Dark Angel

by Kim Richardson

  “No promises.”

  Maybe I was overreacting, but I couldn’t help it. I was anxious and scared for my vampire friend and for Layla. Plus, the fact that his dad, the High elf, wanted him dead was an additional roadblock. We might never get our hands on some dragon’s breath. We might never leave.

  Tyrius gave a huff and I felt him turn around on my shoulder. “How’s it hanging, Dick? Left or right?”

  God help us all.

  We came to another set of massive wooden doors. They opened and the same elf from the entrance glowered at me.

  “Let us pass, Liam,” said Jasper, and I was suddenly glad we’d met him in the woods and not Liam. Liam would have been a foreseeable problem. Liam, I probably would have stabbed.

  Liam frowned and his eyes flicked back to me. If he thought that would intimidate me, he was a bigger moron than I thought.

  I cocked an eyebrow at him and said, “Are you going to let us in or do I have strip down naked?”

  Liam’s frown morphed into an ugly scowl, but he stepped aside and let us pass.

  I pushed past Liam and strolled in behind Gareth. Hell. I loved making an entrance. But I probably looked like crap and smelled even worse after all that hiking. Not exactly ladyship quality.

  Jasper quickened his pace to catch up, which gave me a few seconds to look around the chamber. It was built on the scale of the castle, enormously high ceilings lost into shadow, large and with a few furnishings. The floor and walls were constructed of wood in smooth rich tones that gave off a log cabin feel. Soft yellow lights plashed onto the walls and the floor of the chamber.

  But it wasn’t an ordinary chamber, I realized, my chest tight.

  Chairs and small side tables had been pushed against the walls, creating a large open space in the center of the floor. At the end of the chamber was a raised dais where an elderly elf, with skin a sickly pale gray, sat in an enormous chair of carved wood. Its back flared out in the wings of an eagle, spreading out into an enormous crest decorated with all manners of spirals and intricate carvings of elf symbols and design.

  Damn it. It was a throne room.

  And sitting in the throne chair was Gareth’s father.

  My face went cold. There was a hollow place in my gut that wasn’t from not having eaten all night.

  I slowed my pace, letting Jasper take the lead as I looked at the others who stood below the dais and around the room. Elves, female and male, in a variety of ages, body types, and hair colors, their eyes lowered as they knelt quietly. Servants, I guessed, hovered at the walls, bearing trays of drinks and food for their High elf and his court.

  I counted six elves below the dais, wearing the same black attire Liam wore, swords at their waists, looking ready to slice me into pretty cubes if their High elf asked them to. There were two other males and a female. Both males were dressed in black with long, fitted jackets you’d see men wear in the eighteenth century, yet these had a more modern flare. Though neither looked happy, their features were familiar. They looked like Gareth. They all shared the same dark eyes, square jaw, heavy brow and thick build. Despite the more wrinkles and the gray that streaked their hair, there was no mistaking the resemblance. These were definitely Gareth’s brothers.

  They were grim faced and watching us as we approached, but clearly not enjoying the view. Damn, I was losing my touch.

  I seriously doubted the sexy elf female was his sister. No, she had none of the family traits. Sisters also normally didn’t look at their brothers with lust in their eyes, the way this one was looking at what I assumed was the eldest brother.

  The female elf looked to be in her mid-thirties. She was smaller than me in size, light where I was dark, with very thick cherry-blonde hair, falling down her back in waves. She had a straight nose and high cheekbones with full lips and luscious eyelashes that framed her large green eyes that could hypnotize any male. Graceful hands moved to clasp in front of her, and each finger was embellished with a ring of gold and silver, even her thumbs. Slim and upright in her stark black pant suit, she had the poised presence of confidence and sexuality, beautiful and alluring in her sophistication and beauty.

  Tyrius’s tail brushed my right calf, and he said, “She looks like a vampire.”

  He was right again of course. She had the striking beauty of a vampire, but her delicate pointed ears and lavender scent was all elf.

  As if hearing my unspoken thoughts, the female elf turned and met my eyes. Her full lips closed and she stared, unblinking, at me. Sizing me up. Are you? I thought, sending my eyebrows high in challenge. I didn’t look away. If she thought she was intimidating me, she was wrong.

  Though I’d recognized that look she gave me, that predatory look, her green eyes flashed with a moment of uncertainty before it was replaced with a mild amusement.

  “Did I ever tell you the story of when I met Ezer, the demon king of Mardar?” came Tyrius’s voice, edged with worry.

  “No.”

  “That’s because it didn’t end well.”

  I exhaled. “That’s great, Tyrius.”

  “I hate kings and lords and high borns,” muttered the cat. “All those privileges get to their heads. Monarchs. They think they’re permitted to do whatever they want because of a title. It makes it easier for them to kill without a valid reason.”

  Swell.

  The room settled into an oppressive silence. The kind I hated. It was either one—we walked in on them while they were talking about us specifically; or two—whatever they were discussing they didn’t want us knowing. Either way, it ticked me off.

  “What’s this? The Council of Elrond? Is it me, or do you have the impression that we just walked in on something?” whispered the cat. “Makes you want to know what it was. Doesn’t it?”

  I couldn’t agree with him more.

  I followed Jasper across the throne room, watching the dais get bigger. My pace didn’t falter until I reached it.

  I heard the scuffing of boots behind me and felt the sudden shift of air as Dick and the other elf came around to stand on each side of him. I’d forgotten they were still there.

  Jasper bowed from the waist. “High elf. I apologize for the interruption. But these… visitors requested an audience with you.”

  The High elf’s dark eyes settled on Gareth. He didn’t even look at me or Tyrius. He leaned forward, eyebrows high, and said in a deep and painfully rasped voice, “Tonight we shall celebrate your execution, my son.”

  Oh, hell.

  12

  You know when sometimes you wished you could kick your past self in the ass for doing something really stupid? Well, this was the one of those times. We should never have come here.

  The High elf wanted to kill his own son. And I thought I had family issues.

  I waited, expecting some introduction, but Gareth was silent. His eyes focused on his father. I felt like an idiot standing there with my arms hanging loosely at my sides and the High elf not even acknowledging my presence with simple eye contact. It was like I wasn’t even there.

  Heat rushed to my face—from anger or embarrassment, possibility both—and I strained to keep my eyes on Gareth, though I could feel the female elf’s winning smile on me. She was enjoying this. Bitch .

  The High elf sat hunched on his throne. Large hands that looked like they’d once been rough and strong gripped the armrests, now merely skin and bone. Both his long hair and beard were white and thin, and his brows were bare, giving him a more severe look. He was a big man, and I was certain he had once been broad shouldered and strong, though now was reduced to purely bone and sagging skin. He was dressed in what looked like some kind of golden fabric that had the texture of leather but the supple sweep of silk, and it hung loosely on his body.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his skin was a grayish cadaver color, making him look like he had a fever or simply was on his death bed. He had Gareth’s dark eyes, but where Gareth’s were mystical and full of compassion, his father’s eyes were hard and
cruel.

  “I didn’t come to quarrel with you, High elf,” said Gareth finally.

  “No, you came to die,” commented the High elf. “Why else would you come here when I gave explicit instructions that if you ever set foot in my city, I would gut you like a pig? Yet… here you are.”

  I searched Gareth’s expression, finding a tightness to his eyes that spoke of a past situation ill spent. My heart clenched at the tension around his face. His family reunion wasn’t going so well.

  “I wouldn’t have made the journey if it weren’t important,” said Gareth. “Not if a life didn’t depend on it.”

  “Your life, it seems,” replied his father, his voice rising and falling in barely contained disdain.

  Gareth shifted his weight. “I didn’t come here to die.”

  “No?” smiled the High elf. “Then, why did you come here?” he waved his hand. “For the life of another human whore, perhaps? Fool. You are still going to die for what you’ve done.”

  “Why do I get the impression this has nothing to do with us coming here now,” said Tyrius, his voice low and brushing against my ear.

  “Because it obviously doesn’t,” I whispered back.

  “High elf,” said Gareth, through tight lips. “May I present Rowyn Sinclair, a Hunter from the city. She helped bring down the dark faery queen only recently. She’s come because we both need your help.”

  The High elf lifted his gaze as though he’d only just noticed I was there. Our eyes met over the length of the dais. My pulse quickened when those cruel eyes fell on me. Yikes. It was like the dead was staring back at me.

  I thought about curtseying for half a second and realized it wouldn’t do us any good. I’d never done it before and especially not with how the High elf was looking at me, like a predator at its prey.

  One of the male elves broke away from the dais and walked over to us, sparing me from an uncomfortable conversation. His stance was domineering, and he stood a few inches taller than Gareth. The elf held himself with confidence, and I had to arch my head back to see all of him. Gray stained his otherwise short black hair. His nose was a little too big and his lips a little too thin. Wrinkles lined his forehead and around his eyes, and I made him out to be older than Gareth. He also lacked the rugged sexiness his brother had. He wasn’t an ugly man, but his looks were somewhat forgetful.

  “A Hunter? I’m not sure I believe you, brother,” said Gareth’s brother, not caring to hide the scorn in his tone or the slight disapproving frown on his face. “She’s too… young. Inexperienced.”

  I gave the elf a false smile. “And you look like you haven’t gotten laid in a while,” I shot back and pressed my hands on my hips. “But we’re not here for me.” We were getting off to a great start.

  The elf’s eyes widened at my comment, the only indication that he hadn’t appreciated my tone, but he said nothing. His eyes moved to Tyrius on my shoulder. Here we go.

  “You’ve gained the trust of a baal demon,” said the same elf, his voice softer than when it was addressing me. Lovely. Apparently, affection of these creatures ran in the family.

  “I trust Rowyn with my life,” said the cat. “Just like she trusts me.” The hair on the cat’s back rose, and he looked like he was about to swat the elf if he dared get too close or do something stupid like touch him. Oh, please touch him. Please. Please. Please.

  “You can keep the baal after we kill the Hunter, if that pleases you, my son,” said the High elf, leaning back into his chair.

  “Excuse me,” cried Tyrius, his voice cutting through the chamber. “I’m not for sale here. And I don’t belong to anyone. Rowyn’s my friend. We’re partners.”

  “I don’t think they care, Tyrius,” I breathed, my gut twisting.

  “He’s not for sale, Edwin.” Gareth’s tone was murderous, and it made me nervous. This wasn’t going to end well. I could feel it.

  Edwin’s face twitched, his lips curling in disgust. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” he said disdainfully. “You don’t give orders here, outcast. You’re nothing. You made that choice long ago.”

  Tyrius made a sound in his throat. “That Edwin looks like he wants to kick Gareth’s nuts up into his skull.”

  Yeah. He did. Damn.

  The High elf’s eyes had never left me, and I fidgeted under his stare. Eyebrows high, his expression became sour and irate. “A Hunter,” he said, and Edwin backed up a step from Gareth and looked to his father. “Tell me. Have you ever Hunted elves?” he said smoothly, his anger an icy thread in his voice.

  “No.”

  The High elf watched me. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I’m telling you the truth.” Bastard .

  “Hunters are fools. They have no direction, no honor,” said the High elf irritably, and then he fell into a fit of coughing. It was a wet, mucous-bound cough, sounding like each one tore a hole in his throat.

  A servant female ran up the dais and handed the High elf a drink in a cup. All the while, keeping herself lower than him and with her eyes down, she retreated backward down the dais and returned to where the other servants stood waiting.

  The High elf wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tossed the cup on the ground. “Hunters. But what is it to me? Nothing. I care nothing for the city of humans. Or half-breeds and demons,” he added and had another coughing fit. “I care about my city and my people. They need to be protected from outsiders like you. Outsiders who came here uninvited and unwelcomed. A grave mistake.”

  “Gareth invited me.”

  The High elf glared at his son, red blotches spotting his face. “You would bring this lesser, low born female to our secret city?”

  “This is better than reality TV,” said Tyrius, his body shifting with excitement. “And we’ve got front row seats.”

  Gareth cleared his throat. “Elves have invited non-elves to this city on special occasions for thousands of years. This changes nothing.”

  “Having relations with an angel-born, no less, does not constitute a special occasion,” yelled his father as he pounded his fist on his throne. “You certainly have been busy all these years. Developed a taste for these female beasts. Did you? Time and time again, you’ve slighted us, turned your back on your own kind. And for what? Females like her? You could have had your pick of any elven female, but you’ve slighted them too. You’ve insulted me by your whore-mongering with human females.”

  “And you’ve insulted me by refusing to accept who I am. By trying to make me into something I’m not.”

  “You had no right! No right to come back with this whore!” The High elf’s face was red, and he was taken by another coughing fit. He was nearly purple now, looking more like a shriveled-up prune than a king. He waved his hands to one of the servants, who obligingly ran to him with another cup of drink.

  “Who I sleep with is my business, Father,” said Gareth, his voice taking on a dangerous tone. “I won’t stand here and let you insult Rowyn.”

  The High elf’s eyes landed on his son, his face twisting at what he saw there. “What is it that you hate so much about your people?”

  Gareth’s eyes danced dangerously. “Where do I begin.”

  “You are a Highborn elf!”

  “Not anymore,” said Gareth, his anger and desperation finding a release in a movement of controlled anguish. “And not for a very long time. I’ve never wanted this life,” he added softly, and my chest squeezed at the torment in his voice.

  The High elf shook as he tried to pull himself straighter, his face creased with strain. “Your place is here with your kin.”

  Gareth stood his ground. “My place is in the city. I’m a businessman now. I keep a shop. I have clients. I have a life outside of this forest—a life I want to get back to.”

  The High elf narrowed his eyes. “You are a disgrace to your family.”

  Gareth’s expression was laced with a threatening warning. “I came here for some dragon’s breath,” he said, his words hard.
“That is all.”

  The High elf howled in laughter. “Then, you came for nothing. Because you’ll never get any.” His father’s face twisted in anger. “Never. You will never get your filthy hands on our most precious dust.”

  “It’s not for me,” countered Gareth. “It’s for a friend. He’s going to die. Only dragon’s breath can save him.” He sighed. “I don’t need much. A small amount would be enough.”

  “How can you be so selfish?” scathed Edwin as he straightened to his full height, glaring at his brother.

  Shit. I realized that was the wrong thing to say at the angry dark color that rose to Gareth’s face.

  “Selfish?” growled Gareth, eyes narrowing dangerously. “Selfish?”

  I looked at Tyrius as he mouthed the word “fight.”

  “Turning your back on your kin is selfish,” continued Edwin, anger showing in his posture. “Coming here after all these years, not to see your family, but to ask for something is selfish. Over the years I’ve learned to accept your choices. Your…” he moved his hands around in the air, “way of life. We never interfered. We respected your choice, though we never understood it. But I never thought my little brother would be so selfish.”

  A snarl appeared on Gareth’s face. I’d never seen him lose control like that, and it made my pulse jump. “I’ve done everything Father has ever asked of me,” said Gareth as he got in Edwin’s face. “I became the best in pullomancy. Even as his youngest son, I beat him. I beat all of you. And what did he do to me? He shunned me. You all did. So don’t you dare tell me I’m the selfish one.”

  “Or what?” said Edwin, leaning forward. “What do you plan on doing, little brother?” His hands went to his jacket, confirming my suspicions that he had some elf dust hiding in there. It explained the long jackets.

  My hand slipped to my waist. If he tried anything, I was going to cut him with my pretty soul blade.

  Worse though, was the smile on the High elf’s face, like he wanted Edwin to kill Gareth. Bile rose up in the back of my throat and I swallowed it down. Sick bastard.

  Gareth clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing further. “I’ve always respected Father. He disrespected me.”