Dark Illusions

by D. D. Miers

  “Good. That’s what I’ve been waiting for.”

  “Oh yeah?” Marcus rubbed the shadow on his jaw. “Well call me a genie, sweetheart. Cause you’re either about to get badass or get your ass handed to you.” He stood. “Either way, we start tomorrow, so run along now and go get yourself some beauty rest.” He chuckled all the way down the hall, throwing one last thought for me. “You’re gonna need it.”

  Chapter Seven

  “How many times can your head slam into the floor before you get a concussion?” I asked Reagan, as she handed me a fresh towel to wipe the blood trickling down my lip.

  “You’re probably about to find out.”

  “Come on,” Marcus said. “I’m going easy on you even though I said I wouldn’t.”

  “Easy? Is that what you call it?”

  Marcus smiled. “Come on, sweetheart. Just channel all the pent up—irritation—in my direction.”

  The smart-ass had continued to mock my car incident every day for over a week now. I would have loved to smack that stupid smile off his face.

  “Let’s try this again, shall we?” He walked around to the other side of the room, leaving my back vulnerable to him.

  Minutes ticked on as I waited. Just breathe, Abby.

  Ever since the news of Yasinda’s rising, my training had taken a turn. I was readying for war. On Kieron’s orders, I was trying to develop what everyone called “my gift.”

  It’s not a gift, I’d told him. It was a fucking curse.

  Your curse, so you might as well learn to control it, he’d responded, with a quirk of one elegant brow.

  If I could learn how to focus my energies, he promised me I could be preternaturally effective in battle. The same abilities haunting me since childhood and making my life an absolute hell were supposedly going to help me now. Help everyone. Yeah, I’d believe that when I saw it.

  Though I would be lying if I didn’t admit that being able to conquer the powers I had been victim to wasn’t appealing. I had been suffering under its weight for so long. Was it possible to gain control over it, learn to harness it?

  Maybe, just maybe, I could get it to work to my advantage.

  Save the world.

  Worlds.

  Whatever.

  I couldn’t think about it too much, or my head would spin right off my shoulders.

  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Tight. Tighter. I shut everything out so I could really see. I’d never actually invited the visions before, and the thought terrified me, but I had no choice. I couldn’t stand by and watch any more bloodshed, not if I had the power to prevent it.

  My hands tightened around the hilt of the broadsword. It was from Kieron’s armory—of course he had an armory—dulled to avoid doing any real damage. It didn’t really suit me, but he said it wasn’t time for me to have my own made. Not yet. I had to train first, develop some skill.

  It was exactly like when your parents tell you they’re not buying you a trumpet until you prove you’re really committed to band.

  Without my sight, I was forced to rely on my other senses. As much as I tried to shut them out, to harness my inner eye or whatever it was, I couldn’t ignore them. I drew in a deep breath, and I smelled the polished mahogany of the floor. Something as simple as that could seduce me back to the land of the living. I needed to shut it all out.

  Suddenly, there was a sharp sound of metal traveling through the air, and I whirled around in time to catch a blow to the ribs.

  “Ooof.” Even with the armored vest I wore, it almost knocked me to the ground. I stumbled backward, staring balefully at Marcus. But he wasn’t giving me any leeway. He raised his sword again, and I had to quickly dodge, dragging my own weapon like an anvil.

  This was useless. Worse than useless. I was going to dislocate my shoulder and destroy two worlds in the process.

  Reagan’s voice echoed from one of the hallways. “Marcus, let her catch her breath.”

  Marcus arched a brow at her, but he slowed his attack.

  She turned her attention to me. “Abby, you can do this. Just take a deep breath. Focus on what you see when your eyes are closed.”

  “But I can’t—” My words fell away.

  There was a sudden electric pulse in my spine, signaling Kieron. Great. Just what I needed. No amount of deep breathing or meditation could nullify the effect Kieron had on my mind and body. The more I tried to concentrate on my surroundings, the more Kieron’s presence grew in my consciousness, like a lighthouse on a dark ocean. I was inexorably drawn to him, and nothing else mattered.

  This time, I didn’t even hear my attacker coming. I was knocked off balance, sending me reeling. I was so focused on not falling over that I didn’t really watch where I was going and eventually crashed into one of the decorative suits of armor against the wall.

  Reagan appeared moments later, trying to stifle a laugh. She offered me a hand up, which I took begrudgingly. “I think it’s time to take a break, yeah?”

  “No.” Kieron appeared behind her, arms folded across his chest. “She has to learn to work through the distractions.”

  “Maybe it’s a little much for her with you lurking behind the corner.” Reagan mimicked his posture, arms crossed, standing her ground. “Why don’t you go off to your little fortress of solitude and leave us to work in peace?”

  Kieron snorted. “If you think they’re not going to use every bit of psychic energy they have available to try and destroy her, by all means. Do things your way. But the distraction of my presence is nothing compared to what she’s going to face against the Black Walker.”

  “You don’t teach a baby to swim by throwing them in the ocean and saying, ‘Good luck,’” Reagan insisted, her voice growing tense and harsh.

  “I’m not a baby!” I interrupted, finally. “And I’m standing right here.”

  “I’m sorry, Abby.” Reagan’s shoulders sagged, but she still barely acknowledged me before turning back to Kieron. “Look at her, she’s exhausted.”

  “I’m fine,” I insisted. “Let’s go again. I’m ready this time.”

  “You’re not . . .” The words died in Reagan’s throat with one sharp look from Kieron.

  “You’re ready, Ms. Davenport?” Kieron extended his hand and a sword appeared before I processed what had happened. “Your psychic powers need work, but you’re not going to get anywhere until you’ve mastered the fundamentals of melee. Come.”

  I heaved my borrowed sword up from the ground and followed him into the center of the room. The others lingered by the sidelines, staring at us.

  “This is a closed practice,” Kieron said. “Don’t you all have somewhere else to be?”

  Quietly, they filtered into other rooms. Reagan stayed the longest, but eventually she went upstairs, glancing over her shoulder before disappearing.

  “Mind and body, body and mind. They are one and the same.” Kieron’s eyes locked with mine, and I felt myself spin, even though my feet were rooted to the stone floor. “You need to learn how to stand your ground even when you can barely stand. You need to learn to listen to everything, even when the noises in your head are deafening. And you will need to be prepared to kill or be killed, while you’re doing it. This is no time for holding back or taking things slowly. The wolves are at the gate. Do you want to be ready for them?”

  Speechless, I nodded. I did understand. It was exactly how I felt when I was standing in that alleyway with the goblins staring me down. Something had awakened in me, the natural instincts of fight or flight kicked in. I had been prepared to fight to the death.

  “Good.”

  Kieron’s stormy eyes glittered with something I couldn’t identify. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to.

  “We’ll begin with the basics. Parry. Thrust. Block.” He punctuated each word with the corresponding movement, giving me only half a moment to get out of the way.

  “Isn’t that a real sword?” I asked, as the blade just barely missed my ear.

  One c
orner of his mouth quirked upward, just slightly. “I’m not going to hurt you, Ms. Davenport.”

  Right. Very comforting.

  Here we go. This was a great way for me to see if I actually trusted him or not. So far, the way my limbs trembled, I didn’t. Not entirely.

  He came at me with zero restraint, the speed of his attack flustering me and making me forget everything I’d learned. He moved too fast too quick. He either wanted me to fail or wanted me to beg for him to stop.

  He struck my arms, my legs, my sides. Any inch of me he could reach, he gave a sharp wrap with the flat of his blade. It happened so quickly, I couldn’t keep up.

  I didn’t have any hope of fighting back. I couldn’t move quickly enough, let alone swing the heavy blade I had borrowed with any sort of precision.

  I was losing hope, and quickly.

  “Do something, Ms. Davenport.” He sounded irritated and bored but didn’t stop his assault.

  “I am.” I dipped, dodging his most recent strike and spun around smiling. “Was that something enough for you?” I asked through broken breaths. I was hyperventilating, and he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

  He brought his sword up again and feigned a swing to my knees. I jumped but not before he kicked my legs out. I stumbled to the ground and rolled, trying to regain my footing.

  “Never stop doubting your enemies, Ms. Davenport. Not until they are down on their back with a blade through their bellies.” Faster than lightning he appeared behind me, taking his blade to my throat. “Gloating is a waste of time. One success does not a victor make.”

  He released me, but not before he flung the sword from my hands across the room, forcing me to chase after it. I ran as fast as I could, but of course he got there before me. His booted foot held down the edge of my blade.

  “Learn to improvise. If you lose your weapon, it can’t be the end of you.”

  “Fine.” I crawled back and rose to my feet. He wanted me to fight with no weapon, then I’d do just that. He figured I’d beg to have it back, no doubt. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  I circled him this time, just as he’d done to me. His eyes watched my movements with mild humor. I wanted to punch him. That perfect face, the endless eyes, and his kissable lips. I stood back and unclenched my fists. My entire life had been nothing but failures. Failing to lose the visions. Failing to hide them. Failing to save myself. Failing to find the Relic. I was so damn tired of failing.

  Something new swarmed my chest. A new sensation. My fingertips hummed. A steady vibration of currents flowed to my veins through my mind. I flexed my fingers and encouraged the humming. I focused on Kieron. Suddenly I was sorting through memories. Memories that made no sense. I didn’t black out. Didn’t lose control. I saw Kieron long before all of this.

  A woman paced by the fireplace. Her belly was swollen, five to six months along. She was still slender and graceful, like a dancer. She even walked heel-to-toe like a prima ballerina.

  A man appeared in the doorway. He was tall and muscled like a warrior, his face striking and oh-so-familiar. The features were softer, younger, smoother, but there was no mistaking him.

  The woman sensed his presence. “Kieron?”

  He raked his hands through his hair, and the two of them stared in silence, her face hidden in shadow.

  “You should be in bed,” she said.

  “What about you?” He walked into the room and tugged her into a gentle embrace. He rested his hand on her belly.

  “It’s not a simple task to lie comfortably in this state, you know. There’s no amount of pillows that can ease the burden of a child kicking me in the lungs.”

  “All the same,” he said, softly, urgently. “You need to sleep. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve gone to bed and woken up alone. There are potions—"

  “Not worth the risk.”

  “They are perfectly safe,” he replied. “Love, you can’t keep going on like this. It’s not good for you, and it’s even worse for—”

  Her head jerked up and the light caught her face.

  Her features, too, had changed. Even more than his. But there was no denying the alabaster skin, the graceful brow, and the cascades of pale blond hair.

  Yasinda.

  “The baby? Were you about to tell me what I should do for my child?”

  “Our child.” Kieron corrected her. “Yasinda, please.”

  “Yasinda, please,” she echoed. “You don’t understand, Kieron. You can’t possibly understand. You didn’t see what I saw.”

  “It doesn’t have to be written in stone. You know that.” Though he was clearly upset, Kieron’s eyes remained their stormy gray . . . no blackness periodically consumed them.

  The vision faded, and I reeled. I stumbled backward dropping the broadsword to the ground with a massive clatter. I struggled to catch my breath. I clutched at my chest, my fingers trembling.

  A baby. Their baby. They had a child together. Kieron and the Black Walker. They weren’t just a fling, not like his dalliance with Stassi that clearly meant very little to him.

  All of the distance in his eyes whenever he mentioned her. All of the pain that tightened his face, paled his skin. All of these things had deeper meaning.

  How had I not seen this? How had I completely missed this important fact?

  How was it that no one had thought it was important to share this with me?

  Everything about their relationship that had made me so worried had been grounded in reality. All this time I had been telling myself that nothing was the matter. I was just some crazy, jealous woman.

  But I did have something to be nervous about.

  How could I ever measure up to a woman that he had a child with? What did that mean for me? For us? If there ever had been a chance for things to work out with us, I think they just disappeared.

  He stared at me like I was staring at him.

  Fuck. I couldn’t process this. My stomach roiled, and my vision swam with black spots.

  I raised my head. Kieron’s eyes glinted obsidian. Did he know what I’d seen? Was it even real?

  For a breathless moment, I thought he might actually lift his sword and bring it down on my neck. I felt the panic, the clutching in my chest. Killing me would be suicide. Our connected souls, the elhun, forbid it from ever being a possibility—at least until Kieron found a workaround.

  But then the blackness faded. “Get up,” he said. His voice was rough, as if he held back tears. “We have a lot of work to do.”

  Chapter Eight

  I’ll be useless today.

  Out of the four hours of sleep I’d achieved, every second of every minute was filled with shadowy dreams that spurred more questions than answers. The Black Walker, the enemy of all of our worlds, was at one point pregnant with Kieron’s child.

  Stop the fucking presses.

  Did everyone know that little detail except me? I would strangle Reagan if she kept something like this a secret. Something this important. The other side of my mind chimed in, maybe no one knows? There goes that wishful thinking again. But I didn’t blame myself. Of course, I didn’t want to believe it. No one who’s emotionally entangled with another does, but denial never saved any woman from the facts.

  It oddly humanized the Black Walker, Yasinda.

  The truth wasn’t even the hardest part for me to accept. No, it was the intimacy of seeing him excited to be an expectant father. The care and gentleness in his eyes. He was once a man—an immortal but still a man—who showed emotion, kindness, concern.

  A black shadow consumed him now.

  Why did they separate? Was their child still alive? What happened to bring on the darkness?

  Until Kieron, I’d never met anyone outside of my father, who seemed so outrightly cruel and guarded. I’d always blamed Miles Davenport’s hatred of me on my mother’s abandonment and my visions. But maybe there was more to it. More to him. Everyone had a story, even Kieron.

  Dangerous territory, Abby. The las
t thing I needed was to start understanding him. Sympathizing with him.

  I couldn’t name a single person who would defend my father without being paid to. Yet every single one of the Triae, including Reagan, did time and time again. Kieron wanted people—or at least me—to find him offensive, uninviting, unpredictable. I’d always thought it better to be on the outsides of the walls then inside the den with the lion. Yet here I was, tied to him with an invisible rope, and strangely afraid of cutting myself loose.

  The frenzy in my mind threatened to spill over into the silence of the car. With just the two of us riding in his Range Rover, the large SUV never felt more like a two-seater compact. The delicious scent of him wrapped itself around me. Warm, welcoming, and only inches away. The dark stubble on his jaw beckoned my touch, and I found myself wanting to heal whatever wounds this dark stranger carried. I needed to shake that notion before it became a serious trend.

  “Are you planning on telling me where we’re going?”

  He glanced over to me, a small smile lifting the edge of his lips. “Curiosity finally gotten the best of you, Ms. Davenport?”

  It was the first smile he’d given me today, and my traitorous heart pitter-pattered like a damn fool at the sight of it. I was in trouble. “Fine. Forget it.”

  “Lost our sense of humor, have we?”

  “When you talk like that you sound like Yoda.”

  His brows scrunched together. “Who?”

  “Never mind.” I shook my head. “I’m just tired.”

  Crap. Why did I mention that? Heaven forbid if he asked why I was tired. My foggy over-exhausted mind wasn’t in the condition to stop my mouth from bursting out with all the things I saw in my vision. Maybe that conversation had to happen at some time. But definitely not today.

  “We go to see the master bladesmith.”

  “A master bladesmith?”

  “No, thee master bladesmith. And if you want him to make your sword, I suggest you keep that smart-ass mouth of yours under control.”

  “Did you really just say ‘smart-ass’?” The usual refinement of his perfectly elegant mouth made the times that he used foul or abrasive language awkwardly adorable. “Wait, I’m getting my own blade?”