Darkening Chaos: Book Three of The Destroyer Trilogy

by DelSheree Gladden

  “Well, what did you expect? The last two years have gone by in a blur. Restructuring an entire world government takes a lot of work. I took six months just to give back all the talents you stole to the Guardians and Ciphers willing to give you their Oath,” Hope says.

  As my hands rest on my swollen belly, I glance at my left wrist and frown. “I couldn’t give them all back,” I say sadly. The first six inches of my arm is still covered in diktats.

  “The ones who died, that wasn’t your fault. They just couldn’t handle it, and they would have killed us if you didn’t stop them.” Her hands tighten around her glass. I momentarily worry about it shattering under the pressure of her buried anger. It disappears a few seconds later. She has changed so much from the murderous girl I met three years ago. Flashes of her old self still pop up now and again, but they never last long. Not with Lance in her life.

  “And the ones who wouldn’t give you their Oath,” Hope continues, “they knew death was the price of their refusal. They killed themselves.”

  I don’t bother to respond. She’s right, I know that, but I was still the one who had to order the deaths of thousands of soldiers. I rarely have nightmares, anymore. With Braden sleeping next to me every night, bad thoughts simply can’t find me, but every once in a while when work—or more lately, the baby kicking me—separates us, the deaths I have had a hand in come back to haunt me. Braden and I don’t spend a lot of nights without each other.

  I touch my wedding ring gently. It’s beautiful, a stunning full karat diamond with a masterfully crafted band made to match the Paradigm pendant around my neck, but my fingers slip past it to the simple white braid wrapped around my finger. Hope sees me toying with the strand and touches her own ring. The sight of it is enough to pull me out of my dark thoughts. My lips twist into a teasing smile.

  “You guys set a date, yet, or what?”

  Hope blushes, but says, “Hey, not all of us are as crazy as you and Braden. You two barely even waited for everyone to regain consciousness after that blast of power you hurled at everyone at the end of the battle before running off to get married.”

  “I did not hurl a blast of power at anyone,” I argue. “It escaped. It wasn’t my fault I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Next time I’ll let you try to contain several thousand people’s talents at once.”

  “No thank you. I’m done with all that.”

  I chuckle, earning me a fierce glare from Hope. “What?” I say. “When I met you, you refused to leave my side until I let you kill a Guardian. I just never thought I’d see the day when you weren’t interested in fighting.”

  “I’m still interested in fighting, just not for the same reasons.” Her eyes drift over to Lance, the heat and passion in her gaze making me feel like I am intruding on something private.

  For a moment, I am jealous of her. One of the small pleasures I was able to capture after the battle—well, outside of the bedroom—was having Braden teach me Capoeira. I put time aside every day to work with him. It honed my body better than I ever imagined, centered my spirit when I was near breaking from the onslaught of demands and pressure, and gave me a few precious hours of mind-stealing physical connection with the man I loved. Those few hours a day with Braden gave me the strength to make it through the last two years. I still practice, even now, but only a milder form safe enough for the baby. Mostly a lot of meditation and focusing exercises.

  I love Capoeria, and I’m very good at it, but watching Lance and Hope battle each other is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Their passion for the fight, their fierce love for each other, and their ability to connect with one another in such perfect balance is amazing. I was born to both destroy and rebuild this world, a Paradigm, the ideal for what the world was meant to be, but when I watch them I truly see the meaning of the word. Their dance could take lives if they wanted it to, or it could insight marvel and passion. In these two lovers, I have no trouble understanding the need for a perfect balance between destruction and life.

  “So you never answered my question,” I say, my previous teasing softened by my thoughts. “Have you set a date for the wedding?”

  “The end of September. We want everyone to be there, and it’s the only time that seems to work,” Hope says. “Celia and Alex will be back from Europe by then. Dean should be done training the new recruits in Nigeria as well. And we didn’t want it to be too close to your birthday.”

  I never have liked my birthday much. Only three weeks away, I am not looking forward to the day. Before, it was always a countdown to my death, now it is something else, something confusing. For most of the world, my birthday is a world holiday. It’s the day I defeated the Guardians. I celebrate with the world, now, but never with my whole heart. I cannot make it through that day without memories of Milo sacrificing himself to save Braden’s life replaying in my mind. He caused so much pain, for me and everyone else, but I felt the purity of his repentance in that moment. I don’t know that it will ever be enough to erase what he did, but it makes me sad to know he is gone. Silently, I thank Hope and Lance for their choice in dates.

  “Lance’s dad will even be able to come,” Hope says, interrupting my thoughts.

  And there’s the real reason she and Lance haven’t gotten married yet. As one of the Guardians who opposed me, I was forced to make the same demand of Lance’s father that I did every other Guardian. He was always a stern man, but not a prideful one. He admitted his mistake and let me steal and return his talents, anointing him as one of my own instead of an enemy. It was odd, though, that he could admit being wrong about me and give me his Oath, but he couldn’t as easily forgive his son for turning against him. Lance joined me, because, in the end, he knew what I was doing was right. His father eventually made the same choice, but the hurt of a child turning his back on what you had raised him to believe was a hard thing to recover from. It’s taken him two years to do it.

  “There were times Lance didn’t want to wait,” Hope says, “but I knew he’d regret it, so I kept putting off choosing a date. I think he thought I was hesitating because I wasn’t sure. That wasn’t even close. I just wanted him to have his family there. It still hurts that my grandpa won’t be there, but I didn’t have a choice about that. Lance did.”

  “I’m sorry you had to wait, Hope, but at least you had reason to,” I say.

  Sure, part of mine and Braden’s reasoning for skipping out on the frills and fluff of a big wedding were due to the fact that we had spent the previous eight months away from each other and had every intention of following up our “I do’s” making up for lost time—not to mention we were also in the middle of a hostile takeover—but another reason we both understood was that everyone we cared about having with us at our wedding was already there. Neither of us has any family left outside our friends. Just each other, and now, our soon-to-be new addition.

  Following my line of thought, and disagreeing, Hope says, “You still have family, Libby.”

  “Not family I want.”

  “She’s your mom,” Hope argues.

  “Sure, now she wants to be my mom. Now that I rule the entire freaking world, but not when I was hated and alone. She wasn’t there when I really needed her,” I say.

  Hope’s hand squeezes mine gently. She isn’t the only one who thinks I should give my mom a second chance. My dad has begged me to reconnect. Braden, who knows more than anyone how much losing family can stifle a person, has asked me to at least think about it. To be honest, though, none of their arguments budge me as much as the one coming from someone who isn’t even born yet. My Naturalism told me the baby I’m carrying is a girl as soon as it was possible to tell. It is an amazing experience to be so connected to my daughter as she grows in side of me.

  Even more incredible has been her own talents. It scares me a little to know that even now she can use them. I can’t yet tell how many she has exactly, but I know with surety that Perception will be among her gifts. Every time my emotions start to bo
il over or pull me down, I can feel her gentle touch on my heart and mind. When I am angry, she soothes me. When I start to think of all the pain I have had to endure, she lifts my heart to happier thoughts. And when I think about my mom and the heartache she has caused me, her power wraps around me like a gentle hug as she comforts my soul. I feel her now. She doesn’t want me to be sad. That simple, selfless desire does more to convince me I need to reconcile with my mother than anything else in this world. For her, I will try. It may take me longer than it took Lance’s dad, but I will try.

  For a while, Hope and I simply sit together in the warm sun and watch our men try to build a fence. Their antics do a lot to lift both of our spirits with their self-inflicted injuries, lopsided panels, and friendly banter. I soak in the rays and the joy of being with my friends. Eventually, the guys give up on their effort. They make plans to tackle the project again the next day. Hope and I share a glance that promises one of us will eventually just call a professional, but I know we won’t really. Even if the fence never hangs quite right, this home is my dream. Imperfect, rebuilt after neglect, and filled with love. This is what I was fighting for, what I’m still fighting for.

  I get locked up in Washington often enough with crystal chandeliers, expensive clothes, visiting dignitaries, grand buildings, and the like. It’s a necessity I have to trudge through. The world may not understand why I choose to spend my downtime in a modest sized home in a safe neighborhood in Albuquerque, New Mexico, but as we crowd around our kitchen table with burgers and watermelon and baked beans, I don’t care if anyone else understands. Everybody has a different dream, and this is mine.

  I feel genuinely happy as I get up and walk our friends to the door after dinner. The promise of Lance’s and Hope’s wedding bringing the rest of our friends together makes me smile even wider. Hope reaches over my belly for a hug as Braden and Lance exchange ideas about fixing the fence. I smile at her and say, “Thanks for coming over, and let me know if you need any help with the wedding plans.”

  “My mom’s so excited we finally set a date, she’s already got most of it planned.” Hope laughs and rolls her eyes. “I’ll be lucky if I get to pick out my own dress at this point.”

  “Well, let me know if you need a break from the wedding planning then. We can go to lunch,” I offer.

  “Thanks. I’ll probably need it.”

  She looks like she’s about to say something else when Lance swoops in and wraps her up in his arms, kissing her cheek and holding her. “Ready?” he asks her.

  Hope nods and Lance lets go of her briefly to give me a hug goodbye before tucking her back under his arm and moving toward the door. Hope slips out of his grip just before he pulls her away, her hand sliding into the back pocket of her jeans and coming back out with a battered looking piece of paper. When she offers it to me I’m slow to take it.

  “I almost forgot,” she says, holding the paper out. “I found this in some of my grandpa’s old stuff when I was going through the attic the other day. I thought you might want to have it.”

  “What is it?” I ask as I take it from her.

  She shrugs. “Just a poem.” She keeps her tone casual, but I can hear something behind her words, and sense the tremor of unease in her spirit. Before I can ask her any more, she and Lance are out the door and on their way to their car.

  Braden pulls me away from the door and leads me over to the couch. I curl up next to him and let him evaporate every thought in my mind as his hands stroke my skin and his lips meet mine. Slowly, his fingertips leave my arms and rest lovingly on my belly. “Have you thought anymore about names?” he asks.

  We have been batting around half a dozen different choices we both like, but sitting out under the sun today with Hope as we talked about tearing down and starting anew helped me make a decision. “I think we should go with Eva.”

  “What did Eva mean again?” Braden asks.

  “Life.”

  Braden’s arms fold around me more tightly. “I think that will be perfect.”

  I was named after a Roman goddess of death, and I grew up thinking pain and unhappiness was my fate. I want better for our daughter. She will grow up knowing the happiness and joy of life, and the power it holds.

  “What did Hope give you?” Braden asks.

  Lifting the forgotten paper from where it had fallen on the couch. I sit up and hold it out to him. “She said it was a poem she found in Mr. Walters’s stuff. She handed it over like it was nothing, but I could feel how nervous it made her.”

  “Huh, well let’s see what it says.” Braden unfolds the paper and begins to read.

  When evil has been broken

  And harmony restored

  The world will know balance again.

  By the Destroyer’s hand,

  With her Socius’s aid,

  The world will find peace.

  More important, though

  Will be their final task,

  For peace and balance will not last.

  Destroyer and Socius will join,

  And from their union, a new class will arise.

  Life

  For the longest time, neither of us speaks. We just stare at the mangled paper in disbelief. Braden finds his voice first and asks, “Uh, what did you say Eva meant again?”

  The End

  Keep reading for a sneak peek of DelSheree Gladden’s new series SomeOne Wicked This Way Comes

  Wicked Hunger

  Chapter 1

  Stories

  Having my back turned toward the empty parking lot as I lock up the dance studio is slightly unnerving. In the back of my mind, I know there’s nothing to fear, but I still turn the key quickly and spin around to face the approaching darkness.

  I hold myself close to the door, waiting for the feeling to leave me. Several minutes pass before I realize it isn’t going away. I can either stand here all night, or start walking. It’s with a show of false bravery that I take a step forward. As I walk away from the dance studio, I know I’m being silly. My brother, Zander, is constantly telling me that fear is a weakness. I know how to defend myself.

  Defending myself isn’t the problem. Controlling myself is.

  The walk to my grandma’s house where Zander and I have been living for the past several years is a good five miles away. I was supposed to ask Grandma to pick me up when Zander said he couldn’t, but I thought some time alone sounded better. At least, at the time it sounded like a good idea. Now, I’m not so sure that a fifteen-year-old girl walking home alone at night is smart at all. The fading sun seems to retreat faster than normal. Within ten minutes, I am left skulking along the streets of Albuquerque in full night. My pace quickens.

  I know the way home, but in the darkness I feel my courage fizzle. I am practically running past shops with my feet set in the direction of the relative safety of my neighborhood, taking any shortcut available to get me home faster. I’m not the only one out on the streets. Average looking people mill about on the sidewalks, but I keep my distance.

  Eyes down, I run. I’m only two blocks away from the cramped little neighborhood where Grandma has lived for twenty years. I am almost there when I lurch to a stop in front of a dank alley filled with scuffling noises and pain.

  An unsettled feeling rises in the center of my body. I try to take another step, get away, but I can’t. A muffled scream sends another shot of wretched pain shooting through the air. It’s too much to resist.

  Dance bag abandoned, tennis shoes slapping against asphalt, my body powers down the alley independent of rational thought. Fragile bones snap and howls of pain erupt. Delicious satisfaction rushes in as agony fills the damp alley. Everything else is forgotten.

  The sting of a knife pierces my thigh, the burst of pain only continuing the frenzy. Blood splatters, knuckles crack, flesh breaks. Nothing else exists in that moment.

  “Hey!” someone yells out.

  Suddenly, without warning, the space around me is empty. I stumble up to my feet in search of t
he three chollo gangsters who were just on top of me. All three are racing out of the alley, with only one looking back with a terrified expression before darting around the corner.

  Stunned, confused, I stand up covered in blood and bruises. My eyes flit around for an explanation, landing on a caramel-haired teen with a cell phone in his hand. I think he tries to say something to me. I watch his lips move without comprehending. The only rational thought I have is that he’s holding my ballet bag. Then, I hear the word police slip past his lips. In a panic, I snatch my bag out of his hand and run.

  ***

  Laney’s elbow knocks into my head as she tries to slide into the seat next to me. The contact sends my hair into my face, and applesauce sloshing off her tray to land in a cold splat on my bare thigh. I jump in surprise.

  “Sorry!” Laney apologizes. She finally manages to drop her lunch tray on the table, and grabs a handful of napkins. She passes them to me with another apology. “Sorry, Van, did I get it all over you? These new heels have been tripping me up all day.”

  “I told you they were too high,” I say as I take the napkins and start wiping off my leg. Laney grimaces and points to my hair as well. Shaking my head at her, I wipe applesauce out of my platinum locks.

  “They aren’t too high! I just need a little practice,” Laney says with a pout.

  “If you haven’t mastered walking by now …”

  Laney opens her mouth to object, but is cut off by a new arrival. Two new arrivals, actually. Identically adorable, Sandra and Kari barely reach five foot, but their eclectic style—which consists mainly of as many mismatching colors and patterns as possible—makes them extremely noticeable. They sit down at the table in perfect unison. I think they practice that. Beyond weird, but they’re my friends, and I don’t have nearly enough of those to go tossing them out just because of a few idiosyncrasies. The banana yellow top with the flouncy green and pink ruffled skirt, fur lined boots, grey dancer’s shrug, and rhinestone studded belt are quickly giving me a headache. And that’s just Sandra’s outfit. Kari’s is even worse.