Realm Book One - To Tell of Darkness
Page 6
“Open the door, lass,” he breathed against my neck and I shivered. And it wasn’t because I was cold. Damn, but the man pushed my buttons in oh so many places.
I flung the ball of light that had formed in my hand against the cell door and the door burst open, falling to the floor in a thud as though it were never attached.
Kieran’s lips found mine in a deep, consuming kiss that stole the remainder of my breath and as he released me, he said, “Now let us go find my people.”
I didn’t have enough air or I’d have made some snarky comment. Once again, he’d left me speechless.
Filled with the black inner emptiness of their non-being
They rise up at the call
From The Fall of Jericho, Henri Volohonsky
Translated from the Russian by Richard Pevear
& Larissa Volokhonsky
Chapter Nine
The dungeon was a series of long corridors and small dark cells, each one a replica of our personal prison. Scattered about in various places in this vast, endless pit, we found some of Kieran’s guards. Werewolves, mostly. There was a Werepanther or two in the mix and some lower Vamps on the command list. The Vamps had been bound with crosses and chained to the walls. Some of the Weres were even cuffed to the floor, shackled with silver chains and cuffs.
One in particular caught my eye. I think it was the lush golden hair glimmering in the darkness, but I wasn’t certain. Yeah, I know, call me a sucker for lush locks. But it was hot. He was chained to the wall like one of the Vamps and he looked familiar, but I couldn’t seem to place him. Kieran entered the cell and immediately rushed to his side to release him from his bonds. Their eyes met for a brief moment in the darkness, neither saying a word.
My body hummed with the knowledge that he was a Wereleopard, but for some reason he was the only one among the group. I felt kind of bad for the burn marks I noticed around his wrists and ankles from the silver chains that bound him.
I thought Kieran’s behavior kind of odd towards him. Like he was a bit more concerned with his well-being than the others. But what the hell did I know?
Don’t get me started on the dungeons themselves. I didn’t even want to begin to know what it was that Kieran and his cronies did in their free time. I was beginning to wonder how he knew where to find all of these people, since they were scattered so haphazardly about the dungeon of doom.
“These are my people, Rihker,” he said as he left the cell, as if reading my thoughts again, and we made our way down yet another endless corridor that led us to a back stairwell. The whole damned place was like a labyrinth of pain.
“Each one is bound to me by a blood oath. Each one has sworn allegiance--body bequeathed and blood bound. I know where all of them are at all times. Day or night. Call it a benefit,” he said absently as he continued on, answering my unspoken questions. “When they have need of me, I am there. I can give them my strength from a distance. Or find them from afar.”
“And this Vampire super radar--I suppose you now have that ability with me?” I asked. I tried to keep my voice calm, but it was a little difficult, considering how annoyed I was still feeling. Quite frankly, I did not want him knowing my every move. I just did not play well with others.
“Aye, lass, to an extent,” he said cryptically as he started up the stairs, his shoes silent in front of me.
I just looked as his back. What the hell did that mean? “To an extent.” Fucking Death Stalkers. They were really beginning to get on my nerves.
The Weres behind me were waiting for me to follow him. Apparently, by their huffs and foot shuffles, they wanted out of here pretty bad. Can’t say that I blamed them. My stay at Club Moor was definitely a memory I could do without. And if we did ever make it out of here, the Silent Court had some serious explaining to do as well.
Stick me in the middle of this shit. Xavier Trollness better not have known this shit was going to happen. He was beginning to have a lot to answer for.
Come to think of it, so did my host. Who the hell was this Jirvel, anyway? And what the hell was the white bitch’s problem? Because whatever it was, I now owed the bitch. Big time.
We made our way up several flights of stairs and passageways unguarded. I was beginning to think either these people were seriously stupid, or they were that sure of themselves. Apparently, they were that sure. We found out just how sure, when Kieran led us to his Vampire’s den.
The room where his people slept the sleep of the true dead was beyond even my scope of believing. It was huge, for one thing, and the number of coffins it held gave even me pause. Not to mention the amount of blood that covered the floor. And the walls. I think it might have freaked out the freakiest of monsters.
It looked like a crimson summer storm had rained inside its walls. The sticky, glistening substance clung to everything.
What had once been giant beautiful resting quarters, done up with white carpet and walls that were papered in white with black Chinese Dragons, was now soaked in scarlet. Even the ceiling was splattered, and ran with dripping rivulets of blood.
The coffins were in rows of two and there must have been at least sixty in the room. Each one was bound in silver chains and hung with religious relics. There was a six-foot pike speared through the center of each of them, and blood congealed in puddles beneath each one.
“Pull out the stakes,” Kieran ordered, his voice gruff and his Irish brogue thick enough to roll between your fingers like a thick Cuban cigar. His face had blanked as smooth as porcelain and his eyes had gone black as an endless pit in hell, and I knew he was furious. I could feel it pulsing through me like a separate entity.
The Weres moved to do as they were bid. As soon as all of the spears were removed, Kieran threw his hands up towards the ceiling, a warm gust of wind rushing through the room as his power and anger washed passed each of us, blowing the hair from our faces. The force was so immense the coffin lids were flung open; some cracking on their hinges with the force of his fury.
I expected sixty Death Stalkers to pop up like good little Vamps-in-a-box. But when only twelve sat up and answered Kieran’s call, he was even more surprised than I was. Then he completely shut down. There wasn’t even the slightest pull of emotion from him. Not even a lingering wave of anger.
I was more worried now with the lack of feeling than I was before when I could feel the depth of his anger pulsing just below my skin. Call it a hunch, but I was certain the white bitch was going to pay for this one.
Walking the rows of coffins, he stretched his arms out to his sides so that as he passed each open coffin, his hand passed above the top of each Vamp’s heart. The Weres helped those who were still alive--well, still undead--up out of their coffins. Those who needed it were given sustenance, an offering from a willing panther or wolf, a small drink to ease their suffering.
As Kieran made his way back towards the door he looked at me, something close to sorrow briefly touched his eyes and then it was gone as he said, “It is too late for the others. Had you offered yourself to me sooner… Perhaps.”
I just looked at him, disbelief a sharp knife in my gut. We were so not going down this road. It was not my fault his people were dead. Truly dead. So don’t be blaming the fucking Pixie, I thought as my irritation swirled inside me.
“I do not blame you, Rihker,” he replied as he brushed his palm across my cheek in a gentle caress, attempting to ease the anger that was rushing inside my brain. I was really beginning to hate this mind-meld thing.
“What is it you wish, my laird?” one of the Weres asked from behind us. It was the one from the cell, and I was finally able to get a good look at him.
He was tall, like Kieran, only his hair was longer, almost to his waist. It was the strangest shade of honey. It reminded me of a golden sunflower, yellow-gold in the afternoon light. He had dark brown eyes. It was a strange combination. You didn’t normally find blondes with brown eyes, unless they dyed their hair. And I was sure he was made long before the inven
tion of hair color.
I think it was the accent--Scandinavian, or something. He was Viking bred through and through. His name was Gar Dragonseek. Kieran called him Dragon. How I knew this, I had no idea. Maybe it was the mind-meld--I didn’t ask, because I didn’t want to know.
“We must seek out Mercy. Once she is free, we will burn this place. Jirvel has done her damage. She has made sure it is now unclean, and unsafe. From here, Mercy will take the others to the Mound.”
“And what of you, my laird? Who will keep you safe?”
Kieran turned and looked at me. The look in his eyes held mystery and promise. Promise of what, I didn’t think I wanted to know.
“I am still to be a guest of our Lady Justice. She will watch over me.” Dragon looked at me skeptically. Fine job I’d been doing so far, eh? But hey, I didn’t invite the white bitch to this party. So they couldn’t blame me for that.
“Come. It grows late. We must leave this place at once,” Kieran said. As we all piled out of the room, he waved his hand across the opening of the doorway and the coffins inside burst into flames.
We had two more winding corridors and another flight of stairs before we found the stairway that led to the great hall. Kieran’s hand on my arm stopped our forward progress.
“What is it?” I asked as I stumbled into him. I hadn’t realized the line was stopping.
“There are several in the hall. At least twenty. And Mercy. She suffers greatly,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. All of the guards that were with us visibly flexed, clearly ready for a fight. These people were the intruders on their turf, and they still harmed one of their own. Apparently the shit was about the hit the fan. Again.
I reached for my blades. Only they weren’t there. “Shit,” I swore. “I don’t have any weapons.”
“You’ve many weapons, Rihker, you just need to call them to your hand,” Kieran said as he stepped through the door. Dragon and the others followed in his wake, leaving me to either stand in the empty stairwell or catch up. I chose to catch up.
The great hall was just as I remembered it: big, dark and medieval. And sure enough, they had Mercy strapped spread-eagle to the round whipping wheel. The wheel was dragged to the center of the hall, putting her on display for their little torture session. The Vamps and Werewolves that had been left behind by Jirvel were having a good time with her, too, by the looks of it.
The wheel was on a tilt, and could be laid flat or held up straight and spun at random like roulette. Currently it was laid flat, and a large, scruffy-looking man was climbing off of her. Zipping himself up.
Blaen sat in one of the high backed chairs drinking a toast, laughing at the antics of his wolves and toying with some odd-shaped silver dagger. He seemed to be having a very good time. “Save some for the rest of us, Tyler. I’d like another taste of the goblin whore,” he quipped. “She’s much more flesh to yield and blood to bare.” The others laughed in agreement.
Mercy was chained to the wheel, bound in silver chains and an array of crosses. From what I could see, she had numerous deep, bloody wounds that continued to seep down her limbs, pooling in crimson puddles that ran over the wheel and onto the floor.
I kept thinking that her Vampire blood should be healing her. But for some reason, she just lay there and bled. All the while, the Weres took turns taking their pleasures.
As Blaen looked up, Kieran entered the hall and his laughter died on his face. “Well, well. Look what has refused to die, my pack,” he said as he stood with a flourish. His cocky attitude and the way he sauntered from the end of the hall, his silver hair sparkling like Christmas tinsel in the light of the wall-sconce flames was enough to make me want to bash his face in.
But apparently Kieran had dibs on that idea, because he flung his hand out and Blaen’s chest burst into a row of perfect bloody gashes. Blaen whipped the dagger he’d been toying with straight at Kieran’s heart.
From there, it was a free-for-all. Wolves broke free from their human forms and shifted; some stopping the change mid-shift, remaining part man and part Werewolf, each one tearing into the other like feeding day at a bulimic zoo. The Vampires weren’t so picky; they were attacking whatever they could get a hold of.
Blaen had about ten more guys than we did. Mostly Weres, all of them itching for a battle. The fur was already flying as I skidded to a stop a few feet from Kieran.
Kieran caught the dagger blade between his palms, then threw it to me. “It is Wielder--The Goblin Dagger of Endless Blood,” he said, never taking his eyes off of Blaen. “Free her. Then give it to her. Once she has it, her wounds will heal.”
“What?” I stammered as I caught the blade by the hilt. He’d chucked it to me so Blaen and his cronies couldn’t get their hands back on it. I’d heard of Goblin relics. They had been used in the old wars. Savage things. That explained why Mercy’s wounds wouldn’t stop bleeding.
How the hell did Blaen get his hands on one?
Kieran and Blaen were in a serious power struggle as the testosterone ignited every battle instinct the two of them had. Blaen had partially shifted and was reaching out to claw Kieran’s face off as one of his underlings tried to gouge his claws down Kieran’s back. Without thinking, I flung a ball of light directly at Blaen.
It took him in the shoulder and spun him around, sending him staggering. But when he stood up, he turned those cold blue eyes on me and I knew I would pay for that. Maybe not now, tonight, but I would definitely pay.
I could hear Kieran in my head telling me to free Mercy as one of his Vamps took out the other Were that was reaching for his back. I ran to the wheel. Mercy was chained with several shackles of pure silver and crosses had been hung around her neck, wrists and ankles. Each one was embedded into her flesh and I could smell them burning, the stench permeating the air.
I knew I’d have to dig each of those crosses out of her, and then somehow get the silver chains off in order to release her. The thought of digging in her flesh made my stomach tight, but I knew I didn’t have a choice.
She looked at me with her dark cocoa eyes, her chest heaving with pain, and I couldn’t help but feel pity for her. These men had raped and brutalized her. No matter what she was, or what she had done, she did not deserve this.
“I’m going to try to get you free, okay?” I told her as I climb up on the wheel. “I have to get the crosses off first. And it’s going to hurt.”
She only nodded her consent. With a deep breath, I wrapped my hand around her left wrist and dug my fingers into it past the first knuckle. The cross had burned its way past the surface of her skin, and new skin was trying to reform over it. It had to come out. Now.
It took a few seconds of digging, cursing and watching Mercy watch me with her large dark eyes before I finally got my fingers around it. Her skin was a deep, sucking, bloody wound and I had my fingers in up to the second knuckle before I could get a grip on it. I tore the cross from her wrist, ripping it off the chain and sending it across the room as far from us as I could, all the while trying to keep the images from burning their way onto my brain as I did so.
We did this three more times, digging each one from her other wrist and bound ankles. I was dripping with sweat and completely sick by the time I’d gotten the last one out. When that was done, it left only the chains.
And I was out of time.
Three of Blaen’s Weres were on me before I could reach for the first chain. One jumped on the table, half man, half wolf, and swung out at me. His reach was enormous, his hand a mass of claws and fur.
I scrambled backwards, just missing the tear across my belly. He snagged a claw in my shirt and the fabric tore in one long rip. I looked down at my formerly green, bloodstained tank and back at the wolf. “You fuck!” I swore.
I think I’d have been fine if he’d have punched me or clawed me. But when the bad guys start ruining my wardrobe--that’s just wrong. Not to mention that it really pisses me off. I mean, blood washes out. Usually. But a fucking tear!
The tip of the blade cut right through the flesh, deep into the meat. It went in between the bones and when it got to his wrist, there was a lovely little popping sound as it cut through that, too. Then the blade was free and the wolf started to scream in agony as his blood spewed all over the three of us. Apparently the blade worked real well on Weres. Fucker! That’ll teach him.
While he was bellering in misery, I quickly crouched down and slammed the hilt against the chain that bound Mercy at the wrist, freeing her right arm. Once she had a hand free, I gave her Wielder and her wounds instantly stopped bleeding. In fact, they seemed to start closing before my eyes.
She sat up on her own and freed herself of her remaining bonds. And a good thing, too, because Whiney Wolf’s fellows decided to join him in the attack. One of them was even smart enough to catch me from behind.
His claws dug down my back, and my knees buckled. A scream erupted from me--couldn’t be helped, really. It felt like he’d gouged his claws into my spine and kept on going. I could literally feel the blood pooling into the wounds as I tried to catch my breath.
Next thing I knew, Mercy yelled, “Duck!” and was diving over me, claws extended, body mottled into goblin mode and she was tearing the shit out of Wolf-man. Serves the bastard right. I hope she tore his heart out and ate it.
The third of the trio spotted me on my knees and apparently thought I was fair game. An easy target, maybe. Frankly, I was dirty, tired and already sore as hell, and I really wanted the fuck out of this hole Kieran called home.
I could feel my body getting lighter as I knelt there trying to breathe. I kept wishing this battle was over, the ache in my back reminding me that this needed to end. I took a deep breath and could almost taste the crispness of a moon-filled glen filling me; pushing away the Darkness and the pain. The image of the moon glowing full and bright outside, and me in an open field beneath it filled my mind as the pain made me feel like I was floating.