by Ryvr Jones
If he didn’t take the fucking job, Seersha would use him as a puppet. And there was nothing he could to prevent it.
Chapter Three
Hidden in the Shadows, Seersha watched Rhys go back inside. His despair when he realized he didn’t have any options but to do what she asked had been clear in his face, in the slumping of his shoulders.
She sighed, her shoulders going down as well. The prospect of physically forcing him to do her bidding was unsettling, unpleasant. Despite the taunts and coldness she used as an armor to avoid having her judgment clouded by feelings, she had a grudging respect for her gravedigger. He knew a lot about her, and not many souls had the balls to get close enough to know anything.
He was also oh so handsome. Tall, with black hair and dark eyes, he was a mountain of sleek muscle, with a penchant for dressing in black leather.
We’re more alike than he’d care to admit.
Rhys was one of the few beings Seersha could regard as her equal. If not in nature, at least in strength. He was also one of the even fewer who didn’t run away from her as fast as they could. Rhys always faced her head on, defiance shining bright in his eyes. He never cowered, never bowed. He’d have to be broken before he bent against his will—and he was never willing to bend, for anyone or any reason. She respected that.
Unfortunately, this time she’d have to break him, force him to bend to her will. The darkness he carried inside was getting stronger, closer to the surface each day. Rhys knew that.
What he didn’t know, and the fucking Rules didn’t allow her to tell him, was that he was running out of time. His soul was dying.
And once his soul was dead, the darkness, the unspeakable evil he’d brought from the Abyss, would take over the world.
Tamerah woke up beside a furnace.
A pleasant scent tickled her nose. Leather. And something else, something wild. She opened her eyes and found herself covered with a leather coat, enveloped by Rhys’s warmth. It’s him. He smells of wilderness and freedom.
He was stretched beside her, enveloping her shoulders with an arm. Her head was resting on his chest, his breath tickling her hair. He’d changed into dry clothes—charcoal shirt, black pants and a clean pair of boots. The scuffed leather and buckles told her they were used often. She liked his boots, “war scars” and all. Maybe they have actual war scars. Rhys certainly does.
Staying still, Tamerah closed her eyes again, giving herself a few more moments to enjoy his warmth and closeness. Without her memories, her world was a vast expanse of nothingness. She was lost in a dark void, scared she’d never find a way out. Rhys’s solid presence was her only anchor, and the steady beat of his heart soothed her soul. She wanted to splay her palms over his chest and feel it with her bare skin.
“How are you feeling?” His question startled her.
Crap. Busted. He didn’t move, though, so neither did she. She opened her eyes, gazing at the rise and fall of his chest. “I feel fine.” She let out a sigh. “What gave me away? I thought I was doing a good job of pretending to be unconscious.”
Rhys made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Your breathing changed.” He tensed. “Why were you pretending? Were you hoping I’d go away?” There was something in his voice she couldn’t define, but it tugged at her heart.
“I was hoping for the exact opposite,” she murmured.
He went still, and silence stretched between them. After what seemed an eternity, he said in a low voice, “Explain.”
“It feels good to have your warmth close,” she confessed. “I know you don’t want to be near me. I understand. And I knew the moment you realized I was awake and didn’t need your body heat, you’d go away. I was stealing a few moments.” Heat burned her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
Silence greeted her shameful confession. When he spoke, his answer wasn’t what she expected.
“Let me see your hands.” He put his arm in front of her, the palm turned up. She snaked her right arm out of the coat, and put her hand on his. Rhys squeezed it gently. “Still cold. Not as much as before, but still cold.” He pulled her arm closer to his face, and his breath warmed her skin. She closed her eyes, letting the sensation wash over her.
“At least the color is healthy,” he said. “How’s the other one?”
The words glided over her fingers in a stronger caress, making something twist in her belly. Tamerah swallowed a moan. She wished he’d keep talking to her, caressing her skin with his breath, forever.
“Well?” He gave her arm a gentle shake.
Focus, Tamerah. “It is…” Focus! “The same,” she managed to choke out, “as the one you have.”
He barked his almost-laugh. She was starting to love the sound. He probably didn’t laugh much, so hearing the small noise made her happy, and being the cause of it made her even happier. She wanted to hear it again. “You can keep it if you want. I have another, so I probably won’t need the one I gave you.”
The laugh didn’t come. He enveloped her hand in his, and let both rest on his stomach. Shame crept over her face. Way to go, Tamerah. Why the hell are you wasting time with nonsense and stupid jokes?
“You had a nightmare.” His soft rumble interrupted her self-inflicted lashing. “You were crying,” he said quietly. “What happened to you?”
Her lips parted, a soft gasp blowing out of her when she remembered.
Rhys riding a black horse through a battlefield littered with corpses. A dagger in his hand. The demon was there, and Rhys plunged the dagger into his neck. A deafening silence, darkness, darkness, unspeakable pain. The woman with fire in her eyes, leaning over Rhys’s lifeless body.
As the memories slammed into her, she went taut as a bowstring. Not a nightmare.
Tears blurred her vision, and she curled up, her body wracked by violent tremors. She clenched her hands into fists, but Rhys didn’t let go of the one wrapped inside his fingers. Pain ravaged her soul as the terrible images flipped through her mind. The tears went down her face, but she couldn’t stop them.
“It didn’t happen to me.” A sob escaped, almost choking her on its way out. “It didn’t happen to me.” She buried her head on his chest, and turned her fingers to envelop his. “It was you, Rhys.” Another sob. “I know how you got the darkness. I remember.” She lifted her head and met his gaze. “I saw you die.”
I saw you die. Her eyes, turned into liquid silver, told Rhys it was true.
She’d seen his foolishness, the biggest mistake he’d ever made. The catastrophic error of judgment that had turned him into what he was.
His stomach lurched, not only because of his own memories, but also from the pain stamped on her face, on her rigid body, on the way she clutched his hand.
I don’t know how it’s possible, but she cares. The need to shield her from the pain overrode everything else. He shifted and tugged, bringing her to his embrace. She wrapped her arms around his torso—Jesus Christ, she’s hugging me—and hid her face on his neck.
Trying to soothe her, he put a hand on her nape, tangling his fingers in her hair. “That was a long time ago,” he murmured against her temple, breathing her scent. “Don’t cry, Tarani.” The old word for silver-eyed fell from his lips and it felt right.
“I saw a field covered in blood,” she said, struggling with the words, her voice strained. “I saw you kill, you killed the demon, then you knelt beside his body, your head down.” She lifted her head to face him, her fingers gripping his shirt in a fierce hold. “Your eyes turned black, and there was darkness, so much darkness in them…” A shudder wracked her frame, and her words became a river. “You died, you died and she brought you back, but it was too late, all that was left was darkness…your soul had been in the Abyss, and you wished she’d left you there...”
Tarani was crying again, but Rhys was back in the Thousand Deaths Battle, losing his life and everything he loved, all over again.
Roaring like a deadly injured animal, he stumbled off the bed, only to fall
down on his knees. Throwing his head back, he screamed and screamed until his throat was raw and he lost his voice. Unbearable pain clawed his guts, pounding on his skull and ripping his chest open.
The darkness spilled inside him, a poisoned river filling all that he was with corruption and decay, eroding what little was left of his soul.
He couldn’t breathe. His very bones were rotten, his eyes were blind and he was bleeding, life draining away from him.
Darkness.
There was nothing else, no relief, no escape, no redemption. Someone called his name, but it was too late.
Pain.
Rhys drowned in darkness. Time and space turned meaningless, and he only knew misery and desperation.
He was back in the Abyss.
Chapter Four
Rhys didn’t know where he was, but the pain in his muscles told him he wasn’t dead. There’s no escape.
Even his bones ached, his throat was raw, and his eyes refused to open. He tried to move and his body screamed a loud protest. He groaned. He was kneeling, his hands trapped in a death grip, something heavy over his bent legs.
Making a supreme effort, he opened his eyes. A light-haired woman was draped over his lap, clutching his hands as if her life depended on it. His fogged brain took a second to kick in. Tarani. A small tendril of joy unfurled inside him.
What the fuck? The last thing he remembered was being stretched on the bed beside her. “Tarani?” He tried to free his hands from her hold, but she wasn’t letting go. Shaking their linked hands gently, he called again. “Wake up.”
She jerked upright, blinking red eyes at him, her face pale, the lips swollen and bitten. “Rhys!” She flung her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. “You came back, oh, thank the Goddess, you came back.” Her voice was rough. “I was so scared. I’m so sorry, Rhys.” Her words vibrated against his throat. “I didn’t want to bring you more grief. I didn’t—” She choked.
Without thinking, he hugged her, hiding his face in her hair. He inhaled her scent and filled his soul with her, allowing himself to forget about everything else for a moment. “It doesn’t matter.” He closed his eyes. “I was a fool. What happened was my own fault.”
“I don’t care.” Her fingers gripped him with enough force to leave bruises, then she lowered her hands to his shoulders, moving them in small circles on his back, and he choked. She was trying to comfort him. She’d seen what he’d done, what he’d become, and was trying to comfort him in spite of it. Because of it.
“Don’t do that.” His voice was little more than a rusty croak. “Don’t be kind to me. I don’t deserve it.”
“You’re wrong,” she whispered, tightening her embrace. “You deserve something better than darkness and grief and loneliness.”
Stunned into silence, all he knew was how right it felt to be near her, sharing the warmth of his body. She said it feels good. The weird sensation from earlier came back, filling his chest.
She cares about me.
He felt even weirder. As if his brain understood what the words meant, but couldn’t process the information in its entirety. He was torn between what his body said, the rightness seeping into his bones, and his mind screaming he should run. His long, long existence had taught him to be wary and untrusting. He’d been fucked over enough times to be always on guard. It had become second nature, and it kept his head on his shoulders. Not exactly, but yeah.
Her concern and gentleness were real, though. Fuck. As was the emotion rasping in her voice. “Your eyes were completely black, like in my memory.” A sob escaped her. “You weren’t really here. I thought your soul had died and I’d lost you again.”
Motherfucking Gods, I was back at the Abyss.
When a supernatural being fucked up bad enough, they were given the Nameless Death—their soul was destroyed, so they couldn’t ever come back to existence. But the evil that existed within the soul remained, like toxic waste. The Gods had created a burial site for supernatural hazardous waste, to contain it.
The Abyss.
Carden, the demon Rhys had tried to kill centuries ago, had sent Rhys’s soul there. Brianna, the Sheramath, had brought him back, but part of the evil from the Abyss came back with him. The darkness that lived inside him since then.
And now he’d been in the Abyss again. Where all that existed was pain and misery. Where his worst fears and regrets materialized before his eyes to torture him, and all that was done to his soul—the beatings, the slashing, the mutilations—felt like physical torture.
He shuddered. For some time now, the darkness had been stirring, getting closer and closer to the surface, and it seemed it had finally escaped his iron-fisted control and taken him back.
Tarani must have been scared shitless. She didn’t abandon me. She’d stayed with him, had touched him and tried to calm him. Crazy woman.
“I could’ve hurt you.” His tone was gruff, but damn it, he didn’t want her to put herself on harm’s way. “Why didn’t you go away?”
“I’ll never let you alone to fight the darkness.” She pinned him with her pale gaze. “I was sent to help you, how could I forsake you, Rhys? Besides,” she chuckled humorlessly, and the dry sound scraped his spine, “where would I go? I don’t know who I am, I don’t know where I am, I don’t know anything or anybody. You’re all I know.” She bowed her head.
Her statement gave him a possessive thrill. He couldn’t deny that he liked the idea of being the only thing she could rely on, liked it a whole lot more than he should. He shook his head, trying to dislodge his preposterous thoughts. “Let’s get up. My legs are tired.”
“Oh.” She scrambled to her feet and he stood, stretched his neck, loosening the kinks.
Daylight filtering through the window startled him. Fuck. It’s past dawn already. He’d lost precious hours in the Abyss. And he still didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do with Tarani. Or Seersha. He scrubbed a hand over his face. He was so freaking tired.
“Why do you call me Tarani?”
He jerked. “What?”
“My name is Tamerah. But you keep calling me Tarani. Why?”
“Tarani is a word from an old language. It means silver-eyed.” He gave a non-committal shrug. “It suits you.”
She tilted her head to the side and her brow creased, in a gesture he was beginning to recognize as a sign she was considering the issue being discussed. “That’s why you chose this particular word to refer to me. We don’t know each other well enough for it to be an endearment, so you must be using it because you don’t want to say my name. Why?”
Busted. He gritted his teeth. “There’s nothing wrong with…” Again, he couldn’t let her name pass his lips. It was too full of the Sacred Language. Even hearing it opened new gashes on his soul, reminding him he didn’t have the right to use it anymore. “I just prefer Tarani.”
She captured his gaze with hers, and for a full minute he was prisoner of her silent scrutiny. Finally, she said, “You’re not lying, but that’s not the whole truth, either.” She sighed. “When I remember more about myself, maybe you’ll be able to trust me enough to tell me truth.”
Rhys wanted that. Her kindness, her patience, even the way she didn’t take crap from him, called to him. She sparkled light in the dark corners of his heart, and for the first time in a long time, he wanted to be able to trust someone.
First, he needed to know more about her. He cursed himself to hell and beyond for not being in the cemetery when she’d arrived. If I were here, at least I’d know what happened, how she got here.
While he was on the grounds, the cemetery was part of him. Except for Seersha and her brethren, nobody—living or otherwise—could enter the premises without his knowledge. He could feel even the small creatures that inhabited the garden. Unfortunately, when he was away, the awareness of his domain was muted. As soon as he crossed the gates, all he could sense was the grounds were there, waiting for him, almost like a sentient being.
There was som
eone who didn’t have the same limitations, though. Seersha. She knows what happened. That’s why she was taunting me. He raked his hair with his fingers. Taking control of a dullahan’s body was taxing, and required a lot of attention and energy. She was going to threaten Tarani to make him take the fucking job voluntarily, and spare herself the trouble. Fuck.
Tarani wandered to the mirror he had on the bathroom. “They’re beautiful. I didn’t remember that.” She touched the reflection of her eyes, something akin to reverence washing over her face.
Rhys could relate to the sentiment. He followed her and braced his shoulder against the doorjamb, crossing his arms. “Yes, they are.” He let his gaze roam her face, taking in the dark lashes, the small nose, her pale cheeks and pink lips. “You are.” The words escaped him before he could think better.
She studied herself carefully, before turning to him. “Yes, I think I am.” Again, she stated it matter-of-factly, without vanity or arrogance. “Thank you.” She smiled, examining his face. “You’re pleasing to the eye as well.”
He choked. “What?”
“Handsome, that’s how you say a man is beautiful, right?” Flustered, he nodded and she concluded, “You’re handsome, Rhys.”
“Thanks.” He couldn’t believe it, but a blush crept over his face. What are you, a school boy with a crush? He turned away. “I need to go out.”
After a moment of silence, she blurted, “You’re ugly.”
“Excuse me?” He turned back to her so fast he almost tripped on his own feet.
Tarani scrunched her nose and shrugged. “If saying you’re handsome makes you want to go away from me, then you’re ugly.”
Rhys blinked once, twice, then threw his head back and laughed out loud. It felt foreign, but he couldn’t help it.
She grinned, then turned her eyes down and murmured, “I don’t want you to go.”
Her words made him feel needed and spilled warmth through his body. He didn’t want to leave her alone, but he had to find out what Seersha knew about Tarani and if his boss was going to be a danger to her. He let out a sigh. “There’s something I have to do, and it can’t wait.” He grabbed her shoulders and faced her. “I won’t be long, and I won’t go far. I need you to stay inside, no matter what. Can you do that for me?”
