by Aline Hunter
Desires of the Otherworld 2:
Darkest Hunger
Aline Hunter
www.loose-id.com
Desires of the Otherworld 2: Darkest Hunger
Copyright © September 2011 by Aline Hunter
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eISBN 978-1-61118-555-3
Editor: Serena Stokes
Cover Artist: Tuesday Dube
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Forward
The Desires of the Otherworld series takes place in the mortal and Otherworld realms. In Darkest Hunger, the mortal realm is visited briefly on Samhain, the only night the portals open between the realms. However, in the first installment, Eternity and a Day, the portals are permanently opened. In an effort to clarify, a few definitions are listed below.
The Otherworld: The first realm created by the gods where immortal beings exist. Although technology is more advanced, many immortals don’t rely on it. Large cities exist here, as well as castles and provinces in rural locations. The mortal realm is modeled after the Otherworld.
The Moirae/the Fates: The hands of the gods. Their decisions dictate what souls will be reborn, who will die and when, and determine who will be Fated to each other in the mortal realm and the Otherworld.
Fated/Chosen: Twin souls forced apart when the gods realized their creations didn’t appreciate the gift of their other half. The Fated connection is impossible to resist, as one cannot deny the need for the missing part of their soul.
War of Souls: What mortals refer to as the apocalypse. During this time immortals fight for the souls of the mortals who will be reborn, to maintain the balance between good and evil. Immortals also perish during the War of Souls and may or may not be reborn according to the will of the Fates.
Prologue
The Otherworld
Arcadia Province
Walkyr Castle, 1587
She’s gone cold.
Bridon Walkyr cradled the body of his Fated in his arms, noting the changes in her delicate face that signaled the soul had departed and left the shell behind. Once rosy skin was now ashen, and her pink lips were shaded purple. The most radiant chocolate brown eyes he’d ever seen were hidden behind eyelids with long dark lashes that would never open again.
Death didn’t come easily to his kind, so he was not familiar with the tragedy that was human mortality. Unless he was felled in one of the few ways that could extinguish an immortal, his longevity would continue for an eternity.
An eternity—a time without end.
But the greatest of gifts had become a burden, curse, and leaden weight in his chest that would remain if he continued to exist. Immortals were only gifted with their Fated half by the grace of the Fates one time. The three gatekeepers of all the realms—the Moirae—decided when you’d live, when you’d die, and when you’d meet the other half of your soul.
Now his was gone, passed on to the ever after.
He gazed down at the woman in his embrace, feeling bereft and empty. She would have lived forever had he made the difficult choice and brought her to his kingdom and fully into his world. Instead he had played the lovelorn suitor, unable to deny her anything. Because of his failing, she was dead.
I never should have given her time. I should have forced her to return to Arcadia, changed her, and given her no choice in the matter.
“Bridon.”
Tearing his attention from Aislynn’s peaceful face, Bridon lifted his head and met the concerned gaze of his best friend, Ian Ariston.
“I have procured the best oracle in the kingdom. She is just outside.”
The moment of truth had finally arrived.
When his chosen drew her last breath, Bridon made the decision to follow her into the ever after. But Ian—telepathically following his train of thought—insisted the soul of mortals could be reborn and demanded Bridon return to Walkyr Castle to consult an oracle. After they fought for her body, took her from her father’s people, and brought her to Bridon’s home, Bridon had reluctantly complied. As the seers of the future were doomed with one trait many of them despised more than their visions—the inability to lie—he would know the truth soon enough.
“Bring her.”
Ian exited the room, and Bridon rose from the chair nestled in front of the fireplace with his Chosen in his arms. He paused in front of the bed before carefully placing Aislynn in the center. Her long blonde hair billowed around her shoulders and the pillows, shrouding her in flaxen waves. His eyes strayed to the large red stain over her heart, and his chest wrenched painfully, an agony he never believed possible consuming him.
An old hag stumbled through the door with Ian on her heels, using her thick oak cane to bear the weight of her lame leg. Bridon moved away from Aislynn when the elderly woman bumbled past, bent over the bed, and gazed down at his beloved.
“So young,” she muttered. Digging inside her tunic, she found what she sought, and produced a small pair of scissors. She snipped a strand of Aislynn’s hair before Bridon could protest, lifted the hair and studied it, and nodded.
After she limped to the side table, she threw her cane onto the wooden surface. She dropped the hair into an empty chalice and spit into it. Grasping a dagger from her cloak, she looked at her aged hands, sliced the tip of her finger, and deposited several drops of her blood into the cup. Then she snatched the gourd at her waist, pulled the cork from the end, and poured wine into the goblet.
“Your Fated is young, King Bridon. Let’s hope the gods see fit to give her another chance at the life that was stolen from her.”
Bridon narrowed his eyes at the old woman. “I have been warned not to put stock in your ability, oracle. Reincarnation is a myth.”
“What would vampires know of mortals and the will of the gods? You will live forever; we will not. I daresay you should respect those who will eventually look death in the eye and meet our maker.”
“You choose to remain mortal, witch. All humans brought to this hold are given the choice to be as we are if they so desire and adequate time and loyalty is proven.”
The hag snorted, lifting her wrinkled face, and shook her head. “Some of us accept the d
estiny that we were given. You can change fate, but it doesn’t mean you should.” She interrupted him when he began to rebuke her, raising a fragile hand into the air. “No more. We will see what your future holds. Mine was decided long ago.”
She staggered to the fireplace, threw the chalice inside the flames, and studied the hungry wisps of red that spewed forth and lashed out. Then she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, seeming to draw the smoke from the brew into her lungs. Her wrinkled lips curved, her eyelids fluttered, and she nodded.
“Ah, yes. I see now.”
“See what, witch? What do you see?”
Opening her eyes, she met his expectant gaze. “Her soul will be returned to this dimension in the exact manner she was given life before. She will be born of the same bloodline, but she will not be the same girl you’ve come to love, nor will she be the Chosen you always envisioned. The circumstances surrounding her death have altered both of your destinies and, as a consequence, the future.”
He didn’t heed any of the words apart from those he wanted to hear most. “She will return? I will have her again? You are certain?”
“Her soul will return.” She nodded. “But I cannot be certain you will have her again.”
He brushed aside her cynicism. Oracles couldn’t lie, so what she said was true. He was being given another chance. “If her soul returns, she will be my Fated. That is the will of the gods. There is only one other for each of us, our twin soul.”
“Twin souls born of enemies,” she mused. “A future may or may not be possible, regardless of what you or the Fates intend.”
“I don’t have time for your riddles.”
He dropped to his knee after he returned to the bed and grasped Aislynn’s chilled hand. He would have her again, and this time he would claim her as he should have done—with or without her consent. He wouldn’t be swayed. No matter the consequence. His other half would have an eternity to accept the will of the Fates.
Ian strode to the center of the room, his bright blue eyes visible through his battle-worn helm. “What do you mean, crone? We are not at war with the nobles, and we are not their enemies. Her father ran from us because of false truths spread about our kind.”
“Just as my kindred ran.” The haggardly woman sighed and returned for her cane. “Your king fancied himself in love with a human—a mortal—and ultimately found his Chosen among my people. Ironic, is it not, that she died because you should have stayed where you belong and left well enough alone.”
Ian’s renowned temper unleashed, and he snatched the helm from his head, allowing his long blond hair to flow over his shoulders. “Listen to me, wretch. The arrow that felled the lady was shot by one of her father’s archers, not by any of ours. Markus McKendry couldn’t bear the idea of his daughter running into the arms of a blood drinker. Instead he would seek sanctuary with those who grow fur and bray at the fucking moon!”
Ian strode to the bed and stopped on the other side. “There is still time for retribution, Bridon. We should hunt them all down and bleed them dry.”
“No.” Bridon smoothed a pale strand of white blonde hair away from his beloved’s brow. “Aislynn’s dying wish was that we lay down our arms. We are not at war with the Lycae her people have aligned with, nor with her family. We will leave them in peace.”
The oracle spoke up, breaking into the conversation. “A war has started whether you approve or not, and you best heed me, for what I say is important. When your Fated returns, you must make her see that the side she fights for will betray her. If you do not, you will lose her forever.”
“You continue to speak in riddles!” Bridon thundered, suffocating in grief. He collected himself before he spoke again, his voice now level. “There will be no war. I will not attack her family, even after she is reborn.”
The old woman’s dark onyx eyes met his, and she shook her head. “Poor besotted vampire,” she said. “Just how little you know.”
Chapter One
The Otherworld
Cyclops Province, Border City
Matilda’s Juke Joint
Samhain—Present Day
“I’m going, Nox.” Willow Miloradovic studied the intimidating but devastatingly gorgeous Draigen before her, unfazed and undaunted by his intense gaze. “Do we have your blessing? Or do we have to go against the will of the Fates this Samhain?” She snatched the glass from the bar and downed the firewater it contained. After she’d slammed it back, she swiped the back of her hand across her mouth.
He didn’t answer immediately, narrowing his canary yellow eyes. To most, Nox Locke was the walking personification of terrifying things you didn’t want to cross in a dark alley at night. But to her, he was just another lost soul.
Nox was one of seven Draigen brothers in league with the Erinyes—warrior goddesses guided by the Fates—who had the ability to shift to the most powerful of all creatures, the magikally impervious dragon. If they couldn’t rip something apart with their bare hands, Draigen morphed into winged serpents to get the job done. And everything they did had the Goddess Grade-A stamp of approval.
Draigen patrolled the realms during Samhain, protecting the innocent. The gods were determined to find the good in man—even if they had to create the mortal world over and over again following what mortals viewed as the apocalypse. They made the realm in the Otherworld’s image, passing along information. Everything mortals knew—from technology to holidays—came from immortal creatures.
She didn’t know the Locke brothers well, having conversed with them only during her travels to Matilda’s Juke Joint. The business fronted as a bar, but the back rooms were used for more than private poker games and hustling. A multitude of not-so-nice treaties, spells, and arrangements were brokered behind closed doors.
She’d asked Nox to meet with her as a favor before the sun set in the mortal realm and the portals opened between the dimensions. Interdimensional travel between the Otherworld and the place mortals referred to as earth was only possible once per tide, and this one in particular was of paramount importance.
Bernie, the cyclops bartender, stopped across from them. Nox nodded, waving his hand to indicate he’d take another round, and said, “You’re in the clear. We have better harpies to declaw this Samhain. As a rule the Erinyes don’t get involved in personal squabbles.” He sat straight and peered over his bulky leather coat. “But I’m going to give you a slice of advice. Let your people take care of this shit. You don’t want to cross tonight. Trust me.”
That’s all I needed to hear, big boy.
“Ain’t happening.” She shook her head, running her palm along the top of her smoothed hair all the way back to the ponytail. “Nothing you can say is going to change my mind.”
His yellow eyes flared and glowed brightly, revealing fine lines inside the irises that resembled dried fragments of desert sand—the dragon beneath his cool facade rising to the surface.
“What if I told you Bridon Walkyr is crossing? I have it on good authority that he hopes to fell two birds with one stone this Samhain. If he retrieves the child before you do, he’s halfway to his goal.”
Bridon Walkyr. She remained expressionless, masking the shiver that ran down her spine and caused her gut to clench. She had been taught to fear the name before she had the ability to shift. The vampire king believed her to be the reincarnation of his Chosen—the human daughter of Markus McKendry who had died five centuries before. Willow’s father, the Lycae King of Norvallen, swore he would never allow their paths to cross. He kept Willow tucked securely inside the walls of their keep, sheltered and always aware of the consequences of stepping away from the sanctity of her home.
That all changed when her brother Micah—heir of the Norvallen throne—met and fell in love with his Chosen, Savannah, a vampire princess and Bridon Walkyr’s sister.
She knew little of the circumstances surrounding their deaths, aside from the stories of the rogue blood drinkers responsible for locating the star-crossed duo in the mortal rea
lm to end what they deemed an unholy union. All that remained of the doomed relationship was a child, their son—a hybrid. The one being her father insisted had the power to bring peace to the races.
The heir and future king to the Lycae throne.
Bernie returned with her drink, the large dark eye in the center of his forehead flickering spastically. She produced a thin-lipped smile, accepted the newly filled glass, and rotated it between her hands. “We’re counting on that actually. It’s why I’ve been chosen to lead the group crossing tonight. I’m the one person the filthy bloodsucker won’t harm.”
“That’s true enough,” Nox conceded. “But don’t think he won’t force you to return with him if he snares you.”
She glowered at the Draigen next to her, insulted by his lack of confidence. “I’m not a rabbit running blind into a trap. We have a damned good idea of what the bastard is planning, and we’ve strategized accordingly. He’s not the only one with access to oracles.”
“And if something goes wrong?”
“I’ll play the happily stoked nympho in distress. When he drops his guard, I’ll kill him.”
Nox lowered his face but she caught his snide grin just the same. “Could you? Kill him, I mean.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Of course I’ll kill him. He’s a blood drinker and the enemy.”
Nox studied her with a peculiar expression she couldn’t read. “Even if he’s your Fated?”
“Especially if he’s my Fated,” she grumbled and quickly downed her drink. Plopping the glass onto the counter, she cleared her throat. “I won’t make the same mistake my brother did. Your people come before you. My father taught me that. Blood is always thicker than water. Your heart won’t be there to catch you if you fall, but your family will.”
Nox chuckled. As he leaned forward, a strand of honey blond fell over his eye. “It doesn’t work like that, furball. I have two Fated brothers, and I’ve seen how it changes you. They can’t take a shit unless they know their Chosens are nestled safe and sound in the next room.”
