Embrace of the Damned

by Bast, Anya

  Jessa rose, found a piece of paper and a pen, and wrote a letter.

  A half hour later, a heavy sensation in the center of her chest, she stepped beyond the gates of Broder’s keep, the extremely sharp sword she’d taken in a sheath and strapped crosswise at her back for easy access. She’d left Loki’s knife for Broder.

  She had the assurance of a god and a witch that she would be protected from demons on this journey, but she was used to taking care of herself.

  Immediately, a sense of where she needed to go filled her. It was as though an internal compass had started in the center of her chest, leading her in the right direction. Closing her eyes for a moment, she took a deep breath of the chill night air and stared down the dark, narrow road. Her mind strayed to Broder. How could she leave him this way? It wasn’t right. Both Carolyn and Loki had said this was the best thing for Broder, but how could not saying good-bye be the best thing?

  She took a step backward, away from the road.

  Right after that moment of doubt slid through her mind, she had another odd shiver, this time stronger. Yes, of course this was the right thing to do. Better to cut ties with Broder like this, without an emotional good-bye, and before Loki could yank him away. She didn’t want their end to be on Loki’s terms.

  Touching the comforting weight of the dragonfly pendant that nestled in the hollow of her throat, she stepped onto the next path she’d take in her life.

  “I can feel her.” Thorgest turned from the large window of the library, where the huge full moon hung pregnant in the early morning sky. “She’s on her way here now.” He turned and stared pointedly at Roan. “You see? That’s how it’s done. I knew I should have had Carolyn do the job from the beginning.”

  Roan shifted in the leather chair near the blazing fireplace. Across from him, Carolyn favored him with a smug smile. Roan curled his lip at her and glanced at Thorgest. “I think it’s risky. If she finds out she’s been manipulated, she’ll leave us.”

  Thorgest narrowed his ice blue eyes at him. “Then I’m guessing the lass best never find out, ye ken?”

  Carolyn’s eyes hardened. “We did the best thing for the girl. You know that, Roan. She needed to get out of that keep, away from that man. We can give her what she never had, a family.” She smiled poisonously. “Thorgest and I are her blood; we want what’s best for her.”

  Yes, except Jessa had had a family—she’d had the woman Jessa thought of as her aunt Margaret, the woman that Abigail and Michael had wanted to raise her in the event of their deaths. Abigail had never wanted Jessa to have this family and Roan understood why.

  “You want what’s best for you,” Roan retorted, his voice bitter. “Don’t deny it, Carolyn.”

  Carolyn’s lip curled into a snarl. She leaned forward and opened her mouth, but Thorgest barked at her, “Haud yer whist, the both of ye!” Thorgest turned back to the window. “She’ll be here before dawn. Best be ready.”

  The road stretched into the night, a gravel affair she would have expected to see in rural Alabama, not in the Scottish Highlands. Refuse scattered the road on either side in weed-choked heaps.

  Her feet hurt from walking. Hitching rides had brought her close to this place, but she’d had to walk the last five miles of desolate road. Hitching wasn’t really her norm. In fact, this was the first time she’d ever done it in her entire life. It had just seemed like the right thing to do, as sure as the esoteric sense of direction she had now told her the enclave was somewhere down this road. Magick drove her, she was sure of it. It was a heavy guiding sensation in her chest, leading her to where she needed to be.

  She was close to her destination.

  But this last bit of the way was enough to make her want to turn back. She shivered a little and held fast. She’d come this far, it was just a bit farther.

  She hovered at the mouth of the road, the wind whispering through the branches of nearby trees. Above her the moon was a huge, swollen ball, but clouds covered it sporadically, dimming its light.

  If this had been a horror movie she was watching, she would have screamed at the heroine, Run, run away! But her great-aunt had led her here and down that path lay the answers to the questions that burned in her mind, and she would risk her life for those answers. She was willing to face the menace of this road and whatever lay at its end to clear up the murkiness of her life’s path.

  Pulling the sword sheathed across her back as if for reassurance, she took her first step toward the end, both hands tight on the handle. Her shoes crunched in the gravel as she made her way forward, chill air causing the hair at her nape to rise. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, then another.

  Midway down the trash-strewn narrow road, the handle of the sword pulsed against the skin of her palm. She jerked in surprise, nearly dropping it. Peering at the handle in the dim light she noticed it was marked with runes a lot like the ones she’d seen on the inside of Broder’s duster.

  Her blood turned to slushy ice.

  Gripping the warmly pulsing handle, she turned in a tight circle, watching for any sign of movement. Her heart beating out a too-fast rhythm and perspiration slicking her grasp, her gaze flicked from a ripped black trash bag flapping in the breeze to a soaked box that appeared filled with rotted fruit to a decaying, rusted refrigerator turned on its side.

  Nothing.

  Silence.

  The handle of the sword throbbed dully.

  Her breath came faster, her body quivering. All her senses told her there was something out there, watching her, stalking her. Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw something dark shoot toward her.

  She whirled to face it, sword held high. All the panic left her and into that space rushed every bit of the training she’d received. Her scar throbbed along the length of her neck, reminding her of the stakes.

  The demon charged her, white fangs gleaming, and she swung the sword, knowing that if she didn’t separate his head from his neck, she’d be his liquid breakfast.

  “Jessa?”

  Broder murmured her name, turning over to find the bed empty. The pillow was indented and the sheets and blankets were tangled as though she’d just thrown them aside.

  Disappointment made him lower his head to the pillow and groan. He’d been looking forward to pulling her against him, giving her a kiss, and seeing where it led. Now that he’d had a taste of her, he couldn’t get enough.

  She’d probably hit the exercise room already. It was her usual schedule, working out first thing in the morning, though, if so, she’d woken up earlier than usual today. It wasn’t even light outside yet.

  He forced himself to sit up, needing to go find her. He had things he needed to tell her. Big, heavy things that lay on his heart like hundred-pound weights yet they had all the substance of a fog at dawn. Loki would be the sun that burned away that fog. All the emotion Broder had for Jessa—nothing he said, no matter how much it mattered to him, would make a difference in the end. He was doomed to spend the rest of his life without her.

  It didn’t matter. He still needed to tell her how he felt.

  He found a pair of jeans. Once he’d pulled them on, he turned to walk from the room, but a flash of blue caught his attention before he reached the doorway. On the bedside table an envelope lay propped against the lamp, his name scrawled on the front. A note.

  Rage immediately filled him. There was only one reason Jessa would leave a note.

  He strode over, ripped the envelope open, and scanned it.

  She’d gone to the seidhr enclave.

  Swearing in four different languages, he tossed the paper to the floor and raced from the room. She could be in danger. He had to get to her before she took a step into that coven.

  “Broder, don’t you fucking dare.”

  Broder halted at the sound of Loki’s voice behind him. Slowly, he turned to find the god dressed in some polished, expensive suit, with what looked to be a two-hundred-dollar plum-colored tie. “Loki. What an unexpected surprise.”
<
br />   “Spare me the sarcasm. Just where did you think you were headed, Broder?”

  His jaw locked.

  Loki paced toward him. “You look pissed off. Too pissed to answer.” He waved his hand. “Don’t bother. I know where you were going and you can stop right there, brother. You know you’re forbidden from setting foot in the seidhr enclave.”

  All the Brotherhood were forbidden, but he, especially, was barred with violent force. Getting the seidhr simply to rune his coat had been a battle.

  “What will you do to me if I go anyway?” Broder snorted. “Kill me? Please, do that, Loki. The time is long past that I should be dust in the wind.”

  Loki favored him with a particularly malicious smile. “Oh, come now, you know I’m far more creative than that. Death is way too easy a punishment for directly disobeying me.”

  “I love her.”

  Loki’s smile faded, but the cold look in his eyes was even worse. “You gave up your right to love long ago, Broder. Your right to emotion like that was washed away in a deluge of blood spilled by your own hand. Your soul is mine to keep. You can’t give it to anyone else.” He smiled, brightly this time, as if they were talking about something pleasant. “Anyway, if you really love her, you’ll let her go. She’s where she needs to be now. She’s with her people. Leave her be. All is as it should be.”

  Broder looked away from Loki, not wanting to accept the truth of those words. Leave her be. If he truly loved her, he should do exactly that.

  “Ah, I see on your face that I’ve broken through your thick head. Excellent.” Loki’s voice sent a chill through the room. “Don’t disobey me, Broder. I will freeze the Earth for a thousand years before I let you set foot in the seidhr compound without massive punishment.”

  And in a blink, he was gone.

  Broder stood in the center of the room, staring down at the crumpled letter on the floor.

  If you love her … leave her be. She’s where she needs to be now.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Jessa leapt out of the way, narrowly missing the swipe of an enormous hand. This was probably a low-level demon and he looked it—an unintelligent grunt. Pivoting on the ball of her foot, she brought her boot around and clipped the thing in the side of the head.

  The demon staggered to the side, shaking his ringing head, as she spun away. A split second later he lunged for her again, catching her by her shirt. The material ripped as she lurched to the side and nearly tripped, her sword swinging wildly. Her heart thudded. This was not the time to lose control.

  Listing to the side to catch her balance, she madly swiped with the sword, cutting only air. The demon sensed he had her, growled something in a foreign language, and leapt. Staggering backward, she swung again. This time the tip of the blade sliced through fabric, bit into the demon’s upper chest. It had been purely luck.

  The thing roared, blood coursing down his chest, but this was no Loki blade she wielded; he didn’t explode into ice fragments. The wound only seemed to enrage him. He stalked toward her again.

  Jessa retreated backward, sword hanging loose in one hand. She had to kill this thing. It was her life or his. She stumbled over a piece of refuse, nearly falling on her ass. The demon smiled, sensing he had her. Whimpering deep in her throat, she slouched her shoulders. Oh, God, she was going to die.

  The agent’s smile widened.

  Good. Stupid, gullible thing.

  Jessa leapt forward, right into the demon, bringing her fist around into the tender flesh of his nose. The demon howled, his head snapping to the side. Her hand burst with pain, but that was no matter now. With a two-handed grip on the sword handle, she pivoted, bringing the blade around to bite into the nape of his neck with as much force as she could muster. The blade was incredibly sharp and it slid into the demon’s flesh like butter.

  And stuck a little over halfway through.

  She released the handle of the sword and stepped away from the demon, her chest squeezing painfully and little sounds that weren’t at all feigned issuing from her throat. She’d taken her shot … and failed.

  The demon stared at her, wide-eyed, as though surprised to have a sword stuck in his neck. Blood coursed from all three of the wounds she’d inflicted. At least there was that.

  At least she’d fought like a banshee for her life.

  He took a step toward her, his lip curling, eyes bled black, a snarl ripping from his throat. She closed her eyes and let go. This was it. She was done. The demon’s breath teased her face.

  Ice exploded all over her and the sound of her sword clattering to the ground met her ears.

  She opened her eyes to find ice caught in her hair, splattering her face and clothes. Letting out a small sound of surprise, she stepped backward and slipped in it.

  The demon was gone.

  Bending down, she snagged up her sword, still too shaky to celebrate her victory. Apparently partway through worked, too. Hallelujah.

  Just as she straightened, melting ice slowly sliding down the blade of her sword, she heard a series of low snarls and growls coming from all around her. Her head jerked up. Dogs? Right, she should be so lucky.

  Several demons stepped onto the road from their hiding places in the brush.

  Jessa stood stock-still for a moment, then bolted down the road as fast as her legs would work. The demons pounded behind her and she ran faster, her chest bursting, her veins pumping. Her only chance was to get to the enclave.

  In the lightening early dawn sky she glimpsed the glint of heavy front gates. That had to be it. The seidhr enclave.

  Behind her a demon grabbed for her back, his fingertips just brushing her shoulder. Oh, God, she chanted in her head. Please, no. She pushed herself even harder, using every ounce of her will to widen the gap.

  Jessa squinted, seeing a figure in the distance standing in front of the gates. She missed a step and stumbled. That magickal guiding sensation in her chest grew stronger at the sight of this person, whoever he was, and it did seem to be a he, by consideration of the build.

  This was the person who’d been calling to her. It hadn’t been Carolyn at all.

  Oh, hell, she hoped he wasn’t demon. Had she been tricked? Was this another trap set by the Blight? If it was, she was dead.

  She had no choice but to continue, even if she might be running straight into the arms of a high-level agent of the Blight. Veering off the path meant losing momentum, tumbling through trash. Her grip on her sword tightened. All she could do now was run and fight. Fight to the bitter end.

  As she drew closer to the figure, she was able to see his face. He was an old man with white hair and a long beard braided into two plaits. His eyes weren’t old looking, though. Even from a distance she noted their sharp, bright blueness. This man was an ancient shaman.

  This man was Thorgest Egilson, her great-grandfather.

  Thorgest raised both his hands, palms facing out. Some force pulsed through the air, seeming to make reality itself bow outward for a moment.

  Behind her she heard the now-familiar sound of demons exploding into ice. In the same moment she reached him, stumbling forward into his arms. She staggered against him, but he held her up with surprisingly steely arms for such an old man. Her sword clattered to the ground at his feet.

  Chest heaving, she pushed up away from him, looking over her shoulder. All the demons had exploded at once, leaving the road awash in ice crystals that gleamed and caught the early morning light.

  Jessa could say nothing, but it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Clutching her chest, she concentrated on breathing and staving off a heart attack.

  “Welcome, my kin,” said the man in a rich baritone. “Welcome, my great-granddaughter.” His accent was thickly Scottish.

  The first moment she could make a sound, she wheezed, “Thorgest.” Her hand hurt like hell from punching the demon. She cradled it, knowing she’d have an awful bruise.

  “Yes, my name is Thorgest Egilson.”

  “Demons,�
�� she rasped. “You said I would be safe.” She straightened, finally regaining her breath a little.

  Thorgest looked unconcerned. He gazed down the road where she’d almost lost her life. She guessed that if you could use magick to explode demons there wasn’t much to fear. “One of Loki’s tricks, I expect.”

  She closed her eyes, marshaling a sudden rush of rage. She hated Loki.

  He motioned to her. “I apologize about the road ye walked, but there’s a reason it looks that way. It discourages people from traveling down it, through not only its appearance but also wards. I feared its magick might dissuade ye, but I’m happy to see ye were strong enough to resist.”

  “It was the demons I was mostly concerned with,” she gritted out, gathering her sword from the ground.