"What did you do?"
"Do? I walked to him. I heard him most clearly in my dreams, but even awake, I could feel him, sense his lair far to the north. I walked out of the jungle, walked for thousands of kilometers. It took me months, and when I finally came to Mount Laguna and found my way through a vast crevice in the mountain’s side, I found the Black Pool and my new master, the feathered serpent Quetzalcoatl.
"I stayed with him, stayed at the edge of his pool for what seemed weeks. Maybe it was. He told me of his battle against the Twin Deaths, his need to protect the world from Itzpapalotl and Tezcatlipoca. He told me of their servants the Tzitzime, described their atrocities, their blood sacrifices. When the feathered serpent offered me a chance to serve him, I took it. He bound me to him, just as he did with you. In his service, I regained my humanity."
"And the waters...?"
"Healed me from everything, including aging. Just as the waters healed you when Rayan drove her sword through your chest. We're the only two people on the planet so gifted."
They sat there in silence for a time, Angie's thoughts racing. It was different talking to him. She felt as though she could trust him, tell him everything ... so she did. "You're not the only one with a darkness within you. I have my own beast."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm a source mage. Do you know what that is?"
He shook his head.
"Neither did I until a few weeks ago. We’re so rare, it’s been hundreds of years since the last, or so I’ve been told. It’s all new to me. I've always been different, I could kind of tell, but I never really understood just how different. Since the day of the Awakening, I've been able to close my eyes and sense the life forces of others. No other mage could do that but me. Char called it a form of divination magic, and I used it when I was in the Home Guard to help find enemies during operations. I never served as a combat mage because I was always too weak with spells."
"You're not weak. I've seen what you can do. I’ve never seen anyone that strong."
She sighed. "No. I'm not weak. I just didn't understand what I was, what I was capable of. And there’s the problem."
"I'm not following you."
"All other mages draw their mana from the air, from the mana exuded by all living creatures, a form of life energy that bleeds into the atmosphere. But I can only draw trace amounts of that mana, hardly any at all. For years, everyone—myself included—thought I was barely a mage. But we were all wrong. I wasn't drawing the mana correctly." She bit her lip, staring out at the waves.
"Correctly?"
"I can draw mana directly from living creatures, from the source. It's much more potent that way, infinitely more powerful."
"How?"
She sighed. "I'm not sure. It's not me doing it."
He stared at her, a half smile on his handsome features, as if she were making a joke. "What do you mean it's not you?"
"You understand what a shade is, yes?"
"Of course. A supernatural entity that shares a mage's body, feeding off the mage's mana and protecting them."
"My shade is different."
"Different how?"
"Like significantly more powerful than other shades, like the difference between a kitten and a lion. It even calls itself the Shade King."
Now his eyes narrowed, and his smile faltered. "Calls itself?"
"It talks. At least it can talk or communicate telepathically. I'm not sure what the difference is, but when it wants to, it can communicate with me." She shrugged. "It doesn't always want to. Nor does it always make sense when it does."
"And this ... Shade King, it shares your body?"
"Just like a normal shade." She laughed, a near hysterical chuckle. "As if there's anything normal about supernatural possession."
He reached out and placed his hand atop hers. An undercurrent of electrical energy coursed through her, and she wanted him to touch her everywhere. She forced her mind out of the gutter.
"I never understood what it was," she continued. "It bonded with me by accident, or on purpose—I’m not really sure which—but it happened when I was thirteen. It's been a part of me ever since, but it never really ... spoke or manifested its ability until about a year ago, following a ... an incident."
"The helicopter crash? The one where you earned that nickname, the Angel of Death?"
"Yes—I hate that fucking nickname—but yes. The Shade King isn't just more powerful than other shades, and not just because it can communicate with me. It uses me, takes the life force of others through skin contact, killing them and filling me with mana, mana that it can use."
He snatched his hand from hers. "Skin contact?"
She made a face. "Relax. Not all skin contact. God only knows I've had few lovers, but I haven't killed them. The Shade King only acts when my life is in danger, sort of a natural survival reaction. If I die, maybe it dies with me. I don't know, but when my life is in danger, and I touch others—enemies, only ever enemies—the Shade King takes their life force, gives it to me. Sometimes it can cast magic through me, spells I shouldn't know, spells no one should know."
"That's ... impressive."
"It's awful. I've burned men and women alive."
"I'm sorry. So where is this Shade King now?"
"Here." She touched her chest. "And here." She touched her forehead. "Everywhere. Sleeping maybe. Listening. I don't know. It's been with me for so long, I just don't think about it anymore. I'd probably go crazy if I did. I asked Char to exorcise it after the crash—I wasn't handling it all very well—and she told me she had, but she lied. She couldn’t exorcise it, and she didn’t want me to kill myself. I think … I think it'll always be a part of me."
"Can you feel it now, inside you?"
"I can't ever feel it. It doesn’t work that way, but it's there. It's always there."
"I'm so sorry. I had no idea." He reached out and draped his arm around her neck, pulling her head against his shoulder. She let him, and they stayed like that for some time, watching the waves, lost in thought.
She finally broke the silence. "This ... attraction between us. If it's because of the dragon, is it real?"
He sniffed. "Feels pretty real to me."
"So, does that mean I'm immortal as well?"
"I was never immortal, just very old. But with my master dead ... I don't think the Black Pool holds any more power. Now if we get hurt, we'll have to heal slowly like everyone else. Maybe we'll both grow old now." He laughed when he said it, but there was pain in his voice.
"What are you afraid of?" she asked, reaching out and trailing her fingers over his cheek.
"That with my master dead, I'll lose myself to the beast forever. I don't think I can risk shifting again. I might not come back."
Angie pulled herself free from his arm. His touch was making her too uncomfortable, not because she didn't like it but because she wanted so much more. "Rayan Zar Davi," she said softly to change the subject. "The woman who leads the Tzitzime. You said she was a champion for the Twin Deaths. Is she dragon-marked as well? Is that how she's so old?"
He shook his head. "The bond is a gift from the dragon, but it leaves a part of its magic within you. The Twin Deaths would never share their power with humans. No. Rayan has used blood magic to prolong her life, sacrificial magic. Rayan believes Itzpapalotl will free the dragon-god Memnog and raise her above all other humans, but Memnog and Itzpapalotl have only contempt for humanity."
"In the cavern, when I first heard the dragon roar, I felt the connection between myself and ... Quetzalcoatl, I guess."
"My master used you to find his enemy, Tezcatlipoca. I suspect that was the moment he decided to leave his lair and strike. When we drew the dragon out into the open, he became vulnerable to my master. But in killing Tezcatlipoca, he left himself vulnerable to Itzpapalotl."
"Yet if he hadn't, we'd have all died. You'd have died. He saved us."
"At the cost of his own long life," Tec whispered.
This time Angie wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head in against her chest. He didn't pull back. Instead, he melted into her, burying his face in her neck and wrapping his arms around her. He was weeping, she realized, huge gasping sobs ripping through his powerful frame, and she tightened her grip, all too aware of her own rising need, like a fire burning within her. He felt ... perfect, as if his body was made for her. It was all far too distracting.
"He made his choice," she whispered into his hair. "Honor his sacrifice. Don't throw your life away."
A shudder coursed through him. "We're alone now," he said, his breath hot and wet on her neck. "I weep for a world where Itzpapalotl is the last dragon. There's no hope for any of us, not humanity, not the Fey. No one can fight a dragon."
She drew back and took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. "There's always hope, but you can't stop fighting. You can't give up."
"I ... I can't do it without my master. I'm just a man."
He looked down, his features consumed by misery. "Look at me," she said, still holding his face. When his eyes finally met hers, she felt another shiver of need. Her lips parted, her breathing rushed. "If we live, we fight. If we fight, there's hope."
"I ... I don't know if I—"
"We fight," she insisted.
He nodded. "We fight."
Then, without even realizing what she was doing, she kissed him. She pressed her lips against his and kissed him with more passion than she had ever kissed another man, even Nathan. A shiver coursed through her, and she felt dizzy with need. And he kissed her back, crushing her against his hard body. Her mouth opened, and his breath melted her. Her need was a raging wildfire.
But then he pushed her away so forcefully she almost fell. He jumped off the boulder, backing away from her. "No."
"Wait," she said, reaching for him. "It’s okay. I want it. I want you—"
"Don't," he said in a breathless voice and then turned and stalked away, almost running, leaving her alone on the beach, confused, red-faced, and more frustrated and aroused than she had ever been in her life.
"What's wrong with me?" she asked herself breathlessly, her heart pounding.
The only answer was the crashing of the waves, the mocking cries of the gulls.
Chapter 6
Two large men dragged Rayan Zar Davi naked from her cell, shoving her ahead of them. She stumbled, her legs not working properly. Rayan had no idea how long she had been a prisoner in that cold, dark cell, but she’d walk on her own, her head held high, her pride intact despite the abuse and beatings she had endured, and she’d treat her jailers like an honor guard. I will die with courage, she promised herself. I will not beg for mercy, not after denying it to so many others. Yet despite her promises, her heart pounded painfully, her breath heaved. It was hard to be brave at the end of one’s life, especially when hers had been so long.
But this was the fate she had earned.
She had failed the Twin Deaths and allowed the enemy to raid the temple of Zolin, stealing away the Haanal X'ib, whose blood held the key to the rebirth of the god-dragon Memnog and a new world order. But what was even more galling was that the attackers had also rescued her hated foe Teccizcoatl, the Jaguar Knight. She could accept death, but to be forced to go to the afterlife before Teccizcoatl was unbearably unfair.
The two guards led her through the stone passageways of the temple, heading for its summit. Those Tzitzime servants they passed looked on her with contempt and self-satisfied sneers. Some spat at her. She ignored them, ignored the spittle on her face. Once, she had believed she would usher in a new era for humanity. When Memnog was freed, he and his children would rule the world, and she'd stand at their side, serving as the highest of humanity. But that was not to be. When one served the Twin Deaths, there can be no failure.
Unless...
She had talked her way out of failure once already, convincing Tezcatlipoca to give her another chance. Could she do it again? She'd need to convince the dragon that only she could recover the Haanal X'ib. It was a reasonable argument. She had grown powerful over the years, and there were none among the Tzitzime who could match her strength. It would be a waste to kill her.
The guards led her up the steps to the temple’s summit, the scene of her earlier failure. The stone steps were warm to the touch on her bare feet, far warmer than they should have been, as was the air around her. A layer of sweat coated her skin, and it felt as if she had just walked into a sauna.
When she saw which dragon awaited atop the summit, she understood why it was so warm. Her terror surged, threatening to stop her heart. She fell to her knees before Itzpapalotl, the black dragon known as the Obsidian Butterfly, the much more dangerous sister of Tezcatlipoca. A stone had more forgiveness than Itzpapalotl.
She lowered her head to the stone floor and peered out from lowered eyes. Itzpapalotl was so large she took up most of the temple's summit, even with her wings and long forked tail wrapped about her powerful dark body. The only sound was the bellows of the dragon's steady breathing. Others were in attendance. The new Mother Smoke Heart, that fat fool Tlaco, stood nearby, her eyes shining with anticipation at Rayan’s humiliation. Aernyx, the leader of the Night Kin, waited in the shadows. It was hard to make out his features, but unlike Tlaco, there was no gloating in his dark eyes, only indifference.
"Beautiful Mistress," Rayan said, her tongue thick in her mouth. "I live to serve you and your brother." Where was Tezcatlipoca? This underground cavern was his lair, not his sister's, and he should have been present.
"You live to serve my brother, do you?" the black dragon asked, her thunderous voice dripping with malice. "Then you have already failed. Tezcatlipoca, the Lord of the Smoking Mirrors, is dead."
At the black dragon's words, Rayan's mind swam with the impossibility of that statement. Tezcatlipoca was dead? "Beautiful Mistress, how … is such a thing possible?"
"My brother was murdered by the craven winged serpent. Murdered after he was tricked out of his lair by the enemies you failed to stop. Murdered for his own failure to see the trap the winged serpent had set. Quetzalcoatl struck, and my brother died. That is why we rarely venture out of our lairs—at least in physical form."
"I ... his loss is ... there are no words, Beautiful Mistress. I accept responsibility for failing you."
"There is more to his death than just your failure, Rayan. After all, you are only human. My brother was safe here, yet he put himself under Quetzalcoatl's talons. He was ever too eager, ever too willing to trust in his own strength. His arrogance killed him as much as Quetzalcoatl."
"Let me help you avenge him. I am your most powerful blood mage. Even at my worst, I could slaughter the next best dozen Tzitzime mages—especially that fat fool standing next to you."
Tlaco's smile vanished, replaced by an expression of barely contained rage, but she wisely kept her mouth shut. Pity. Had she spoken out of turn, Itzpapalotl might have devoured her. That would have made Rayan's fate a fraction more bearable.
"You have failed twice now. Why would I let you fail me a third time?"
"Because only I can return the Haanal X'ib. Only I can defeat the Jaguar Knight."
Smoke jutted from the dragon's nostrils, and her serpent eyes narrowed into angry slits. "You?"
"Beautiful Mistress, of all your servants, only I have the power."
This time, Aernyx's expression did change, and he smiled, his eyes shining with amusement at Rayan’s boast. Rayan’s gaze darted about, and she saw the sacrificial altar, the stone that the Tzitzime tied their victims across, the stone that arched their backs, exposing their chests to the obsidian knives that would cut out their hearts.
They've brought me here to sacrifice me, she realized. Rayan felt the heat of the dragon's gaze upon her, and her heart pounded so hard that pain shot through her chest. I've failed too miserably to be given another chance. I have nothing left with which to barter for my life.
"Tell me," the dragon said, "what do you
know of the young female mage who fights alongside the Jaguar Knight?"
"Angela Ritter?" Rayan asked in confusion. The dragon couldn't be referring to her; Rayan had driven her hexed sword through Ritter’s chest. True, the damned woman had cast a surprisingly powerful Shockwave spell at Rayan before she could cut her head from her shoulders, but there was no way she could have survived that wound. "She's dead ... isn't she?"
"She is not," the dragon answered. "Those who attacked the temple have eluded capture."
"That ... I ..." Rayan's thoughts spun wildly. She had stabbed Angela Ritter in the chest, driven her pulwar right through her body. Could she have missed her heart? But even if she had, such a wound had to be lethal. But she still somehow beat you, Rayan, she told herself, remembering how hard the woman’s Shockwave spell had hammered her. How did she cast such a powerful spell? Rayan had no idea, but if the dragon was interested in Angela Ritter, then the woman might be her only hope to keep her heart. "She ... she is the adopted daughter of Chararah Succubus. I have probed her mind. I know it better than any other."
"Have you?" hissed the dragon, her deep voice like the breath of doom. "And what did your probing reveal? Aernyx believes she carries a hidden power."
"She ... portions of her memory have been locked away from her," Rayan said, desperately trying to remember what her probing had revealed. At the time, it had seemed unimportant, and only capturing Erin Seagrave had mattered. Now the secrets hidden away in Angie Ritter's mind could save Rayan's life—if she were clever enough to make herself of value. "It was … strange magic. A portion of her memory was walled away."
"Most curious," said the dragon. "Why would the succubus hide her past from her? Aernyx, what think you?"
Aernyx glided out from the shadows, moving like the predator he was. "She walks with fire, Beautiful Mistress. I cannot explain the aura in any other way."
The Awakened World Boxed Set Page 63
