Catalyst (Hidden Planet Book 2)

by Anna Carven

  Because before the war, everybody had wanted to seduce the Lightbringer, yet none of them pleased him.

  “You should be more cautious, Vradhu.” He took a deep breath and summoned a small ball of vir, a desperate plan forming in his mind. “You are a thousand cycles too young to be taking me on, bastard.” With a grunt, he ripped the Vradhu’s tail-barb out of his side and quickly placed his hand over the wound. “Ugh.” He hissed in pain as he released a small burst of power, cauterizing the flesh. The burn would sequester the poison and stop it from spreading into his bloodstream, where it could quickly kill him. He would have to cut out the dead flesh later—before it turned septic and gave him blood poisoning—but first he had to get out of this mess.

  He might be exceptionally long-lived, but he wasn’t invincible. Far from it.

  Come on. He drew upon thousands of revolutions of ancient knowledge, turning the meager trickle of power into something terrible and potent.

  Thank you, sweet little thing.

  It would never know it, but the strange brown-skinned creature had just saved his life.

  The air around him started to crackle, and he felt the familiar warmth of his power. The Vradhu shouted warnings to their tribesmen, telling them to get back and protect the women.

  They knew what was coming. They knew what he was. Oh, they knew.

  He dropped to his knees and touched the ground with his palms.

  Boom!

  Power radiated out from his hands, throwing the Vradhu back. The fearless one that had stung him received the full brunt of the blast, and the smell of charred flesh rose into the air.

  They were fortunate he wasn’t at his full power, because he would have annihilated them all.

  Imril hissed as the worst kind of agony shot through his side, adding to the pain from his metal burns. Somehow, he found the strength to rise to his feet, and he channeled the last shreds of his power into his legs, propelling himself toward the vir-creature, who had also been thrown to the ground.

  Boom!

  A blast of energy hit him in the side, something that felt similar to his own power.

  He hissed as another alien ran forward, this one possessing pale skin and a braided tail of brown hair. It had a weapon in its hand; some sort of blast-device. The alien screamed at him as it prepared to fire again, but Imril staggered forward, grunting in pain, drawing on the last reserves of his strength until he reached his original target.

  His attacker hesitated.

  He reached down, fighting through the agony.

  Got you.

  The vir-creature shrieked, waving its slender claw-less hands, an expression of horror spreading across its face. It tried to scramble backward, but Imril was there before it had a chance to rise to its feet.

  He grabbed it by the waist, and only the thin fabric of its tunic prevented him from touching its skin.

  It screamed. The alien with the weapon screamed too, but didn’t dare fire, obviously not wanting to harm his captive.

  Now he just needed to get airborne, out of range of the Vradhu war-spears. Once he was high enough, there was nothing they could do, and it wouldn’t matter how weak he was… as long as he had his prize. With a great roar, Imril spread his wings wide, beating faster and faster, generating a powerful gust of wind that threw the Vradhu back. Before they had a chance to react, he launched himself up into the clear violet sky, clutching his prize tightly.

  The creature pummeled him in the chest with its small fists, kicking wildly, fighting him with every fiber of its being. A sharp elbow landed in his side where the Vradhu barb had stuck him, and Imril hissed in pain.

  Still, he didn’t stop moving his wings. That he could do in his sleep. Flying was as natural to him as breathing.

  Higher they went, higher and higher, until the Vradhu were small specks in the wild landscape below, powerless to do anything but stare up at Imril as he escaped with his catch.

  And the higher they went, the less the brown-skinned alien fought. Perhaps it understood that one wrong move could make him let go, sending it plummeting to the ground below.

  Still, it gave one last defiant kick as he broke through a bank of wispy clouds, and if he weren’t half-dead and exhausted, he might have summoned the energy to be irritated.

  But how could he be annoyed when he was surrounded by the blissful, intoxicating cloud of its vir? Instead of growling, Imril wrapped his arms and legs around its body to stop it from flailing.

  “Stop,” he whispered in his native Drakhin, and to his relief, the creature ceased.

  If it had continued to fight, he would have been at risk of dropping it—he was that weak.

  Instead, it froze in his arms, staring at the terrain below as the trees and waterways and undulating hills grew smaller and smaller.

  Fear gave its vir a bitter tinge. Of course, it made sense that a land-dwelling creature would be so afraid of flying. Imril couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be wingless.

  To be stripped of the ability to fly was a fate worse than death. Even when he was so weak he could barely walk, he could still fly.

  For as long as he drew breath, he would fly.

  They soared over mountain ranges and lakes and wide grass-plains, and all the while, Imril absorbed just the tiniest amount of its golden energy; the vir that naturally radiated from its body. Gradually, the creature relaxed, its limbs losing some of their stiffness as it became used to the sensation. With the cool wind rushing past his ears and the creature’s warm, slender body held tightly against him, Imril was almost lulled into a state of contentment.

  But still, he was exhausted, and each wingbeat was getting harder and harder, reducing in amplitude as he tried to ignore the pain in his side. Perhaps a little of the Vradhu poison was working its way into his system.

  Imril had no choice. Simply inhaling her vir wasn’t enough. He was going to have to tap into that glorious energy, and the only way to do that was to touch its bare skin. Careful. He was going to have to exercise the greatest amount of self control to avoid killing it.

  Make it quick. Not too much.

  He just needed to take enough strength to get out of the Ardu-Sai, away from Vradhu and the ever-present threat of the vicious, deadly kratok.

  Now he recalled why the Drakhin hadn’t really bothered with this remote wilderness.

  Kratok were a serious pain-in-the-ass, and if they encountered one right now, they were dead.

  Slowly, he snaked one hand through the creature’s intricately knotted hair until he reached the elegant curve of its neck. Taking a deep breath, he extended his fingers and touched its bare skin for the very first time.

  Boom.

  What he felt beneath his fingertips blew his ancient mind.

  This Source… so rich, so pure it almost terrified him. This kind of perfection should not exist.

  “Sweet thing. Where did you come from?” he murmured as its vir flowed into him, filling him with euphoria… and power.

  And then it struck him.

  This incredible creature was female.

  What species it was, he had no idea, but she was definitely not of this world.

  Yes, even Imril the Lightbringer could still be surprised from time to time.

  He absorbed her essence hungrily, desperately, forgetting self-control, not caring that she whimpered in horror, her cries growing weaker and weaker as he made her golden energy his own. He was a long way from being back to full strength, but as he tapped into her vir, his wingbeats became stronger, his flight smoother, his vision clearer.

  He broke through a bank of thick white clouds, exulting in the feeling of pure freedom.

  But like all things, the feeling was only temporary.

  She grew limp in his arms, whimpering softly.

  Shit.

  He’d drained her almost to the point of unconsciousness, and the air up here was thinner, less oxygenated.

  Stop.

  He had to stop, but it was oh-so hard. She was a
drug, this soft, sweet, otherworldly creature, and now that he’d had his first taste, he wondered if anything else would ever feel as good.

  Don’t kill her, idiot!

  He was on the edge now, dancing between salvation and the darkness of his cursed ancestry.

  Chapter Four

  Whomp. Whomp.

  Her feet left the ground. The creature beat its powerful wings one, two, three times, and they ascended, shooting up into the darkening sky. At first, his movements were uneven, but then a gust of wind blew past, and he began to fly more smoothly, quickly gaining altitude.

  Her back was to him. He held her aggressively, triumphantly. Savagely.

  Something in her snapped, and she went wild, kicking, screaming, fighting with all her strength until the futility of it all hit her right in the gut.

  Stop.

  He whispered something to her in a language that was utterly alien, eliciting a cold, dark ripple of terror—an emotion Esania had never felt to this extent, not even when Kivik’s bots and goons had assembled at her gates.

  And for some reason, his voice—deep and male and rough—sounded as if it hadn’t been used in a thousand years.

  Her legs swayed in thin air as they went higher, higher, higher…

  She dared to look down. Ares-with-wings lay on the ground unmoving, and several Vradhu quickly surrounded him.

  Was he critically injured? Dead?

  Her heartbeat quickened. Her breaths came faster and faster; short, sharp, rasping gasps. At this rate, she was at risk of hyperventilating.

  Stop it! Calm down! Pull yourself together!

  She couldn’t afford to panic.

  With great effort, she pushed aside her emotions. A feeling of detachment came over her as she stared at the scene below.

  The people below were shouting, gesturing, running toward the spot she’d been plucked from, their faces growing smaller and smaller until they became tiny flecks in a sea of violet and black shadows.

  Then they were gone, and the lush Ardu-Sai stretched out before her, wild and terrifying.

  She saw the lie of the land, saw a serpentine river glistening as it was caressed one last time by the rays of the dying sun, saw her reality disappear yet again, turning into a nightmare a thousand times worse than the one she’d left behind.

  Once again, sheer panic threatened to burst forth. Esania only barely kept it in check.

  She was helpless and utterly terrified, and she hated it.

  The man-creature-thing wrapped his legs around her lower body, restraining her completely. There was something strangely reassuring about his powerful hold on her—at least she wouldn’t fall to her death, because he was gripping her so damn tightly.

  The air grew thin and cold, rushing past her face. She struggled to breathe as they went higher still, and Esania could no longer make out the landscape below, because night had fallen, and Khira’s moon was tiny and didn’t cast much light.

  They shot upward through a thin veil of clouds and moisture hit her face. She couldn’t breathe. She started to shiver. The creature curled one large hand around the base of her neck where her skin was exposed….

  And for the second time, he touched her bare skin.

  His fingers—yes, they were definitely fingers—sent a ripple across her skin; a tingling, electric, burning sensation that quickly spread outwards, engulfing her entire body.

  But his hands… they were ice cold. How could any living creature be this cold?

  What is this?

  It wasn’t unpleasant.

  It was strangely pleasurable, in fact.

  And suddenly, despite the cold air and his frigid touch, she felt warm.

  Her limbs, stiff with fear, grew heavy and limp. The longer he kept his hand on her neck, the weaker she felt, but maybe it was the lack of oxygen that was making her feel giddy.

  He inhaled deeply and whispered something dark and seductive and utterly incomprehensible in that rough, deep voice of his. Instead of making her panic, the sound of his voice lulled her into a languorous state.

  What the hell has he done to me?

  She couldn’t help it; she closed her eyes…

  And soared up into the unknown, not knowing what would become of her human attendants—the women whose fates she was solely responsible for—not knowing whether she would live or die.

  A monster of Khira had her now, and his touch was lulling her into a state of detached euphoria, melting away her terror.

  Why wasn’t she afraid? It shouldn’t feel good like this. With great effort, Esania opened her eyes and stared straight ahead. They had reached the edge of the sky, where the stars bled into the darkness.

  If she were human, she’d probably be unconscious right now, because human hearts and lungs and red blood cells were adapted to very specific conditions on Earth, but she wasn’t human. She was Primean, and so she stayed awake a little bit longer, just long enough to see the very edge of this dangerous world.

  Whoosh.

  Suddenly, his wings were around her, wrapping her in a pale cocoon. His hand left her neck, and Esania screamed.

  But no sound came out.

  So weak. What was this feeling? She couldn’t do anything. She was drained to the point where she was almost unconscious.

  His powerful body twisted, and he inverted.

  One-hundred-percent upside-down.

  They plummeted.

  And Esania promptly blacked out.

  Chapter Five

  With great effort, Imril removed his hand from her neck, even though he was far from satisfied. He couldn’t risk killing her. She was that most rare and valuable of things—a Source.

  And possibly something more…

  He became still, stretching his wings out so that they glided on a current of cold air. For a moment, he just hung there, listening to the rush of the wind; listening for…

  There.

  She still breathed. She moved.

  His Source was still alive, although barely conscious.

  Relief coursed through him.

  Without thinking, Imril inverted. He had to get back down into the oxygenated zones before she stopped breathing.

  He shifted his weight, plummeting back toward the face of Khira, holding his prize tightly, even as he took the utmost care not to press his bare skin directly against hers.

  Careful.

  He could use her again and again. She would be his servant, just like the pale-eyed Naaga that had roamed the halls of his eyrie high above the waves, above the shores of his island.

  Were his Naaga servants still alive? Had they kept Eleia running in his absence?

  The air became warmer as Imril reached the lower atmosphere. He tightened his grip on the female, and the only thing preventing him from draining her further was the thin material that separated his hands from her firm flesh.

  He flew on, taking her farther away from the Vradhu, all the while having to restrain himself from touching her bare skin again as her aura surrounded him.

  It was so heady and intoxicating that several times, Imril almost passed out.

  Then he realized that his prize had indeed passed out.

  Shit.

  He had to find a place to rest, because in her current state, she wouldn’t last very long.

  Chapter Six

  Imril twisted his body until they were upright again and snapped his wings open, catching a gust of wind. He held the creature tightly as they were jerked violently out of freefall, angling his wings to catch the slipstream.

  For a moment, he hovered on the wind, looking down upon his vast world. Soft starlight fell upon him from above, and for the first time, he realized something.

  The Shadowring was gone.

  Of course it was. The Dagger had crashed, tearing down the dark mist that had obscured their planet from the rest of the Universe for aeons.

  But… how?

  What had happened on Khira while he’d been in his deep slumber? Dark fragments of memories
swirled through his mind.

  His wings drooped from sheer exhaustion. Every single beat was agony, and his right wing didn’t work as well as the left, causing him to tilt to one side. Perhaps one of his wing-bones was broken.

  He was injured, sick, and completely depleted of vir. The plague had spread from eyrie to eyrie, wiping out thousands of Drakhin, ravaging Imril’s body with terrible ulcers and filling his lungs with poison so that he could barely breathe.

  That mad bastard, Nykithus… he had opened a chest of horrors. A pathogen that killed only Drakhin could only have its origins in one place.

  Still, Imril was one of the original Twins, and he was stronger than all the others. He would survive this, but right now, he felt so damn weak. He’d been flying for such a long time, and his wings were so damn tired.

  He started to fall…

  He squeezed his Source, taking care not to touch her bare skin. “Wake up,” he growled. “You are not permitted to die on me.”

  Nothing. The alien lay limp in his arms, her eyes closed, her expression serene.

  At least she breathed.

  And she still radiated vir. That meant she was still alive, just unconscious.

  Just a little bit more.

  Her shimmering golden aura tempted him so badly. It was like those potent substances some of the Drakhin used to ingest to achieve a state of euphoria—a drug.

  It took all of his self control to stop himself from touching her again. At this rate, he was going to end up addicted.

  Imril flew on, gaining speed as he crested a ridge of snow-capped mountains—the Isskar range. He caught sight of a vast lake in the distance, and remembered that it had once been home to a minor Lord called Kunlo.

  He’d met the bastard once, only briefly, and found him tiresome. Afraid to speak their true minds, the lesser Drakhin all used to grovel around him.

  Was Kunlo still alive? He doubted it.

  But Kunlo’s eyrie was there, rising through the mists above the glassy surface of the lake. It was small compared to Imril’s great tower in the sea, and it lacked Eleia’s architectural elegance, but it would do for now.