by Laura Kaye
“I’m not your burden to undertake.”
He recognized the digging-in of stubborn heels when he heard it. If she believed she put him in danger, her obstinacy would grow. “You’re no burden. If the Bane are involved, I’m involved.”
“Why is that? It seems an unlikely coincidence that you just happened by in my time of need. I might have grown up in an abbey, but I’m not stupid.”
“Agreed, my lady.”
“Are the Bane after you also?”
“Always. The Demon Bane are always after me.”
“Then perhaps you’re not the best companion for me.”
He couldn’t agree more, if the desire she stirred in him was any indication. “Perhaps, but I’m currently the only person around who’s not trying to kill you. Your options are somewhat limited.”
“But my concerns are valid,” she mumbled.
Her need to protect him was endearing, even if misplaced. “I’m quite able to take care of myself and you.” He took a deep breath and slowed his words in hopes of putting an end to their debate. “If Icarus wants you enough to execute the abduction himself, you must be important. If you stay here, he’ll find you. You’re unable to protect yourself and it’s my duty to protect you.”
“Don’t speak to me as if I’m stupid,” she snapped. “I can protect myself far better than you know.”
“Really?” Making her angry might get him some of the information he wanted. “How?”
She rolled her lips as if all her secrets itched to spew forth.
“I won’t deny there is something very special about you, Ravyn. In time I hope you’ll come to trust me.”
She glared at him.
“Now rest.”
She opened her mouth to argue.
He cut her off. “Rest.”
Her mouth opened again.
“Silently.”
Ravyn pressed her lips together and thumped against the tree, flinching when her shoulder hit the bark. “Every day at the abbey I was told what to do, where to go, or how to act. Just once I’d like to do things my way without regard for anybody else’s opinion.”
A smile threatened as Rhys nodded. “It’s a good goal to strive for. Just not tonight.”
She harrumphed but said nothing more.
He massaged the back of his neck and rolled his shoulders to loosen some of his tension. Everything about this situation chafed. It was never good when the Bane plotted, but what concerned him most was Icarus’s involvement. What did the demon want with Ravyn?
He watched her scan the darkness with a haunted stare. It looked like neither of them would get much sleep tonight.
Chapter Four
Icarus’s limping footsteps echoed off the pillars of rock as he descended deeper into the Shadow World. Imps clung like spiders to the sloped, jagged ceiling, while lesser demons flattened their bodies against the wall or pressed into the deep crevices, scattering to clear his path.
He blasted one of the few torches along the passage. The pitch sparked to life and bathed the shaft in golden light. This place was always so damn cold and it didn’t seem to bother anybody but him. Another difference between him and the mutts.
His knee buckled, but he caught himself before he fell. “Bloody Bringer,” he growled.
The number of humans Icarus had converted faded with time, as did their faces. His existence was perpetual and, as hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember the beginning of his life.
Each day was the same—one mission melding into the other, always for the favor of the king, his father, and always falling short. Perhaps if he delivered the woman, he’d finally gain Vile’s approval.
The scaly, deformed back of a large demon blocked Icarus’s path. His foul mood churned and roiled. He needed—no, wanted—a fight. The overwhelming desire to strike was all the permission he required. Icarus grabbed the unsuspecting creature by the blunt horns and hurled its bulk into the nearest stone wall.
He didn’t look back. And he didn’t feel any better.
A roar of outrage echoed behind him, filling the narrow corridor. He stopped. Yes, this was what he craved. A chance to inflict the same kind of punishing blows he’d received tonight. An opportunity to work off some of his frustration before facing his father. He turned toward the massive demon. This brute wasn’t one of his conversions. Not that it mattered. Demons didn’t indulge in the practice of alliance and friendship. Every Bane for itself.
Recognition registered on the monster’s face. Fear mixed with deference transformed the demon’s expression from ferocity to one of compliance. The creature quickly bowed its head in submission.
Icarus sneered. He wanted a fight. Not acquiescence.
“Did you wish to say something, mutt?” He drew out the slur, hoping to goad the beast into a fight.
The shadow of the hulking demon danced up the glistening cavern wall.
It huffed, but kept its head down. “No.”
“Are you sure?” Icarus’s calculated steps brought him inches from the cowering demon. Its bristly hair rubbed against his forehead. The beast’s foul breath spattered his face, but he didn’t flinch. “Because a few seconds ago you seemed keen on taking my head. Do you want to take my head…mutt?”
Rocks scattered at the hovering imps’ hasty retreat. Low, panting growls rolled inside the creature’s chest, but the threat remained unvoiced. The faint ping of dripping water marked the seconds. Would the monster do what came naturally and strike out?
He dearly hoped so.
To the creature’s credit, it kept its eyes low and its voice compliant. “No,” it grunted.
Icarus pressed his chest against the brute’s bulging arm, purposely trying to provoke a brawl. The creature didn’t move. After several charged seconds, Icarus stepped back, disappointed. He’d get no relief here. He stomped down the passage, his heavy footfalls crushing rock to dust. Nobody stopped him.
The tunnel’s course descended the last level to the throne room, where his father waited. Facing Vile was unpleasant at the best of times. Icarus mentally replayed the scene from the abbey. The loss of the woman wouldn’t go unpunished. With Blackwell involved, his mission had just gone from difficult to dangerous. Before tonight, he hadn’t realized just how powerful the Bringer was.
“Wise to keep your secrets,” he mumbled. “But why reveal yourself tonight?” He pondered the question. Was it just the woman or something more?
The cavernous throne room loomed ahead. He slowed at the edge of the light that spilled from the archway entrance. His stomach threatened to revolt against the pungent smell of rotting meat. Demons of every shape and size littered the chamber. They were a disgusting lot, fighting and fornicating like wild animals. Much like parasites, they pissed on and ate everything in sight. How could his father tolerate them?
He shifted to take refuge in the shadows and bring Vile into view. His father lounged against his infamous throne, said to be constructed from the bones of the Bringers he’d personally killed. The Demon King reclined in glorious splendor with three female demons fawning at his feet. One succubus draped her near-naked form across Vile’s lap, cooing and stroking a black curved talon across his muscular chest.
Rarely did the king lift a talon to further the Banes’ cause. He still basked in the glory of his near annihilation of the Bringers, a coup he’d led over 300 years ago that had landed him on the throne. Vile proclaimed his service to the Bane fulfilled, and the time had come for the demons to serve him. He took particular joy in reminding Icarus of his purpose within the Bane—to fulfill the king’s every need.
Things would be very different if Icarus were Demon King. He wouldn’t be satisfied with the little bit of chaos his minions spread. He’d rule not only the Shadow World, but all the upper territories as well. He’d take a queen.
The Bringer woman’s image flittered through his mind before he could suppress the thought. A tidal wave of yearning surged through him. There had been times in his life—too many tim
es—when intense feelings nearly crippled him. Random events and ideas evoked emotions akin to memory and want. Now, like every other time before, he thrust the bitter longing back into the dark crypt that housed this shame. He locked anger and ardor away, ignoring a part of himself too caustic to explore.
His focus traveled back to the throne room. Large stalactites hung like giant fangs from the high ceilings, dripping as if in anticipation of his entrance into the mouth of the beast. With great effort he ignored the pain in his leg and marched from the shadows, stopping in front of his father. His body flowed into a deep, respectful bow. He said nothing, only waited for Vile’s acknowledgment.
“Icarus, you’re back,” the king drawled.
He straightened. “I am, my lord.”
The king eyed him. “Are you injured?”
“Nothing life threatening, I assure you, my lord.”
“Then why have you arrived empty-handed?” The king circled the succubus’s dark brown nipple with his talon. “Am I foolish to expect success when I give you such a simple task?”
“A simple task turned difficult.” Icarus kept his tone even. The ground upon which he walked was tenuous, and it did no good to raise Vile’s hackles.
“Difficult? How?” The king’s voice remained casual, but the stillness of his exploring hand betrayed his interest.
“Rhys Blackwell rescued the Bringer woman.” He kept his explanation concise, knowing his father didn’t like excuses. Things about tonight’s encounter plagued him, something about the events didn’t sit well, but he wouldn’t voice his concerns until he had more answers. “I was unable to obtain her.”
“Unable?” Vile cocked his head, his eyes growing wide. His hand continued its exploration of the female’s body. “Surely one Bringer and a little woman weren’t a match for my fiercest warrior?”
The demons turned from their feasting to watch his humiliation, their laughter rippling through the crowd. Icarus ground his fangs, clenching and unclenching his jaw. Degradation at his father’s hand was nothing new, and this trivial insult didn’t disturb him. But being laughed at by a bunch of filthy animals did.
Perhaps his new information would silence their amusement. “The Blackwell Bringer has the power of fire like me.”
“What?” Vile hissed and rose, pushing the female from his lap. He stepped over the now-shrieking succubus, his blue-black wings flaring, their spiked tips extended as if to attack. “How can this be? No Bringer has that power unless they’re a full-blood.” He looked just past Icarus’s head. “Or a Bane,” he added in what sounded like an afterthought. “You’re mistaken.”
Icarus dipped his head in acquiescence. “Perhaps, Father, but as a result, they escaped.” He stood his ground, not wanting to enrage his father but not wanting to appear weak, either.
“It can’t be.” Vile paced along his dais, his steps reverberating through the now silent hall. “How?” He paused, looking directly at Icarus. His wings expanded in excitement. “Perhaps it was the woman. Perhaps her powers are greater than I originally believed.”
Icarus held his father’s yellow gaze but did not contradict or agree with his speculation. It hadn’t been the female who attacked him. Of this, he was certain. Her injuries had been too severe. He’d been surprised by Blackwell’s presence at the abbey and unprepared for the raw purity of his power. The Bringer would prove a worthy adversary in the battle for the girl’s soul.
“What do you propose, Father?”
Vile folded his wings and settled onto his throne. “Find them. Take a pod of infantry demons. I want her.”
The succubus crawled through the dirt and rotten debris scattered across the floor. With a simper, she cowered at the king’s feet, stroking his leg in an attempt to regain his favor. He ignored her.
“No more excuses, Icarus. I want the woman.” He tapped a long talon on the bleached bone arm of the throne. “This time I will annihilate everybody who possesses so much as a drop of Bringer blood in their veins.”
“As you wish, my king.”
Icarus pivoted and limped toward the stone archway, baring his fangs and growling at the filthy mob. Demons scattered, pushing and falling over one another, which incited a riot in Icarus’s wake. He ignored them and forcibly ejected any demon too slow or too stupid to move from his path.
He’d get the woman, and his father’s approval. At any cost.
Chapter Five
“Ravyn, wake up. We have to go.”
Goosebumps rose unbidden at the thought of tossing back the borrowed cover. Couldn’t she sleep a little longer? She cracked open her eyes and squinted at the unfamiliar surroundings. No hint of dawn filtered through the trees. High above, rain pattered against nature’s roof. The ground’s cool embrace stretched beneath her, but the thick blanket trapped the heat from her body, cocooning her.
His hand cupped her cheek, the warmth a glaring contrast to the cold wake-up she’d always received at the abbey. “We need to move before daybreak.”
Rhys sounded tired, and she suspected he’d stood guard all night. Events of the previous evening rushed back and extinguished her exhaustion. Her eyes tracked along his arm to his handsome face. She lived, thanks to this man.
She shifted. Every muscle throbbed, every bone ached, and every inch of skin recoiled from the slightest brush of a breeze. Tight tendons protested as she slowly uncurled her legs from their fetal position. Her body felt like a team of runaway horses had dragged her for miles over the uneven and rutted road.
“We need to move while we still have the cover of darkness. We’re an easy target if we stay here.”
She bit back a moan and levered herself into a sitting position, hating to appear weak. But even more than that, she hated the pity in his eyes.
He stared at her, his amber gaze fixed and harder than she liked. “You’re in no condition for a long journey. The inn is but a few hours’ ride from here. There you can rest and heal.”
She’d never depended on anyone, let alone a complete stranger. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
She cleared her throat. “For being a burden.”
He smiled, and his beauty hit her full force. She leaned away, as if by putting inches between them, his handsomeness would settle to a more realistic state. It didn’t. Had his eyes been this deep gold last night? His black hair fell in glossy sheets past his shoulder blades. Thin red cords tied off the ends of a braid woven at each temple. Ravyn curled her fingers around the blanket to stay their wayward desire to touch the strands. What was wrong with her? Perhaps she’d hit her head harder than she thought last night.
In her defense, no man she’d ever seen at the abbey looked this handsome, especially after getting caught in the rain. She’d once thought Mr. Trudeau, the farrier, handsome in a rugged way. Admittedly, she’d developed a bit of a crush on him, but her ardor had been short-lived. Unbeknownst to her, until she accidentally stumbled upon the scene, the farrier had made a practice of giving Sister Agnes a little extra service in the barn after tending to the horses. The image of Mr. Trudeau’s white buttocks pumping back and forth, and Sister Agnes’s booted feet bouncing over his shoulders, had burned itself into her mind. A large chunk of her innocence had been ripped from her that day.
Heat crept up her cheeks, and she scolded herself for such sinful thoughts. She turned away, resisting the urge to fan herself. Bless The Sainted Ones, the man even smelled nice—clean and wild.
She jumped when he slid his hand around her waist to help her rise. The feel of him pressed intimately against her body nearly paralyzed her. If she discounted Brother Powell, Rhys was the first man who had ever touched her.
He seemed oblivious to his effect on her, thankfully. Surely she would burn in The Abyss for the small thrill lilting through her.
Unable to avoid touching him, she held onto his arm and let the pain divert her thoughts. She struggled to rise, but quickly found her balance and detached herself from his grasp.
“Thank you and again, I’m sorry.”
“No more apologies. I’m used to inconveniences. One more doesn’t matter.”
The dazzle of his handsomeness dimmed to irritating. “Well, that makes me feel much better. Thank you. I think.”
“What I mean is—”
“I know what you mean. You don’t need to justify your actions. I’m still grateful.” She nodded toward the horse. Far too much intelligence lurked in the animal’s eyes for him to be a simple beast. “Now, will we be riding…Sampson, is it?”
“Yes.”
“And I’m supposed to mount him?” The prospect of performing such a feat with any amount of grace was doubtful.
Once again he wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her away from the tree. “Take it slowly. I’ll help you.”
Her hands fluttered about like a crazed moth trying to find a resting place that wasn’t against his body. The urge to push him away butted against the enjoyment of his touch. Something truly wicked must nest inside her. “Uh, thank you.”
“I’ll help you as much as I can,” he continued, “but this won’t be comfortable for you.”
Irritation renewed itself. She craned her neck to glare at him. “Are you trying to comfort or torment me?”
“Sweet-talk’s always eluded me.”
“Obviously,” she grumbled. Exhaustion made her cranky but she shouldn’t take it out on him. “I prefer straight talk over sweet words. Usually.”
He arched a black eyebrow. “A rare trait in a woman.”
The seconds it took to hobble the few yards to the horse were agonizing, but not due to her aching body. He practically carried her to Sampson. Her toes barely touched the ground and she couldn’t think with his arm twined around her. Without thought, she blurted the first question that came to mind. “You don’t like women much, do you?”
“I like women very much.”
“But?”
“Most are tedious and not much use beyond certain situations.” He paused. “You have more backbone than most.”
