Shadow and Ice

by Gena Showalter

  “You’re in for a real treat. Tonight only we’re offering a can of fermented herring, paired with a side of vomit, probably. For a vegetarian option, we’ve got the most delectable handful of snow.”

  “Mmm. What’s for dessert? Air cookies?”

  When the two females vanished around a corner, Knox swallowed a roar of denial. Let her go. No matter where she went, he could find her.

  Ram, ram. The cracks...lengthened. Suddenly, he could move his hands an inch, maybe two.

  An inch was all he needed.

  Knox—utterly—unleashed. Head-butting, shoulder bumping. Kicking. Grip tightening on the daggers, he chip, chip, chipped away at the ice. New waves of pain washed over him, but so what. Victory was within his grasp!

  Minutes passed, perhaps hours. Thin shards of ice began to fall, granting him more room. More still. He redoubled his efforts, new cracks forming, old cracks expanding, creating a beautiful labyrinth—until the slab in front of his face gave way and tumbled to the ground.

  For the first time in centuries, a soft breeze kissed his face. He closed his eyes, basking in the sweetness of the sensation, and breathed in a long, deep breath. Oxygen flowed into his lungs, stinging like needles.

  Another slab of ice fell, then another. Soon, he was rolling his shoulders and moaning with pleasure. Oh, the glory of uninhibited movement.

  Nerve endings tingled as they blazed back to life, his blood rushing with new purpose. He scanned the remaining pillars. No one else had gained their freedom—yet.

  The pitter-patter of footsteps caught his attention. The women entered the chamber and stopped abruptly when they noticed him, their jaws dropping. The aroma of jasmine and honeysuckle permeated his senses, toying with his self-control—Vale’s scent?

  He pointed to her, the action part ecstasy, part agony. “You will stay put.” The words rubbed against his unused throat like sandpaper, raw tissues burning. Like all the other combatants, he was immortal and healed too quickly for any sustained damage, but that didn’t mean he felt his injuries any less. “Do not run.”

  “You’re talking.” Her mouth floundered open and closed. Shock glimmered in her eyes, the gold flecks molten. “You’re talking, and you’re alive. You’re alive, and you’re real.”

  Up close, without the ice between them, she was even more stunning. A beauty without equal.

  “How is this possible?” Hysteria tinged Nola’s tone. “You can’t be real. You just...can’t.” She reached out to grab Vale’s hand. “He can’t be real. Hypothermia causes hallucinations, right?”

  Muscles screaming in protest, Knox kicked away the final piece of ice and crossed to the Rod of Clima. Destroy it and kill Carrick of Infernia. Except, the moment he passed Carrick, instinct stopped him. He backtracked. Kill him. Kill him now. Can’t waste this opportunity. And, after watching the protective shield around the rod nearly incapacitate Vale, he wasn’t sure he would fare any better.

  Vale tugged Nola toward the exit, saying, “We need to leave. Now.”

  Abandon him, after he’d ordered her to stay put?

  He reordered his tasks yet again and closed in on her. The other woman stood petrified. Despite the palpable dismay that enveloped Vale, she took a step in his direction. To challenge him?

  {Protect. Necessary.}

  The lush scent of jasmine and honeysuckle strengthened, fuzzing his thoughts, reminding him of long-ago summers, and dark, sultry nights.

  What if she was nothing but a dream?

  Touch. Gently. After shifting both daggers to one hand, he reached out to trace his fingertips across her cheekbone. Solid. Soft as silk. Warmer than expected. Hot.

  He groaned. She was real, and this was his first contact with another living being in centuries...

  Was she equally befuddled by bliss? Her lips formed a perfect O, her irises glittering and crazed as she blinked up at him. “You aren’t a hallucination.”

  “No. Nor are you.”

  “You aren’t a hallucination,” she repeated, and began to wheeze. “I’m freaking out right now. Like, I’m seriously hyperventilating. I just... I can’t...”

  Hyperventilating—breathing at an abnormally rapid rate. He could press his mouth against hers, give her the air she so desperately needed... Taste her...

  Enough!

  “How long have you been trapped here?” she asked. “How were you trapped here? Who are you? What are you?”

  “I am Knox of Iviland.”

  She smacked her lips, as if she’d just enjoyed something delicious, and his body responded without his permission, hardening.

  “How are you—” The other girl tensed and quieted as more ice cracked.

  Reality zoomed back into focus. Zion was breaking free. Ranger, too.

  No, every combatant was breaking free.

  Knox hissed and shoved Vale out of the way.

  “Nola,” she shouted, and he pushed the other female in her direction.

  Just in time. Ice shards flew through the air, combatants with centuries of pent-up aggression emerging from their cocoons. Their movements were slower than usual, stiffer too, but it took only seconds for a savage brawl to break out. Roars, groans and grunts blended with the sound of shattering ice, creating an inharmonic and truly wretched chorus.

  Knox kicked a large frozen hunk in front of the humans, then summoned shadows to cloak them.

  “What happened?” Vale rasped, her gaze darting this way and that. No one could see her, but she couldn’t see anyone else, either. “Too dark...”

  “Stay put and you’ll survive,” he said, his voice gruff.

  He blocked a swinging sword. Close-quarters combat required a very particular skill set and absolute focus.

  Mind on the fray, Knox sliced his attacker’s throat. Went in for the kill, only to lose the male in the crowd.

  He charged toward Carrick, his main target—

  Ronan crashed into him, tossing him onto his back. Precious oxygen, gone. As they grappled, a head rolled past them, no body. Orion of Sieg was dead, and someone in the cavern had just acquired his motorized axes.

  Twenty-two combatants stood between Knox and victory. Would have been twenty-one, if Erik hadn’t joined the war.

  Ronan rose to his knees, straddling Knox’s torso, and punched, punched, punched. His nose broke. Capillaries burst in his eyes, clouding his vision. His teeth shredded his gums, blood filling his mouth, choking him. Only then, when his sight was compromised, and his lungs were emptied, did the other warrior risk swinging the Sword of Light.

  Knox ignored the flare of pain and rolled to his side—without looking at the sword. A single glance at the glowing metal could blind him for hours. Perfect timing. The blade hacked into the ice and stuck. Using the unintentional pause to his advantage, he returned to his back, then worked his legs around Ronan’s neck, hooking his ankles together.

  Applying pressure, Knox jolted upright to jab the male’s eye with a dagger, removing it as well as a piece of his brain. An agonized bellow joined the chorus.

  Knox rolled to the side a second time, and Ronan gave his sword a wild swing. A sharp pain slicked across his biceps, skin and muscle tearing, blood pouring. No time to retaliate. Fingers tangled in his hair and jerked him backward, toward a blazing blue fire.

  He was dragged past Colt of Orfet, who was crawling away from the melee. With good reason. His weapon of choice was a metal ring comprised of hundreds of microbots. Those microbots could separate, burrow under a person’s skin and shred their organs. And yes, it hurt. It hurt badly. But immortals healed too swiftly to be stopped in such a way.

  Rolling, kicking his legs overhead, Knox punted his captor in the sternum—Petra of Etalind.

  Different facts buzzed across his mind. Hails from a heavily treed mountain realm, possesses a sword that can grow towers of ice, mud or rock in se
conds, allies with Ronan, might be his lover.

  Unprepared for the action, she stumbled back, taking hanks of Knox’s hair with her.

  Keep them with my compliments.

  She tripped over Orion’s body, landing in the firepit. The flames licked over her, and she screamed.

  Crouched, Knox surrounded himself with shadows and scanned the cavern. Seven watched from the sidelines, the hood draped over his face, the scythe in hand. He was as free as everyone else but forbidden from joining the fight, lest he affect the outcome of the war.

  Once again, a bright light shone in Knox’s periphery, courtesy of Ronan’s sword. Ignore its allure.

  Where was Carrick?

  Still scanning... One combatant lashed out with a glowing whip, the end coiling around another combatant’s neck, sending electric pulses streaming down his spinal cord. A warrior came upon the whip wielder—Thorn of D’Elia—and struck with a hammer, shattering every bone in his body.

  Despite the deluge of sounds, Knox’s ears picked up a soft feminine whimper. He glanced over his shoulder. His shadows were in place, but there was no sign of the female. If someone had hurt her...

  He bit out an oath.

  {Find her. She’s necessary.}

  I know! Scanning with more fervor, still avoiding the blinding glow produced by Ronan’s sword... There! Slade of Undlan had backed Nola into a corner, and Vale had plastered herself over his back to pummel his face. The Undlanian reached up and over to grab a handful of her hair. With a single swipe of his arm, he flung her next to Nola.

  Knox sprinted across the cavern, ducking, diving, menace in every action. Undlan was an underwater realm, and with his trident, Slade could flood the area in seconds. Right now, he had to fear freezing again. Understandable. Everyone had individual strengths and weaknesses, but they all shared the same vulnerability.

  Halfway there, Knox dropped to his knees. Momentum propelled him forward, allowing him to slick his blades through someone’s femoral artery...a kneecap...a gut.

  Just before reaching Slade, Knox exchanged his daggers for a sword. There! With a single swing, he sliced through the other man’s wrist. The trident dropped to the ground—and so did the hand.

  Vale and Nola shouted with fear and dismay as blood spurted from the severed artery.

  Focus. Knox raised the sword, ready to deliver a death blow. But Slade dove out of the way, popped to his feet, and ran.

  No retaliation attempt?

  Disappointed, Knox jumped up, lifting Vale in the process. “Come.”

  “Get your hands off me!”

  He yanked her closer, out of harm’s way.

  She beat at his chest, the blows barely registering. “Get your hands off me now!”

  He kept his attention fixed on the battle...where was the Infernian? “I’m getting you out of here, female. Help me help you.”

  “What? Okay, yes. I will.” She took his hand and tugged him in the direction he didn’t want to go. “Let’s get my sister and go.”

  Sister, not just friend or loved one.

  No sign of the prince. Disappointment flooded him. No matter. He would go hunting later.

  Knox homed in on Cannon’s rod, intending to destroy it as planned—gone. Someone else had snagged it. More disappointment joined the deluge.

  He adjusted the position of Vale’s hand and led her in the other direction.

  She dug in her heels, saying, “What are you doing? Stop! I won’t leave without my sister.”

  “Wrong. You don’t want to leave without your sister. There’s a difference.” Someone must have escaped with the other girl. There was no sign of her, and he wasn’t going to waste time looking.

  He motored forward—

  A hard weight slammed into him. As he fell, he maintained his hold on Vale and pulled her beneath him, letting his body act as a buffer against any oncoming attacks. Instead, the culprit—Zion—held on to Nola with a gloved hand and reached for Vale with the other.

  Trying to take my prize? Knox kicked his hand away and leaped up, leaving Vale sprawled on the ground and swinging his sword at the other male.

  Zion blocked with his glove, metal clinking against metal. Vibrations rode the length of Knox’s arm but he didn’t hesitate to swing a second time. A louder clink, a more intense vibration.

  This time, Ronan’s sword had blocked the blow. Avert your gaze! Too late. A bomb of too-bright light erupted from the blade, blinding him—but not before he caught sight of Vale and Nola racing around the far corner.

  Frustration and fury mounting, Knox dropped and slid across the ice backward, summoning shadows along the way to hide his body from everyone else. A familiar gloom settled around him, more welcome than a lover’s embrace.

  “This way, my friend.” Shiloh’s voice. A hard hand rested on Knox’s shoulder. “I’ll lead you out.”

  It’s him or me. I choose me. Always.

  Do it! Compulsion kicked in a split second later. He did it; he struck. His dagger cut through Shiloh’s throat, the other man’s body jerking against his.

  As Shiloh fought for breath, Knox hacked, again and again, until the man’s head detached. A brutal act, yes. Savage and utterly merciless, too.

  “I warned you. Never trust me,” he said. Now, twenty-one combatants stood between Knox and victory.

  He hardened his heart against a torrent of guilt and remorse, and claimed Shiloh’s lenses. The male had to die at some point; only one winner could be crowned. It was imperative that Knox see now, before the effects of Ronan’s sword had worn off. He had to find Vale—his necessity—and whisk her to safety, no matter the cost.

  Lenses in place, he blinked rapidly to adjust. The world whooshed back into focus. The cavern. Soldiers clashing. Blood everywhere, even splattered over the ceiling, raining down. Different body parts were strewn across the ground.

  His gaze locked on Zion, who had just finished punching a hole in Ronan’s throat. Without a trachea, the Sword of Light owner didn’t have the strength to move. There was no better time to take him out.

  Zion went in for the kill. The removal of the heart.

  He punched through one of Petra’s towers instead. Her sword could only create towers from the substance on the ground, so this one was made of ice.

  The Taverian could have punched a third time, but he surprised Knox by pivoting and slamming his fist into a cavern wall. Cracks spread swiftly.

  The structure would collapse sooner rather than later.

  Go! Knox followed the path Vale had taken, entering a less spacious antechamber where a small fire blazed. An empty can rolled across the ground, bumping into a pair of large, oddly shaped spectacles.

  The females were gone.

  The exit... Where was the exit?

  There! He dove into a tunnel, letting gravity pull him down, down. Cracks had spread here, too, slowing his momentum. No matter. A wealth of black-and-white hair came into view.

  Arms tucked to his sides, gaining speed... He purposely slammed into Vale, who’d gotten snagged by one of the cracks. They soared into motion, her back pressed against his chest, her soft, floral scent filling his head.

  In a world of ice, blood and battle, she was a hothouse flower.

  “Not you!” She threw an elbow, nailing his chin with so much force he saw sparks. “Anyone but you.”

  A hothouse flower with bite.

  “Yes, me.” He caught her arm, halting a second attack, and grated, “You should stay on my good side, female, considering I’m the one who will decide whether or not you survive the night.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SHUDDERS RACKED VALE. Knox had caught up to her. Knox, whose eye sockets had turned black just before a cloud of darkness had risen from the ground to surround her. A man who exuded blatant masculinity, primal aggression and sent shivers down her spine
with a single glance. Whose glittering blue gaze pierced her defenses and promised untold sensual delights. Who wielded his daggers with lethal accuracy, moved with inhuman grace—who had stabbed a man right in front of her.

  Dangerous in more ways than one...in all ways.

  “What, are you going to stab me, too?” she demanded as they slid down the tunnel she’d been so happy to find only hours ago. Every time her clothing snagged on jagged ice, she jerked to a stop until Knox pushed her free.

  “Vale?” Nola called, a few paces in front of her, stopping and starting again.

  Must keep Knox’s attention on me.

  “Go for it, then. Stab me,” Vale told him, continuing as if her sister hadn’t spoken. Please don’t stab me.

  “I’m not yet sure what I’m going to do to you, female,” he said, his tone eerily casual. “If you aren’t careful, pain will be involved.”

  Why did she have to taste honeyed whiskey even now, when he issued a threat? A taste both intoxicating and sweet, made all the sweeter as it blended with the ruggedness of his masculine scent, making it the perfect combination of exotic spices and whatever the heck aroused a woman’s most primitive lust. Even better, he somehow overpowered the disgusting clash of flavors caused by myriad noises.

  Death noises, mercenaries doing their best to murder each other.

  In her younger years, she’d run away from a few foster homes, and spent some time on the streets. She’d seen terrible things. Beatings, crimes. Assaults of every kind. Each one had scarred her.

  Some nights she woke up screaming and drenched in sweat, terrifying memories clinging to her subconscious. This—what she’d witnessed tonight—would haunt her worse. An ocean of blood...a bodiless head pitching past her feet...a sword amputating a hand.

  Hysteria and panic burned through her, her stomach knotting, threatening to spew out the few bites of canned fish she’d managed to choke down. If you aren’t careful, pain will be involved.

  As Knox’s words echoed in her mind, she got snagged by another crack and stopped abruptly. She erupted, then, wiggling free of his hold, threw another elbow. Contact. He grunted, blood pouring from his nose.