She was forced to watch in shock and disgust as Sarah raised the knife with a trembling hand.
“No, no, no! Please no!” Sarah bawled uncontrollably.
“Scott no!” Arianna screamed again.
Scott simply smirked as he dragged his hand up his wrist to his elbow. Sarah did the same, causing a red ravine to appear in its wake as she slit her own forearm from her wrist to her elbow.
Arianna’s legs buckled and she fell to her knees clutching her belly as the urge to retch overcame her. She gagged and heaved as her stomach clenched violently, but nothing came up. Her mind swam. The atrocities Scott and the others had committed were unconscionable.
“See, when the cops come, all they’ll find is good old Sarah’s DNA, and they’ll just think she went haywire and killed these three herself,” Scott said offhandedly.
“Yeah, no harm done,” Jess shrugged, then to just Scott she added, “What a drama queen, falling to the ground and what not.”
“We were just having some fun,” Chris chimed in.
“Come on, Arianna, get up, enough with the whole I’m-so-shocked act. You’re with us, one of us. There’s no need for it,” Scott tried to persuade her. But she ignored him, refused to even look up at him.
“Let her go, George,” Scott ordered. “She’s not a threat now.”
As soon as she felt the oppressive weight of George’s power lift, she brought her legs beneath her and stood. Though he no longer held her powers, her fingertips did not tingle and she did not feel a raging inferno burning beneath her skin. All she felt was the need to flee, to get as far away from Scott and the rest of them as fast as possible.
“We’re going to get out of here, Arianna,” Scott said. “Let’s go, come on.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m not one of you. I’m nothing like you!” Arianna said, her voice unsteady.
She had no intention of being near them, much less riding in a car with them for forty-five minutes. Instead, she turned from them, faster than she dreamed possible, and began to run. With her head down, she watched her feet take turns hitting the ground. She knew she should have felt her shoes slapping against the leaf-littered earth, but felt nothing.
In the distance, Scott called to her several times before giving up. “Let her cool off,” she heard him finally say. “We’ll see her tomorrow.”
She tried to tune out the sound of his voice, sickened by it, and concentrated on the beat of her heart, felt its energy swell and flare through her veins. The rhythm her heart produced did not lull her, though. It was not strong enough to keep the nightmare she’d just witnessed from playing out again in her mind’s eye.
Fury and fright surged inside her. They propelled her forward, faster. Tears streamed from her eyes. She balled her fists tightly as she pumped her arms in sync with her legs. So tight was her grip that her fingernails bit into the tender skin of her palms. But she did not care. Her pain did not matter. People had been killed; innocent kids whose only crime had been allowing the likes of Scott and the others to crash their party. And Scott believed her to be one of them. He was wrong. She was nothing like him, or any of them. She needed to get the hell away from them, all of them.
They were witches and warlocks, a fact that offered no comfort whatsoever, especially after seeing what they did for fun. She did not know what to do. She was the Sola, the most powerful witch on Earth, yet she did not know what to do about a murderous group of her kind. She realized she needed help. She needed Desmond.
Her legs slowed, deep in the woods, far from the sight and smell of burning leaves and headlights. She reached out with her senses and could not even hear the sound of cars passing.
Once she felt confident that she had not been followed, she called out to Desmond.
“Desmond,” she said softly and waited. She waited for the air before her to ripple like a glare coming off of a scalding hot road in the summer sun just as it did the last time he had appeared before her. But nothing happened. He did not appear.
“Desmond!” she shouted again.
A clenching sensation began to settle in her chest and her throat constricted around the lump that had formed there.
“Desmond!” she tried again, but her voice was little more than a strangled whisper. “Desmond, please. I need you,” she begged then began to cry softly.
She sank to her knees once again and clutched her midsection, waiting for him to appear as he had in the past. But he did not.
Arianna realized she was completely alone.
Chapter 11
Blue-black cold nipped at Desmond’s feet despite the heat of his shield and the sun overhead. Though he was aware of it, the searing cold creeping up his legs bothered him far less than it should have. He’d walked for nearly a mile, coping with it, his thoughts clearer than they had been in some time. He no longer felt as though his mind swam in dizzying laps. He no longer felt lost. By turning his back on his father and leaving, he had effectively split from rules and rulers. His life was finally his own. He was free.
He knew that freedom was not without consequence, that it would come at a price. But whatever the price, he took comfort in knowing that included in his freedom was Arianna, the chance to be with her as he wished to be with her; if she’d have him. He suspected she’d need a lot of convincing, but he did not mind. Proving his love for her would be the easiest task he’d ever undertaken, and the most enjoyable one.
He could hardly wait to get to her, but knew he had many miles to travel before his eyes rested on her beautiful face. So he decided to rely on his mind’s eye for the time being.
He concentrated on her features, on the feel of her skin briefly before she appeared, and his memory transported him back in time to the first instance he had sifted with her. He’d taken her to a field filled with flowers. The air had been pleasantly warm and a gentle breeze had blown.
He remembered her face, the awe etched in her features, as she’d stared at the vibrantly colored blooms. They’d begun to sway as one in the breeze that had brushed through the meadow and her dark eyes had danced with curiosity. She had been attacked in an alleyway behind a nightclub, had just harmed the two dangerous men responsible for the attack with her powers, moments before he’d sifted with her. Yet, she’d not numbed herself to the power of nature, to its beauty. He’d always loved her, but until that moment, he’d never realized how deeply that love had run. In that instant, he’d felt as though a pure white light had been glowing inside of her and that a mesmerizing sensation radiated from it, pulling him in, drawing him closer to it, to her.
Her soul was not dark as the prophecy stated. It glowed radiantly despite all she’d been through, all she’d seen, all she’d done. She’d risen above it, above a life that had not been of her choosing. Her life had not been easy. Her struggles had been numerous. But she’d managed to maintain an undeniable brilliance. She’d cared for her mother, championed those weaker than her instinctively. She’d been hardened, but not to the point of detachment, coldness. And that had emerged in the meadow; the innocence she’d retained had become visible. Her eyes had softened to liquid onyx as she’d watched the flowers in wonder and he’d fallen in love more deeply than he’d ever dreamed possible. From that moment on, he was certain he’d found his compass, and knew he’d follow her to the ends of the Earth.
A smile tugged at the corners of Desmond’s mouth as he crunched along the frozen path. He knew that each step he took was a step closer to Arianna. He inhaled sharply, breathing warmth from his shield, and was about to exhale when the air inside him froze. He had not dropped his defense, yet his lungs blistered with cold that seized them. Every cell in his body screamed at once, warning racing through his core, spreading fiercely and singeing everything in its wake like wildfire.
Something was wrong, very wrong.
He could not pinpoint what was happening, just that a force other than his own was at work, a dark, dangerous force. He could feel it, feel the vile fingers of pure ev
il reaching out. Desmond stopped walking and explored with each of his senses, but feared his powers had been taxed too heavily by travel and maintaining his shield. He pushed his waning energy forward, searching, as he scanned the hostile plains before him. Though he saw nothing, not a soul walking the white abyss, he knew he was no longer alone. Evil stalked him; he could feel a slithering inside of him, slick and sinewy like a mighty serpent sliding stealthily before it struck. And with it, dread slunk down the length of his spine.
He spun to look behind him, felt his shield waver, and saw no one. But when he turned to face forward again, shock knocked the wind from him.
Thanatos loomed before him, his hulking form unmistakable.
“Thanatos,” Desmond whispered and the beast advanced a step, the muscles in his thick legs twitching anxiously.
His mind began working overtime, questions launching headlong to the forefront of his brain. Why was Thanatos there with him? Had his father sent the fiend to travel with him, or had his father dispatched his monstrous henchman to bring him back to the compound? He did not know the answers to either. And try as he may to answer them for himself, none of it made sense. Thanatos was used for one thing, and one thing only. He was a killer.
The fact that he was a killer raised a far more frightening question, one that made Desmond’s hand instinctively finger the hilt of his blade. Did his father want him dead because he’d learned of his love for Arianna?
“What are you doing here?” he asked Thanatos, though he knew Thanatos could not speak.
The beast rolled his four hulking shoulders forward and cocked his head from one side to the other, eliciting a sickening snapping sound from his neck. The cracking sound echoed through the tundra and chilled Desmond’s blood.
Thanatos’ actions were meant to intimidate him, and they were working. Desmond slid his dagger from its sheath and readied himself for a battle he would not win if the beast were to grab hold of him.
“Be on your way. I will not return to my father’s home,” Desmond said with far more confidence than he felt. “Go!”
Thanatos’ eyes, barely visible from the shadow created by his protruding forehead, narrowed briefly, murderously. Desmond felt his muscles contract and gather, readying. He knew all too well what the beast was capable of, had seen him tear adversaries, all supernatural beings with impressive powers, limb from limb. He’d also seen him devour warlocks without killing them first. Those images, all etched vividly in his memory, flashed before him and he realized he held his breath. He locked eyes with Thanatos, felt the lethal weight his topaz stare clawing at his skin. Yet, Desmond refused to back down. He refused to look away.
“Go,” he ordered Thanatos again.
Thanatos huffed several times and saliva dripped from lips so purple they looked black before his eyes widened and resumed their normal appearance. The nostrils of his upturned snout flared and shockingly, he broke eye contact. Desmond wondered what the hell was happening, a sentiment that was only compounded when Thanatos turned from him and walked toward an unseen tunnel opening.
As he watched the beast lumber away with shocking coordination despite his impressive size, he felt the wild pounding of his pulse begin to subside. Relief flooded his system and swept some of the indescribable tension he’d felt from it. For a moment, he’d feared the beast would attack him, an attack he was certain he would not have survived without being able to teleport. But Thanatos had not attacked him, and Desmond had made his intent clear. He would not leave. He would go to Arianna and challenge the Tome of Ares. Thanatos returning without him would be proof enough that he was no longer his father’s pawn.
Making a stand against both Thanatos and his father had been draining. His head pounded and when finally he exhaled, he felt a large part of him relax. He strengthened his shield, the need for warmth more urgent as the sudden rush of adrenaline combined with the demand for his senses to be at their sharpest had weakened it.
With his muscles relaxing and his body warming, he was able to return his thoughts to Arianna and how he would explain his father’s role in the prophecy of her existence. He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes for a split second before continuing on his journey. But the thunderous sound of heavy footfalls caused him to open them and snap his head in the direction of the sound.
His eyes widened briefly in shock and horror. But he did not have time to react. Nearly seven feet of monstrous flesh slammed into him and dropped him to the frozen ground below. His shield collapsed completely and every part of his body smarted from the sting of cold and the deadly grip of four massive arms squeezing him so tightly, he felt his eyes begin to bulge. Thanatos had him in his clutches.
Desmond twisted desperately and thrust his arms forward with all his might, and managed to temporarily break the beast’s grip. He immediately unsheathed his blades and sprung to his feet. Thanatos rose, too, and a low rumble sounded from his chest. Desmond did not waste time trying to figure out what the growl meant. He knew he did not have a moment to spare. He began attacking, swinging and lunging, an ancient dagger in each hand, praying to the gods above that he would survive this moment so that he may return to Arianna. He slashed at the beast’s body, causing gashes in his flesh deep enough to ooze a putrid, green liquid. Thanatos howled out, rearing his head and arching his back several times, but did not retreat. He simply kept coming, and seemed to gain strength with every primal howl that escaped him, for in spite of his weeping wounds, he sidestepped Desmond’s bolder attempts with speed and dexterity befitting a small, lithe creature, not one of his gargantuan size.
Desmond struggled with every swing of his weapons. His breathing was labored, the frigid air burning his lungs. His arms began to grow heavy as cold and exhaustion conspired against him. Blasts of icy air washed over his exposed skin, gnawing and scraping at his strength, at his defenses.
Thanatos continually dove and grasped at him, trying to place Desmond within reach of his vice-like grip. Desmond made every effort to keep away. He knew he needed to keep moving, keep himself out of the beast’s reach. Each time the beast grabbed, he swung his daggers and sliced at Thanatos’ thick arms.
But his efforts did little to slow the beast, and his strength was waning. Without his powers, his reserves were low and his ability to protect himself against the mythical beast was weakened. Thanatos pursued him indefatigably, raking at the air with his claws.
His clawed hand thundered against Desmond’s blades, swatting and batting at them so hard, they nearly fell from Desmond’s hands. And each time one of his talons struck, Desmond was pitched backward. He needed to stay on his feet. He needed to stay clear of Thanatos’ hold. But the task was growing more and more difficult with each second that passed. Desmond’s body was wearying fast. His vision began to waver, and his arms felt leaden. Thanatos knew he was tiring and vulnerable.
Desmond staggered, stumbling clumsily as he tried to dodge Thanatos. He was no longer able to feel his feet and his fingertips had grown numb. He swore the beast smirked as he ran his tongue over his pointed teeth just before he charged. He tried to evade colliding with him and faked moving to the left before he dove right. Only his actions were a fraction of a step too slow, and one of the beast’s shoulders slammed against Desmond’s side. The wind was knocked from him and his lungs were bled of air. He crashed to the ice-covered ground, landing with a solid thump. He tried to stand, tried to scramble to his feet, but his legs refused to cooperate. Leaden and heavy, they would not move as quickly as his brain commanded them to. He looked up in time to see Thanatos’ body eclipsing the arctic landscape before descending upon him.
Thanatos affixed his massive limbs around Desmond, grappling him close, with arms that felt like tentacles made of steel, and began squeezing.
He wriggled and squirmed trying to free himself. But the harder he tried, the harder Thanatos gripped him, pinning his hands to his sides. And without his hands, he was unable to invoke his powers.
Blood flow to Desmond’
s hands halted. He felt his blades begin to slip from them and fall.
Darkness teased the edges of his vision as Thanatos crushed his body. Desmond winced as his mind spiraled, plunging headlong, deeper and deeper into a blackened abyss from which there was no escape. Every part of him ached, yet dark, velvety oblivion beckoned him, tempting him with welcoming arms and numbness.
Arianna, like an intangible apparition drifted before him, a brief beacon in the swirling ocean of black. He wanted to reach for her, to touch her one last time before the darkness claimed him.
He struggled, stretching and reaching with every part of him, to feel her silky skin, to make contact, but the tide of darkness was too great, too inviting to resist any longer. The pain was unbearable. The darkness was its end. He felt himself slipping away, embracing it; falling to it.
Fleeting thoughts ebbed then surged with intense clarity, flashing like a strobe light against the gloom. His father, Agnon, rushed to his mind and with it brought realization. And the realization caused a swell of pain more agonizing than the hold the beast had on him. His father had not sent Thanatos to travel with him, and he did not send him to bring Desmond back to his compound. He’d sent the beast to kill his only son.
“You were sent to kill me,” he gasped and choked as he offered a final fight against the black current. “My own father,” Desmond struggled and his eyes fluttered long enough to see closely spaced eyes the shade and severity of topaz glaring out from beyond a prominent forehead. Recognition flashed in their murderous glare, and Desmond felt his life slipping from him.
The beast snarled once and his lips twisted into a cruel smirk. He swept his large, black tongue over his lips and the two teeth that jutted from his jaw. As he did so, Thanatos’ grip on Desmond lessened just long enough for him to lower his open mouth.
Arianna Rose: The Gathering (Part 3) Page 12
