“Dra’Kaedan, thank you. It means so much to me that you all have helped me find some independence. Before I always had to rely on others to assist me with even the most menial of tasks,” Edion said with gratitude. Every day it seemed the D’Vaires were finding another way to allow him to live like everyone else did.
“No problem. You’re a D’Vaire. You should get to walk every inch of our land if you want,” Dra’Kaedan replied. “Do you want me to put the necklace on for you? Madeline really outdid herself with this one. The metal is the same beautiful lavender as your hair, and the medallion is in the shape of a dragon’s head.”
“Yes, please. Thank you, Madeline.” Edion said as Dra’Kaedan lifted his heavy hair to put the necklace on around his neck. Although Madeline had yet to speak, Edion knew the entire family was always on hand at mealtimes.
“My pleasure, Edion,” Madeline said and he could hear the warmth in her voice. He had known she was a blue dragon and her mate an orange one. Although he did not think he’d been born blind, Edion had no memory of his life before he lost his sight, so he had no concept of colors but Edion liked knowing things about his family.
“I believe I will take a walk after lunch.”
“You want to feel the buzz and vibration of the magic shell, don’t you?” Dra’Kaedan asked after he secured the chain and gave Edion’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.
“I did think that I might,” Edion said.
“Hard to believe you were a dirty, scared elf when you got here,” Renny, Dra’Kaedan’s familiar said. Unlike wizards, warlocks had familiars that were sorcerers, and Renny’s appearance was similar to Dra’Kaedan’s, or so Edion had been told.
“Renny, that’s rude,” Dre’Kariston said but Edion just laughed. Renny’s words were not untrue. Neither the Cwylld nor Latarian, in the brief time he had been with her, had helped him take care of himself. They had used harsh words, and the Cwylld had added slaps and fists when the mood struck them to bother with his sad self. It had left him fearing the world around him and though he knew he was safe in his new environment, there were times when he still became anxious.
“Do not fret, Dre’Kariston. Renny is right, and I am ever so grateful to be here and to have this new life,” Edion said.
“Dude, you don’t have to be grateful. We just want you to be happy,” Renny said.
“It is hard not to be with a family such as this,” Edion said as he popped the last grape into his mouth. Standing up, he grabbed his plate and carefully counted his steps toward the dishwasher so he could add his plate to it. Helping in that way always made him feel like he was contributing to the household and not just taking away from the kind hearts that lived there. Once finished with the task, he made his way to the back door and began walking in the direction of Dravyn’s garden. From there, he had every intention of finding the edge of their property and discovering just what Dra’Kaedan’s new security measure felt and sounded like.
Chapter 2
Chieftain Lorcan of the Acwellan’s eyes flew open and a smile spread across his face. It was not a pleasant sight. It was a decidedly wicked flash of white teeth and although he had once been considered a handsome elf, over a thousand years of hatred and malice had twisted his features into a perpetual sneer. His crudely cut and overly long black hair hung over his purple and red eyes, and he swept the annoying tendrils out of his face as he slowly sat up. Once his eyes had glowed a beautiful icy blue, but demon eyes were red and Lorcan had spent too many centuries in his demonic guise to preserve his natural hue.
Looking around the room, he saw that his meager belongings were strewn across the warped and beaten floor of the abandoned building he was currently calling home. It was no surprise as he had crash-landed into the dilapidated structure the night before. Some time ago he had the grace given to elves by Fate, but now he rarely bothered to find food to fuel his body and drove himself to the point of exhaustion more often than not. It rendered him incapable of the elegance that defined his race—not that he cared about inconsequential things like that any longer.
Grimly he stood and grabbed the backpack that was never far from his side. The dark and tattered bag was old, but it was free of holes so he disregarded the idea of replacing it. He stuffed his small bit of extra clothing and other personal possessions into it. The most important object inside he rarely took out, but now it was nearly singing his name. Giving in to its siren’s call, he reached inside and pulled out the one item he had carried with him for the last thousand years in anticipation of an opportunity like today.
Needing to reassure himself that it was, in fact, still there, he unwrapped the dark fabric he kept it bundled in. In the dingy room, it seemed to glow almost otherworldly as the meager sunlight from the broken windows reflected off the object. It had a long slim silver blade that was etched on both sides. One side read Acwellan and the other bore the word Cwylld. It was a dagger whose hilt had been designed by Lorcan himself. It was a swirling mix of black and lavender he’d thought displayed a perfect union of two tribes that were vastly different but had been brought together by Fate for the sole purpose of combining two hearts eternally. The unique merged colors of the enchanted metal had been made possible by a wandering warlock that Chieftain Lorcan had rewarded handsomely for his efforts.
The weapon was inlaid with numerous amethysts and unlike the dark stones coveted by most, these were a pale purple. A millennium ago Lorcan had led a small tribe, but his riches had been vast and he would have wasted all of them to see this dagger made right. It was not a lack of coin that accounted for the light gems; it had been a matter of preference. They had been picked to match both the eyes and lavender-tipped hair of the elf Lorcan had once loved more than life itself.
His mate, Talfryn of the Cwylld. The former Chieftain-mate of the Acwellan. For twelve short months, the two of them had looked after the tribe Lorcan had been born to before Talfryn had decided he could bear his life bonded to his mate no longer. It had come as a complete surprise when Talfryn had walked straight out of his life without having the guts to say to Lorcan’s face that he was the ultimate betrayer.
Once Lorcan had believed him to be the most gorgeous elf ever born. One look from his light amethyst eyes and Lorcan had been entranced. So often they’d been alight with laughter and his smile had been frequent; he was the perfect complement to a man who shouldered the weight of overseeing a tribe and had mourned the loss of his parents six months before he’d met Talfryn. His mate’s temperament was fierce and his elegant, proud way of carrying himself had drawn Lorcan like a lodestone.
Once he’d arrived at Lorcan’s home, he had been impossible to ignore by all. Acwellan elves all had black or nearly black hair tipped with a deep blood red, so Talfryn with his lilac-tipped pale tresses that were very nearly white had seemed extremely exotic. Talfryn, or Tally as he had been to Lorcan, had seemed kind, generous, and loving. It had taken very little time at all for Lorcan to hand over his heart, and he had loved him with a strength he would have never believed possible before they met.
He had not listened to a single word of caution from his closest friends––Nyley and Heriell, who feared Lorcan was allowing himself to be swayed too much by the new elf in their midst––and would have defended Talfryn’s reputation to the death. In those twelve months that Lorcan and Talfryn had lived side by side, he had never been happier. Every morning he woke with joy in his heart, and he’d looked toward the future with complete confidence that his life with Talfryn would only get better.
But then Lorcan had learned it was all a lie. Dragging his hand over the left side of his face, he stared down at the dagger. His palm smoothed over the swirled pattern that had been etched onto his cheek the last time the beautiful dagger had been used. Originally a swirl of black and lavender, the pattern that trailed from the corner of his eye down the edge of his jaw was now as blood red as his hair would be at the ends had he not hacked it all off to his shoulders with the knife in his hand.
Although the pattern of the lines and swirls was unique to his own tribe and that of Talfryn’s, the markings themselves were not uncommon. In fact, every mated elf wore a similar design. Lorcan’s had shown up when the heavy dagger in his hand had been sliced across his palm and then Tally’s during their mating ceremony all those centuries ago. Fate had also marked the two elves with a set of lavender and black hoops in their left ears. Today Lorcan had a third earring, and it was blood red just like his facial markings.
He’d wanted to wipe away his mating marks, but Fate would not allow it. Acting on instinct when Talfryn had broken his heart, he’d used the dagger to slice his palm and decried the day he had ever met Talfryn. Pure hate had blazed through him, and Fate had altered his markings. He’d sworn Talfryn would pay for the lies and deceit he had willfully tossed out when they had agreed to share their lives. The new hoop and the color change on his face had shown up the day he had forsworn his mate and given their mating dagger its new purpose.
Tally and Lorcan were united body, blood, mind, and soul. When one of them died, the other would perish as well. The day Lorcan had escaped from the battlefield that had left him as the only living Acwellan, he had lain in a cave bleeding from numerous wounds and made a promise. The exquisite weapon he had designed for their mating ceremony was going to be the very same he was going to plunge into Talfryn’s black heart. Not only would it end Tally’s worthless existence, but it would end Lorcan’s torment as well.
So often over the years, he had almost given in to the temptation to just use the knife on himself, but that was simply too easy. He had nothing to live for; there was nothing left with his family and friends dead, but he could not allow Talfryn to escape punishment. Besides, he wanted one last look into those treacherous eyes—to see the fear in them—when he killed Talfryn. It was no more than he deserved after all the havoc and pain he’d left in his wake.
While it was true elves were supposed to live forever, a heart couldn’t beat with a metal object embedded deep inside it. The last thing Lorcan wanted before he left this mortal plane was for Talfryn to see and feel all the seething hatred Lorcan had for him. He hoped it brought the man to tears and dragged him to his knees in fear. It certainly wouldn’t be from guilt or remorse as he doubted someone so callous was even capable of such emotions. Lorcan would not have much longer to wait to see what reaction Talfryn would have as his life bled out of his veins.
Finally, today, he had been able to use the magic gifted to the Acwellan by demons to locate his mate. After all these centuries, it seemed Talfryn finally had the guts to remove himself from the magic-stealing stones the Cwylld had used to annihilate the demonic powers of the Acwellan. Lorcan had kept track of the Cwylld, but he had no desire to take on an entire tribe. With the power of their damned rocks, he wasn’t even sure how many he could kill before his own life would be in peril. It would have ruined his plans to allow himself to be murdered by Talfryn’s once-numerous kin.
Now that only a few Cwylld remained, Lorcan should have no problem getting close to Talfryn. Raising a black eyebrow, Lorcan realized his senses were not leading him to the forest in Wales where the Cwylld had lived for centuries. No, Lorcan thought, it appeared he would have to venture across the vast ocean to the Americas. He would need to get closer to his prey to pinpoint what part of the giant continent Talfryn now called home. One thing was for certain: he would use all the resources at his disposal and track him to the very edge of the world. It wasn’t as if he had any other demands upon his time.
Hastily, he rewrapped the jeweled dagger and jumped to his feet. Lorcan loosed his wings—another gift from his demon blood—from the slits cleverly sewn into the back of his handmade black tunic. His demon was always eager to take over; Lorcan had grown to enjoy the powerful beast inside him and today was no exception. Excitement raced through him as he thought about the task he had to complete. Spreading his red wings out wide, the world around him grew dark as they blocked out nearly all the sunlight in the derelict room. Shattering the glass of the nearest window as he jumped through it, he took flight.
Vengeance burned dark in his heart, and he welcomed it with open arms. Giving his body fully over to the demon that lived inside of him, the purple receded and his eyes glowed only a blood red. Lorcan flew high into the sky and beating his wings fiercely, he set out to find his mate to settle an overdue score. Death would wait no longer.
Chapter 3
“I’m glad you were able to figure out a way for Edion to walk around outside unassisted,” King Aleksander D’Vairedraconis said in a rare serious tone to Dra’Kaedan as he lowered his body into the chair behind his desk.
“Me too. I can’t believe it took Dre’Kariston and me so long to come up with it,” Dra’Kaedan replied as he too, took a seat. The warlock had parked himself next to his mate, Brogan, on one of the large dragonskin sofas in Aleksander’s office.
“I blame you for that one,” Dre’Kariston said as he sat down on the other couch in the room.
Dra’Kaedan rolled his navy-blue eyes at his twin brother and said, “Of course you do.”
“He has gained so much confidence since he arrived,” Brogan said and Aleksander nodded at his best friend.
“Yes, and he seems happy to be a D’Vaire. I’m glad that the two of you suggested he come to live with us, even though he is Cwylld.”
“Honestly, I wasn’t sure how it would feel having him here. I just knew we couldn’t leave him to fend for himself. I didn’t know who else in the Council of Sorcery and Shifters could take him since the Cwylld don’t belong. But it was a lot easier than I thought it would be,” Dra’Kaedan said, his forehead furrowed in lines.
“For me as well. It turned out to be easy to just think of him as Edion and not focus on the fact that the tribe he came from was responsible for the downfall of our people and the murder of our parents,” Dre’Kariston added as his brother smiled at him.
“Exactly. He used to be Cwylld. When he came here, he became a D’Vaire and we’re a family,” Dra’Kaedan said. “A family of completely wonderful people led by a mutant.”
“A mutant? How the hell am I a mutant, squirt?” Aleksander asked. It was not uncommon for him and Dra’Kaedan to seemingly insult each other. In truth, there was a deep core of understanding and caring between the two.
“No one is supposed to be that tall,” the warlock replied referring to Aleksander’s six-foot-six frame.
“No, that’s not it. You’re the mutant. You’re the one who stopped growing at—what? Four?” Aleksander asked as he leaned back further against his chair. Dra’Kaedan was just a couple of inches over five feet. No one could get an exact measurement as Dra’Kaedan refused to stand still long enough to satisfy the curiosity. He claimed to be five foot four, which was about an inch shorter than his brother. Although born at the same time, the warlock twins were not identical. The pair shared the same navy eyes but Dre’Kariston’s hair was black as night while Dra’Kaedan’s curls were as golden as the sun. Their facial features were similar, but they still would have been easy to tell apart if they had been born with the same hair color.
“I told him he was going to regret that someday,” Dre’Kariston said as he gave his scowling brother a smile.
“Sorry you brought up the whole height thing, aren’t you?” Brogan asked as he ran a large hand over Dra’Kaedan’s blond locks. The height thing, as Brogan put it, came up often and Aleksander thought it was pretty ironic since his best friend was barely an inch shorter than he was.
“Anyway, I asked you guys to come in here for something serious,” Aleksander began. “Latarian is dead, and the Cwylld rocks are now in Edion’s vault.”
“Yeah, and I for one am glad that the Mallents are now history,” Dra’Kaedan said, referring to both Latarian and her grandfather, Carvallius. Carvallius had been the one to wage the war between the Cwylld and the warlocks in the first place. He had died centuries before when he had gone toe to toe with Dre’Kariston and l
ost.
“Me too. Thank goodness Gavrael reacted so quickly after she stabbed you in the chest. That dagger of his was pinning her to the floor before I even saw it leave his hand,” Dre’Kariston said, the navy of his eyes darkening. Gavrael was one of the two sentinels that called Court D’Vaire home, and the entire family was grateful for his swift action. Of course, sentinels spent a great deal of their day training to defend the life of the necromancer Fate had bound their soul to, so it was not completely unexpected, to Aleksander’s way of thinking.
“I probably missed it because I was dying,” Dra’Kaedan threw in as he looked up at the ceiling and let out a sigh. Aleksander knew it was all for show. The threat to his life had been very real, but Dra’Kaedan had never been one to dwell on the events of the past.
“Still beating that drum, huh?” Dre’Kariston asked as he gave an eye-roll of his own.
“So, the first time you died we put a gazebo in the backyard,” Aleksander said.
“Please tell me we’re not putting up another memorial for him. He’s going to start trying to get himself killed every week if we keep building shit in his honor,” Dre’Kariston said as he crossed his arms over his chest while Dra’Kaedan threw his head back and laughed. Glancing at Brogan, Aleksander found him looking less than amused at the warlocks’ banter. Considering Dra’Kaedan was his mate, the attempts on his life were probably more difficult to see as funny.
“I was thinking it would be nice to have a memorial for your parents,” Aleksander said and Dra’Kaedan’s laughter stopped abruptly.
“I love that idea,” the blond warlock said.
“Me too,” Dre’Kariston added.
“Great, so how about a statue of the former Grand Warlock T’Eirick and one of Grand Summoner Saura with their familiars near Dra’Kaedan’s gazebo? Dravyn will certainly come up with a clever way to landscape it.”
Vengeance From The Dark (D'Vaire Book 3) Page 2
