What are you doing? Tristan asked telepathically.
Keeping them entertained, I replied. We need to establish a rapport, to gain some goodwill from these wretches. They’re furious and miserable, and I cannot talk to Death about them, not without destroying this entire operation. I’m buying us time. If I get access to the book, at least I can read from it and maybe get closer to the truth. They’re too unstable to cooperate otherwise.
Just… be careful, he said, sighing.
Eneas chuckled. “You mean to fight one of us?”
“Did I not make myself clear?” I replied, raising my chin.
“And in return, you wish to be allowed inside the Temple of Roses, so that you may read the World Crusher’s book,” Eneas said. His brothers were intrigued. At least two of them were fidgeting, eager to take me on. I’d piqued their interest.
I nodded once. “Assuming, of course, there’s a tale to be read in those pages?”
“Yes. Or so Death said. We’re not allowed anywhere near the damn book,” Filicore replied. “We’ve been true to our orders, in spite of what it has cost us. That has to count for something. Remember it when you address our issue with Death.”
This meant they knew nothing about the seals that held the World Crusher down. They’d only fashioned charms and spells of their own to protect the Temple of Roses and to prevent the true first Reaper’s rage from infecting and… well, crushing this world. They had failed, but they had stayed true to their orders. They’d tried. And in return, they’d lost their souls.
“Fine then,” Eneas said. “One of us will engage in a duel. But not against you.”
Chills spread through me. “What do you mean?”
“I’m the champion among my brothers,” Hadras stated. “And I challenge your vampire husband.”
“That’s not right. Tristan isn’t equipped to fight you. He’s not even a Reaper,” I snapped, the frost gripping me by the back of my neck and stiffening my spine. This wasn’t where I’d imagined the conversation going.
Eneas shrugged, slightly amused. “Tough, then. It’s the only way we’ll give you access to the book. It’s either that, or you walk away, right now, and never return.”
“But if you comply, we’ll know you’re true to your word,” Hadras added. “We’ll know you actually intend to speak to Death about us.”
That didn’t make much sense to me, but it did to them, and they were the ones calling the shots here. It was their magic that stopped anyone, alive or otherwise, from setting foot inside the Temple of Roses. I could’ve approached things differently and gone behind the Ghoul Reapers’ backs, but we only had three days to complete the trial. Three days to get to the truth. It wasn’t much time.
“Hadras will fight Tristan. If Tristan wins, you will gain access to the book of the World Crusher,” Eneas reiterated. “But you will not leave this place until you ask Death to release us. Regardless of her answer, you will not leave this place until you set us free. Am I clear? It is the only way I will allow you to lay eyes upon the book.”
“You drive a hard bargain,” I muttered, understanding the complex consequences that the statement entailed. Warring against the Ghoul Reapers was the last thing I wanted. We had enough on our plates already, so I calculated that treading carefully and jumping through their hoops was the better of the available options.
Tristan reached out telepathically. Let me do it. I can hold a scythe now, remember?
And we had yet to learn why. Death hadn’t said much on the topic, and this certainly wasn’t the right time to bring it up again. But my husband had a point. He could wield my weapon, and he’d delivered quite the injury to Joy not that long ago. The Ghoul Reapers didn’t know that.
“And if Tristan loses?” I asked Eneas, my gaze wandering back to Hadras. He was slightly taller than his brothers. Perhaps bigger, too, at least in muscle mass. He was still lean and agile, but he carried himself with a certain weight. The air of a champion.
“He dies. I reap him. And we’ll end it there,” Eneas replied dryly. “If you’re to be left a widow, I doubt you’ll wish to help us with Death.”
“And you’re willing to sacrifice that opportunity just for the sake of killing my husband?” I asked, trying to make sense of what was obviously no more than bloodthirsty madness. They’d been here for so long—unsupervised, chaotic, and utterly out of their minds—that this arrangement only made sense for them. But if I was to gain access to the damned book, I’d have to play along. My husband, my soulmate, my eternal love would have to play along.
“What else have we got left?” Fileas replied.
Best to keep things simple. I would trust my husband—he had never steered me wrong. Tristan gave me a smile, quietly reading my mind. He stepped forward and addressed the Ghoul Reapers’ champion. “I’ll take you on, Hadras. I may not be able to kill you, but perhaps I will make you yield.”
“Let’s see what happens,” Hadras chuckled, delighted. “I won’t end you too quickly, I promise. I will give you the opportunity to fight. It’s been a long time since I’ve dueled someone, so I want this to last.”
My heart swelled as I looked at my husband, his loving eyes peering into my weary soul. He reached out a hand, and I gave him my scythe. “I have faith in you,” I told him.
“And I in you, my love,” he replied, fingers closing around the sculpted handle. Tristan looked rather handsome with my scythe. The last time he’d been forced to use it, everything had happened so fast that I’d missed the chance to observe him this closely before.
The Ghoul Reapers were stunned. “What are you doing?” Hadras gasped, his black eyes round as marbles.
“Well, my champion needs a weapon too,” I said, deeply satisfied with their astonishment.
They hadn’t seen this coming, and it made an important difference. They’d hoped my beloved would fight them with only his claws and fangs. That they might play with him like a cat would play with a mouse before breaking its spine. Tristan was, in fact, adequately equipped to fight any one of them. He’d been by my side for two decades. We’d even battled the occasional rogue ghouls together on our journeys throughout the universe.
These were Ghoul Reapers, sure, and probably stronger than Tristan. But Tristan wasn’t an amateur. While he didn’t strike most as a fighter, he had what it would take to duel Hadras. Even so, it didn’t stop me from fearing for his life. We looked at one another in that moment, thinking the same thing: neither of us expected this to be easy.
Unending
“Some might consider this cheating,” Hadras said as he descended the temple’s steps. He didn’t seem to mind this unexpected development, however. Past the initial shock, he seemed genuinely amused, judging by his tentative smirk.
“Cheating is to demand a duel against a non-Reaper,” I replied dryly.
To the casual observer, Tristan often came across as the scholarly type. The passionate anthropologist who seeks reason and sense in everything. He was all that and more, and I was one of the truly fortunate ones to know his other, slightly darker side. My husband was fierce when it came to protecting those he loved. His vampire nature came out in those moments. His claws and fangs had been designed to tear into flesh and to break bones and to spill the blood of those who threatened his family, and he knew how to use them well.
In this case, however, he was fighting to get past the Ghoul Reapers, to get to the truth about the World Crusher. Even though he wasn’t defending my physical safety, he understood how badly this whole thing bothered me. How desperate I was to learn more about her. Death’s lies and secrets had hurt us both, and Tristan saw this as the perfect reason to fight Hadras.
By fighting the Ghoul Reaper, Tristan would also lash out at Death, though only symbolically. Tristan carried my honor into this duel, and I wanted him to prevail. I feared for his safety, of course, but loathed any attempt at coddling him. I’d always be the more powerful in this relationship—that didn’t mean I had any right to prevent
him from taking risks. He wouldn’t want me to, and I respected that.
He swung my scythe around a couple of times, getting a feel for the handle’s grip and the weight of its blade. I liked the sound it made as it cut through the air, like faint whispers promising Hadras his own personal doom. The Ghoul Reaper had no idea what he was doing when he challenged my husband, and the thought brought a faint smile to my lips.
“Don’t let the husband scare you,” Deas chuckled, taking his seat on the steps again. His brothers joined him, though Eneas remained standing, nowhere near as relaxed as the others. I had a feeling he knew the odds weren’t fully in Hadras’s favor, but it was too late for him to withdraw the proposal. “He’s still just flesh and bones.”
“I know. The head will come off,” Hadras replied, circling Tristan several times, grip tightening on his half-moon scythe. “Sooner or later.”
I didn’t say another word, instead taking a few steps back to allow my husband the room he needed. It was his time now, and he knew he had my full support. Tristan had often said it was all he’d ever need.
“Ready to die?” Hadras asked.
Tristan shot him a cold grin. “Unending and I have been married for twenty years. What do you think I’ve learned from her in the span of those two decades?”
The question was so simple, yet the answer so rich, that Hadras didn’t immediately pick up on it. Just as well. Tristan bolted toward him, swinging my scythe across the Ghoul Reaper’s chest. Hadras only had a split second to pull back before the blade sliced through him.
He looked surprised, if not offended. “You’re bold,” Hadras muttered.
“Just eager to kick your ass,” Tristan replied, looking to anger him. He knew that a furious opponent would be weak and prone to mistakes.
Hadras came at him with enough strength to make me hold my breath. Tristan dodged his half-moon blade and swerved around, bringing my scythe out in response. He cut into Hadras’s side, pure light bursting from the wound. The Ghoul Reaper screamed from sheer pain, while the others shot to their feet and joined Eneas at the bottom of the temple’s steps. They were shocked, but quiet.
Tristan was light on his feet and ruthless. The fight excited him, and he bore his fangs at Hadras just to drive his point home—that he was not to be trifled with. The Ghoul Reaper reacted by charging at my husband, roaring furiously as he brought the half-moon down with both hands.
Please, let him win.
Hadras missed my husband by a hair’s thickness. I almost felt the blade myself. Tristan ducked and dodged the following slew of attacks. He spent about five minutes doing just that—pulling back, lowering himself, leaning backward, and generally using as little energy as possible—while Hadras unleashed his wrath with these attacks.
Clang! Suddenly, Tristan had my scythe up. He parried the ensuing blows with light-handed movements. Yes, he’d learned a lot from me. We’d often trained together, especially early in the morning when the sun was still rising. I’d described many of my battles before, as well as my memories of war and violence as an Aeternae incarnation. He’d listened, and he’d registered every useful detail. That much was obvious here.
“Come on, Hadras!” Eneas shouted, unable to hide his anxiety anymore. If he’d been optimistic about the outcome before, he was clearly worried at this point, unable to take his eyes off the melee.
Hadras felt encouraged by his brothers, who soon joined Eneas’s cheers. “You can do it!” Filicore added, and Hadras grunted as he went after Tristan again.
He swung left but stopped at the very last second, then dropped and went straight for my husband’s knees. Tristan jumped, and Hadras came up with a lateral leg kick that threw him onto his side. He fell hard, and I grimaced, feeling his pain. The Ghoul Reaper moved to deliver the killing blow, bringing the half-moon blade down.
Tristan shifted onto his back and scrambled backward as Hadras kept hitting the ground, snarling as the wound in his side glowed brighter with every movement. It was a peculiar sight to behold, and I wasn’t sure what it meant, but I was thankful Tristan could do something to aggravate the Ghoul Reaper.
I covered my mouth with both hands as Hadras went straight for his head. Tristan rolled to the right and finally got back up.
“Okay, I’ve had enough fun,” Hadras hissed. “You’re starting to get on my nerves.”
“You mean you’re getting tired of missing,” Tristan chuckled.
“Get the little worm!” Deas said from the sideline.
Filicore growled, his black eyes glistening with murderous desire. “Make him bleed!”
Hadras vanished and reappeared a couple of feet behind Tristan. My mind froze in fear, but this wasn’t the end for my husband. He spun on his heels and caught the Ghoul Reaper’s blade against his before it could find flesh.
Unexpectedly, he brought his knee up at the same time, kicking Hadras between his legs. The creature screamed in agony, further shocking everyone—including me. I knew Tristan could do damage against a Reaper with my scythe, but I’d had no idea he could use his body, too. Not against an entity that belonged to the realm of the dead. This didn’t make sense, but by the stars, I welcomed it.
Hadras doubled over in pain, and Tristan swung swiftly, cutting off Hadras’s head with one deft swipe.
Eneas sucked in a breath, his eyes wide. Malin shrieked and tried to intervene, but the others held him back. “No!” Filicore snapped. “It’s a duel! Stay out of it!”
Hadras’s head rolled over in the white dirt, blinking in confusion. Light glowed from the gaping wound of his severed neck, while Tristan stared at him in disbelief, still panting from his efforts in combat. “What the…” My husband’s voice trailed off as Hadras cried out.
“Guys! A little help here!”
This… I had never seen before. Tristan couldn’t kill a Reaper, that much was clear. But he’d managed to decapitate one. “This is weird,” I managed.
“What did I just do?” Tristan asked me, and I could only shrug in response. The sight of him like this made my senses tingle, however. His broad shoulders, black hair tousled and casting shadows over his bold eyes, his lips parted as he breathed deeply, my scythe in his strong hand… Yes, I was certainly reminded of what had drawn me to him since day one. Beneath his “nerdy façade,” as his sister Esme had called it, a strong and fierce man dwelled, ever ready to fight for what’s right.
“You cut my head off!” Hadras squealed. “This doesn’t make sense!”
Eneas was speechless, unable to look away from his fallen brother. Tristan was quick to take advantage of the situation. “So, does this mean you yield?” my husband asked Hadras.
“I will rip your head off first!” the Ghoul Reaper shot back.
Tristan smirked and hacked off an arm from Hadras’s fallen body. Hadras screamed again, and the sound filled the entire sky, echoing through the city on the nocturnal winds. He’d felt the cut. His arm was separated from his body, and he could feel it. But why was he not yet doomed to the nothingness? “Do you yield?” Tristan asked again.
“Screw you, meat sack!”
“Hadras, stop! Don’t provoke him!” Eneas tried to intervene, but Tristan had already brought my blade down again, removing a leg. Hadras howled, and my skin crawled. The white light of his wounds was mesmerizing and impossible to look away from, though I remained puzzled by what it meant.
Death had promised she would address Tristan’s newfound ability to wield my scythe once this mission was over, but the more we explored this angle, the weirder things became.
“Argh! I yield, damn it! I yield!” Hadras finally conceded, and my husband grinned in satisfaction as he walked away from the Ghoul Reaper’s body and back to me.
“Nicely done,” I whispered, retrieving my weapon. Strangely enough, the transfer made my whole arm tingle, as if a sliver of my husband’s energy had been preserved within the handle and was now making its way into me. Exhaling sharply, he kissed me. He was hungry, his blood pumpi
ng with adrenaline. I leaned into him, his forever, thrilled to have witnessed such a victory.
“I had you to come back to,” he replied, lips brushing against my ear and sending a hot frenzy surging through me.
Eneas cleared his throat. “You impress me, vampire.”
“Screw Tristan. How do we fix him?!” Filicore shouted. He was fumbling around Hadras’s body with a severed leg in his hand, while Deas held the arm. It looked as though they were trying to put a life-size doll back together, but were missing the assembly instructions. The image was equal parts horror and humor, and the Ghoul Reapers were apparently just as baffled as I was.
Deas looked my way. “Have you dealt with this before?”
“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “It’s as new to me as it is to you, I promise.”
“But he’s not gone,” Fileas murmured, staring at an equally bewildered Hadras. “Are you still in pain? Does it hurt?”
“Not really,” Hadras replied. “It’s more of a dull ache. The absence of parts of me… What happens next, brother?” he asked Eneas who was looking at us.
“I’m not sure,” Eneas said.
I stepped forward, unwilling to let this weirdness get in the way of our mission. “Tristan won the duel, fair and square. You can start by holding up your end of the bargain,” I said firmly.
“Fair enough,” he muttered, stealing a glance at his fallen brother. “I suppose we’ll have to figure something out for him…”
“Maybe try and put the pieces back together,” Tristan suggested. He had a hard time hiding his amusement about all this, and I couldn’t blame him. After all, the Ghoul Reapers had wanted him in the duel thinking it would give them an easy win. That had blown up in their faces magnificently. “Fusion might occur… eventually.”
“You bastard!” Hadras shouted, the muscle in his jaw ticking.
“Hey, I told you to yield,” Tristan replied dryly, then turned to face me, finally showing his confusion and concern, if only for a moment. “What the hell is going on here? How was I able to pull that off?”
A Shade of Vampire 90: A Ruler of Clones Page 9
