Reign of Ash

by Meg Anne

  “If I had to guess, Kiri. I would say perhaps she has returned to our mother’s land. She was born in the mountains of Vyruul. It’s fairly isolated, almost impossible to find unless you have been there before. She would feel safe there, if she was trying to hide.”

  Excitement prickled beneath her skin. Finally, a direction.

  “You will take us there.” It was not a question.

  Micha nodded, “Yes, you have to believe me, Kiri. I want to help. I want to find her, whatever caused her to do this, it cannot be good. She needs me, I am certain of it.”

  “I cannot promise you any leniency when it comes to her, Micha. Do not ask me to.” The words were fierce.

  He swallowed again, “I know, Kiri. But please, will you at least let me talk to her when we find her? Before you…” he struggled to continue his sentence.

  “Condemn her?” Helena offered ruthlessly.

  Micha blinked and nodded, fully curling into himself as the realization that his sister was a dead woman sank in.

  “I am not without mercy, Micha,” she said taking pity on him, “But she took what’s mine. She pretended to be my friend while plotting against me and leading an army of abominations to our camp. She was the cause of countless, meaningless deaths. Children’s deaths, Micha. She cannot be allowed to go unpunished, no matter the reason for her actions.”

  His green eyes widened with horror at the recounting of his sister’s crimes. It was bad enough that she had taken Von, but he had no idea that her treachery had run so deep. When he spoke again his voice was deep with conviction, “I will help you find her, Helena. And when we do, I will not interfere when you pronounce her sentence. She has earned her punishment; I only ask to speak with her before any sentence is carried out.”

  Helena nodded; it was a small enough request, and not one she felt inclined to deny him.

  Her Circle peeled away from the shadows in which they were hiding. It was Darrin who spoke first, “When do we leave, Kiri?”

  Helena shook her head, “We don’t, at least, not right away. We are not prepared for what we might find when we get there. You,” she turned to Ronan, “will work with him,” she gestured toward Micha who started at the appearance of her men. “Come up with our strategy for when we arrive, as well as various contingency plans. We will not underestimate her again.”

  Ronan nodded and she turned her attention back toward Kragen and Darrin, “You two will work with Effie. We should have a response from her Gran soon. We will go to Bael as planned and meet with the Masters of Prophecy. I am sure there is much they will be able to tell us that could help with our plans for Vyruul.”

  Again the men only nodded. Her eyes found Serena’s smiling face. Helena could feel the approval radiating from her in waves.

  “Now, if you all will excuse me,” Helena stood and let out the low whistle that would summon her Talyrian. She had been itching to get away from the manor for a while now. She could not imagine a better time to go for a ride.

  Starshine was there within moments, as if she had already anticipated her mistress’s need of her. She flapped her majestic gray wings as she landed, the earth trembling slightly as her massive paws met the ground. Helena’s hands were already buried in the velvety white fur at her neck as she leaned in to whisper in the beast’s ear, “Take me away from here, Starshine. I want to chase the stars with you for a while.”

  The Talyrian let out a soft roar of approval, small wisps of smoke flaring from her nostrils as she bent low enough for Helena to mount her.

  Helena eyed her friends with amusement. Her Circle had grown accustomed to the sight of Starshine and were not as terrified of her as they had once been. Starshine was still fiercely possessive of her though, and the Talyrian did not hesitate to stake her claim by shooting jets of flame at whoever dared approach Helena without her permission. Von was really the only person that Starshine seemed to tolerate without question, likely because Helena had declared him as her Mate, a position the Talyrian understood.

  Micha, on the other hand, had never seen a Talyrian and could not stop blinking as he stared at the massive white feline and her leathery gray wings tipped with deadly talons. He looked like he was about to piss himself, and Helena felt a small flicker of pity at all that she had made him endure in such a short period of time.

  With a small wave, she pressed her legs into the Talyrian’s sides and was almost immediately flung into the air. Helena wrapped her arms more tightly around Starshine’s neck as they soared toward the sparkling blue of the sea. Her laughter bubbled up as the feeling of joy that always seemed to accompany flying overtook her. For the second time that day she felt real stirrings of hope.

  I will find you, my love. Wait for me; I am coming. She shot the words down the yawning emptiness of their bond, knowing in her heart that even if he could not hear the words, a part of him would know she had not given up her search.

  Chapter Six

  Gillian stood outside the door, her heart continuing to race within the confines of her chest. It was not that she dreaded what she would find when she entered. At least, not in the sense that she would be surrounded by human filth or have to observe evidence of sadistic torture as one would in most dungeons. In fact, dungeon was a rather misleading term. Von was being kept in a cell that was decorated as lavishly as any of the guest suites on the upper floors. The only distinctions being that he was tied to the bed and there was only one spelled entrance into the room, the door behind which Gillian currently cowered.

  No, bearing witness to the cruelties of being a prisoner was not what held her steps. As it was, she rather enjoyed blood play under the right circumstances. What had her heart fluttering like a captive bird was the possibility that he would be awake, especially if he remembered how she had manipulated both him and his Mate. Conscious and coherent were two words she did not want to have to use when describing her prisoner.

  She knew she was no match for Von’s strength or temper once he woke. Even had she been able to shift into a form that would give her a chance to overpower him, his magic still vastly surpassed her own. And that was assuming she was at her full power... which she was not.

  Every new shape pushed at the limitations of her magic and she wasn’t sure how many more she could add to her repertoire. Humans were by far the biggest drain on her magic. Triply so if it was a specific person she was shifting into. There were just too many minutiae to replicate if she didn’t want to be exposed as an imposter. She had only ever attempted a human shift a handful of times prior to Von’s capture, hating the sense of hangover that the heavy use of magic caused once she shifted back. Here she was weeks later and she was still feeling sluggish after her latest attempt.

  Since she could not rely on her magic to protect her, her only hope was that she would be there when the first vestiges of the drug wore off. That would be the only way she and her mother would have enough time to act. They would have to work quickly in those initial moments before he regained his full abilities if they wished to retain the upper hand.

  Rowena had not seen fit to enlighten Gillian regarding her grand plans for Von, although Gillian anticipated he was to be her finest conquest yet. She did not envy him the title. Being the focus of Rowena’s attention was daunting, to say the least. Gillian would be happy enough if she could just fade into the ether of her mother’s mind never to be thought of again. Unfortunately, she knew the likelihood of that was less than slim. Her mother enjoyed her playthings too much to give one up so easily.

  Helping her mother had seemed simple enough when she was first approached with the plan. Granted, she had been overcome with shock at the time, having just learned that her mother was still alive after weeks of mourning her death. There were no words that could adequately depict the degree of stupefaction she had felt when her mother had first spoken to her through the mirror.

  One night just as she had blown out the last of the candles to go to sleep, she heard an icy voice whispering her name. Gillian had
thought she was imagining things until she saw the figure cloaked in thick fog take shape in her mirror. When Rowena had told her what she needed to do in order to keep herself and her brother alive, she had not hesitated to acquiesce. Frankly, she hadn’t been capable of doing more than nod her head in mute agreement let alone consider the option of refusal.

  It was all theoretical at first. She would befriend the new Damaskiri until her trial had been completed and her Circle finalized. Then she would need to separate the young Queen from her Mate and bring him to her mother in Vyruul. Easy. Gillian knew she was clever enough to outwit any opponent, but those kinds of tricks only worked so long as your prey did not expect you to strike. Once they were alerted to the threat, they would be much harder to trap.

  She had never stopped to consider what would happen after, let alone what it would feel like to have to look her prey in the eye each day as she wove her snare more tightly. Helena had been a definite complication. Under other circumstances, Gillian was certain they would have been friends. There had been moments when she forgot what she was supposed to be doing and simply enjoyed spending time with the new Kiri. One visit from her mother had sorted her out quickly enough. The image of what she intended to do to Micha, and not only do but make Gillian participate in, had her running for a basket to empty her stomach. She could not afford friends, not with her twin’s life on the line. Instead, she had stopped thinking of Helena as a person and started thinking of her as a means to an end.

  It had been much easier after that. Each step of her mother’s plan moved forward flawlessly. Although, witnessing the results of the Shadows’ attacks had been difficult. She had not anticipated the sheer number of deaths she would be responsible for simply by leading the Shadows to Helena. Her stomach clenched in protest as she thought about the rows upon rows of bodies they had discovered in the days leading up to her final betrayal.

  Her mother’s army was vast. She hadn’t even bothered to send her strongest generals to test the strength of the Kiri’s party knowing her victory was already assured without their participation. She had been a cat playing with a mouse: teasing and distracting her with a paw so that she would not see the teeth until they had already snapped closed around her. Gillian could hardly bear to be around the Shadows. Their empty white eyes with the black lines snaking through them and their mindless devotion to their mistress made her shudder with revulsion each time she was near one.

  Gillian blinked, coming back to the present. She could not afford to be distracted. Not now, when time was so crucial. Bracing herself, Gillian took one last breath before laying her hand against the solid oak door. There was a soft hum as the wood beneath her hand grew so cold it burned momentarily as the magic in the wood tested her identity. After ensuring she was allowed to proceed, it silently swung open. The lights in the corridor flickered once in response to the release of air from the cell.

  There was no sound, no hint as to what she would find once she stepped past the spelled boundaries of the threshold. “Mother’s tits, Gillian. You’ve come this far,” she whispered to herself, finally gathering the courage to step forward.

  Even though the room was only dimly lit, having no natural light with which to brighten the golden walls, she could see every detail of him clearly. Her eyes scanned Von’s prone form, starting from the bottom of the bed. He still radiated strength, despite being bound and in a drugged sleep. He was naked, body splayed spread-eagle; each limb tethered to a post by a length of enchanted rope. His wrists and ankles were an angry red where the cords had rubbed his skin raw in his stupor. The thick stubble covering his sharp jaw was a testament to the amount of time he had been unconscious.

  She moved closer to the bed, reaching out a hand to run it along the length of his body. His skin was warm to the touch and he felt like velvet covered steel, soft but unyielding. She trailed her fingers up, lingering to appreciate the way his manhood lay heavy against his thick thigh. It was impressive even though it was as dormant as he was. The only benefit of this particular prisoner, at least in her opinion, was being able to enjoy the feast he made for her eyes.

  She let her nails scrape against the muscles of his stomach and up over the tattoo that covered most of his chest and shoulder until it came to rest by his neck. His eyes were moving furiously beneath waxy purple lids. Still lost to the dreams then, she concluded with relief. There was no chance he would wake while still under the hold of the Bella Morte.

  Emboldened by the discovery, she leaned forward, allowing her breasts to graze against his chest and rubbing herself against his silky heat. “It seems as though our play time is not over just yet, lover. Are you ready to have some fun?” she rasped before biting down on the cords of muscle between his neck and shoulder.

  Gillian looked up beneath thick lashes to check his face. There was no change and his body remained slack beneath her, not flinching or responding to her attack. Satisfied, she licked up the side of his neck, the musky taste of his sweat arousing her.

  She eyed his thick cock and licked her lips, “I wish I could take you for a ride, handsome, but it’s no fun when you can’t play.” With a languid sigh she lifted her head once more, pausing to brush her lips against his. As she pulled back, she bit down and pulled his bottom lip out until she drew blood.

  The sight of the deep ruby liquid rolling down his jaw caused her heart to pick up speed. Gillian lapped it quickly, enjoying the coarse feel of his stubble against her tongue.

  “Do you think there is power hidden in the blood?” she whispered against his mouth, her eyes closed as she savored the metallic taste of him. “My mother believes that our power is entwined with our very essence, but I have read that our blood contains some of that power as well. Shall we test that theory?”

  Gillian lifted up and tilted her head to the side as she studied him. “Perhaps not,” she sighed. She couldn’t chance her mother finding out.

  She stepped back, but not before licking at his mouth a final time. It was time to begin her vigil. She moved away from the bed and sat down in a thickly padded chair. She wasn’t sure what she was watching for exactly. She had never witnessed one so far gone to the Bella Morte, but she was certain she would be able to discern whether he was waking or fading if any change did occur. Letting out another sigh, she settled back into the chair and braced herself for the wait.

  Von was surrounded by mist. Voices taunted him from its depths. One voice, in particular, caused him to bare his teeth in feral rage. It whispered to him of blood and power; it grated against his senses with an overwhelming sense of wrongness. This was not a voice he wanted in his mind.

  There was another voice, however, a gentle one that would call to him from across a great distance. Sometimes he thought he could hear its owner sobbing softly, and he would be overcome with the need to find and protect it. No matter how hard he searched, he could not find the source of the voice. The harder he tried to hold onto it, the quicker it would fade.

  The gentle voice would generally come to him after a particularly bad memory. It would find him in the moments just after the vision would fade when he would be gasping for breath, his body coated in sweat as though he had been finishing one of Ronan’s workouts. Its sweetness would help calm him down, providing a balm for his ravaged soul and giving him something to focus on other than the pain radiating within him.

  The memories were no longer always factual depictions of events in his past. They were twisting, becoming more brutal with each experience. No matter what he had actually done in those moments, within the mist he was his worst self. A man ridden by guilt and anger, no longer capable of mercy or kindness. The worst of the visions were when he was merely a helpless observer. In those, he was able to do nothing but watch the most horrific events unfold one after the other without end. Here in the mist, he had no true sense of time, but each vision felt like it took less time to come than its predecessor. Each one left him more disoriented and battered than the last. At least until the voice that was
more than a voice came, wrapping itself around the fragmented pieces of his mind and pulling him back together, back to his true self.

  Von knelt there, hands trembling and heart furiously beating. He was not certain how much longer he could withstand these attacks. If he had some way to fight back, an enemy that he could pursue, he might stand a chance. But how can you fight that which you cannot see? These were assaults on his mind and there was little he could do against them. He feared for the time when the voice would no longer reach him, when it would not be there to piece him back together. That’s when he would be lost entirely, his sense of self shattering under the strain and leaving him completely broken.

  As if summoned, the mist began to swirl and pulse with light.

  “No,” Von moaned, attempting to brace himself for what it would reveal.

  As the mist began to roll back, he saw an aqua-eyed woman staring at him in horror.

  “Helena,” he gasped with a pain so fierce he felt tears stinging his eyes as it burned through him. Nothing had prepared him for this. Despite all of its cruel tricks, this was the first time the mist had allowed him to see anything of his Mate. He stretched his hand toward her.

  All of his longing for her was quickly replaced with fear as an arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her back. Those beautiful eyes rounding as a scarred hand held a knife to that delicate throat.

  “Helena,” he roared, fear turning to wrath within him. Von tried to go to her, but his body was held fast with invisible ropes. He could not move. His struggles grew increasingly frantic as the knife pressed deeper into her luminous skin. He saw drops of red begin to bead and let out a roar of grief so filled with his fury the hand holding the knife slipped. The blade swept up piercing his Mate’s lip.