Birthright (The Stone Legacy Series Book 5)

by Theresa Dalayne

  She should have guessed. If Drina’s blood was laced with magic, she was probably a quicker healer than any guardian—even with the stone’s help.

  As the petrifiers grew closer, the final person of their group emerged from the darkness.

  Eleuia, Zanya’s mother.

  Dressed in all black, she would be invisible if it weren’t for the lantern she too carried to light the way.

  Zanya shifted, finding Arwan’s steady hold to comfort her.

  Balam was the first to brave the jungle floor. He leapt onto the soil and greeted Cualli with a thick, deep purr.

  The group looked like a mob of drowned rats as they gathered in the safety of the protected stone platform, sheltered from the rain. Renato walked straight toward Zanya, only to be cut off by Tara, who threw her arms around her and hugged Zanya until she couldn’t breathe.

  Zanya held her friend for a long moment before Renato approached with a broad smile. “I cannot tell you what a relief it is to see you again.”

  Zanya coiled her arms around his lean frame and buried her face in his chest, inhaling the lingering earthy scent from his pipe. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  Peter dropped his pack to the stone floor and shivered. He acknowledged her with a head-bob. “Cool place.”

  Zanya took Arwan’s hand again. “Thanks. It was his mom’s.”

  “Now it’s ours,” Arwan said, standing tall, focused on her mother.

  The Arab twins huddled together, chattering in Arabic, while Hawa pulled supplies out of her pack.

  Jayden slicked back his hair as he approached, reminding Zanya of his shining moment in Victorian England when he attended the royal ball as James Bond.

  “Never took you for the domesticated type.” Jayden chuckled and looked at Arwan. “I guess even some women can be won over by the right guy.” Jay extended his hand. “Congratulations, man. I never got to tell you both how happy I am for you.”

  Arwan examined Jay’s gesture for a moment, then shook his hand.

  Jay pulled him forward, holding his hand in a vise. “And since I’m dead and all, I’m not afraid to threaten your life if you hurt her.”

  Arwan yanked him closer and leaned in, staring him in the eyes. “One underworlder to another, huh?”

  Jayden moved back, snatching his hand out of Arwan’s. “That’s not funny, man.”

  Arwan chuckled. “Just stating a fact.”

  Zanya tapped Arwan on his back, tearing him out of whatever weird bonding moment they were having. It was cute, but they’d have to pick it up later—when they weren’t all so close to dying.

  She examined the petrifiers, Grima and Beigarth, lingering on the soil. “You guys should come under the shelter.”

  “We aren’t afraid of a wee bit of rain, lass.” Beigarth pounded his chest with a fist. “We have mastered storms worse than this wee rain.”

  “It’s not the rain I’m worried about.” Zanya extended her hand. “It’s not safe.” Her tone had turned stern.

  “Leave them,” Zanya’s mother said without looking at her. “They don’t need a babysitter.”

  Zanya examined her mother’s cold gaze cast to the floor. “Maybe not, but I’m telling them it’s not safe, and you’re just going to have to trust—”

  “Blast you to hell!” Beigarth snatched a dagger from his side and sliced a root coiled around his leg.

  “Get off the soil!” Zanya charged forward over unsafe ground, the light burning bright in her chest. Shouts from the group echoed through the air as she sped to Beigarth’s side.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Arwan

  Arwan reached for Zanya, but she had already bolted out of his reach before he could hold her back.

  More roots shot out from the soil, clenching onto Beigarth’s calves, and anchoring the massive Viking to the ground.

  Zanya conjured a bolt of electricity and launched it at a root coiled around Grima. The shock carried through the vine, attacking Grima in the same blast.

  Grima’s eyes widened, fingers coiled into fists, and limbs stiffened. When the shock ran its course, her muscles went limp, and she nearly collapsed onto the ground.

  “Are ye trying to kill her?” Beigarth screamed. He scowled and slashed at another root.

  Arwan examined the ground, now writhing with roots, just like earlier. It was as if they had appeared at exactly the right time and then…

  “It was an ambush!” He turned to Renato. “I should have known. Contessa waited for us all to be in the same place before striking. This is my fault.” He glanced at the dagger strapped to Renato’s side. “Stay here and guard the others.” He snatched the blade from its sheath and sprinted toward Zanya, ignoring Renato’s calls to come back.

  Weak from the shock, Grima fell to the ground and struggled to chop at a vicious vine with a small hand ax. Arwan skidded to her side and finished the job with a swipe of his dagger. The root flailed and fell limp, only to be consumed by other limbs of the tree that broke through the surface.

  Grima managed to stand, ax clenched firmly in hand. “Well, what are ye waiting for, lad? Go help the others!” She snarled and brought the ax down beside Arwan’s foot, severing another of the tree’s lifelines. “Off with ye, then!”

  Arwan spun and spotted Zanya, her light burning ferociously in her chest. More whipping vines crawled toward her and Beigarth. One of the thorny roots wrapped around her ankle and yanked, nearly pulling her to the ground.

  Zanya screamed and grabbed hold of it, then let out another cry.

  Beigarth stomped on a smaller vine, obliterating it.

  Arwan ran and positioned the knife in his hand for a downward strike. When he reached Zanya, blood ran down her leg as the tree sank its spikes into her muscle.

  “Hold still!” He plunged his knife into it, but this one was hardier than the others. It recoiled, as if cringing from the assault. Blood oozed from the sliced vessels—most likely the blood it had just taken from Zanya.

  The metallic scent shot up his nose, making his stomach lurch.

  The tree had wounded her and had fed, continuing to gain strength.

  He bore down with another jab of his blade, but this time Yaxche was prepared. A second root broke out of the soil. It seized Arwan’s wrist and clenched his bones, forcing him to drop the weapon.

  A firebomb exploded beside him, spitting soil and rock in every direction. The night flashed with warm light, and a wave of heat broke against his skin. The vine released him and retreated into the earth, but not without dragging his only defense down with it.

  Arwan turned to Eadith, who nearly burned him alive with her latest assault. The French fire conjurer readied another inferno from the safety of the stone platform.

  He turned back to Zanya. She’d been released by the tree and managed to limp toward Grima, who suffered from wounds of her own.

  Now was their chance. The tree was hurt. If they could get to safety before it struck again, they would live to fight another day.

  The earth shook, prompting Arwan to crouch in a fighting stance.

  “Earthquake!” someone shouted from the distance.

  Arwan sprinted toward Zanya, waving her to the house. “Run! Go with the others!”

  A fault line split the ground, tearing the jungle floor in half, and separating him from the others. He dug his heels into the soil and threw himself back just as the crater opened into a black, endless hole.

  Hundreds of roots spewed from the crevasse, crawling over the ground like a cluster of angry serpents emerging from their den.

  When the ground trembled and the gap grew, Arwan was carried farther from the group.

  He caught a glimpse of Balam scrambling up a massive tree, hissing and clawing at the reaching vines.

  Zanya’s eyes widened when she spotted him. She bolted to his side without hesitation—the absolute last thing he wanted her to do. Her ability to travel quickly—like Hawa—had its shining moments, and this was one of them.

  �
��Stand back!” She squared her stance and looked to the sky, gathering the storm clouds already looming overhead. When she raised her hand, a current of bright white energy traveled over her arms to her fingers, and a bolt of lightning flashed in the sky, striking the source of the tree.

  A second fireball shot through the air like a meteor and detonated on the same target.

  When the smoke cleared, the roots flailed and whipped in every direction. They snapped through the air like flaming whips, striking anything in reach.

  “Ye bas!” Beigarth grabbed hold of a flaming vine and let out a warrior cry.

  The tree’s limb froze in his grasp.

  Beigarth’s features contorted as he pushed through the agony of holding fire in his bare hands. The vine stilled, and then changed to a dusky gray before petrifying right in front of his eyes, all the way to the ground.

  Beigarth’s eyes turned red and glossy as he strained to keep the flow of his ability running freely through his hands. The petrifying traveled over the ground and under Beigarth’s feet until the entire space around him was frozen in time.

  Every leaf. Every grain of soil. Every fallen branch.

  Everything in the area—except Beigarth.

  Another strike of lightning crashed into the hole in the earth, tearing Arwan’s focus back to Zanya. She lowered her arms. The light in her chest extinguished and she slouched in exhaustion. She panted and wiped her forehead with her palm. “Is everyone okay?” She asked in short, quick breaths.

  Arwan tensed his own muscles as a quick body check, coming up with no more than a few minor lesions and ringing in his ears front the blasts.

  When he scanned Zanya for obvious wounds, his gaze stopped at her leg. “You’re still bleeding.” She swayed and leaned into him for support. “Why aren’t you healing?”

  She shook her head, sweat collected on her brow. “I must have exhausted my energy with the storm again.”

  Zanya’s mother was the first to march through the clearing smoke. “Are you all right?” She crouched and checked Zanya’s wound, then hooked her arm around Zanya’s waist and held her against her hip. Eleuia looked at him with sharp, cold eyes. “Back away from her. You’ve done enough.” The edge in her tone cut into him.

  Zanya seemed too dazed and disoriented to protest, so neither did he. Her mother would care for her while he, Renato, and the others figured out their next move. Maybe it would allow Zanya and her mother some time to repair their relationship before this battle became any worse.

  And it would become worse.

  There was no doubt about that.

  Beigarth limped past him, holding a gash in his arm. “When did ye plan on telling us thar is a tree out to eat us?” The large Viking paused beside him. “Or did ye plan on letting us all get killed?”

  Grima walked past them and smacked Beigarth on his back. “Let the lad be.”

  Beigarth snarled, and then followed Grima to the rest of the group on the stone platform.

  Renato caught his attention with a wave of his hand, gesturing for him to return as well.

  With a step forward, the ground trembled a second time. This time vines did not rise from the ground, but instead, a noxious stink indicative of only one realm.

  The underworld.

  Arwan crinkled his nose, holding his breath so as not to gag on the funk. The tree had opened a path from the dark realm, and it would be only a matter of time before more than just Yaxche would rise.

  “We meet again,” Contessa said from behind him.

  Arwan turned, spotting the witch only yards away.

  Red waves fell around her, framing bright green eyes and glossed lips. She sauntered toward him, each confident stride swaying her hips like the temptress she was.

  To his surprise, she appeared healthy and whole. The last time they met she was bruised, starved, and nearly dead, working to convince him to trade—his dark half for a page of the Popul Vuh with the history of his mother written on its pages.

  “Has no one told you a woman will most certainly swoon over a valiant hero?”

  He stole a glance at the group, huddled on the stone platform, watching intently. If it were any other time, the rest of the group would have been beside him already, prepared for battle. But with the group wounded, exhausted, and Zanya nearly unconscious, there was nothing they could do—and they knew it.

  She circled him slowly, sizing him up for whatever plan she had mapped in her head. “You are even more tempting than the first time I made your acquaintance. It really is unfortunate your father has given up on you. You would have made a fine king one day.” She smirked. “And unlike my current marital duties, I would have enjoyed my role as your queen, in your bed.”

  The closer Contessa moved, the harder Arwan was forced to work to keep his other half under control. It fed off of her darkness, instigated by the commonality they held.

  Renato was the first to disregard his own safety. “Get away from him, Contessa. I warn you.” He strode toward them over the battlefield.

  Contessa curled her lip. “How insulting.” She flicked her wrist, cuing the tree to weave a wall of roots, isolating herself and Arwan from the rest of the group. “How naive to believe I would be so easily intimidated.” She met Arwan’s gaze. “Though you know the truth, don’t you?” She stepped toward him, studying his lips. “You can fully appreciate who I am—what I am.” Shadows morphed and flashed behind her fair features. “For we are both spawned from the same origins.”

  Arwan narrowed his eyes. “I’m nothing like you.”

  “Oh, my dear boy.” She reached out and pressed her hand over his chest. Both corners of her mouth rose into a sinister grin. “We are exactly alike.” She leaned in closer. “The only difference between us is you have yet to embrace your true nature.” She slid her hand up his chest and wound her fingers around his throat. She tightened her grip just enough to keep him from stepping away. His muscles stiffened under the clash of light and darkness battling inside him. “Unlike the others, who wish to fulfill only their selfish desires and watch you conform to their ideal perception of who you are, I merely wish to set you free.” The witch leaned in and dragged her tongue over his lips. He cringed and turned his face. “Give me your darker half, and you will have the life you want.” She flattened her palm over his chest, hovering her lips over his. “Give me permission to tear out your demons that shackle you. Release the cross you bear, and I will bear it for you.”

  The beast inside of him rammed against his chest, breaking down his will, one blow at a time.

  “If I don’t?” he managed to croak through clenched teeth.

  Her glittering eyes darkened and bubbled with violet and black. “Then I will tear it from you, along with your beating heart.”

  The beast clawed at his ribs and flailed desperately for release. Bile burned the back of his throat, and he pushed down the urge to vomit.

  “You forget that you need my permission.”

  “You will give it.”

  He snarled. “I will not. And you can’t take it from me if I’m dead.”

  Contessa slid her hand up to his face, where she pinched his cheeks between her fingers. “Then I will make you wish you were.” She pushed her body against his and slid her other hand up his shirt, tracing his abs. “It will consume you, you know.” Her voice drew him into a trance. “Only after you are exposed to those you love—who you truly are.”

  That was the last thing he remembered before the darkness tore through him, and he turned.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Arwan

  The change took place in seconds, though it seemed more like hours.

  Hours of terror.

  Hours of underworld venom coursing through his veins, and his jaw clenched shut as he spat foam and saliva with every frantic breath.

  Hours of heartache, knowing once the change was complete, Zanya and the others would see him for what he truly was.

  Arwan collapsed on the ground, his fists clenched
and his body shaking without control. The sounds of his form contorting broke him while his body took shape—first his shoulders and hips, followed by his knees and elbows. Each dislocation may as well have been a sledgehammer to his joints.

  A spike of boiling heat spewed up his back as each vertebra popped out of alignment. His body stretched and bent in unnatural ways, morphing him into something unworldly. Into the beast he could no longer cage.

  He scratched and clawed at the ground as his fingers became claws and his palms swelled with padding. He gaped open his jaw and gagged at the raw agony of a mouthful of predatory canines punching through his gums.

  The scent of every tree, animal, and human nearby was suddenly discernible, and absolutely overwhelming.

  The sounds were worse. His ears rotated and twitched at every minute noise. The birds, Contessa’s laughter as it vanished back into the underworld, and the group’s cries from the other side of the tangled wall of roots Contessa had erected.

  Combined with his own deep huffs, racing heartbeat, and involuntary whimpers, it was nearly deafening.

  “Arwan!” Zanya’s scream was the first he identified above the rest.

  “Don’t go near the tree,” Renato shouted, but it was too late. Zanya’s footsteps grew louder as she rushed toward him.

  There was no way around the wall. It was ten feet tall and stretched as far as the eye could see in either direction. But she would find a way. He had no doubt about that.

  He scratched at the ground a second time, his wolf-like pads pressing imprints into the damp soil. Every muscle screamed in protest as he found his footing and stumbled from side to side as if he were a new fawn taking its first steps.

  His legs shook beneath him, his black coat matted with soil, bits of leaves, and debris.

  “Don’t you touch him, Contessa!” Zanya’s voice carried through the air. The wall of roots shook from what could have been a wrecking ball, quaking the ground. The roots contracted—as if cringing from the assault.