. She opened another door. Again, she waited outside while he entered.
Kalylle heard soft moaning and quickly crossed the darkened room. Seeing Philippe toss and turn on the bed, he could only imagine what dreams plagued his lover. Was it still the same—the memory of being chained to a stone table? Or was it something else?
Seeing the bandage that covered Philippe’s side, Kalylle experienced a fresh pang of guilt. He’d created that wound by burying his knife in his lover’s side. He’d tried to be careful not to hit anything vital, but he knew it still had to have hurt the man. Many scars already criss-crossed Philippe’s body, and Kalylle had just added to them.
Taking a moment to admire Philippe’s pale skin and strong, lean lines, Kalylle felt his blood heat as it flowed south. He shook his head at his inappropriate timing. Lifting his hand, he hovered his palm over his lover’s chest. He drew his hand back as he again stared at Philippe’s scars. He’d never really had the chance just to stare. He and Philippe had always been far too…busy.
He wondered how many of them were from being chained to the table, if any. The symbols that had been etched into the stone slab still troubled Kalylle. He wanted to know what they were. Unfortunately, that would mean asking Philippe to take him to where it had happened so that he could see the table.
Would he lose control again?
Pushing the thought aside, Kalylle adjusted the blanket around Philippe’s waist. He leaned down and pressed a light kiss to his forehead. Sentimental, perhaps, but he couldn’t resist. I like him far more than I should. To his dismay, Kalylle discovered a small fever warming his lips. Knowing he could do nothing for him, he pressed one more kiss to Philippe’s skin before straightening. While he’d have preferred to climb into bed beside his sleeping lover, he had no idea what state of mind Philippe would be in when he woke, so he left.
He found Ta Kale waiting. “He still sleeps,” he murmured.
She nodded. “That’s good. Perhaps after I clean your head, you should do the same.”
Kalylle nodded absently, following her into the room between the two men. Warm water and bandages already waited. Perhaps they’d been left there by T’ Pan. Kalylle had yet to see the man.
“Have a seat,” Ta Kale ordered lightly, pointing at a chair.
Kalylle eased into the chair, feeling a tired soreness he hadn’t noticed before.
Ta Kale spoke as she worked. “Get some rest. You’ve a long journey ahead of you, if you wish to help your friend. Even without the last symbol, I can tell you where you’ll need to go.”
“That’s good,” Kalylle murmured, feeling a measure of relief. At least some progress had been made by their visit. The question of where she’d learned the symbols of the mages bothered him, but he found himself too tired to question her. “That’s very good.”
“Perhaps not,” she countered, cutting into his thoughts. “You’ll need to travel into the Mists. His soul has been banished and fed to a crictor.” Before he could ask, she explained, “Crictors are daemon spawn. They’ve no substance and live on the spirits of the dead. A soul is a delicacy for them, and they can draw life from it for years. But eventually, the soul will weaken and dissipate,” she warned, her tone taking on a sad note. “With only a quarter soul, you probably don’t have much time.”
Kalylle sat quietly for a long moment, letting her finish cleaning his head. When done, she picked up the bowl and cloths and headed for the door. “Ta Kale?”
She paused, waiting.
“Do you know how to track a crictor?”
For a few seconds, Ta Kale stood silent. Finally, she offered, “I’ll think on this. Get some rest. I’ll send for you before the evening meal.” Then she turned and disappeared out the door.
Left alone, Kalylle looked around the space. The room was decorated in earth tones, similar to the others, and it was sparsely furnished with a large, heavy wood-framed bed, wardrobe, desk, and chair. The thick drapes were drawn closed, blocking out the light.
More questions than answers buzzed through Kalylle’s head, like how they could gain entrance to the Mists. How would they track down the crictor when they got there? Plus, how could he help Philippe maintain control for the duration?
Knowing he wouldn’t come up with the answers by exhausting himself, Kalylle pushed the unanswered questions aside. He hung his robes in the wardrobe, then stretched out his aching body on the bed. Before sleep claimed him, the query of how Ta Kale knew so much about other lands slipped in and out of his mind.
* * * *
Breathing deeply, Philippe tried to still the trembling of his body. Anguish filled him as recent memories flooded his mind. Closing his eyes didn’t stop the images, and they came unbidden. Not only had he severely injured Deantmore, but he’d attacked Kalylle. His first friend in over a decade—goddammit, his lover—and he’d lain unmoving in the gardens…by Philippe’s hand.
After several agonizing minutes, he allowed himself to accept what he’d done. He couldn’t change it. He did, however, hope that he could make amends and earn forgiveness.
The darkling stretched out his senses, feeling for any presence around him. He found several. Slowly, he probed their emotions and found that Kalylle lay in the room next to him. The man rested peacefully with little pain. A sigh of relief escaped him. His lover was just fine.
Unfortunately, Philippe’s assessment of Deantmore filled him with shame, as did the memories of their fight. Though he knew little of the elf, he hadn’t deserved what Philippe had done. The daemon had gained control, but he shouldn’t be using that as an excuse.
I’m not some adolescent. I should have learned to control myself decades ago.
Shaking his head, Philippe knew avoidance had been the safer alternative. He’d avoided people to keep them safe. Now, when he needed to be amongst them at his most volatile, he couldn’t control himself.
No wonder Demara and her people thought their plan would work. Even with Kalylle’s aid, I’m still unpredictable.
Kalylle.
Philippe wanted to go to his wizard, to check to see if he was all right. Hold him, touch him, please him. Would Kalylle allow him to do that? Perhaps if he proved he could hold it together…
That thought led to another.
Can I still perform an Angel’s Kiss? Can I still heal others?
Easing to the edge of the bed, Philippe glanced around, uncertain how he’d gotten there. He couldn’t remember anything after knocking out Deantmore. He must have passed out himself.
Loss of blood, perhaps?
Philippe’s gaze lowered to the bandage on his side. Kalylle had stabbed him. Shaking his head at the memory, a wash of fondness filled him for the wizard. Even when Kalylle had attacked him in self-defense, the wizard had been careful not to hit anything vital.
He wondered how the man knew just where to strike without permanently injuring him. Pushing the thought aside, realizing the wizard still had a few secrets, he pulled off the bandage and stared at the fresh pink scar underneath. Running a finger over the pale, puckered flesh, he smiled. Even with his angel soul gone, he could still heal himself.
That gave him hope.
Philippe stared in the direction of the injured elf, remembering what was required to heal another…not just from himself, but from the person he healed. An Angel’s Kiss was intimate, causing great pleasure to hide the pain of healing. While he didn’t find the elf particularly attractive, the process itself turned him on.
It was what came after that concerned him. When
he healed, it angered his daemon.
Could he control the daemon enough with only his humanity?
Rising to his feet, Philippe felt determined to try. He couldn’t keep living in fear. Besides, he felt calm right then. If he could do it quickly enough…
He paused. If Deantmore was awake, would he let him try? Pushing the doubt aside, Philippe went to the wardrobe in search of his clothes. He found nothing. Standing only in torn trousers, Philippe stared vacantly as surprise filled him.
What has been done with my shirt?
After searching the desk, he realized the shirt must have been tossed. Perhaps it’d ended up too bloody. Shrugging, he dismissed his concern. He’d planned to find new clothes while in Silvermoon, anyway. Besides, an Angel’s Kiss was sexual. He didn’t need clothes for that.
Philippe eased into the Innerworld just long enough to walk through the wall, leaving him in Kalylle’s room. He took a moment to stop beside his lover’s bed. Upon seeing the cleaned gash on his forehead and the bruising around his neck, regret filled him. He’d done that to the wizard. Need and desire surged through him, causing blood to flow south and his cock to fill.
I could strip down, crawl into bed, and perform an Angel’s Kiss on my lover. I could clear those injuries in seconds, and then we could fuck like bunnies. Kiss and make up, isn’t that what lovers do after a fight?
Shit! If I perform an Angel’s Kiss on Deantmore, would Kalylle consider that cheating?
They’d never discussed being exclusive, but something told him that if he were to screw around with another, Kalylle wouldn’t like it. That caused his erection to deflate damn fast. Staring down at the sleeping male, Philippe scowled. When had Kalylle’s opinion come to mean so much to him?
Seven hells! Phillipe peered toward Deantmore’s room. Gonna have to figure out another way.
Turning away from Kalylle and heading toward the far wall, Philippe slipped once more into the Innerworld. He moved through the wall, then returned to the physical plane inside Deantmore’s chamber. Moving to the door, he quietly locked it.
The Darkling's Kiss: Part Two: The Daemon Unleashed (The Daemon's Descendants Book 2) Page 10
