by Boone Brux
As if caught by a sudden updraft, the sparks from the demon flared and began to spin.
She dropped to the ground beside Rhys. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” He pushed to his hands and knees and looked around, his gaze settling on the growing vortex. “What—is that?”
“A demon, I think.”
Stronger and faster the mass spun. Ravyn’s gown tightened against her shoulders, the hem straining toward the spinning air. She dug her fingers into the grass.
“Rhys?”
The sparks swirled faster, pulling rocks, branches, and Ravyn toward the vortex. Her feet lifted from the ground. Rhys grabbed her, hauling her against him.
“Give me the dagger.”
Their bodies inched across the ground. She shoved the knife into his hand and clung to him. Rhys rammed the blade into the ground, burying it up to the hilt. He wrapped one hand around the handle and tightened his other arm around her waist.
“Hold on,” he yelled above the growing maelstrom.
The circling embers congealed into a violent funnel cloud. A demon screamed, the howl ripping through the fragile shield protecting Ravyn’s mind.
This was slow death. Bit-by-bit she fragmented, watching the glue that bound her to the mortal world dissolve, knowing nothing existed after the pain.
Tears spilled from the corners of Ravyn’s eyes. Rhys held her, and she knew he wouldn’t let her plummet into the void, but the torment of the cry plunged into her soul like a searing blade. She pressed her face against his bicep. He was her rock, her salvation, the only thing that stopped her from toppling over the precipice and into The Abyss.
The shields of her mind crumbled, and she screamed, her soul pitching toward the blackness. She hung, suspended in time, waiting to tumble into nothingness.
She was faintly aware of the wind lifting her body and sucking the air from her lungs. This must be what drowning feels like. How much more could she take? She waited for the blackness, praying for the peace she’d felt the night Rhys had saved her. Neither came.
The horrific cry suddenly ceased, releasing Ravyn. She lifted her head and looked at the funnel cloud. With a thunderous roar, it dove straight into the earth. Ravyn’s body slammed to the ground. If she’d had any breath left, the fall would have knocked it out of her. Pain consumed her body, but she knew she was alive. Facedown in the dirt, she smiled and grimaced. Thanks be to The Sainted Ones.
A dead calm enveloped the clearing. Not a bird chirped. Not a reed rustled.
Rhys rolled her over and lifted her unceremoniously into his arms. His face hovered an inch from hers. “Ravyn, are you all right?”
She tried to smile but her breath rushed out as he crushed her to him. “I can’t breathe.”
He loosened his hold, but he didn’t let go. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m alive.”
He smiled. “I had my doubts.”
Rhys helped her stand, the ground swaying beneath her. She inhaled, trying to clear her head. He continued to touch her, somewhat for support but also as if he had to. Confusion, the throbbing in her body, and the horrifying events she’d just witnessed overruled any happiness she might have felt.
“What happened? I stabbed a demon with your dagger and then…” She let the statement hang in the air.
He shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” He looked around. “Where are the Bane?”
Ravyn scanned the surrounding woods. Not a demon remained. Not a weapon lay forgotten. The only evidence of a fight was the upended trees and rocks, and her and Rhys’s disheveled appearances.
Relief and fear jumbled together. She stepped out of his hold and looked around again. The slight prickle of Bane tapped against her arm but there were no demons that she could see. She walked to the cemetery, stopping at the first gravestone. Rhys followed.
She felt sick, like when she’d dream of falling and wake up an instant before she hit the ground. Relieved to be alive, but scared to fall asleep again, not wanting to relive the dream.
She knelt and brushed the brambles away from the stone. “I’m not strong like you.”
The grass crunched behind her. His warmth radiated against her back. “Yes, you are.”
She stood and peered at the unreadable gravestone. Who were these forgotten people buried in this forgotten cemetery? Would that be her fate—forgotten, celebrated by few, loved by none?
She turned and faced him. “I don’t want to be a Bringer, Rhys. I don’t think I can.”
Chapter Nine
Icarus stood deep within the shadows of the trees, watching Ravyn Mayfield as she and the man stepped over split and ravaged trees and disappeared into the woods. What an enlightening day this had been. He twisted the band of gold at his wrist and contemplated his next move. New questions burned to be answered.
Lady Mayfield was far more powerful than his father had led him to believe. If Vile captured her powers, his domination would be unconquerable. But what if one demon, brave enough to defy his king, broke rank and took her immense powers for itself? What if the lowest of the Bane realized it could perform the ritual of Taking on any Bringer? Chaos and rebellion, to be certain. No, Vile was wise to hide the extent of her powers and even more prudent to keep secret the fact that the key to the Bane throne lay nestled within one small woman.
Icarus sneered. “Well played, Father.”
He crossed his arms. But not played well enough.
The other Bane might be a pack of simpletons, unable to see the tree through the forest, but he wasn’t. His tenuous loyalty to Vile melted away, replaced by a more self-serving scheme. The prospect of breaking free from his father’s clutches strengthened his determination. No matter whom he had to kill or what he had to do, he’d possess the Bringer’s powers and crush his father—but only after making Vile grovel like the dog he was.
His heart quickened at the thought of defeating the mighty Demon King. A sneer curled his upper lip. He’d make sure to show his father the same mercy Vile had shown him. Perhaps he’d force the king to eat the rotting flesh of his victims, or to drink their clotting blood. Icarus fisted his hands, his talons digging deep, but not as deep as the memories of his humiliation at Vile’s hand. Maybe he’d chain his father to the floor. Force him to his hands and knees and release the demons who they kept locked away. The ones who were more animal than demon, The ones who violated and then killed their victims. His sneer widened to a smile at the image.
“That’s an odd reaction for one who has just lost the golden prize,” said a feminine voice behind him.
Icarus stiffened and slowly pivoted. A tall, blue, female demon leaned against a tree several feet away. “Sha-hera,” he hissed. “Why are you here? Spying?”
She drifted toward him. Her sultry sway exhibited the honed muscles of a warrior, and the gold beads adorning black braids glimmered in the afternoon light. “Spying would imply I was skulking about where I shouldn’t be.” She stopped inches from him. “I came to watch the battle. I love a good fight.”
He didn’t react. Like him, Sha-hera was an original Bane and matched him in strength and power. The skills of the succubus could corrupt the most devout man, but the female demons were as deadly as any male Bane. As captain of the succubi, Sha-hera proved more dangerous than most. Ruthless, heartless, and merciless, all wrapped in a pretty package. Her gluttony for power pushed against him. He sensed her determination to acquire what she wanted, in any manner possible.
The irony that he had just resolved himself to that same single-minded focus minutes before was not lost on Icarus. But he and Sha-hera were not the same. She lived to kill. He killed to survive.
As she circled behind him, she ran a bloodred talon across his chest and over his shoulder. Her breasts pressed against his back. “But I must admit, Icarus, I’m a bit disappointed.”
“And why is that?” he asked. “Not enough bloodshed?”
She laughed and dragged her talon across his back and arm until sh
e stood in front of him. He gritted his teeth against the sting of her caress. How he hated her touch. He wanted to step away from her, but that simple movement would give Sha-hera too much power. Intimidation was her tactic, and she had mastered it.
The iridescent material of her tunic and pants molded against the curves and swells of her body. Icarus ran his gaze from the gold bangles at her ankles to her topaz, almond-shaped eyes. He donned what he hoped was an expression that said he’d found nothing of interest below her neck. For a succubus, it was the gravest of insults.
She smirked, letting him know his affront had missed its mark. “Well, I do love a good bloodbath. But that’s not the cause of my disappointment.”
She dangled her worm before him, but he didn’t bite. Bored, disinterested, and stony-faced silence was her only reward. She turned and glided several feet away, the distance giving him room to breathe.
“I was greatly disappointed with your lack of…how should I put it? Enthusiasm.” She faced him with a look similar to a cat that had cornered a mouse. How much had she seen? “I wonder why you came at all if you had no intention of kidnapping the girl.”
She had seen too much. “You’re babbling, Sha-hera. I’m here at the king’s command.”
“Ah, the king’s command.” She paused. “Not of your own accord?”
“It’s one and the same.” He resisted the urge to fidget. Whatever the demon-bitch played at, he wouldn’t engage her.
Like a predator, she paced in front of him, her stare fixed on his eyes. She stopped, her face so close he could feel the brush of her breath on his chin and smell the tang of sulfur over her potent female scent. The sultry softness of her voice floated over him, seeping deep to coax the truth from his throat. “Really? Because I swear I saw you attack one of your own infantry demons just as he was about to grab the woman. Or maybe I was mistaken. What do you think, Icarus? Was I mistaken?”
Before she could move, Icarus wrapped his hand around her neck and squeezed. He raised his arm until her toes dangled above the ground. Her eyes widened in shock, her fingers clawing against his hold. Her leathery blue wings flapped wildly behind her. “Don’t provoke me, Sha-hera. You know nothing of what transpired here.”
With a flick of his arm, he tossed her into the trees. She landed on her feet like an agile cat, hissing and baring her fangs. She expected him to show fear. Most demons would have cowered or run at the sight of the angry succubus. He wasn’t most demons.
Icarus took a step toward her and flared his black wings as wide as they would stretch. “Don’t pretend to know my orders.”
Sha-hera crouched and hissed again but shuffled backward a few steps. “You let her escape. I saw you.” She spat the words at him, all trace of her succubus allure vanishing. “Vile wants her, but you let her go. I wonder how he’ll react when I tell him his second-in-command betrayed him.”
Her threat stopped him. If Sha-hera ran back to Vile and openly accused him of defying orders, he’d be pulled from the mission—or worse, thrown into The Abyss. No, that could not happen. He couldn’t let this harpy ruin his plan.
“Even you can’t be so dense,” Icarus drawled. “Were you asleep during the battle or did you not notice the girl’s amazing power?”
“I saw. What does that have to do with you letting the Bringer go?”
“This isn’t the first time she’s displayed exceptional abilities.” He clasped his hands behind his back and relaxed his stance as if Sha-hera was no more than a childish inconvenience. “She may hold secrets the Bane can use against the Bringers. Is it not prudent to gauge how and when her energy manifests before we present her to the king?”
“And letting her go is the best way to do this?”
Sha-hera’s hunger for power swamped him. Icarus stilled and let her emotions pour through him, sifting and dissecting each wave of desire. He understood her, felt what she craved, and knew what she wanted to hear. New options presented themselves. For the first time, he realized his shameful ability to empathize might just be the very weapon he needed in battle.
He kept his tone even and nonthreatening. “Perhaps I should let you lead this mission.”
Desire flashed in Sha-hera’s eyes, and Icarus knew he’d read her correctly.
“Maybe I should let you capture the Bringer and transport her to the king’s throne chamber.”
Sha-hera straightened, and ran her tongue across her lips like a dog on the scent of a bone. Her gaze was too intense, too interested. Like every Demon Bane, she was a slave to her greed and self-serving desires. “What are you saying?”
“You could present her to Vile with all the pomp and circumstance your army seems to deem necessary.” Icarus wanted to laugh at the desire so clearly displayed on her face. Oh yes, this demon was hungry for power.
“Maybe you should let me, Icarus. I could do it quicker and cleaner than you.”
“I’d stand in the shadows and watch you present the Bringer to the king,” he continued evenly. Icarus held his hands out to his sides and slowly shook his head. “Oh, how he’d praise your success. And I would have to endure his tirade of insults at my failure.”
Sha-hera grinned. She’d love to see him humiliated in front of the entire Bane.
Icarus paced forward until he stood directly in front of her. “Then I’d watch as the Bringer unleashed untold power upon the chamber.”
Her mouth thinned. “What are you talking about?”
It was his turn to smile. “I speak of the very power you witnessed today being unleashed in the presence of our king. I speak of powers we know nothing about. Powers that could annihilate every Bane within minutes because you’re blinded by your desire to be the king’s lapdog. You’ve lost sight of the goal.”
He closed the distance between them and wrapped his hand around her throat. His grip tightened, but only to the point of pinning Sha-hera in place. Though she clutched his wrist, she didn’t fight his hold. “Go back to what you know, succubus—fucking and sucking the men of this world. But stay away from me and out of my business. If you don’t…”
She pulled at his arm as his grip tightened.
“I’ll see to it you spend the rest of eternity bent over a pleasuring table. How would you like to be the hole every lowlife demon sates itself in?” He ran his tongue along the marbled blue skin of her cheek. “Mmmm, I think I like the idea.”
With a shove, he released her.
She stumbled and straightened, her eyes rounding at his threat. She wiped his saliva from her face with a trembling hand. “Watch your back, Icarus.” Blue wings unfurled behind her. “You think you are invincible because you’re Vile’s number one, but he doesn’t trust you any more than I do. Nobody does.”
She crouched and launched herself into the sky.
Icarus watched Sha-hera until she disappeared from sight. She wasn’t as stupid as he had thought, and he now understood what drove her: the throne.
He turned toward the empty clearing. His plan to delay the woman’s capture had worked, but he would indeed have to watch his back, and not only from Sha-hera. With a powerful leap, he took to the air.
Chapter Ten
Rhys wove his way through the trees, dragging Ravyn behind him. Confusion and disappointment at her announcement of not wanting to be a Bringer rendered him speechless. He’d been certain once she’d felt the full extent of her powers, she would be driven by duty to embrace her fate—like he had been. But that’s not what happened. She didn’t want to be a Bringer. Could she do that? The mixed-bloods pretended to be full-bloods and many had nothing more than intuition and drive to distinguish them from humans, but they still wanted to be Bringers. And yet here she was, as strong as he—if not stronger—and she wanted to turn her back on her heritage.
He huffed and pulled on Ravyn’s arm.
“Ouch. Rhys, slow down. I can’t keep up.”
He stopped and swung to face her. “Should I carry you?”
She glowered at him, twisted free of h
is grip, and rubbed the reddened area on her wrist. “No, I’m quite capable of walking, but my hand hurts from where I cut it and I am a bit tired from the legion of demons you just made me battle. Or did you forget that?”
Forget? How could he forget? The rage that had consumed him when he saw the demon running across the field with Ravyn over its shoulder was enough to awaken his beast. If she hadn’t escaped, he would have surely loosed the creature, consequences be damned. “I made you fight because that’s what Bringers do.” He kept his voice even. “We fight, not run.”
“Yes, I believe you have never run from a fight.” She lowered her arms and released a heavy breath. “But I’m not you, Rhys. I haven’t had 300 years to live with my powers.” She stepped around him but stopped to look at him, her expression resigned. “I’m not strong like you.”
She turned and walked away, not waiting for his reply. He rubbed his hand over his face. Damn, he hadn’t meant to argue with her. He couldn’t blame her for not choosing a life of war, always expecting the worst, never finding peace. No, he couldn’t blame her, but he had hoped.
He followed several paces behind, stifling the urge to pick the sticks and leaves from her long, black, and now tangled tresses. He should tell her he understood, but the words jumbled in his mind. Apologizing to her felt too much like apologizing for his sense of duty. This is why he kept his distance from people. They never understood what it meant to be a Shield. He had thought maybe Ravyn was different.
He swore at his own foolishness and cursed the fact that he’d started to care for her. His pace quickened. But he was thinking straight now. She’d reminded him that duty came first. It would be his constant companion through the centuries. Duty and honor would never waste away and die. Duty and honor would never leave him.
He swiped at a branch hanging across his path. Its small thorns speared his palm. The din of people greeted them seconds before the inn came into view. Their cuts, bruises, and overall disheveled appearance would raise too many questions if they entered through the front of the inn. Skirting the grounds, they circled around back where there was less chance of anyone seeing them. The kitchen door stood open. He hoped it was empty and they could escape to their room and clean up before dinner, but he doubted that would be the case.
