by Meg Xuemei X
A threatening grunt rumbled from Ares’ chest, and his dark eyes flashed displeasure. “He had no business holding your hands. Anyway, he’s far away. We won’t see him again.”
“I want to see him again,” I said. “If all goes well, my pack and I can live with Merlin after this is over.”
“You and your pack will live in my Atlantis palace,” Ares said, yet he didn’t mention how we were going to live with the witch.
“We’ll pass,” I said.
Ares growled. “No normal, sane woman would turn down my offer.”
Such arrogance.
“I’m not a normal woman,” I said. “I’m a wolf girl. Plus, Merlin has more to offer. He’s single, handsome, and powerful. He’s a king in his own rights. He can touch me just fine. He might even need a queen.”
Hadn’t Merlin said that I would be the queen to a great nation?
Though my interest in the druid was merely magical, I wasn’t going to explain that to Ares.
“You won’t go see him,” Ares said. “You’ll stay with me so I can protect you. You still have Angel hunters on your tail. Merlin is only one man, but I have a great army.”
“What will your witch think if I live in your palace?”
He paused, and Ventus held his breath, dying to know the answer as well.
“I think she’ll understand,” he said quietly, almost sadly.
I didn’t want to see him sad.
“Ventus,” I said, “you fly like an old man. Get us to the war zone so I can see the centaurs. I hope they’re drop-dead gorgeous and make my heart flutter.”
Ares growled again. Why was he jealous when all he wanted was the witch?
Ventus sped up and left the snowy mountains behind, and I sang a farewell song to Ventus in the native Earth tongue.
Ares rubbed his chin over my head. “Why are you singing a sad song, Freyja?” he asked tenderly. “You never told me about your parents. Who are they? How did you get this death touch? Tell me and I can help you. I helped you last night, didn’t I? I warmed your bed. Who are you really, Freyja?”
“I’m the First Witch,” I said.
Ventus plunged a hundred feet from the air as if he suddenly forgot how to fly.
“Sure,” Ares said, “and I’m the Dark Lord of All Angels.”
Ares would only call me delusional if I told him that the ancient, powerful being was actually my grandfather, who was sending his legion to come after me as we spoke.
See, I told him. He didn’t believe me, I said in Ventus’ head. You don’t need to feel guilty for not ratting me out. Even if one day he learns the truth, he can’t blame you.
“Ares,” Ventus called.
I forbid you, I said with a command voice and the guardian startled, as was I.
My magic—the dark fire on my skin, the wind that had snuffed out Merlin’s spear of fire, and my power voice—had popped out now and then like sparks. But I had no control over it and no idea where to begin with.
If I could master my power, I wouldn’t be so worried about the Angel legion.
“Centaurs!” I cried in delight.
Beneath us, on the broad plains, two armies opposed each other. Humans on horses and on foot, carrying long spears and daggers; Proud centaurs, who had a man’s head and upper torso and a horse’s lower body and hooves, stood tall with their bows and axes.
“Are they magical beings?” I asked.
“They wield no magic,” said Ares. “They aren’t like the Fey. They aren’t like any species.”
“Can we drop lower so I can see the guys better?” I asked Ventus.
“No,” Ares said. “It’s dangerous.”
The centaurs were fascinating to watch until an archer spotted us and sent an arrow flying toward us.
“Dick!” I shouted.
Ares shattered the arrow with his ray gun, before it could scratch the thick scales on the guardian’s body. I approved when Ares shot the archer in retaliation.
The centaurs blew the horns, and humans beat the drums in response. Two bloodthirsty armies charged toward each other with battle cries, thrusting their spears before them and raising their axes.
Thousands of arrows flew toward the other sides.
Earth was such a violent planet. Unlike my mother, I wouldn’t sacrifice myself for these species.
“Get us out of here, Ventus,” Ares ordered. “Freyja is done with sightseeing.”
His arm wrapped around me to shield me; his other hand trained the ray gun toward the ground, ready to take out any threat. Ventus was vigilant as well.
“We just got here,” I said.
“Any of the flying arrows can hurt you,” Ares snapped.
“But we’re so high in the air,” I said.
“I’m not taking any chance with you around,” he said.
I wanted to watch the war. I wanted to learn to fight a war since I would face one soon.
“I’m not made of a glass,” I said.
“You are to me,” he said.
I turned to glare at him. Overbearing—
“Should we worry about the humans’ aggression, Your Highness?” Ventus asked. “They breed so fast. They’ve taken one-third of the continents.”
“Not yet,” said Ares. “While they’re still engaged in primary warfare.”
Despite the humans’ speedy evolution, the Dragonians remained the technologically dominant race. I guessed Ares wasn’t too concerned since he held onto the Oracle’s promise—the First Witch would give him a superior offspring.
Did I look like one who would give birth to a super race?
I almost laughed at the irony, but then I thought of Ares’ touch. I thought of sleeping in his arms. My skin was starved for his every stroke. My body, even now, was on fire in his embrace.
“Should we go this route tomorrow?” the guardian asked.
“We’ll make a detour,” Ares said. “Anything can happen in the war zone. Besides, we’re in no hurry to reach south.”
In no hurry? Now he wasn’t in a hurry to meet the witch. But I needed to get to Mysth as soon as possible. The curse had hit me badly last night. It would only get worse and more frequent. I couldn’t afford to be delayed.
“Why must we detour?” I asked. “We’ll fly high and straight toward south.”
“The war zone can attract the Angels,” Ares said.
“They can be anywhere. That’s why we need to push harder toward south,” I said.
“Is there anything you haven’t told me about since you’re in such a hurry?” Ares asked.
“Don’t you want to meet your witch sooner?” I said.
“I know your plan,” Ares grated. “You can’t wait to get rid of me.”
This was ridiculous. He was the one who had been in desperate search of the witch.
“I hope this time you won’t lead me to another fake witch,” he added.
When had he become so unreasonable? I asked Ventus. Has he always been like that?
Congratulations, Witchling, said Ventus as he made a sharp turn and headed back toward the mountains. You’ve succeeded in messing him up. He can no longer think straight around you.
Then I felt the first spark of fire flickering in my veins. Ice had hit me last night, and fire was coming.
Ventus, I called, could you fly at maximum speed? I don’t feel good.
What do you mean you don’t feel good, Freyja? Ventus asked in concern.
Go as fast as you can, please, I said. And fly as low as possible. I’m burning.
When the fire burst out, I would have to jump so I wouldn’t hurt Ares and Ventus.
As the guardian shot out like lightning, a strong current hit me in the face, yet the wind couldn’t cool my body temperature.
“Why do you have to go so fast, Ventus?” Ares asked.
“Freyja is burning up,” Ventus said, pushing his speed limit.
Everything became hazy beneath us.
“Burning up? How?” Ares asked, pressing his ha
nd against my face. “You’re warm. You have a fever.” He shouted, “Speed up, Ventus!” As if the guardian could go any faster.
Sparks of fire soared in me. I was sure it would erupt out of my mouth.
The camp was now right beneath us. The three guardians hunched at the foot of the snowy mountain, napping. Ares’ royal cousin was studying the runes on his broad angelblade. Boomer and Jericko were parrying, crossing blades.
Lucas looked up as we approached, and Einarr stood beside him, conversing with him.
From ten feet high, I leapt from Ventus’ back.
“Freyja!” Ares shouted. “What are you doing? You’re going to hurt yourself!”
He jumped right after me. While I fell on the apex of his men’s tent, he landed by it.
Fire burst out of my skin and lit the tent.
At least, I hadn’t hurt Ares and Ventus. I counted that as a lucky break.
I tumbled down from the tent, and my clothes were on fire. I screamed as I tried to tear them off, but they already burned to ashes. I watched myself turn into a human torch in horror and hurled toward the snowy ground at the base of the mountain.
“Freyja!” Ares chased after me and roared. “What’s happening? Put out the fire! Help her!”
Everyone dashed toward me, yelling something.
I threw a burning hand out to fend them off. “Stay . . . away!” I shouted. “Touch me and . . . you’ll all burn.”
The fire in me grew hotter. The fucking Fey essence and the dark Angel power battled fiercely inside me.
I howled in agony and rolled in the snow, hoping the ice could put out the flame.
A blast of icy wind slammed into me, sending me crashing against a row of rocks.
“Careful, Glacies!” Ares yelled at the ice guardian. “She isn’t built like you.”
“Only ice can help her now,” Glacies said.
It didn’t. It couldn’t.
The bright red and orange flame engulfed me.
Fire sizzled in my hair, yet it didn’t singe a single strand. It only hurt like the inferno from the seventh hell. The curse refused to show me mercy with a quick death.
Glacies kept aiding me with his icy wind, but to no avail. Neither could the snow cool my skin. Then someone poured ice water over my head while I was on all fours, crawling and writhing in anguish.
The fire hissed and leapt higher as if fueled.
“It didn’t work!” Ares shouted in a blind panic.
“Anything you do,” I cried, “will make it worse.”
I howled more, alone in the burning hell.
Ares’ face twisted in agony, as if he also lived in my hell.
For the first time, the Dragonians didn’t mock me but stared at me in incomprehensive horror.
Einarr got a blanket in his hand, but my fire leapt to it and burned it.
Lucas shifted, trying to get to me in his panther form.
“Don’t, Lucas!” I called. “I’ll burn … you. It will burn … you.”
The large, black panther still tried to get near me, but the flame crashed into him and lit a patch of his beautiful shinning fur. The panther staggered back, bellowing in pain. Glacies turned his ice on the shifter and snuffed out the fire.
At least the guardian’s ice could put out the fire on the others.
“Sorry, Luca—” I choked, throwing my hands to my throat as the flame seared through my airway.
Ares lunged at me, but the Dragonian warriors caught him and held him back. He struggled free. “Freyja, tell me what to do,” he called. “I’ll do anything!”
“Maybe it’s the venom from the angelblade,” Einarr said.
“It’s my … curse.”
“What curse?”
“Ice in my … veins; fire … in my blood,” I gasped. “It’s supposed to hit me … at a full force … after I reach … my twenty-second birthday. It came a week earlier.” I crawled, sinking my fingernails into the dirt and scratching the rocks as fire burned away the snow, as fire roasted my inner organs.
Fire even burned away the blood on my fingers.
Something registered in Ares’ eyes. He’d seen me breathing frost. Last night it was ice, and today flame.
“We must get her to the druid!” Ares ordered.
“We can’t move her,” Ventus said. “We can’t touch her.”
“What about Ignis?” Ares asked. “He’s fire. Fire won’t burn fire.”
“My fire … will burn him,” I said through my gritted teeth.
I couldn’t hold any longer.
“Go with Einarr to fetch Merlin,” Ares barked at Ventus.
“Merlin knows my curse,” I sobbed. “Only the Fey Empress can cure me.”
That posed a dilemma. They couldn’t move this human torch. Even if they reached the Twilight Realm and had the slim luck to convince Empress Rose to come for me, I’d be a pile of ashes when she got here.
Staring into Ares’ devastated eyes, I knew he had thought of the same thing.
“Freyja,” he said, tears streaming down his face. “There must be a way to put out the damn fire.”
It was boiling every inch of my lethal skin.
“End me,” I pleaded. “I have no more than a year left anyway. End me now!”
If I lived from this moment on, I’d be living in pure hell, afraid of the return of the curse of fire and ice, afraid of being hunted and caught by the Angels, and afraid of bringing death to Ares, Lucas, the guardians, and even the Dragonians.
And if my grandfather got his hands on me, he would shatter my soul to pieces. He would devour and digest every shredded essence of mine. I would feel the agony worse than I was experiencing now. That was his process of draining my power.
If the Dark Lord returned to his power, the universe would sink into a new dark age.
Taking me out would be doing a great service to all living things.
“If you don’t have it in you to do it,” I snarled, “toss me an angelblade.”
I might not have enough strength to stab the dagger all the way into my heart. I’d opt to slash my throat when I received his gift.
I preferred Ares or his men do it for me, but since they had no guts to carry on . . .
“No,” Ares said. “I can’t. We’ll find a way, Freyja. You must live. Please. Just give me a little more time. I’m thinking hard. We’ll find a way, Freyja! You must keep being brave.”
Brave, my butt!
I bellowed at a new wave of agony and dragged myself toward Caen and an angelblade strapped at his thigh. He wanted me gone, so I wouldn’t stand between his prince and the witch queen. He would be more than happy to give me the dagger and let me end myself.
I kept crawling on all fours toward Caen, every inch an effort in hell. Flames lit me, whooshing in the wind. A few more steps and I would reach him.
But that motherfucker jumped back from me.
Though he wanted to, Caen wouldn’t give me the dagger. For he knew if he did, Ares would knife him and his entire household.
“Give me the fucking blade!” I howled.
“Freyja, hang in there, please,” Ares begged, his eyes bloodshot. I wondered if he ever begged anyone else in his life. “There’s a way to save you. There must be a way.”
I turned to Ares. “Will you let me suffer like this? End me. You can find your witch another way . . . the Oracle will tell you.”
Pain. Burning. Endless agony. I cursed the day I was born.
I cursed the Angel King, my father, to the ultimate eleventh hell!
“To hell with the witch,” Ares called. “I want you alive, not for her! I can’t bear—” With a roar, he threw away the two Dragonians who held him in place and lunged at me again, but Caen got him just in time to trip him. They both fell to the ground and wrestled. The rest of the Dragonians jumped on him to pin him down.
“She’s not your witch!” his cousin yelled.
Roaring in fury, Ares threw them off him with explosive strength and came for me.
The flame spread to him and he cried in pain.
I tried to shake him off to preserve him, but I could barely move.
“Don’t do this, Ares,” I begged. “Leave me.”
“Never leave you,” he said and pulled me into his arms.
While I was burning in the living hell, my body still craved his touch.
“I can’t stand seeing you burn,” he said, clenching his teeth and suffering the scorching fire. “Let me burn with you.” And he slanted his mouth over mine.
The fire swallowed us both.
CHAPTER 9
Lust Burn
The flame leapt between our lips, yet Ares kept kissing me.
His hunger for me became hotter than the flame.
When his tongue urged my lips open, I obliged, and it thrust into my mouth, turning into another kind of fire that excited me instead of harming me.
I should let him go—he could still be saved, but I was too selfish to do so. When he touched me and desired me like this, the cursed fire no longer hurt.
My hand clutched at his face.
Ares had no intention of getting away. He deepened his kiss, and the cursed fire winked out of my skin, then my hair, and my body.
The burning was gone, replaced by another kind of arousing burn that needed to be sated and cooled as well.
My tongue danced with his. A deep groan rose from the back of his throat. Ares scooped me up.
His mouth left me, and I protested.
Ares pressed me tightly against him as he strode toward his tent.
“Amazing!” Ventus called behind us. “Did you see that? Our prince tamed Freyja’s hellfire with a kiss.”
“I feel like crying,” Glacies said. “I probably shouldn’t. Ice is my nature.”
“Passion burns as fire,” Ignis sighed. “Only it’s now a different kind of fire.”
They were all very mouthy, but I was grateful for their support.
At the entrance of the tent, Ares stopped and turned to look at the guardians. “No one comes in.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Ventus nodded. “Let me know if Freyja needs anything else. I’ll even pluck the stars for her.”
“It’s not your role to pluck the stars for her,” Ares growled. “It’s mine.” He flapped the tent open and entered with me in his arms.
