Beware the Darkness

by Alexandra Ivy

  They sped down the long hallway, their footsteps echoing eerily.

  “Is the castle always so empty?” Styx finally demanded.

  “I can sense Riven in the throne room,” Waverly said. “I’m guessing he’s called another gathering. He loves to be the center of attention.”

  “Nice of him to keep them distracted,” Styx muttered.

  “There’s nothing nice about Riven,” Tarak growled. “And there will probably be at least one guard waiting in front of Riven’s rooms,” he warned.

  “Good,” Styx said. “Darcy never lets me kill things anymore.”

  Waverly glanced toward the Anasso who was jogging next to her. “Please try not to kill them.”

  He sent her a frown. “What?”

  “She’s serious,” Tarak warned the vampire.

  Styx shook his head in disappointment. “Damn.”

  Reaching an intersection, Waverly led them around a corner. Ahead Tarak could see the double doors of the royal chambers. He could also see the two guards, who looked dumbfounded by their sudden appearance.

  “I’ll take that one,” Styx said, pointing his sword at the guard on the left.

  “Careful, they can shoot a silver net out of their tridents,” Tarak told him, preparing to charge forward.

  Waverly lightly touched his arm. “Remember, these are my people.”

  He nodded as he flowed forward, leaping high in the air at the precise second that the guard released the magic from his trident. The silvery net flew harmlessly beneath him before Tarak was landing in front of him. The male cursed, trying to back away so he could stab Tarak through the heart with the tips of his trident.

  Tarak smiled, revealing his very large, very sharp fangs. The male dropped his trident and turned to flee.

  That was the problem of trying to compel warriors to provide protection instead of earning their loyalty. A soldier would only fight to the death for someone he believed to be his true leader.

  Whirling on his heel, Tarak intended to help Styx with his guard, but the merman had already joined his companion in running away. He shook his head. After he killed Riven, the mer-folk were going to need a king who could give them back their pride.

  First, however, he needed to extinguish Riven’s ability to tap into his power. It was becoming worse with every passing second. As if the male was trying to drain as much energy from Tarak as possible.

  Yet another indication that something was happening.

  Maybe Waverly was right. Maybe Riven had lost control of the Tryshu.

  “In here,” Waverly said, pushing open the doors.

  They rushed inside. Without speaking, Tarak and Styx did a quick sweep to ensure there were no hidden guards. Tarak grimaced, acutely aware of how easy it was to regain the comfortable rapport that he’d once had with the ancient vampire. Just two brothers who always had each other’s back.

  As if sharing his sense of comfort, Styx came to a halt in the middle of the vast room and turned a slow circle.

  “Impressive,” he at last said.

  Tarak snorted. “You used to hate fancy shit. Does becoming king rot a male’s brain?”

  Surprisingly, a visible shudder raced through Styx. “Trust me, I’ve had enough marble and gilt to last my lifetime.” He pointed his sword toward the shelves lining the walls. “I was referring to the weapons.”

  Shaking off his sense of camaraderie, Tarak crossed the floor. “This is the amulet.”

  Styx quickly joined him, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he studied the metal object. “Necromancer.”

  Tarak sent him a startled glance. “That was quick. Do you recognize it?”

  “We had to deal with the nasty creatures a few years ago.”

  The lights overhead flickered, a sure sign that Styx was pissed. The necromancers must have been more than a little problem if Styx was still nursing his anger.

  Reaching toward the amulet, Tarak suddenly felt a sharp pain as if he was being gutted. He swayed, grabbing the edge of the shelf to remain upright.

  “Tarak, what’s wrong?” Waverly hurriedly wrapped her arm around his waist.

  “Riven is draining me of my powers,” he said between clenched teeth.

  Waverly glanced toward Styx. “How do we destroy it?”

  “The amulet can’t be destroyed by physical means. It’s the work of the Dark Lord,” Styx told her, lifting his hand when her lips parted in dismay. “It will take magic.”

  Tarak grimly forced his knees to hold his weight. He had to stay upright. He was so close to getting his fangs in Riven.

  Failure wasn’t an option.

  “Do we need a witch?” he asked Styx.

  “No. Unfortunately.”

  Waverly scowled. “Why unfortunately?”

  Styx grunted in resignation. “Because what we need is a gargoyle.”

  * * * *

  Riven’s initial stupefaction at having the Tryshu ripped from his hand was quickly replaced by stark fear.

  What the hell?

  This wasn’t part of the plan. He wasn’t one of those stupid kings who let the ancient weapon choose who was going to be the leader. He’d ended that tradition when he’d found the amulet. Now his grip on the Tryshu should be unbreakable.

  Obviously, the ogress had to have some sort of magical artifact that was disrupting his powers. That was the only explanation that made sense.

  Which meant that he had to get it away from her before the mer-folk could start to speculate whether or not she was telling the truth. They were already muttering and exchanging confused glances. Even the guards were staring around as if unsure what to do.

  Dammit. How had this female managed to enter the castle without him sensing her presence? And worse, how had she managed to contact Sabrina? The princess was safely locked in her prison. No one should be able to speak with her.

  Riven savagely battled against the urge to flee. He might be a coward, but this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

  He’d sacrificed too much to throw it all away.

  All he had to do was inflame the mer-folks’ instinctive fear of ogres, he abruptly realized. Once Inga was dead, the Tryshu would once again return to his grasp and he could continue with his determination to rule the demon world.

  “You see?” he called out in loud tones, pointing an accusing finger toward the silent Inga. “I warned you that the ogres sent her to deceive us.”

  “She holds the Tryshu.”

  The voice came from behind Riven, but he didn’t bother to turn around and discover who it was. Soon enough the people would be crawling on their knees to please him.

  “A trick,” he proclaimed.

  The ogress scowled, looking at the Tryshu as if she didn’t know how it’d gotten in her hand.

  Wretched creature.

  “How could I trick a magical weapon?” she demanded.

  “Everyone knows that ogres are cunning, savage animals,” Riven said without hesitation. He wanted to emphasize that this female was a crude, nasty creature. Nothing at all like the lovely mer-folk. “Who knows what foul magic you are using.” He gave an imperious lift of his hand. “Rimm.”

  The guard moved to stand at his side, his expression troubled. “What about Princess Sabrina? I want to hear from her.”

  Riven bit back his furious words. Very, very soon he was going to deal with his treacherous captain of the guards. But right now he was acutely aware of the crowd muttering behind him.

  “No, this might be a trap,” he abruptly warned.

  Rimm scowled. “What sort of a trap?”

  Riven rummaged through his brain, seeking some reason to avoid an all-out search for Sabrina. Then he smiled with smug satisfaction.

  He had a rare talent for turning any situation to his advantage. Even this shitshow.

 
He faced the crowd. “It’s possible the ogress is hoping to lure Sabrina out of the safety of her private rooms to murder her.”

  Rimm took a second to consider the explanation. “Why would she kill the princess?” he at last asked.

  “Without Sabrina’s magic our children would die,” Riven smoothly pointed out.

  There was a rustle of silk as the crowd leaned to whisper to each other. Riven’s smile widened. He was turning the tide.

  “She isn’t here,” the ogress argued. “Riven put her in a prison.”

  Riven pasted an expression of shock on his face. “If that was true, the children would already be dying,” he insisted.

  “Go and see for yourselves,” Inga called out.

  Riven lifted his hands. “Don’t leave the throne room,” he warned. “The ogres might be hidden near the nursery.”

  Rimm glanced toward the ogress, his expression troubled. “How can she hold the Tryshu?”

  Riven smiled even as the violent urge to destroy the guard blasted through him.

  Soon, soon, soon.

  “As I said, she has cast some sort of evil spell on our most precious symbol of authority.” He gestured toward the crowd, urging them to move forward. “We have to destroy her before she can use the Tryshu against us.”

  Rimm made a choked sound of disbelief. “Surely you don’t intend to put your people in danger?” he demanded. “She could kill all of them if she gains command of the weapon.”

  Riven pressed his lips together. Damn the male. Did he think Riven was going to put his own life in danger? “I’m beginning to suspect that you are the traitor, Rimm,” Riven suggested in a low voice.

  The male stiffened. “I am loyal to the throne.”

  “Then prove it,” Riven snapped, waiting for Rimm to take a step toward Inga before he sucked as much power as possible from the vampire. He didn’t believe his people could actually kill the ogress while she held the Tryshu, but they could possibly distract her long enough for him to grab the weapon. “Attack,” he commanded.

  The people inched forward, none of them in a hurry to confront the large female. Pathetic weaklings. But even as Riven waited for his chance to regain the trident, he caught sight of a tiny gargoyle pushing his way toward the ogress.

  “Non!” he shouted. “You will not hurt her.”

  Riven clenched his hands into tight fists. “Now what?”

  Chapter 20

  Standing in front of the open doors leading to the throne room, Waverly ensured that no one had noticed their arrival before swiveling back to the vampire at her side.

  A sizzle of panic snaked down her spine as she eyed her mate. Despite his grim effort to pretend that he wasn’t on the point of collapse, she knew that Riven must be draining the last of his power.

  Tarak’s pale face was turning a worrisome shade of ash and he swayed side to side, as if trying to find his center of gravity.

  “Tarak.” She laid a gentle hand on her arm. “Let me get the gargoyle and bring him to you.”

  “I’m fine,” he told her.

  She shook her head. Stubborn vampire.

  “You can’t lie to me, remember?” she said.

  He eyed her with a fierce expression. “I have to do this.”

  Styx moved to stand next to Tarak. “You’re sure?” he demanded. Tarak nodded and the Anasso pulled free his massive sword. “I’ve got your back.”

  Waverly swallowed her protest. She understood. Tarak had suffered for centuries. He wasn’t going to let the fact he could barely stand upright keep him from his revenge.

  Swallowing a sigh, Waverly turned her attention to the swarm of her people on the other side of the doors.

  At the moment, Riven was standing on the dais, waving his arms as the gathered mer-folk were inching toward the ogress who was backing away.

  “I was right,” Riven proclaimed in a loud voice, pointing his finger toward Levet, who had halted directly in front of the massive female. “She has a demon straight out of the netherworld as her companion.”

  “He’s not wrong,” Styx muttered.

  Riven continued to give dramatic waves of his arms. As if he was herding the crowd forward. Idiot.

  “We have to destroy them before she can call for her filthy tribe to overrun us,” he warned.

  The mer-folk became bolder, their angry mutterings growing louder. Riven had once again managed to deceive them, and even worse, he was ensuring they were the ones in danger, not himself.

  Spineless coward.

  With a shake of her head, she turned her attention to the ogress who’d backed away from the crowd until she was pressed against the far wall.

  “How did she get the Tryshu away from Riven?” she muttered in confusion.

  “A worry for later,” Tarak said, his voice harsh with strain.

  “Yes,” she agreed, sending him a worried glance.

  Styx looked equally concerned. “We have to get the amulet to the gargoyle.” He lifted his sword. “I’ll create a distraction.”

  “No.” Tarak sent his companion a fierce glare. “I’ll do it.”

  Styx arched a brow. “Forgive me, brother, but you’re not looking so good.”

  “I can do it,” Tarak insisted, then he grimaced as he swayed heavily to the side. “Just make sure I don’t fall on my face.”

  “I got you.” Styx wrapped an arm around Tarak’s shoulders and braced him with his large body.

  Waverly felt a strange warmth flow through her at the sight. For so long Tarak had been separated from his people, not only by his prison, but by his sense of betrayal. He’d even managed to convince himself that he had no need of them. Now, seeing him lean against Styx, she knew he would eventually return to his clan.

  He was a male who’d devoted his life to others. He needed to be a part of a family.

  Of course, she intended to have a few decades alone with him on that deserted island he’d promised her. After that…

  She was jerked out of her inane thoughts when she heard a startled shriek. Glancing into the room, she watched as Riven was lifted high in the air. Tarak. His powers might be diminished but they were still impressive.

  The gathering of mer-folk gasped, their gazes locked on Riven who was frantically twisting his head from one side to the other, no doubt searching for Tarak.

  Waverly touched Tarak’s hand, careful not to distract him. “Give me the amulet.”

  He dropped it into her palm, the muscles of his neck visible as he strained to hold Riven off the ground. “Be careful,” he rasped.

  She exchanged a glance with Styx. He nodded. It was a silent promise to protect Tarak with his life.

  Waverly believed him. She sensed the ancient vampire’s seething regret. He understood the wounds Tarak carried inside, and accepted that he was responsible for at least a few of them.

  Clutching the amulet in her hand, Waverly nearly gagged at the smell of the thing. Worse, it made her feel as if she was holding a putrid piece of rotting fish.

  With a shudder, Waverly squared her shoulders and headed into the room. It was time to end Riven’s reign of terror.

  “My people,” she called out, using the voice her father had perfected when he wanted to gain the full attention of a crowd. “We have been betrayed by the supposed King of the Mer-folk.”

  There was a ripple of silk as the mer-folk turned to watch her march forward. Their expressions were bewildered, as if they were hoping this was all a terrible joke they wanted to end.

  Above her, Riven began to flail around, trying to break free of the invisible bonds that held him.

  “Traitor,” he screeched. “She’s working with the ogress.”

  “No.” Waverly kept her pace steady, her head held high. She was in full princess-mode. “I have escaped from the prison where Riven trapped me along with a v
ampire he used to maintain his hold on the Tryshu.”

  A uniformed male abruptly appeared in front of her. Rimm. Waverly halted, thoroughly prepared for a fight. Nothing was going to stop her from exposing Riven.

  But even as she braced for his attack, he instead offered a deep bow. “Princess Waverly.” He straightened, his expression tight with regret. “I was told that you were a traitor, but I am beginning to suspect I was misled.”

  “You were,” she told him. She glanced toward the mer-folk who were gathering around her. “Riven is a fraud. He was never our rightful king.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Riven screeched. “I claimed the Tryshu. I am your king.”

  The mer-folk glanced between Waverly and Riven, looking like spectators at a human tennis match. She needed more to convince them that they’d been duped.

  “He used this.” She held up her hand. “An amulet from a necromancer.”

  As one, the crowd took a step backward, their noses wrinkling at the stench.

  “I’ve never seen that before.” Riven’s voice was edged with an increasing desperation. “She’s trying to confuse you.”

  “I’ve seen it,” Rimm abruptly admitted, his face bleak. It wouldn’t be easy for the mer-folk to accept how badly they’d been deceived. Waverly could only hope the future king could find a way to heal the betrayal left behind by Riven. “It was in the royal chambers.”

  “I have seen it as well.” Levet intruded into the conversation, waddling forward. His delicate wings shimmered in the light of the chandeliers, but they brushed the floor as if they were drooping. “Or one similar.” A visible shudder shook his tiny body. “It was used to worship the Dark Lord.”

  There was an audible gasp from the mer-folk as they took several more steps away from the amulet. Although they were isolated from the rest of the world, they’d heard about the evil demon lord.

  Waverly’s stomach clenched with disgust. It was revolting to have the nasty thing touching her skin. “Can you destroy it?” she demanded.

  “No!” Riven cried.