Tall, Dark, and Deadly: Seven Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance

by Laura Kaye

  “Descendants of the Bringers, but not full-blooded. They don’t possess the abilities I have.” He returned his attention to the window. “Or that you have.”

  She said nothing, and he made no effort to fill the silence. Rehashing these memories shackled and dragged him deeper into the murky depth of his reality.

  “I’m sorry about your parents.”

  Her soft condolence floated across the room and hovered behind him. It would be so easy to sink into her sympathy and accept comfort. But indulging his pain would make him weak and unable to serve the greater good. Duty before self. Always.

  “Thank you. It was a long time ago.”

  “Perhaps, but I’m sure it’s still difficult.” She had an uncanny knack for finding the grain of truth in a situation, no matter how deeply he buried it.

  “The sting has lessened over time,” he lied.

  At the sound of rustling blankets he turned his head. She’d snuggled back into her nest of bedding.

  “How did they die?”

  He leaned his hands against the windowsill and stared blankly at the activity below, searching for the detachment that came naturally. The disconnection eluded him. “Murdered by the Bane.”

  He heard her sharp intake of breath and pivoted to face her. Her eyes were wide and her knees tucked against her chest. As if by making herself smaller, she could shield herself.

  “What do you know of the Bringers?” he asked.

  “Nothing, really. Mainly that they protect humans from the Demon Bane.”

  He crossed his arms and sat on the windowsill. “A thousand years ago, the Bane spread across this land like a plague of locusts.”

  Ravyn’s eyes rounded but she said nothing.

  “Queen Anna ruled this land at the time and journeyed to The Arch of the Mystics to beseech the Bringer King for help. Legend says she begged for three days, calling out to King Arron for his assistance in ridding the land of the demons.”

  Ravyn sat forward, her attention riveted on him.

  Rhys walked to the bed and perched on its edge. He kept a respectable distance, not trusting his reaction to the fact that she was probably naked under those blankets. “They say King Arron watched her, wondering how long the high ruler of Inness would grovel like the lowest peasant.”

  “Did he help her?” Ravyn eased out of her cocoon to lean against the headboard.

  “Oh yes, he helped. It’s rumored the longer he watched Queen Anna, the deeper in love he fell.”

  A completely female sigh issued from her lovely mouth. The sound called to Rhys’s maleness. What would it take to make her sigh that way for him?

  “When I was a child my parents regaled me with stories about the king and queen’s love and how they planned to rule the two worlds as one,” he said.

  “What a wonderful love story. So what happened next?” Ravyn leaned her head back. A dreamy look glazed her eyes.

  “Unfortunately, there’s no happy ending. King Arron died in battle, and Queen Anna wasted away from a broken heart.”

  “Oh.” Ravyn sat forward. “That’s terrible. Why did you tell me such a horrible story?”

  “Because the tale is part of who we are. May I continue?”

  “I’m sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry.

  “Though the king and queen were thrilled by their upcoming union, others weren’t.”

  “Who?”

  “The Order of the Saints, for one. They feared the Bringers would usurp their authority, and the Bringers didn’t wish to be saddled with the problems of the humans.”

  She tugged the blanket around her as if wrapping herself in righteous anger. “That’s rather conceited.”

  He suppressed a smile. If only he had more impassioned soldiers like Ravyn among his rebels.

  “I think both sides had valid points,” he said. “The Order would have most certainly lost its power to the Bringers’ dominant ways. And the Bringers would have been expected to cure all ills of Inness. If somebody always cleans up your mess, you never become self-sufficient. When King Arron died, the Bringers agreed to honor his pact with Inness, as far as ridding the world of the Bane.”

  “Is that why we’re called Bringers? To bring destruction to the Bane?”

  “In part,” Rhys said. “Bringer was a name given to our people by Queen Anna.” He smiled. “My father said it was because she couldn’t pronounce the word in our ancient language.”

  “Do you know the ancient word for Bringer?”

  Her blanket slipped down her shoulders again and his concentration wavered.

  “Vrydracozril. It means faceless warrior.”

  “Faceless warrior? How odd.”

  “Like most ancient things, the true meaning was probably lost in translation.”

  “I suppose so. I certainly see why Queen Anna changed it.” She pulled the blanket tighter. “What is the connection between the Bringers and the Bane? Why are the Bringers able to kill the Bane but the humans can’t?”

  “We can’t kill the Bane, though there are tales. My father spoke of immortal weapons used to battle the demons. I was very young and might not remember his account clearly, but as I got older I began to suspect his stories were part of the Bringers’ history.”

  Her brows furrowed. “Have you ever found the weapons?”

  “No. If they exist, I don’t know where they are, and I’ve discovered nothing capable of destroying the Bane.”

  “Well, that’s not good, is it?” Her shoulders sagged as if defeated. “If they can’t be killed the Bringers can’t defeat them.”

  “No, we can’t.” He stood and paced the length of the room. “Most of the Bringer lore has been handed down verbally. When the Bane assassinated the original Bringers, the stories died with them.”

  Her head snapped up. “Assassinated?”

  “In retaliation. When King Arron and the Bringers battled the Demon Bane a thousand years ago, the Bringers believed they had annihilated the demons.”

  Ravyn gave an absent nod toward her bandages. “Obviously, they didn’t.”

  “No. A demon named Vile, the same demon who had killed King Arron, slipped back to the Shadow World. Other demons must have escaped or never emerged from their hole to fight in the Upperland.” He continued to pace, pulling his parents’ stories from his memories. “With infinite patience, Vile rebuilt an army. He enticed every demon out of hiding with the promise of vengeance on their enemy.” He stopped and pinned her with his gaze to press the point. “There’s nothing the Bane love more than killing and vengeance.” He began to pace again. “After Vile recruited the demons, he targeted humans. Starting with those who wouldn’t be missed, orphans and the homeless, he stole their souls and turned them into demons.”

  Ravyn shuddered and pulled her blankets snugly around her, as if to shield herself from his story. “Those poor children.”

  He stopped and stood beside the bed, forging on while the words still flowed. “Thinking they’d quelled the threat, the Bringers returned through the arch to their home. But before they left, The Order asked for volunteers to stay in Inness in case the Bane returned.”

  “Stay for how long?”

  “Forever. Any Bringer who volunteered would cut all ties to his old life and remain on Inness. The Archway doors were to be sealed to prevent the Bane from entering.”

  Ravyn closed her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t imagine making such a sacrifice. Why would anybody agree to that?”

  Rhys pulled a wooden chair up next to the bed and sat. He bent and rested his arms on his thighs. “My parents told me duty and principles were the most important things to a Bringer. Not volunteering showed disloyalty to the crown, which in return brought dishonor to the Bringer and his family. I can only assume that’s why my parents volunteered to stay.”

  Her question rushed out in a cloud of amazement. “Your parents fought with King Arron?”

  “Yes, and they agreed to stay behind and guard the humans.”

  “I can
barely believe it.” She wrapped her arms around her bent legs and rocked forward like a child listening to a scary tale. “What happened? Did the Bane become too strong?”

  “Not at first. For seven hundred years, the Bringers lived without incident from the Bane. Vile is a most devious and patient demon.”

  Rhys looked at the floor. He tapped his index fingers together in a steady cadence to center his thoughts and keep his anger from coating his words. To relate the story meant closing off the pain.

  “With no sign of the Bane for several centuries, the Bringers relaxed their watch,” he continued in a steady voice. “They integrated themselves into human society. Some even fell in love and married humans.”

  “They must have produced hundreds of children—hundreds of mixed Bringers.”

  “From what I’ve learned there are several thousand of us scattered around the world. My parents were already married and remained together. Most who volunteered to stay in Inness were unattached Bringers in their primes.”

  “That’s quite a sacrifice. At least they found some happiness in this foreign land.”

  “Perhaps. I’ve always assumed the Bringers performed their duties.” He stood and gazed down at her. “But given the choice, they would have returned home.”

  “Were all the Bringers who stayed behind murdered?”

  He gripped the back of the chair. She needed to know their history, but remembering the day his parents died opened a tender wound. “Yes. Vile and his minions systematically assassinated each full-blooded Bringer. They were ruthless and calculating.”

  A dozen emotions played across her face. She licked her lips as if preparing to say something. Normally the action would have aroused him, but he knew the movement was nothing more than a prelude to another prying query. Indecision wavered on her face. “Were you there?”

  He wished she hadn’t asked. He straightened, hands clasped behind his back. “Yes. I was there.”

  Those four words tore his wound wide open. He walked to window, seeing nothing but his memories of that grievous day. Despite the warm sun, a chill raced through his body. He hated remembering. “I was six years old.”

  The rustle of bedding issued behind him, followed by soft footsteps. Wrapped tightly in her blanket, Ravyn moved to stand a few arm lengths away. He glanced at her and back out the window. Her concern blazed like a roaring hearth on a winter day.

  “What happened?” Her need to console him spread across the distance like giant wings, but she kept her distance.

  Images pushed their way to the forefront of his mind, and suddenly he was six again. “The demons attacked my parents.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “My father told me to stay hidden, but I didn’t.”

  Screams and the clanking of swords reverberated through his memory.

  “I wanted to help.” The vision of that day gripped him. “My parents fought bravely. They moved like dancers, protecting each other’s backs while slashing and blasting demon after demon.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “It would have been beautiful if it wasn’t so horrific.”

  Ravyn took a small step closer. He looked into her pale eyes and some of his anguish eased. She gave him a slight nod, encouraging him to continue. For the first time he wasn’t reliving these memories alone. He couldn’t look away.

  “I wanted to help. My father saw me charge into the horde of demons and yelled. I don’t know what he screamed. I was too panicked. Before I’d run ten steps, one of the Bane caught me and slung me over his shoulder. There were too many. My parents were overpowered.”

  Guilt. Shame. Vulnerability. His three jailers never let the memory of their deaths fade. “When I saw my parents’ limp bodies, I kicked and scratched at the creature. Surprisingly, it released me. I dropped and crawled through the blockade of legs to get to my father. I could barely see from crying so hard. The Bane taunted me as I crawled to my father’s body.”

  Tears swam in Ravyn’s eyes. Her question was no more than a whisper. “What happened?”

  “Not since that day have I experienced such anger.” He gave a hollow laugh. “I grabbed my father’s dagger from his hand and tried to drive it through Vile’s heart.”

  The room seemed to grow smaller. The air around him compressed against his chest. He turned back to the window and closed his eyes against the memory, but the recollection wouldn’t be silenced. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I wanted to feel my father’s blade split that demon’s flesh.” The memories threatened to steal his voice as the images unfolded without mercy. “Vile caught my hand before I could drive the knife into his chest. The other demons laughed, but Vile didn’t. He knelt before me, staring, as if searching for something in my expression. I remember his foul breath panting against my face, and his yellow eyes.”

  “How did you get away?”

  Rhys looked at her and gave a harsh laugh. “I didn’t.”

  Ravyn shook her head. “But you’re still alive.”

  “Yet another mystery to add to my saga. I can’t tell you how I survived because I don’t remember much after I spit in Vile’s face.”

  Ravyn blinked. “You spit in a demon’s face?”

  The memory still granted him a sliver of satisfaction. “Yes.”

  “What did he do?”

  Rhys clasped his hands behind his back. This was the easy part, speaking of his torture. It was no less than he deserved. If he’d listened to his father and stayed hidden, maybe his parents would still be alive.

  “I think Vile had been contemplating what to do with me, but when I spit in his face, I sealed my fate. He wrapped his hand around mine, nearly breaking my fingers. He said, ‘If you miss your mommy so much, why don’t you join her?’ I couldn’t fight him. He was too strong. He guided the dagger to my chest.” Rhys walked to Ravyn and took her hand. She stiffened but didn’t resist. Unlike Vile’s grip, he gently curled her fingers into a fist and placed it against his chest, his hand covering hers. “Right here.”

  Tears slipped from her eyes.

  “I remember pressure and a twinge of pain when the blade bit through my skin. I remember Vile’s sneer, and then nothing until I woke two days later.”

  Ravyn lightly squeezed his hand and opened her fist to release his fingers. “How did you survive?”

  He shook his head “I don’t know, but as you can see I am still very much alive. I regained consciousness in a monastery. A monk named Brother Archibald had witnessed the battle and gathered me up after the Bane had left me for dead. He removed the dagger while I was unconscious and…” He held his hands out to his sides. “I healed.”

  “How is that possible?” Ravyn tightened the blanket around her and leaned against the edge of the window. “You should have bled to death.”

  “At the very least. But the good Brother proclaimed I’d been saved by a miracle.” He held up his hand to stop the tirade of questions on the tip of Ravyn’s tongue. “I tell you only what the monk told me. I have no answers for you, not even a scar to show.”

  She gazed out the window. “There must be more to the story.”

  He walked to the pitcher and poured a goblet of cool water. The same words had tumbled through his mind for the first fifty years of his life. But he had grown tired of looking for answers where there were none.

  Rayvn gasped and jumped away from the window, pressing her body against the wall. “Powell.”

  “Here?”

  She nodded vigorously.

  Rhys set the goblet on the table and walked to the edge of the curtains. “The monk seems very determined to find you.” He inched forward and pulled the curtain aside. “Where?”

  “Near the main road entrance.”

  Powell stared down at Orvis from atop his horse. Rhys scrutinized him, committing everything from his stringy blond hair to his muddy, but expensively made, boots to memory. From the look of his mount, the monk had wealthy connections.

  Orvis shook his head in response to something Powell said and then p
ointed down the road toward Itta.

  “Well done, Orvis.”

  “What is he doing? Is Powell still there?” Ravyn’s voice wavered.

  “Yes, but Orvis is sending him toward Itta. We’ll travel in the opposite direction.”

  Orvis pointed toward the inn as if inviting Powell to have a meal. The monk shook his head. The innkeeper waved his arms as if trying to cajole him off his horse.

  “Don’t overdo it, Orvis.”

  “Overdo what?” Ravyn still stood pressed against the wall, unwilling to look out the window. “He’s not coming in, is he?”

  Rhys watched the monk shake his head. Finally, Orvis delivered a convincing show of acceptance and gave a quick bow. Powell scanned the front of the inn and its patrons. His gaze tracked up the side of the building, lingering at their window. Rhys didn’t move. He doubted Powell could see into the darkened room but he didn’t want to draw his attention with any sudden movements.

  “What’s happening?” Ravyn whispered.

  Rhys didn’t reply and after a several seconds, Powell kicked his horse and headed toward Itta.

  Rhys dropped the curtain. “He’s gone.”

  Ravyn released a heavy breath but didn’t appear relieved. “He’ll be back.”

  “Perhaps.” He walked to the door and stopped. “Get dressed. We need to get you healed as quickly as possible. I’ll wait outside.”

  He stepped into the hall and pulled the door shut behind him, trying to not imagine Ravyn naked mere feet away. Rhys straightened, on alert as footsteps thumped up the stairs at the end of the hallway, but he didn’t relax when Orvis turned the corner. Rhys met the innkeeper midpoint, away from Ravyn’s hearing.

  “You had a visitor,” Orvis said.

  “I saw. What did he want?”

  “He was looking for a girl and the man who kidnapped her.” His unspoken question hung in the air.

  “Yes,” he flicked his head toward their room. “She’s the girl he’s looking for, and no, I didn’t kidnap her.”

  Orvis crossed his arms over his belly. “I didn’t think you had, but a man can never be too safe when it comes to his family.”

  Rhys nodded but didn’t elaborate.