He wasn’t interested in moving. Couldn’t fathom his next step, and wasn’t sure he cared to bother.
More than three-quarters of his men, gone. On the red clay valley below, what remained of his army jerked and stumbled through an embarrassing display of drills.
It wasn’t possible. If he hadn’t seen the scorched fields and twisted bodies surrounding his home for himself, he’d have never believed it. When he’d left with Serena the night before, the malran’s men had been grossly outnumbered. There was no way they should have survived. But Eryx and his men had done it. Done it and saved the new malress and Maxis’ best-trained slave in the process.
All because of his traitorous strategos.
His eye twitched and the slow ache at the back of his jaws sharpened. He’d trusted Reese Theron as he’d trusted no one since his grandmother’s death. That fucking betraying, shortsighted bastard. If he’d killed Phybe as instructed, Eryx would never have found Maxis’ home or been able to save Lexi.
The warriors dropped their weapons and took up bickering like a nest of hormonal bitches. Not an ounce of organization among them. Unsurprising given the limited time Reese had led them, but still, one would think some of their brawn would extend to their brains.
Maxis reached through his link for Reese. Still not so much as a flicker, the same as every other time he’d checked this morning. Reese was either dead, or captive in zeolite.
Serena’s sultry voice crooned behind him. “If the look on your face is any indication, you should have stayed in my bed this morning.”
Maxis winced. He knew better than to lose sight of his surroundings. With Eryx out for vengeance, daydreaming was a bad idea no matter how many of his warriors were within spitting distance. That a woman had managed to catch him unaware only validated his level of distraction.
A wisp of yellow fabric billowed beside him, no doubt another of the elegant gowns Serena preferred. Why the malran had abandoned his relationship with her years before was beyond Maxis. With vivid blue eyes and ridiculously long blond hair, she was the picture perfect model for a malress. Fortunately, her thirst for revenge as strong as Maxis’.
“No good morning for your lover?” She gripped his hips and nuzzled his neck. The brush of her soft breasts at his back pricked his temper.
“Enough.” He pushed her away and crowded the ledge overlooking the training grounds. He had enough to contend with without Serena adding petulance to the mix.
Serena glided beside him and scowled at the men. “I guess if I had to take credit for that mess, I’d be bitchy too.”
He spun so quickly she gasped and took a step back. He gripped her hair before she could escape and yanked her so no more than inches separated them. “Watch. Your. Mouth.”
She froze, but the challenge in her exotic eyes held. Only four or five inches beneath his stature, she carried herself with a regal grace, and damned if her lemon and honey scent didn’t taunt him as boldly as her stance.
“Damn it all.” He shoved her away and stalked along the ridge, watching his men.
“You could talk about it.” Patronization at its finest, with a bit of dare mingled in for good measure.
“Which part? The fact that I’ve lost a chunk of my men, or the fact that Reese is captured or dead?’
She shrugged. “Both are replaceable.”
The warriors, yes, though at the expense of time. But Reese? He’d wanted to kill his strategos. To watch his eyes stretch wide with pain while Maxis shredded his brain to bits via link the same way he’d killed Phybe. So why in histus was he so agitated with the prospect of his demise?
“Recruitment’s a must with the plans you’ve laid out, but we’d be wise to find others to handle the legwork,” Serena said.
Maxis faced her. “We?”
The imperious chit lifted an eyebrow. “You got me in this mess, so yes, it’s a ‘we.’” She glared at the men below and her dusty pink lips curled in a vicious grin. “From the looks of things, you could use a little help.”
Finally. A moment of clarity. A spark of anger he could mold. He prowled forward. “Let’s be clear Serena.”
She retreated one step. A wise move from her for once.
He followed. “You’re nothing more than a fuck. A beautiful and convenient one to be sure, but a fuck nonetheless. Any plans for the rebellion will be guided by me. Not tempered by a bratty social butterfly who spreads her legs on a whim.”
She flinched, though she covered it as well as any longstanding queen and swept her arm out over the disorganized mass of men below. “By all means then. Lord over your precious kingdom. Thank The Great One my name’s not attached to it.” She shot to the sky, never once looking back.
“And here I’d thought you a smart man.”
Maxis spun toward the voice behind him. A grated baritone with a nasally bite. Familiar, yet foreign.
Adobe ground stretched unbroken but for random clumps of gray spindly bushes. Not a soul in sight. Nothing pinged against the bubble-like surface of his sensory gifts.
“Only an idiot would piss away a delectable and advantageous piece of tail mourning over a traitor.” The voice hovered around Maxis, like a shout from the center of a cavernous room.
Maxis planted his feet at shoulder width, weight forward, ready for defense against the unidentifiable presence.
“I’m the least of your worries.” The voice held more substance this time.
Maxis whirled the other direction.
A lithe, dark-haired man stood in clothes unlike any he’d seen in either the human or Myren dimensions. His black tunic shone like silk, and formed an H across his chest before it dropped to his shins. Tall and lean, the man needed a good dose of sun. As it was, his pale skin struck a harsh contrast to the black, ruler-straight hair that fell from his widow’s peak to the tops of his shoulders.
The clang and shouts of men drilling below sounded in the distance. Not one blip in their efforts to indicate they saw the unexpected visitor.
“I trust no one,” Maxis said. “Least of all a stranger.”
A low, sinister laugh filled the space, though the man’s lips barely moved. “I’m no stranger to you, Maxis. Quite the opposite.”
He lifted a hand, palm forward, and his jade eyes sharpened.
The landscape dimmed, replaced with snippets of Maxis’ life. His grandmother Evanora’s death. His mother abandoning him when he was only nine in favor of the half-human child she carried. The human bullies who’d beat him before he’d come into his Myren gifts. The subtle resistance of Maxis’ blade in his father’s chest as he’d plunged it deep. Every critical moment of his life sped by with alacrity. One voice threaded each one.
Maxis’ memories dissipated and the desolate landscape returned. “Who are you?”
The stranger’s smile grew. “Your spiritu.”
“Don’t fuck with me. I asked who you are, not what you are.”
“Ever the clever one.” The man eased into a more casual stance. “I’ve always appreciated that about you. That is, when you’re not sniveling over your worthless strategos.”
“Your name!”
The stranger crossed his arms and waited several breaths. “The name given to me by my people is too complex for your mortal mind, but you may call me Falon.”
“And your people?”
“I thought my race didn’t interest you.”
Maxis fisted his dagger’s hilt.
Falon sneered. “You cannot force my demise. Spiritu are not susceptible to mortal death. Only The Great One rules us in such a fashion.” Uncurling his arms, he stalked forward, the air snapping with electricity. “I, on the other hand, can force yours quite nicely.”
He stopped a stone’s throw away, lifted his hand, thumb and fingers spread as though coiled around an unseen substance.
An invisible pressure blocked Maxis’ airway and crushed his windpipe. His elemental gifts wouldn’t respond to his comman
ds. No call of earth, no fire. Darkness crept along the edges of his vision and his heart thrashed.
“I’m the voice in your mind, Maxis. The one who’s guided you throughout your life and lifted you when most needed.”
The memory of his father, bleeding out on his vast bed seconds after Maxis plunged the knife deep, leapt to life.
“Then most of all.” Falon whispered in Maxis’ mind. “It was I who guided you to that moment, and every critical juncture after.”
As quickly as it had begun, the tightness in his throat disappeared, and a fresh wave of chilled Asshur air rushed his lungs. Maxis stumbled back a step and braced his palms on his knees.
The crunch of Falon’s boots on clay pebbles crackled, slow, casual steps promenading around Maxis. “My people are the guides for Myren and humans alike. The passion and inspiration that feed their souls. I am of the dark contingent, those who focus on the headier passions.”
Maxis’ vision spun and his knees trembled. He couldn’t show fear. Everyone had a weakness, this man included. He just needed to find it.
“So you’ve suddenly decided to make a house call?” Maxis glared at Falon. “Don’t play me for a fool. Even if I were to believe in your assertions, your change in behavior calls for suspicion.”
“Your blubbering heart pushed me past the point of reason.” Falon paused, gripped his hands loosely behind his back, and paced away from Maxis. He studied the barren tract of land. “Deny it all you want, but your dead strategos has done a number on your head. One I’m not willing to stand by and watch. We’ve worked too long and hard on your future for you to go soft now.”
His future. Revenge on the Shantos line for the wrongs handed his family and the throne to go with it. The stranger was right. He needed to get his head in the game. Get his plans under—
“What did you say?” Maxis strode the handful of steps to Falon, gripped the spiritu’s shoulder, and spun him around.
A devious grin crept across Falon’s face. “I said dead strategos. As in not among the living.”
“You know this for certain?”
“I know his presence is no longer within the plane in which my people have purview, so yes. Dead.”
Maxis staggered and his gut lurched. “He could be in zeolite.”
Falon’s voice dripped with disgust. “Praise The Great One, what difference does it make? Look at yourself. You need to focus, reformulate your plans, and reengage. I’ve already given my light brethren an opening they don’t need by appearing in person. The light contingent and the malran don’t need any more advantages.”
Important information. Words he’d need to study. Later.
Reese was dead.
Falon clamped an unforgiving grip on Maxis’ shoulder and roared loud enough his voice echoed off the gorge walls. “Hear me.”
Maxis fired a defensive bolt of electricity toward Falon.
It passed through Falon’s chest, and his maniacal laughter filled the air.
Maxis tottered backward.
The warriors kept to their exercises. Even with Falon’s raging guffaws echoing through the canyon, not one seemed to notice.
“You want an empire, Maxis? Then make one.” Falon’s arms swept out in dramatic fashion. “Build your own. Start with family.”
Family. A poignant chord that rattled more than flesh and blood. His father had never offered a mating link to his mother. She’d escaped too easily because of it, not that his father had bothered to try and find her. He’d finished his life alone with nothing more than a broken rebellion. Evanora had been the wise one, surrounding herself with loyal family and friends. Wasn’t it she who’d fueled Maxis’ goals?
Falon had a point.
Shouts and grunts lifted from the training fields. “What about them?”
Falon inched closer, still on the furthest reaches of Maxis’ periphery. “Reese was never your best choice for strategos. You were biased with him. Always were. If you’d paid closer attention, you’d have noticed someone much more suited to your nature.”
The men had found a rhythm, groups pairing off for practical training. In the furthest section of the field, a bellow rang out. A man collapsed to the ground, a harsh line of crimson stretched across his neck and sightless eyes aimed to the sky.
His partner gripped a wicked dagger with a charcoal hilt and a blade coated in blood.
Maxis shot from his place on the high ledge across the vast valley to intercede before the man charged more of his fellow warriors. He knocked the weapon from the man’s grip. “We need more fighting men, not less.”
The warrior glared at Maxis, his odd green eyes unflinching. Sweat coated his bare chest. His short black hair was equally drenched and scattered. “If they’re weak, they’re not worth it.”
Hard to argue the man’s logic. “Give me your name,” Maxis said.
Silence settled around them, the shuffle of feet and the whisper of wind the only sound.
“Uther Rontal.”
The men around them glanced back and forth between Uther and Maxis, weight on the balls of their feet, waiting and ready.
They feared them both. With fear came control. How had he missed such a discovery among his troops?
Falon’s voice rang in his head. “Like I said, a much better match.”
Chapter 3
The slow, steady rumble of hushed, masculine voices nudged Reese toward consciousness. Every muscle hung heavy and useless, his eyelids as dead weight as the rest of him. Cold radiated from the hard surface beneath him. Stone maybe, rough and uneven. He shifted and sharp jolts webbed down his spine. Praise the Great One, what the hell had he done? The last thing he remembered—
The warrior’s strike, shooting past Galena’s cheek and nailing him in the shoulder. He should be dead.
Cool, damp air swished across his torso, tainted with the scent of mold, earth, and something else he couldn’t quite place. He pulled in another breath, ignoring the tiny stabs poking beneath his ribs. Herbs. Nothing he knew by name, just a clean, crisp edge out of place with everything else. And flowers. Definitely flowers.
Out of nowhere, a pressure built at his wound, ratcheting from warm to blowtorch hot in seconds. A scream punched from his lungs and jammed in a vicious knot at the back of his throat. He needed to move. To thrash and strike at whatever it was attacking him, but his body couldn’t move, too paralyzed by pain to break free.
The pain flashed to nothing in an instant, the heat of the assault falling away with it.
He shuddered, chilled to the bone with goose bumps covering his flesh.
A flutter brushed across his mind.
His memories. Someone was trying to read him. An invasion. He forced his eyes open, tried to push away, and froze. His voice cracked. “Galena.”
Light from the torches behind her flickered off her auburn hair, and her lips curved in a tight, practiced smile. “I know that was painful, but you’ll be fine now.”
She’d healed him. That was the burn beneath his skin. But guilt shone in her eyes too. Had she read his memories before he shut her out?
“That’s enough.”
Reese flinched at the clipped reprimand. He knew that angry tone all too well. The same one Ramsay Shantos had flailed him with all those years ago. He didn’t dare look up. Didn’t trust himself.
“Get him up and in the cell.” His former strategos, the man who’d trained and then denied Reese entry into the warrior brotherhood, dipped into Reese’s line of sight and pulled Galena away.
Two guards hustled forward and hoisted Reese up by his armpits and thighs. They lugged him toward a cell, every jerk and bounce lashing fresh torment against his bruised and battered body.
An icy wave pummeled him, and his stomach lurched. Zeolite. The crystal showed no mercy, crushing his powers as soundly as a boot heel on a bug.
His guards grunted beneath the impact as well, their dagger sheaths thumping against their belts with eac
h shuffle. They tossed him toward the corner.
He slammed into a thinly cushioned cot, and his teeth clacked together, rattling as hard as the cell door the guards slammed on their way out.
Praise the Great One, he ached. Everywhere. He pushed upright, holding his breath until the fresh wave of agony settled.
A candle burned on the weathered wooden table beside him. Eden didn’t utilize electricity the way humans did, and no sane jailer would risk piping in light from above. Too much opportunity for prisoners to feed on Eden’s energy through the opening and past the Zeolite to feed their powers.
On the other side of his door, Ramsay’s voice roared, ripping someone a new asshole.
Reese struggled to his feet, locked his knees and slowed his breath. He knew Ramsay like few others did. It’d take his once friend another thirty seconds tops before he stomped through the cell door and unleashed his venom on the person he was really pissed at.
Reese.
He rolled his shoulders and exhaled through the pain. Damn it, if he wouldn’t find his pride and meet Ramsay’s attack upright. His drast was gone, leaving his chest bare. Understandable with the charred mess covering his wound, but least he still had his pants and boots.
The latch on the door kachunked and the door whooshed open.
Ramsay prowled inside and shoved the door closed. His jaw looked hard enough to snap. Thank The Great One, zeolite would keep things on an even keel where powers were concerned.
Reese glanced at the door. “Where’s Galena?”
“My sister’s not your concern,” Ramsay said, harsh and cold as the dungeon.
Like histus she wasn’t. For whatever reason, she’d saved him. “Was she hurt?”
Ramsay crossed his arms and tilted his head. “Why would you care? You tried to kill her.”
Seventy years and Ramsay’s glare still sliced him.
“A warrior with something to hide has no place in the brotherhood. This candidate is unworthy to serve.”
The memory tore through Reese, slicing open old wounds poorly healed. “Why did you let her heal me?”
Healing Eden Page 2
