Shadow and Ice (Gods of War)

by Gena Showalter

  Cautious, unsure, she stepped inside. The thickest shadows darted away from her, as if pushed by a strong wind. Weird. She felt around but encountered no shelves. Several times she thought she caught a glint of metal in the center of the gloom...a dark tornado that remained in the alcove, even as it maintained a strict distance from her, as if programmed to avoid anything human.

  Excitement sparked. Weapons could be hidden in here, the tornado-thing swirling them around and around, keeping them steady in the eye of the storm.

  Curious to know what would happen, she roundhouse kicked the shadows an-n-nd they whipped toward her face to avoid her foot, brushing against her cheek before switching directions.

  Sharp pain. Warm blood. She reached up, felt a cut, and grinned. There was something sharp hidden in there.

  Her body, her movements, were a catalyst to the relocation of the shadows.

  What if she could be in two places at once?

  Vale returned to the bed to steal a tree branch. Except, she tugged on one—no luck. She kicked another—no luck. Finally, she wrapped her arms and legs around the longest, thinnest branch and hung from it, letting her weight and gravity do the work.

  Success! She raced back to the alcove, branch in hand. For the first time in her life, her ballet classes were going to pay off.

  Before her mom died of a brain aneurysm, Vale had taken lessons. In fact, Bethany London had named her daughter after her dream job—ballerina—and her mother, Valerie. And oh, crap, thinking about the family she’d loved and lost caused an invisible knife to stab Vale’s chest. Her eyes burned; because dust had thickened the air or something, and she was super allergic, probably.

  Forget the past. Concentrate on the present.

  She lifted her arm, extending the stick she’d liberated. Just like before, the shadows darted to the other side of the little room in a bid to escape her. Keeping the stick in position, she leaned over and kicked out her leg. The shadows darted away, whizzing toward her face.

  She was ready—nope. She wasn’t. Something sliced her palm, but she’d failed to catch it.

  Trying again. She performed a pirouette, gaining momentum, moving, always moving. Now! Extended branch. Darting shadows. Kicked leg. Darkness zoomed toward her face to avoid her foot—

  Yes! Her fingers wrapped around something cold, hard and sharp. Pain lanced her palm, blood dripping from a new wound. Other objects banged into her neck and shoulder before whisking away. Despite the terrible onslaught, she held on tight to her prize.

  She grinned. A dagger. And what a pretty dagger it was. The crystal handle reflected countless rainbow shards.

  A sudden, arctic gale caused the temperature to drop a few thousand degrees. Dread skittered down her spine, because she knew. Knox had just opened a rift.

  Clutching the blade, she raced into the living room. Her mind whirled. There was no time to hide. She would have to face him head-on.

  Through a new doorway, she spied mountains, moonlight and yes, her captor. He sprinted closer, without his usual grace, and finally stumbled into the bunker. Crimson soaked his shirt. His features were pinched with strain, his skin ashen.

  Her first reaction disturbed her. Fear—for his life.

  He dropped Nola’s backpack, saying, “Get away from the rift.”

  Had he even searched for her sister? Yes, he was injured and might have been waylaid, but fury overrode any hint of sympathy. Her new tasks took shape: Injure and weaken him further, tie him up. Interrogate him, escape the bunker without freezing to death.

  No mercy. She couldn’t hesitate, would act. Now!

  As Knox reached out—to push her aside?—Vale struck. The dagger sliced his powerful shoulder. The sight of blood coupled with the knowledge that she had been the one to hurt another living being nearly emptied her stomach.

  A bomb of rage detonated in his crystalline eyes, and he roared, eradicating any sense of safety she’d had. Fear turned her feet into concrete blocks, leaving her defenseless as he grabbed her and flung her toward the bed. Upon landing, her lungs deflated, her head spun, but she never lost her hold on the dagger.

  A glaring Knox took a step in her direction, radiating pure menace, only to crumple to the floor.

  How bad were his injuries? And why did she care?

  Doesn’t matter. Determined, she leaped up and raced to the closet, where she filched another shirt. She would use it to bind Knox’s wrists.

  Halfway back, she paused. A woman had just stepped through the veil of shadows—the rift—entering the bunker. Dark hair, tall, slender. Even in profile, Vale recognized her. The dead-woman-walking who’d tried to decapitate Nola. DWW still held a sword.

  Incapacitate the brunette, then tie up Knox. No way she would allow Nola’s would-be murderer to go free and try again. Plus, the brunette was too focused on Knox to notice her. This was the best time to strike.

  Brunette swung at Knox, who hadn’t moved from the floor. As he blocked, then rolled, and Brunette followed him, Vale sprinted over, unnoticed.

  Now! She struck, the dagger sinking into Brunette’s shoulder, metal anchoring to bone. The ensuing scream of shock and pain left a lemony taste in Vale’s mouth.

  Frantic, Brunette dropped her sword, reached back to wrap her fingers around the dagger’s hilt and yank the blade free. A river of blood gushed out.

  Weaponless now, Vale dove for the discarded sword. By the time she straightened, however, Brunette was gone.

  “Where is she?” Vale demanded.

  “Behind you,” Knox rasped, the taste of whiskey and honey overshadowing the lemon.

  Vale spun, just in time. Brunette reappeared and slashed at her, but she managed to jump out of range.

  Their gazes met, held, fury to fury.

  “Stay back,” Vale commanded, wildly swinging the weapon, an action meant as a warning.

  But Brunette stepped toward her at the same time, so the blade slicked over her throat. Also at the same time, Brunette swung her sword. And oh, frick! A sharp pain erupted in Vale’s collarbone, warm blood pouring down her torso.

  Vision flickering in and out, she stumbled backward, dropping the steel.

  Brunette dropped her weapon, as well, and clutched her bleeding throat, starlight eyes wide with alarm, shock and anguish. Her mouth opened and closed, but she never made a peep. Then her head just...slipped off her body.

  The sight paralyzed Vale. Acid flowed through her veins, and nausea stirred in her stomach.

  The headless body thumped to the floor, spurting an ocean of crimson. She had...she had killed...she had killed a woman...she had killed a woman so awfully.

  But...she should have felt more resistance. So much more. Unless the sword was super mega sharp, like one of those ninja type kitchen knives you bought after watching an infomercial.

  Order now! Our blade removes a human head so smoothly you’ll swear you’re only cutting a tomato!

  A hysterical laugh escaped, maniacal even to Vale. This was an accident, only an accident, but it was also a heinous, unforgivable crime.

  She couldn’t cope...needed...what? Nothing would help. She—

  Was driven to her knees by a wave of unfettered energy, a thousand scenes suddenly playing like movies inside her mind, each one filled with people she’d never met, places she’d never visited and training she’d never received.

  Crying out, she pressed her palms against her temples, her fingers tangling in her hair. Too much!

  Faces, so many faces. A queen and her harem of male concubines. Field after field of flowers. A family of five girls. Vale was the oldest. No, no. Not Vale. One of the girls called her Celeste.

  The name opened a mental door to a thousand other voices, all screaming, desperate to be heard.

  Win Terra, or I’ll make pelts of your sisters’ skins.

  Whatever you must do, com
e home to us, dear sister.

  Chanting. All hail the Savior of Occisor.

  Occisor. Home of all those flower fields, to potions and pheromones, where females ruled society, and men were merely procreation chattel.

  During the Occisorian All War, women had feared loss of control more than anything. Bow to males? Never! Celeste had seduced a combatant for information, killed him to ensure he couldn’t win her world, and inadvertently entered the war...then purposely and methodically did everything in her power to win it.

  The High Council congratulated her. Twelve men and women whose smiles never reached their eyes. Evil...

  Later, one of her sisters said, I’m going to infiltrate the High Council. I must. They cannot build a vast army of Enforcers merely to keep the peace as they claim. Someday, they’ll attack us, and we must be prepared.

  Eyes squeezed tightly closed, Vale gave a violent shake of her head. Enough! But the scenes played on, one man battling his way to the forefront. A hot black man named Gunnar. He looked at her with such longing, such devotion, and she felt the same for him.

  We’ll work together, my love. We’ll lie and cheat if we must, to ensure you are Terra’s winner and the savior of your family.

  What of you? Celeste had asked. How can you forfeit victory on my behalf?

  I am the seventh son of Trodaire’s king. If I win this realm, I will rule it, a sovereign in my own right. But what good is a king without his queen?

  The same man later said, I’ve studied past victors. We must take out Bane, Knox and Zion as soon as possible, or they’ll continue to kill, gaining more and more weapons, and we’ll lose.

  Any second now, Vale expected her skull to crack open and the bombardment of thoughts and emotions to spill out. She was uncomfortable in her skin, her body no longer her own; she was like a house filled to the brim with uninvited guests.

  “Help me,” she pleaded, opening her eyes.

  Knox had climbed to his feet. The tendons in his neck strained as he snapped, “Little fool.”

  He stretched out his hand and—she gasped. His eye sockets had turned black again as dark mist rose from his fingertips, drifting to the dead woman, removing her jewelry, then picking her up and tossing her through the rift. Disposing of her, as if she were garbage. The severed head received the same treatment.

  Then the rift closed.

  Doing her best to ignore the mental onslaught jumbling around inside her head, Vale lumbered to her feet, hissed. The pain was worse, but at least the blood loss was less severe.

  Then her gaze landed on the discarded jewelry. A sense of possessiveness eclipsed everything else. Three crystal rings. Mine!

  With a groan, she stumbled toward them. Knox swooped in, beating her to the punch. The jerk confiscated the jewelry and the weapons.

  “Give me,” she commanded.

  He flashed perfect white teeth somehow more menacing than fangs. “You have no idea what you’ve done, female.”

  “Yes, I do. I saved your life...killed a woman.” Earlier she’d felt an invisible knife stab into her chest; now the blade returned and twisted. “I—I didn’t mean to do it, just wanted to injure her, to stop her from going after Nola.”

  Knox closed in, gripped her forearms tight enough to bruise and shook her. “You’ve guaranteed your death, Vale. And now, you’ll leave my bunker.”

  Leave? Something strange was happening to her, and the thought of being on her own suddenly terrified her. “I’m necessary to you, remember?”

  Or had she misunderstood during the Q and A? Right now, Celeste’s memories were screwing with her own.

  “I don’t care. You must go. I won’t allow a combatant to stay in my home.”

  Men never wanted to keep Vale around. She should be used to it. And what did he mean “combatant”? Celeste had used the same description. “You’re wrong about me, okay?”

  “You are a combatant,” he said, intractable, merciless. “A member of the All War. No more stalling. Out you go.”

  Tears welled, but she blinked until they were gone. No way she’d cry in front of him or anyone.

  She forced a sneer. “Fine! I wasn’t a fan of Hard Knox University, anyway. Be a lamb and take me to Zion, would you? Unless you’re too scared of him?”

  His upper lids dipped low. “You don’t want to be around another combatant right now.” Radiating menace, he clinked his crystal rings together—rings just like the ones Celeste had dropped—and waved his hand through the air. “I’ll take you to the other side of the realm.”

  A rift opened, air splitting down the center, the two sides peeling away from each other—

  Cool, clear water poured into the bunker, soaking them both, and he spewed curses.

  “One last dunking for old times’ sake, eh?” she said, offering another sneer.

  “The landscape has changed since last I rifted to that particular location.”

  Small, circular sections of the floor opened up, revealing drains. As soon as the rift closed, the water gone, the drains did a Transformers-type modification, becoming fans, blowing air through the entire bunker.

  Fatigue settled on her shoulders, weighing her down. “Just...take me home.”

  “To your husband?” Humanity vanished from his countenance, leaving an expression of such cruelty, she wished she’d found somewhere to hide—forever. “No. I’ve changed my mind. You’ll stay here.”

  Do not cave. “Too bad, so sad—for you. I haven’t changed my mind. I want to leave.”

  Knox tilted his head to the side and glared at her. “You’re staying here, and that’s final. But hear me well, Vale. If you make one move against me, I will kill you without a qualm.”

  Caving...

  No! “Save your threats,” she said. “I’m sick of them.”

  “You mistake me. I never threaten. I vow.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE EFFECTS OF the poison ebbed more with every minute that passed, until Knox was steady-ish on his feet, the pain in his shoulder nothing but a dull ache. His mind remained in turmoil.

  He could barely comprehend the things he’d just witnessed.

  Celeste had followed him through the rift. Vale—his necessary—had killed her, becoming immortal and entering the All War. Between one second and the next, her hair had shimmered as if dusted with diamond powder, her skin had deepened in tone, appearing dipped in a startling mix of gold and bronze, and her eyes had brightened.

  Immortality looked good on her. Understatement. Immortality looked incredible on her.

  With Celeste dead, there were now nineteen combatants—

  Wrong. Vale had replaced Celeste. There were still twenty combatants standing between Knox and victory.

  Vale had no idea she’d entered a battle to the death, or that she’d just become his enemy and a major target for all combatants.

  She gave him one of her mocking salutes. “Since I’m not currently making a move against you, why don’t you tell me why I’m seeing Celeste’s entire life inside my head?”

  Her memories? No. An impossibility. “You’re mistaken. You can’t—”

  “Occisor, Celeste’s home-realm. Gunnar, her lover. Her love,” she amended. “You lopped off his head.”

  She had taken Celeste’s memories. How? Why?

  The answer hit him in an instant. Vale had a supernatural ability of her own. Did she only absorb memories alone, or everything that had made up the person? Like preternatural powers?

  If so... Vale could now render her body invisible and intangible.

  He stroked his jaw. Either way, she was doing something no other combatant could do, and she had the potential to be the most dangerous competitor in All War history.

  Forget the downside for a moment. If she could siphon the memories of Knox’s foes, she could share their secrets with him, perhap
s even find a foolproof way to cut ties with Ansel. That. That could be the reason she was necessary to Knox. Perhaps Vale wasn’t necessary for his survival on Terra, but for his survival after the war.

  But there was still a problem. As soon as she learned the ramifications of the war, her word would be garbage to him. She’d want him to fail.

  A trainer’s voice whispered a warning from the past. Your enemies will only attack at two times. When you are ready, and when you aren’t. You alone decide which it will be.

  Forget what Vale could do for him. Knox should end her here and now. Such a dangerous competitor couldn’t be allowed to live. And in this environment, he could make the kill as humane as possible, even painless.

  He tightened his grip on his dagger...

  {Protect her. For now. She’s needed.}

  There was the qualifier—“for now.” He could spare her a few days, even a week. Or two.

  Very well. He would grant her a stay of execution.

  “We’re going to spend some time together,” he said.

  “Roomies. Yay.”

  He frowned. “For your safety, you need to remember I’m not a forgiving man, and I despise threats.”

  “Really? So, why’d I think you loved them? Oh, yeah. Because you’re constantly dishing them,” she quipped, and raised her chin.

  He disregarded her comment and the accompanying flare of guilt. “When it comes to my safety, I act first and question later.”

  “That’s great, wonderful. But instead of vowing to harm me again—which is getting super old, by the way—why don’t you let me go, as originally suggested?” The more she spoke, the less substance her voice possessed.

  He looked her over. The shirt she’d borrowed from him was soaked with blood and gaped at the collar. At least the gash from Celeste’s sword was in the process of healing, thanks to Vale’s immortality.

  She swayed, in spite of her recovery, and he said, “You must have an internal injury. You’re hemorrhaging strength.”

  “Must I? Am I? Thanks, Captain Obvious, I hadn’t noticed.” She sighed and seemed to wither. “Sorry. I don’t mean to snap. I’ve just never been stabbed, so I’m unsure about proper aftercare etiquette. That’s a good excuse, right? You’re buying it?”