Eternal Damnation: A novel of the Amagarians

by Reid, Stacy

  With a heavy sigh, she pushed open the door to her chamber and entered, closing the door gently when she wanted to slam it. Her current adobe was quite large, regal in its elegance, with several rooms and antechambers allocated for her sole use, including her own bath chamber, yet she knew her apartment for what it was. Her prison.

  She made her way through the sitting room, eased open the door to her bedchamber and walked with grim purpose to her desk with its many parchments and inkwell. At least it was a comfortable prison with many luxuries provided. She came to a stunned halt seeing the man stooped rifling through the contents of the secret compartment in her desk. The one she’d believed she had cleverly installed.

  Wariness rolled down her spine in a chilly wave.

  “Who are you and what are you doing in my chambers?” she demanded.

  He rose with animalistic grace and faced her. Her breath caught, he was power, strength, and so incredibly male, and too handsome. He was gorgeous, his face almost savage in its planes and angles. His frame was lithe yet muscled. Midnight hair was held back from his face at his nape, and his eyes were the most beautiful shade of amber, the color of rich, dark honey with bright flecks of gold.

  Scanning his lean, lithe length, and striking features, she registered his unfamiliarity. She fought back her rising temper. “I will not ask again, Sir,” she snapped.

  Her body hummed in shocking awareness and something wicked pulsed through her at his slow perusal. That look was almost physical. A caress. “I have told the grand general time, and time again I do not require a consort.”

  At his silence, she grew uncomfortable. “Speak,” she commanded.

  “I am not here for your pleasure.”

  She realized that seconds after she made her rash statement. He was not dressed like a consort in revealing silken clothing like the others that had been presented to her. He seemed…predatory? He stirred, a slight ripple of muscle warning of his strength. The power in him was so apparent it clung like a second skin. Shilah assessed him but sensed no aura.

  Impossible. She was an imperial—the most powerful in her genesis of telepathy.

  That absence of aura, the lack of sense of his true power, gave her the first inkling of fear. She gently flared out her telepathy, fluttering softly against his mind, and the shield that she encountered stunned her. She studied it with her psychic eye, reading its intricate pattern. It was a shield constructed from sheer willpower, and her mind was unable to see beyond its walls. Her heart thumped. “Are you here to kill me?”

  “First a consort and now a killer,” he said with such lazy amusement Shilah was almost disarmed. Almost. She slipped her hand inside the folds of her sari and gripped the hilt of her dagger. Her fighting skills were below par for most Amagarians, but she would not be taken without a fight.

  The smile that curved his lips indicated that he’d seen her subtle move. If he attacked, even with the force of his shield, she would try and penetrate his barriers, seeking any weakness. She could attempt to trap him into a false memory or implant the suggestion to leave her unharmed or order him to stop breathing.

  “Your injury is not my desire, Princess Shilah Symonrah of Dxyriah.”

  How deliberate he was with his knowledge. “I am sure that you do not expect me to be assured by such words coming from a stranger in my personal rooms. The emperor did not send you. Who are you?”

  “I seek something that you have,” he said with a deceptive shrug.

  It occurred to her he desired to seem harmless, the notion ridiculous. Her instincts screamed he was a killer.

  “You deliberately let me find you here. What is it I possess that you seek?”

  His golden gaze moved over her predatorily curious. “Information.”

  “Why would I aid a man who has forced his way into my chambers and intrudes on my privacy?”

  The soft hiss of a blade clearing its sheath sounded like a drum in the chamber. He looked distinctly—menacing. Shilah flared out her psychic eye, preparing for an attack even as she trembled. She gasped in raw shock when he gently clasped her from behind, his soft touch belying the cold press of steel against her throat. She swallowed. She had not seen him move at all. Not even the slightest indication of it. How was it possible for him to be so much faster than her eyes had been able to track?

  “You will aid me, princess. I do not desire to hurt you, but if I must? I most assuredly will.”

  Fear slashed through her. “The emperor will have your head if you bring me harm,” she said with false calm. She punched hard against his mind, trying to break past his mental barriers and met an impenetrable shield wall of will. She had never encountered such resistance. Who was he?

  The soft laughter at her ear rasped against her skin like the sweetest caress. Undeniable awareness filled her, and she resented it, the feeling was unwelcomed from someone who threatened her life.

  “The dungeons of Mevia, Princess. Tell me all you know about them.”

  2

  Lachlan Ravenswood, an Archduke of the Darkage, inhaled the unique fragrance of the slight female clasped in his arms. The princess felt sublime resting against him. When Lachlan had spied her earlier, he had faltered, arrested by her stunning beauty. He’d stepped in her shadows, traveling with her for hours, learning and plotting. He’d discovered two things about her. She appealed to him despite being so petite, and the emperor of Mevia was her enemy despite the façade she presented. It was impossible for him to sense negative emotions as his fellow Darkans did, for he’d denied the existence of the malevolent chakra housed inside his body. Even without a demon beast’s essence guiding him, he sensed that she feared the emperor, and, having spent several hours observing her carefully, he could identify the resentment and hatred which had burned in her eyes. It was that spit of fire amidst the fear that stroked his interest, but most compellingly she was a Serangite. Her mind was able to store a vast amount of information, dissect it and unravel its patterns. And also she was a telepath.

  Would she aid him? That remained to be seen. The role she played in the empire remained unclear. Earlier she’d had a meeting with the Emperor and his General, but Lachlan had not spied on it, sensing at least three other Darkans in the shadows of the throne room. An icy rage had filled him, for they were not in Mevia at their king’s order. Hence they were traitors to his realm.

  He would try to persuade the Serangite to help him explore the dungeons and would even use his blades if necessary, although he would prefer to use seduction as his tool. Lachlan tensed, analyzing his thoughts. It had been years since he’d bedded a woman or even had the desire to do so. The petite princess attracted him, but it was moot as his mission to uncover the dungeon of Mevia’s stronghold was his main objective, and he could afford no distraction.

  She inhaled, unintentionally pressing her softness into his hardened frame. The top of her head met his chest. She barely cleared five feet and was curvaceous though her loosely flowing sari hid most from his gaze. Her face, however, was shaped like the finest porcelain. Delicate chin, small nose, gently rounded cheeks, beautiful lips, and eyes hardened like diamonds appeared as if a star itself had been fractured in their depths. He ignored the flare of arousal that tightened his gut and pressed the blade closer to her beating pulse. Her soft gasp rasped over him, stroking the arousal that seemed to pulse inside of him.

  He didn’t trust his unfamiliar, extraordinary reaction to her. He should have ignored her presence, but he was racing against time. His kingdom had formed a recent alliance with Princess Saieke of the winds and mountains, and he was now honor bound to free Princess Saieke from the emotional pain that beset her because of her Queens Blades’ imprisonment. They had been taken by warriors of Mevia who had hunted the princess only a few weeks past. They had been her guards for years , and she’d grown to regard them as family, ignoring the distinction of rank. Since their capture by the empire, she had been trying to rescue them. Lachlan owed her mate, Drac El Kyn, and he had called in hi
s favor. Honor and friendship insisted Lachlan responded. Saieke’s Blades’ lives now rested in his hands, and he would complete his rescue mission successfully.

  Lachlan had been in Mevia for precisely six days, but only in the palace for the last twelve hours. He had traveled through the kingdom in the dark, seeking those who had been rumored to construct the dungeons or anyone who had any knowledge of how to gain entrance. After endless searching and spying in the shadow space, it seemed as if the cells were a mystery to everyone in the empire. Yet he knew they existed.

  The famed torture chamber of Mevia created fear even in Darkans. And for the civilians of Mevia who seemed to live in abject deference to the emperor and his warriors, talk of the dungeons were taboo. Infiltrating the palace required more caution because the emperor had Darkan traitors working with him who scanned the shadows for intruders. But Lachlan had absolute control in wielding his shenkiri of shadows and had been careful to stay a step ahead of those of his kind in the shadow space.

  The Princess Shilah was a weak link to the empire and weakness should always be exploited. She was ironically a powerful weak link, one that held the key to what he sought. Possibly. He pressed the blade closer to her neck letting its cold caress her skin, and its threat imprint in her mind. She posed no danger to him with her telepathy. It wasn’t that she was not dangerous. Far from it. She might be more fragile than other Amagarians, lacking their speed, strength, and their rapid healing capabilities, but Serangites made up for it with their mental prowess. But his shield, built through agonizing pain and loss, was impenetrable. He dipped his head and whispered in her ear. “The dungeons of Mevia, Princess. All that you know.”

  The trip of her pulse vibrated against the fine steel of his knife. “The dungeons?”

  “I believe that is what I said. You were recently there.” In what capacity he had yet to discover.

  “I know nothing of the dungeons,” she snapped.

  “You visited last eve.”

  Every line in her body went taut. “You’ve been spying on me?”

  He smiled at the outrage in her tone. “It is incidental that you captured my attention.” He had been analyzing the underground area where he suspected the entrance to the dungeon was located. It was a smooth wall of nothingness. There was no evident opening, yet those walls had parted, and the princess had spilled forth with a witch and several guards. Lachlan had tried to shadow step into that space and had found himself paralyzed for several minutes. “I grow impatient, Princess.”

  With brutal deliberateness, designed to shock more than harm, he pressed the blade under her skin. Blood pooled and ran down her neck. Despite the danger to her, she slammed her head back, thumping his chest. She grasped his wrists, tapping her fingers across his pulse. Then he felt the soft flutters across his mind. He smiled. She was such a tiny creature. It was then he realized she was trying to fight back. How had she survived this long in the Empire? He was barely restraining her, and she could not escape his clasp.

  Heat punched through him, and invisible hands yanked the blade down from her throat in a quick, powerful move, and that same force slammed him back with stunning might. Lachlan dug his heels into the floor, cracking the tiles beneath his feet as he resisted the blast of her ability, grounding himself to a halt.

  She had telekinesis skills. Impressive. Most Serangites controlled only one of the four geneses—telepathy, telekinesis, teleportation, and foresight. Unless the information gathered by his dark king on the other realms were incomplete. He filed it away and studied her.

  The princess had a jeweled dagger held up in an attack stance, a strange blue light emanating from the blade. Her silver-white hair fell loose over one shoulder, exposing the slim line of her throat and the softness of her jaw. Lachlan hadn’t the heart to demonstrate how feeble she was against his power should he chose to unleash it. And as a woman who had the ear of the Emperor, he wanted no suspicion roused that an unknown Darkan was in their midst. He relaxed his stance, and with a deft flick of his wrist, sheathed his weapon. He tried to sound reassuring. Tried to appear non-threatening. “I do not wish a fight with you. I only seek information.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I have no information to help you, stranger. My senses were masked by enchantment. No one can enter those dungeons without the Grand General Shenzhen or the Emperor’s approval.”

  That was valuable knowledge. “A witch’s spell?”

  “Is there any other kind?” she asked softly, her muscles telegraphing her intent to attack.

  “Do not be foolish. I have no wish to hurt you.” The truth of it resounded in him. He was not a man who shied away from his brutality. Lachlan was a warrior and had always done difficult things for those he loved. Yet he couldn’t imagine hurting her. She seemed too defenseless, and it was never in him to prey on those weaker than himself.

  He considered her for an exceedingly long time, assessing every shift of her eyes, and the play of her muscles. Because he chose to bury his demon beast, he could not rely on the dark flavor of negative emotions to tell him when a prey lied, feared, or raged. Lachlan had made it a part of his abilities to assess his opponents, searching for those tell-tale signs to reveal deception. The princess, though frightened, radiated with innocent truth. “How long have you been in the Empire?”

  A quick frown chased her features. “Almost three months.”

  “And in that time how often have you been to the dungeons?”

  She glared at him before answering reluctantly, “About five, and only the upper floors.”

  “And each time you made it out, alive.”

  She flinched, and his curiosity stirred. What had been her purpose? To read the thoughts of others while they were questioned and tortured? “Do you know the witch who cast the spell that enchanted the dungeon?”

  “I do not.”

  Another truth. “Why do you visit the dungeons?”

  Her breathing fractured slightly, and the pulse at her throat fluttered, yet her eyes held steadily on his. “I read the thoughts of selected prisoners for the Emperor.”

  Ah…a lie. “Did you lie to me just now princess?”

  Her lips curved slightly. “I owe you no truths or loyalty, stranger.”

  “I could take it from you, should I wish it,” Lachlan murmured, his intrigue multiplying.

  Her chin lifted, and her hand tightened on her weapon, and those strange but beautiful eyes dared him to try. For some reason, her defiance made him want to smile. “You will keep this encounter between us, Princess.”

  She arched an elegant brow. “The emperor will not be kind when he hears of your presence in his kingdom.”

  “Precisely. Now if I believed you would reveal that I am here, I would be forced to silence you. Instead, we could be friends.”

  A scowl settled on her face. “Is that so?” she demanded caustically, using her free hand to touch the spot where he’d nicked her skin.

  “The enemy of my enemy?” he asked smoothly, sinking into that empty hollow place that would allow him to snap her neck without remorse. “Do I have reason to believe you will inform the emperor of my presence?”

  He watched her carefully for signs of deception.

  “I cannot reveal you if I am ignorant of your identity,” she said hoarsely, gripping the edge of her blade, appearing more frightened than manipulative.

  “Then we have an understanding.” He dipped into the slightest bow, then moved toward the windows. Lachlan shoved them open and stepped through.

  With a gasp she hurried over, her eyes wide with disbelief as she peered down into the courtyard more than fifty stories below them. She glanced up, her eyes frantically searching the darkness for him. He was right there, at one with the shadows and darkness.

  “Who are you?” she whispered, no doubt thinking he had left.

  The soft question seemed to brush directly against his cock, startling him. He didn’t have time for a liaison and hadn’t had time for almost two hundred years. How odd
this slip of female could even for a moment rouse his senses. Pushing her from his thoughts, he roiled with the darkness into the Emperor’s throne room, the place where he’d observed a few guards dragging the witch who had spilled from the enchanted dungeons with the princess. Hopefully, it was her who had crafted the spell, and if not, with persuasion, she would direct him to the right witch or try unraveling the spell herself.

  After determining that none of his kind lingered in the darkness, he stepped into the throne room’s shadow space. The emperor paced the floor, his robe flowing about his legs, his eyes flat and cunning. The witch kneeled on the jade tiles, blood in a round pool at her feet. Her raven black hair was a tangled mess, and cobalt blue eyes burned with hatred and anguish. Three guards surrounded her, their swords held about her head, waiting on their emperor’s command.

  “Lord Zhang, I ask for mercy,” she said softly, the despair in her tone clutching at Lachlan.

  “Mercy? I gave you one task. Control the Darkan beast that had been summoned to a corporeal form. And you failed. I believe another witch with greater power will be better employed.”

  A dark primal, instinctive part of Lachlan’s soul stilled. They had somehow managed to pull the chakra from one of his people onto this plane? The beasts that resided in all Darkans were pure mystical energy with their own cunning and intelligence. Only the most powerful of their kind were able to tap into that abyss of unrelenting strength and summon the beast inside to a corporeal form. And only the Darkan host could control that beast. How was it possible that the witch could call it forth and then control it?

  The very suggestion shook his soul and an emotion that felt perilously close to fear slithered through him. The concept of anyone possessing the power to harness the will of their people was terrifying and had far-reaching consequences.