by Kira Brady
“Desi!” Kayla screamed as her sister disappeared with Norgard into the crevasse.
Hart clutched her to him. He wouldn’t let her go. She was his life, his breath. He didn’t care if her family waited on the other side. He was her family now. He would create a new family here with her. Would do whatever it took to make her happy, as long as she stayed with him.
As Norgard disappeared, a flash of lightning shot up from the deep. Inside the great twister of souls and Aether, the shadows jumped back as if burned. The ground shook again. The sides of the crevasse groaned and strained. With a great screech, they slammed together, cutting off the river of souls and Aether from the other side.
“Hold on to me,” Hart yelled at Kayla. He didn’t have time to worry about Corbette and Lucia.
The earth shook once more, tossing Hart and Kayla to the ground. He rolled so that she landed on top of him. The twister drew up, growing thinner at the base. In a few moments it would pull off from the earth, and there would be no more safety in the eye of the storm. They wouldn’t be able to keep from being sucked up into the great whirlwind.
In that last moment he imagined all he would miss. Lazy mornings in bed with Kayla. Watching her belly grow round with his child. Watching the sunset over the Olympics, hand in hand, two graying heads bent together.
The twister left the ground. Kayla’s body strained in his arms toward the whirlwind, and he tightened his grip. He felt his molecules pull up.
A shadow crossed his vision: a swollen abdomen with a deadly point, eight thin legs for weaving the magic silk that bound and dreamed. Before he could fly apart and join the river of souls, a web fell over them, trapping them to the earth. Its soft silk severed the pull of the monster twister. He felt the land singing below him. It sung of freshly washed earth after a rain and the dry hot bake of summer. It sung of spring grasses and the mulch of fall leaves nourishing the soil for the long sleep of winter. He was vaguely aware that Corbette and Lucia had been snared in the webbing too. He didn’t care. Kayla was in his arms. She was safe. It was enough. He let the web’s spell pull him under, and he dreamed.
Chapter 24
Kayla stepped out the imposing brass doors of Norse Hospital and rested her head against one of the cold, stately columns. It had been forty days since the Gate had broken. Forty days of death and mangled bodies. Forty days of fearing the dark. Survivors were still being located in the rubble of the city and brought to the Drekar-run facility. A small unit of doctors, nurses, EMTs, and volunteers did what they could to save the injured. There was no electricity. Not here. Not anywhere. An army of wraiths had escaped before the Gate closed, forever changing the balance of Aether between the worlds. If the Raven Lord could be believed, the living world would never fully recover.
She had spent most of her time working beside the Kivati healers, watching miracles happen before her eyes. It no longer surprised her. She had worked a few miracles herself.
Staring out over the devastated city, she tried to calm her shaking hands. The air was thick with volcanic ash. Half the Cascade Mountains had exploded, but she couldn’t see them through the gloom. Ash landed on her hair and skin like a smoker’s pall. The Raven Lord thought his people could use the wind to get rid of enough ash to plant food in the spring, but at the moment all their energy was engaged tending to the wounded and beating back the wave of dark spirits that had taken over the city.
She wondered again how much of the world was like this. There was no television, no radio, no phone. No means of communication with the outside world to see how other cities had fared. Corbette had explained, tiredly, that a disruption of this magnitude would have rocked the world over. Supernatural races would have felt the earth shift and known to find shelter. How many humans had made it? There was no way to know. Unimaginable destruction. It would have been unbelievable, if she hadn’t seen the twister with her own eyes.
Strangely, she felt more at peace with herself than she ever had. It was as if something deep inside had shifted and clicked into place. She was using her gifts—both her supernatural ability and medical knowledge—to save lives. Whole and complete, she was stronger and more effective than she had been before. She knew whom to thank.
He strolled up the hill, hunched against the wind in his worn bomber jacket. The breeze tugged at the tuft of white hair, now only a memento of his years of moon madness. He and his Wolf had joined completely, two halves of a coin, each adding his strength to the whole.
Every morning Hart escorted her to the hospital from the home they now shared with other Kivati healers. He spent the day hunting through the rubble for bodies and salvageable goods. It was grisly work, but his keen nose made him an invaluable asset. Every evening before curfew he trudged up the hill to pick her up.
She felt the sun break out over the bedraggled hillside when his eyes met hers, even though the sky was gray and streaked with soot. Her inner light warmed at the sight of him. The heavy burden of the day slipped off her shoulders and she smiled.
He caught sight of her and his lips curved in answer. He lifted a hand in greeting, but she was already bounding toward him. She threw herself into his arms and kissed his eyelids, cheeks, and nose. He tasted of soot and ash.
“Tough day?” he asked.
She nodded. “You?”
“I’ve got a beautiful woman in my arms. My day’s looking up.” He gave that crooked grin she had grown to love so much.
“I saw Lucia again today,” Kayla said. “She stares out the window, refusing to speak. Like a little china doll: a lovely body, but no soul. If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if a wraith got her.”
Hart squeezed her hand. “Will she recover?”
“Given time, maybe. She’s hidden herself deep. I don’t know what it will take to reach her.” Her parents and friends had failed to do so. They had alternately wept over her and yelled at her to snap out of it, until Corbette had roared in and ordered everyone from the room. The Raven Lord had taken her injuries personally. Guilt cut deep furrows across his brow. He could hardly bear to be in the same room as her.
“How are things in the streets?” Kayla asked.
Hart helped her navigate through a maze of broken concrete and steel, the bones of a once-great skyscraper. “Grace says the aptrgangr are rising faster than we can burn the dead. We need to train civilians to fight them, but the human population is still reeling after the Kivati and Drekar came out to them. At least half have withdrawn to various human-only conclaves. A couple hundred are holed up at St. James Cathedral. Some fire-and-brimstone minister is preaching that the Gate breaking was the Rapture. He says the mass disappearances are all people who have ascended into heaven and that Corbette is the antichrist.”
Kayla couldn’t help but laugh. “If only he could have met Norgard.”
Hart’s mouth kicked up. “He claims he was chosen to remain on earth to pray for the salvation of those left behind.”
“Interesting.”
“Some Drekar are claiming Norgard is a martyr. They’re talking of building a gold statue in his honor.”
She tried to repress a flash of anger. Anger attracted wraiths. “I suppose his sacrifice did close the Gate.”
Hart pulled her to a stop and brushed a lock of hair back behind her ear. “You still thinking of your sister?”
“No.” She was surprised to realize it was true. She missed Desi, but her grief faded in the knowledge that she would see her again when it was time. Hart was her family now.
They made their way up Capitol Hill and along the ridge. The air was warm from the smoke of the still partially burning city.
“Has the council made any progress on locating Kingu and his horde?” Kayla asked. Government had fallen in the wake of the cataclysm and a consortium of supernatural beings and human militia had stepped in to fill the power vacuum and try to restore order. The Kivati and Drekar were best able to handle the new world, with their intimate knowledge of the paranormal and head start on steam-p
owered technologies. The humans were wary of cooperating with them.
“No sign of him,” Hart said. He helped her climb over a half-buried Volkswagen Bug and onto a higher path. Empty, partially standing buildings hunched on either side like ancient mausoleums. Shadows flickered in the ruins, waiting for darkness to come out and hunt.
“Hopefully he’s plotting to ransack some other poor city. Is it wrong of me to say that?”
Hart’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “You evil thing, you. Wishing harm on others. Where’s the Goody Two-shoes I rescued from giant birds oh so many weeks ago?”
“I guess I’ve been hanging around with a bad crowd, huh?” She threaded her arm through his and grinned. “Besides, you’re remembering it wrong. I rescued you from being pummeled into the ground—”
“Is that right?”
She shrieked as he swept her feet out from under her and threw her over his shoulder. “Let me down!” she ordered, but he was already running toward the brick mansion on Millionaire’s Row that was now home.
The street of Victorian-era houses had survived better than most. Patched roofs and replaced windows had been all that was needed to make them habitable. The Kivati had put them at the top of the list for renovation, as they had been outfitted for both gas and electric power. The new Drekar Regent—Sven Norgard’s brother Leif Asgard—had promised to renovate the Seattle Gas Works to provide gas power to light the city in the new post-electricity world.
Home had a whole new meaning. It wasn’t a place anymore. Home was a person. As Hart set her down on the wide front porch, she realized that despite the destruction, the uncertainty of the future, and the threat of demons plotting revenge, there was nowhere else she’d rather be. She held out her hand to the handsome, stubborn, endearing man who had rocked her world and said, “Let’s go home.”
Night blanketed the city, but Kivati charms and shields protected the grassy lawn where Hart stood from the dark spirits that stalked the night. He gave a mental salute to Kai for this bit of weather magic. The conjured wind blew the volcanic ash from the air, enough that the waning moon could be seen in the sky once again. He rubbed his hands nervously on his jeans. This was it. Trust, Kayla had urged him. But putting it all on the line was like facing the hell-born twister all over again. He was trying. Trust. She might have saved his twisted soul, but could he trust her with his fragile heart?
He didn’t have a choice; it was already hers.
Checking his preparations one last time, he raised his head and let the Wolf surge through his blood. His head fell back, his eyes closed, and a pure howl poured from his throat. The song vibrated through the Aether, a harmony of Wolf and man, soaring up to the stars above. As the notes flew through the night sky, he felt the answering hum of the earth beneath his bare feet and the sweet melody of the distant ocean crashing against the shore. The fire by his side crackled in rhythm. The Aether sparkled and swirled around him, dancing with his spirit in joy and love.
He heard the front door open and Kayla’s soft approach onto the mansion’s wide front porch. Mine, the Wolf growled.
“Hart?” she asked. Her scent teased him.
He let the notes go, drifting on the wind, and turned to her. Kneeling by the stairs, he held out a slipper for her foot.
“What is this?” she asked, slipping her foot into the soft deerskin.
“I will carry you when you grow weary.” He held out the matching shoe and helped her into it. Taking her hand, he led her down the stairs to the fire he had laid and set her on an upturned log. “I will warm you when you are cold.”
Her eyes sparkled in the flickering firelight, the many flecks of gold marking her awakened gift.
She was his gift. His to treasure and protect. His to hold. His to cherish. His to love until the end of time.
He picked up a thick woven blanket and placed it gently around her shoulders. “I will shelter you when you seek refuge.” Kneeling by her feet, he placed his hands over his heart and took a deep breath. His pulse raced. His mouth was dry. “I pledge my body to your protection, my soul to your happiness, and my heart to your keeping. May the Lady witness my troth. Kayla Friday, my love, my mate, will you marry me?”
The moment seemed to stretch forever. Teardrops glistened from her thick lashes, sending a jolt of fear through him. Had he made her cry?
But in the next heartbeat she fell into his arms, nearly toppling him into the fire. He rolled, keeping them safe from the dancing flames.
“Yes! Oh, yes.” She rained kisses over his cheeks and jaw. His heart started beating again. The sudden ice in his limbs thawed under her warmth and joy. “I love you.”
He grinned. “I know.”
She made a face and tickled him between his ribs.
Laughing, he said, “All right. Mercy! I love you too.” He cradled her beautiful face in his hands and studied every curve and dimple. “By the Lady, Kayla, I love you more than life itself.”
The mate bond snapped into place as if it had always been there, as if their souls had always been one. It lit up like a firecracker, blazing between them, brighter than the brightest stars. The Aether hummed.
“Shiny,” Kayla said. Her skin glowed with magic. “It’s brighter than before.”
“Before? Before what?”
She tilted her head shyly. “Than it was in Rudrick’s dungeon.”
He blinked at her. “You saw the mate bond then?”
“Is that what it is?” She kissed the questions from his lips. “I think I need a reminder. What happened that night?”
He felt his blood rush south. Her teasing caresses broke the thin leash he had on his patience. Sweeping her into his arms, he took the stairs two at a time. There was one way to finish the Kivati mating ceremony, and for once he intended to follow the official protocol to the letter. The bond coursed through his spirit like a living thing. He wanted it secure, safe, and unbreakable, to chain him forever to this sparkling, vibrant woman.
Freedom had never felt so good.
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HEARTS OF SHADOW,
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Leif Asgard looked up when the blood slave slipped into the crowded council chamber. No one else noticed. Leif noticed, because he felt the ring on his finger softly thrum. It was his brother’s ring, and Leif couldn’t figure out how to get the damned thing off.
One more thing to curse Sven for. Worse, his brother had the balls to die and leave Leif to this madness. Six months since the Crash. Six months since the world turned upside down. Six months since all hell had broken loose, literally, and brought down the civilization he had come to depend on.
Six months since Sven had died and left Leif shackled at the reins of this gods-be-damned runaway circus train.
From his seat at the defendant’s gate, Leif watched Admiral Jameson ranting across the room. In his mind he turned the sound off like an old black-and-white movie. He was tired of listening, tired of having to defend himself and his kind, tired of having to prove his right to exist when some moments he didn’t even know if he believed it himself.
Admiral Jameson wore his navy uniform like a shield. Frayed about the collar and threadbare in some places, it was a nostalgic symbol of authority in the once-great United States of America. The fallen government had few spokesmen left. Those that chose to fill the void were frightened, bullheaded, and incredibly paranoid. Jameson pointed his gavel at Leif, and Leif tuned back in. “—Let me remind you, sir, that you are under oath. Do you mean to say you have never killed?”
Leif didn’t think anyone could survive two hundred years without shedding blood, but the human admiral was having difficulty wrapping his head around the idea of immortality. There were any number of honorable reasons for killing in the course of his two centuries. There had been revolutions, riots, duels. Insults that couldn’t be borne. Revenge. Justice. But Leif refused to be tried for past deeds
in this laughable shoestring mockery of a court, judged by a mob of terrified mortals.
He wouldn’t die for his brother’s sins either.
“Dragons are not killers,” Leif said, “any more than the lion on the Serengeti is a killer. A predator, yes, but man is also at the top of the food chain.”
“Humans don’t harvest souls!” Jameson shouted, and the mob in the council audience murmured its agreement. Leif could almost imagine them with pitchforks, right out of Shelley’s tale. Time might progress, but humans stayed as ignorant and xenophobic as ever.
“But you kill to eat,” Leif said. “The imbibing of souls doesn’t require the death of the donor. Think of it as a blood transfusion.”
“You steal—”
“Our donors are willing.” At least his were. “And this really isn’t the point of contention, is it? Humans could choose to be vegetarians, but most of you don’t. For a Dreki to choose not to eat souls would be suicide.”
Tiamat blight him. He’d told Astrid this was a mistake. She sat on one side of the long council bench separated from the Kivati by Jameson and his fellow human representatives. It made a pretty tableau: two shape-shifting races forced to play nice beneath the terrified watch of the humans. Everyone had pulled together to help put the world back to rights after the Crash. Leif had left the political wrangling to Astrid, because she was experienced in this bullshit. She had served Sven’s interests on the Seattle City Council for four decades, right here in this room beneath the blithely ignorant noses of the humans. Since the Crash, she’d stopped dyeing her hair gray. She wasn’t pretending to be human anymore. None of them were.
Leif didn’t have Sven’s silver tongue or Astrid’s slippery morals. He shouldn’t be here debating his people’s right to live when he could be doing real work in his laboratory. He was a scientist, not a politician, and he was a damned good one. There were people dying in the streets. People cold and hungry without jobs, without the skills needed to live in a world without electricity, without shelter from the wraiths. Leif could help those people, but not here. He needed to get back to work inventing tools that could make a difference.
