Hunted by Sin: an Urban Fantasy Novel (The Gatekeeper Chronicles Book 2)

by Jasmine Walt

  “You were going somewhere?”

  I sighed. “I want to see Garuda.”

  His brows shot up. “Oh.”

  “Look. I know it’s probably against your rules or whatever, but I won’t be able to rest until I’ve seen him, so please . . .”

  He looked resolute. “All right, but we must be quick. If Harish or his spies see us . . .”

  “Yes. Vasuki warned me to steer clear.”

  Bhima smiled wryly. “Harish does what he can to make the king’s life as difficult as possible.”

  I guess my being here wasn’t helping. Shit. Maybe I should hold off on seeing Garuda, but . . . the look in his eye when they were passing the original sentence . . . No, I had to see him.

  “I promise I’ll be quick.”

  25

  Garuda stood up as I entered the cell. Not the same cell we’d been held in. This one had a bed and a neat bucket for waste. It wasn’t underground either, and daylight streamed in through a small, high window.

  The door closed behind me, and I took a small step toward him. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Thanks to you.”

  “You’re thanking me for getting you five hundred lashes?”

  “I’m thanking you for saving my life.”

  “You would have done the same for me.”

  He scanned my face. “Yes. I would have.”

  I’d wanted to see him so badly, but now I was here and everything I’d wanted to say sounded stupid in my head. “So you’re good?” No, that wasn’t what I wanted to say. “Why didn’t you object?”

  “What?”

  “When the bloody judgment panel ruled to execute you, why didn’t you object? You just stood there with this look like . . . like you wanted to die.”

  He turned away, hands on hips. His shoulders rose and fell, and the muscles in his back rippled under his T-shirt. “I’ve lived a long time, Malina. I’m the only one of my kind. The gods didn’t give a shit about creating a companion for me. I was a machine to be used, and once that was done, once they took that away from me, I was alone.” He hung his head. “When they handed down that sentence . . . for a moment, I was relieved. Being dead would be an end to an eternity of loneliness. I just . . . I wouldn’t be alone.”

  How could he think like that? I wanted to shake him, to ask how he could say he was alone when I was standing right here. He turned to face me, and the hope and longing in his expression told me I’d said the words out loud. He walked toward me, stopping when he was barely a foot away. Enough distance to keep me from going into a full-blown flight mode, but not enough to stop my pulse from putting on its running shoes. My insides were a mess of twist and yearning.

  Garuda’s miasmic gaze devoured my face. His throat bobbed. “The things you said at the sentencing . . . did you mean them?” His voice was a rough caress of sandpaper and silk.

  I’d told myself they had only been words, nothing more than a compelling argument to defend him. But now, standing so close to him that I could feel the heat emanating from his body and inhale his unique signature scent, I wasn’t so sure. At that moment, every word rang true. I could have happily etched it into stone. A new kind of panic bloomed into existence behind my rib cage, a fresh knowledge, neatly gift-wrapped and completely unwanted.

  He slowly raised his hand, breathing me in as he reached out for me. Any moment now, my body would go into meltdown. Any moment. And yet, I stood still, desperately hoping it wouldn’t and stupidly aching for his touch. His fingers made contact with my cheek like a whisper, soft and fleeting. My eyes fluttered closed.

  His voice was a throb of desire. “I wish . . .”

  No. I couldn’t do this. I didn’t want to know what he wished. “I should go.” I tore myself away, strode toward the cell door, and rapped on the wood with my knuckles.

  “Malina. Don’t come to the lashing.”

  The door opened, giving me the escape I needed.

  Bhima met me outside the cell. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “I wasn’t looking for anything.”

  He gave me an arch look. “Are you sure?”

  I was sure of the confusion and anxiety churning in my head. I was sure I’d cheated on Ajitah, and I’d somehow hurt Garuda. I was sure of the guilt that sat heavy in the pit of my stomach, and I was sure I was done dwelling.

  “You fancy showing me about the palace?”

  His eyes lit up. “It would be my pleasure.”

  I glanced back at the cell. Garuda had instructed me not to come to the lashing, and yes, staying away would be the wise option. But something was growing between us, a connection I needed to stem. Yeah, the wise option would be to steer clear. But when it came to him, wisdom tended to take a vacation.

  The palace was massive. The north wing itself took a couple of hours to peruse, and even then I didn’t get to see everything. So many rooms, and most of them had some kind of water feature: fountains, waterfalls, lagoons, and fish ponds. Bhima explained that the black marble was the most abundant element in Nagalok, and most structures were built using it. Naga milled around, conversing, snacking, swimming. Some gathered in small conspiratorial groups, while others preferred to chill solo. Vasuki held an open palace, where naga could come and go as they pleased. Crime was rare in Patala, and death was even rarer. Sounded like an awesome way to live . . . but my reality, my way of life . . . made me skeptical. No crime, seriously? It sounded like some kind of fucked-up dystopian tale wrapped up in the guise of a Utopian one.

  We were headed back to my room when a group of naga intercepted us in the corridor. I recognized Harish, but the others were unfamiliar faces. His lip curled suggestively when he caught sight of us.

  “Harish.” Bhima inclined his head.

  “I see you’ve resorted to consorting with the riffraff, Bhima. Maybe you’d like to join me for a light supper later?”

  “I appreciate the invite, but I must decline. I have plans.”

  Harish’s expression hardened. “Your loyalty to the crown is commendable, but then you have little choice in that matter. You do, however, have a choice in friends. I would choose wisely.”

  Bhima swallowed. “I am content in my circle of friends.”

  Bhima made to step around him, but Harish sidestepped to block his path. “Do you have no further aspirations than being Vasuki’s lackey? Join me. Together, we will be a force to be reckoned with.” He gripped Bhima’s bicep.

  Bhima winced.

  My body tensed, desperate to step in, but I needed to let him deal with this. I got the impression it wasn’t the first time Harish had tried to strong-arm him.

  Bhima swallowed hard and locked eyes with Harish. “Get your hand off me.”

  “Um, Harish. Maybe we should go?” one of his comrades said.

  “Shut up, Krish. Can’t you see I’m conversing with the king’s favorite?”

  Bhima’s eyes narrowed. “I’m a naga with taste. I do not associate with snakes.” He flinched.

  Harish was squeezing his arm. So much for no fucking crime. Bollocks to this. I’d had enough.

  “Let go of him. Now.”

  Harish looked at me. “Or what?”

  My fist flew out and connected with his nose.

  His posse gasped. Harish just stood there, clutching his bloody face, eyes wide with shock. It was as if he’d never been hit before. Shit, maybe he hadn’t. Was he a violence virgin? Had I just popped his proverbial cherry?

  “Malina!” Bhima grabbed my wrist. “You shouldn’t have. Violence is an offense.”

  “And what he was doing to you isn’t? In my reality, they call it harassment and intimidation. And yeah, it’s a crime. And what I did? That’s called justice.”

  “You’ll pay for this,” Harish mumbled from behind his hands.

  “I’ll look forward to the trial where you tell everyone you got beat up by a girl.” I smirked and turned my attention to the other naga. His little gang was now hanging back as if trying to
disassociate themselves from the scandal. “And you can all be witnesses and tell the judges what Harish did to provoke the attack, because I’m sure dishonesty is a crime too, right?”

  Harish turned on his heel and stormed off. After a moment of dithering, his disciples followed.

  I snorted. “What an absolute wanker.”

  Bhima looked across at me. “What’s a wanker?”

  Yeah, I was not explaining that one . . .

  26

  Being a lucid dreamer had its perks. I could usually shape my environment to my will, but this time, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t break from the gloom I was trapped in. No option but to walk and see where this particular dream led. Light began to filter into the gloom, and the sound of voices drifted to my ears.

  “Can you feel it?” a familiar female voice asked.

  “Finally,” another higher-pitched one replied.

  “What do we say?” a third voice chimed in.

  “The truth works,” the first voice answered.

  The gloom receded, leaving me standing in a pool of weak light. Shadows floated outside the circle of illumination.

  “Who’s there?” Man, I hated the dreams I couldn’t break out of.

  Someone cleared their throat, and three women stepped into the light. Young, beautiful, and dressed in matching cream robes, they could have been sisters. Maybe they were. This was one weird dream.

  “This isn’t a dream,” one of the women said. “And we don’t have much time.”

  Not a dream? Yeah, right. But a tingle skipped up my spine regardless.

  “Just tell her and be quick,” the other woman said.

  The third just moved closer to her lookalikes and watched me warily. Although the whole setup had a crazy dreamlike quality, there was something a little too solid and grounded about it to be a figment of my unconscious mind.

  “What do you want to tell me?”

  “We are Yama’s wives. He is lost to us, and we need your help in finding him. Bring him back to us, open the seal, and restore order to the underworld.”

  Yama’s wives. Wow, Eamon hadn’t mentioned that the lord of the underworld was a polygamist. And no way could this stuff be coming out of my psyche.

  They were looking at me expectantly, as if waiting for me to snap my fingers and give them what they desired. “I’m sorry, I have no idea where Yama is or what happened to him, and the seal can’t be opened yet. Not until the gods are strong enough to restore order to the underworld.”

  “I told you she wouldn’t help us,” one woman said. “She isn’t even the real gatekeeper. Not yet. We shouldn’t have bothered helping her.”

  “If I could have communicated with the real gatekeeper, do you think I’d be wasting my time here?” the bossy one replied.

  “It was you . . . you helped me when I was attacked by the entity?” How could I have forgotten? And I’d dreamt about them too . . . their voices in my head. Why hadn’t I remembered?

  “So you can’t open the gates? What use is she to us, then?”

  “Quiet, Kirthi. Let me think.” The taller one, the one I pegged the leader, began to pace.

  “Be quick, sister, time runs short.”

  The leader turned to me. “Find Yama. Bring him to us. That is all we ask. We can form a plan with his help.”

  “How the heck can I find him? He’s trapped in the underworld with you guys. Hang on, if you’re trapped beyond the seal, how are you doing this? How are you talking to me?”

  “He is not in the underworld. When the chaos hit, we sensed his absence. We ran, evaded and finally hid in the seal, burrowing in where it was safe and warm.”

  This was the seal? This gloom-shrouded circle of light?

  “We were safe here, but weakened. It took us a long time to gain enough strength to reach out through the seal’s connection to the gatekeeper. But the gatekeeper was blind and deaf to us, and then not long ago, we felt a new energy. We felt you. And for some reason, we were able to connect with you by channeling the seal’s energy into you.”

  “Yes, you spoke to me in my dream.”

  “After saving you from the dark entity that attacked you, we were weakened once more. This conversation is also draining us, and I fear we won’t be able to reach out to you for some time. But you can come to us. Find Yama and bring him to us.”

  So that was how I’d managed to access the hellhound powers to fight off Garuda and best the Daughter of Chaos. They’d somehow diverted the powers to me. Eamon! Was this somehow affecting Eamon?

  The light began to dim. “Bring Yama to us . . .”

  “Wait! How do I bring him to you? How will I find you?”

  But the shadows were growing longer, and the gloom was crowding into every recess of my mind.

  My room in Nagalok was lamplit. I’d been dreaming. Something important . . . something I needed to remember . . . fuck! I hated it when that happened. Rolling onto my side, I closed my eyes again. It didn’t matter. It was just a dream.

  Resisting the urge to go and see Garuda again was like trying to resist the impulse to scratch an itch. But the last two days had passed uneventfully, either lounging in my room chatting to Bhima or making laps in one of the many pools. From the tidbits Bhima dropped, I got the impression that things were tense here in Nagalok. Vasuki’s competence was being questioned by certain factions who were being riled up by Harish. Garuda’s and my arrival, and the guardian serpent’s death, had given these factions more fuel for their claims.

  A knock at my chamber door signaled it was time.

  This was a bad idea. I probably should stay in my room and wait for it to be over.

  Another sharp knock.

  Wise to stay put. Smarter yet to let this play out and then leave . . . Crap. Sod it! Grabbing my jacket and checking that Vindra was snug in her sheath, I headed out the door.

  He wouldn’t be alone. Not on my watch.

  The naga guard stepped back, blinking rapidly at me. He’d been with Harish the other day—one of his lackeys. I curled my lip, and he took a step back.

  “Please, follow me.”

  I stayed a few steps behind his half-naga form down corridor after corridor until we came out onto a balcony overlooking a huge courtyard. A set of tall golden gates lay open, admitting nagas into the area, and in the center of it all knelt Garuda, chained and bare-chested on a stone platform. His body glistened in the sunlight. Had they oiled him up? Would that make it hurt more or less? The platform was surrounded by some kind of wall made of gray stone, and the crowd pressed against it, eager for a closer view.

  “I need to get down there.”

  The guard shook his head. “His Majesty instructed that you remain within the confines of the palace as befits your status.”

  “I don’t give a fuck about status. I need to be down there.”

  He just stared at me, unblinking this time—kinda unnerving, but not enough to quell my determination.

  I leaned in. “Take me down there now, or a bloody nose will be the least of your worries.” It was a low blow, threatening violence, but what the fuck did I care what impression I made? This was a flying visit, and once Garuda had . . . once this was over, we were out of here.

  “Malina?”

  I checked over the guard’s shoulder to see Bhima and Vasuki walking toward us.

  “I need to get down there. I need him to be able to see me.”

  Bhima and Vasuki exchanged glances.

  Vasuki sighed and spoke to the guard. “Take her down, and remain with her. Bring her back up once it’s over.”

  Yes!

  Another five minutes to make our way out of the building and into the courtyard, then several more to fight our way through the crowd to the front. For people who didn’t indulge in crime or violent activity, they were certainly putting on a good show of being excited to see some blood.

  It was barbaric and revolting, and I just wanted it over. Whereas I was usually assaulted by a barrage of competing scent
s when in a crowd, here there was a sameness—a nothingness that was strangely comforting, like being wrapped in a favorite winter sweater.

  We broke out of the crowd and pushed against the rock barrier a couple of meters away from the stone platform. Garuda had his head bowed, his eyes on the ground. His hands were shackled. Thick chains dangled down and were attached to the platform by huge iron rings.

  “He killed a guardian in cold blood,” a female naga to my left said.

  “Why not an execution then?” her male companion asked.

  “I heard Vasuki gave him a pardon.”

  “I heard the judges were bribed,” another naga added.

  It didn’t sound like they knew about me. Was that why Vasuki had asked me to remain in the north wing? Were my existence and my alternates’ visits even common knowledge?

  A huge naga male clutching a thick whip climbed up to the platform and stationed himself a few meters behind Garuda.

  Garuda needed to look up. He needed to see me. I needed him to know I was here. As if sensing my regard, he slowly raised his head and locked eyes with me. The contact was like a jolt of electricity pinning me to the spot and grounding me.

  The murmurs of the crowd melted away. You shouldn’t have come; I asked you not to come—the words weren’t spoken, but they may as well have been. Man, he looked pissed, but then his chest rose and fell in a huge sigh, and he nodded, just once.

  The crack of the whip was like a gunshot in the sudden silence. Garuda didn’t make a sound, but the tightening of his eyes told me all I needed to know. The whip cracked again, and again, but Garuda remained impassive—his gaze locked with mine, focused on me, seeing only me. We weren’t here. We were in the car, driving somewhere. Maybe off to 24/7 the café for a huge pot of coffee. Could he smell the leather? Hear the purr of the engine? His chest rose and fell rapidly—the only sign of his discomfort and pain—while the automaton of a punisher swung the whip back and brought it down again and again.

  How many was that? How many more left? My palms were slick, and my pulse was crazy. His forehead glistened. His lips were paler than usual. How much blood was there? I couldn’t see, not from this vantage point. Was he healing? Dammit. I had to get to him. He was swaying. About to fall.