TravelersKiss

by Sherri L. King

  The Gray Land trembled as if the entire realm resonated with the breaking of her heart, the sundering of her soul.

  Hot tears burned like acid down her cheeks. Grimm, my love, my life, now you’ll never know. You’ll never hear from my lips the news that I’m pregnant with our child…

  Her heart wrenched, the tendrils of all the connections she’d made quivered and resonated with her longing and her agony.

  If the Leviathan had learned of the existence of a child born of Raine’s bloodline, it would have stopped at nothing to obtain it.

  For Raine, it came down to a matter of her death or the death of the Leviathan. She could not give birth to a child and risk it being endlessly hunted by such a ruthless enemy.

  Raine had wanted to wait until after the battle to tell Grimm—she’d not wanted him to worry about her condition during the fight—but now Grimm would never get a chance to know his son or daughter. Raine would give anything to have a chance to tell him now. She’d give anything for a chance to do it all over again—to not even instigate the battle at all.

  If she had to live in seclusion, to raise their child in hiding and never leave their home, then she would do it. She would do anything if it meant she could have Grimm back again.

  Wailing mournfully, Raine yearned to give herself over to her one solace—forgetfulness. She wanted to erase everything that had happened and never recall a moment of it again. But there was the little one to consider. Grimm’s child deserved to know everything Raine knew about its father.

  Raine lingered awhile, allowing herself that time of comfort, ignoring the disturbances in the Gray Land around her, thinking herself alone. She was trying to gather her strength for the dark days that lay ahead, knowing she would need every ounce of her will to see them through. She meditated and purged her heart of its pain as best she could, weeping when she could not, raging when her pain turned to wrath.

  Raine didn’t realize for some time that she wasn’t alone. She could not have guessed that something had followed her through…or that the threads in her heart had strengthened and grown by one.

  Lost to grief, Raine could only think his name again and again. She recited it like a litany under her breath, as if by this repetition his soul would be granted a sacred immortality above other common ones. Grimm. Grimm, darling Grimm.

  Nothing had ever followed her through the veil to this realm, though she knew it was possible. She had seen other things pass through, other beings that did not belong. Strays had a way of slipping through, though before meeting Grimm here long ago, Raine had interacted with no other living spirit in these mist-shrouded lands—and even she had not been able to visit here in her whole, physical form until Grimm had taught her how it was done. It wasn’t an easy thing.

  It was therefore not surprising that Raine disbelieved her own eyes when she saw what had followed her through, in full, physical relief.

  The Gray Land began to change the moment this new entity crossed its threshold. The very foundations shook, as if it instinctively rejected the newcomer. When the shadow of what had crossed through fell over Raine, she was at last awakened from her stupor of mourning and moved into action.

  She experienced a gamut of emotions, from betrayal to triumph, from defeat to hope…

  Raine did what she could to interrupt the changes in the Gray Land, keeping to the mists, keeping out of sight, but it wasn’t enough and she’d already spent far too much time in this place.

  What was she to do?

  The land of the living called her back…

  Yet here was a chance to change everything.

  But the Gray Land had destabilized and the danger to her and the life growing inside her was great—her child’s life must not be risked. As much as she longed for succor here, it was no longer an option and she would never have been able to neglect the life growing inside her womb for long. After all, it was a part of Grimm too.

  Raine’s only option was to return to the land of the living. After what she’d seen, what she’d done, she was moved to enter that dark place of solace in her soul after all. To forget was the safest recourse left to her, the only defense mechanism against the awful truth, the only way she could stay sane.

  In her oubliette, Raine drank the waters of Lethe that tasted so like her own tears—and forgot everything until such time as it was safe for her to remember.

  She must forget until there came a time when she was strong enough to use what she knew to set things right…

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The Present…

  Raine stared at her fists, clenched tight around clumps of rich black spodosol, its minerals staining the lines in her skin like henna, creating intricate designs for her eyes to follow. She wanted to lose herself in the mandalas that formed there in the whorls of her skin, sure there were spiritual meanings in the designs, but knew she didn’t dare let her mind drift again.

  Now was the hardest time, this present madness, this hardship and pain that came with the realization of her guilt, her loss and the bleak road that rose before on the horizon. Every moment that passed was harder than the one that came before it and Raine wondered if she could face another second.

  Time! She scoffed to herself. Time made nothing easier—all the wives’ tales were lies in that respect. Time did not heal all wounds. It only made them fester and rot around the edges until the infection spread all the way throughout the flesh, straight into the soul. The wounds time inflicted were universally fatal; in the end, time killed everything and everyone.

  Thus far Raine had been immune to death’s assault, yet paradoxically that was the worst injury of all. For Raine, time had always been an enemy, either it attacked silently and in secret or—like now—it took all she had, like a thieving marauder, merciless and brutal. How she loathed it.

  Raine sucked in a breath that tasted flat and lifeless. There was an ache in her throat that hurt worse than anything she’d ever felt before. It went far beyond physical suffering, stabbing through her, piercing her mind and spirit. Even her vision was affected by it—colors seemed dimmer, the clarity of texture was muted, as if she were seeing the world through lenses scratched to cloudy dullness by a clump of steel wool.

  She slumped like an old woman, her shoulders tight and crooked, the air too heavy a burden for her sit up with any grace beneath its weight. Her weariness dragged at her and as she began to understand just what kind of task lay ahead, she became more and more deflated.

  Not out of any real curiosity, more out of a need to distract herself with something—anything—Raine turned her attention to the only other creature of any discernible interest nearby. She’d forgotten he was there for a moment, lost as she was in her own misery and dread. It was no wonder that even one such as him had faded into the background for a little while. He was the last person she wanted to interact with. But she needed to force her wayward consciousness to remain in this present moment—even though it was one of the most painful moments she’d ever known—because Raine knew that if she let herself, she would once more forget everything. Forgetting was kinder.

  She couldn’t allow it this time. Her child, Grimm’s child, needed her to be present minded, no matter how much it hurt. So she focused as she’d never focused before.

  She stared at Daemon, keeping her thoughts from showing on her face. The woods were silent, as if the flora and fauna held its collective breath, waiting to see what transpired.

  He was still as a statue. Dust motes collected around him, catching what light there was to be had in the waxing moon. He didn’t breathe, didn’t even blink. Raine wasn’t sure he was looking at her, but rather through her. There was nothing behind his eyes except a slight stirring, as if some great, slumbering dybbuk slithered in the molten pools of his golden eyes. His skin was bronzed but it was inhumanly smooth, too perfectly textured to be flesh. He could have been hewn from some heretofore-undiscovered stone, polished by the hands of an ancient artisan forgotten by the ages.


  In the eyes of someone who did not know his true nature, Daemon might have been regarded as beautiful; he might even have been seen as regal or divine. But one only needed to spend a few moments in his presence to feel the danger emanating out of him in waves.

  He wouldn’t even have to open his mouth or move a muscle.

  Daemon was a predator. Any human immediately sensed this about him. It was basic evolution. Fight or flight. Neither option would result in survival against this creature unless he chose it—Daemon was just too powerful not to win if he wanted to. He was an apex predator. The question one must always ask…could he be bothered to put up an effort if you decided to flee? Was it worth running?

  Raine wondered what had put her on his radar in the first place, why he had decided she was worth his effort in pursuing.

  “Tell me, Daemon, why did you help Grimm save me from that cave?” She tested her voice and found it was strong enough, though a transparent specter of its former glory.

  “Because my son asked me to.” When Raine would have questioned him about this, he added, “And I was curious.”

  Ah.

  “About me?”

  “About many things,” he conceded.

  “Like?”

  He eyed her.

  She returned his stare. “I’ve got nothing but time. Answer the question. What were you so curious about?”

  Raine could see every thought that flew through his mind, every excuse not to answer her, every lie he could use to manipulate and confuse her, up to the second when he decided to give in and answer truthfully. “I wondered why, after such a long time, The Traveler should lose interest in hunting me in favor of pining over one insignificant human woman.”

  Ouch.

  “I was curious how you could possibly hide yourself from me in their midst all those years—I never even knew you were there until some years after you were taken. And then there is the question of how you shielded you thoughts from them—they rarely gleaned any information from you that you did not wish to share. They focused everything on taking your mind, but you never relented.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course.” He turned his head sharply from what he perceived a foolish question. “I also wondered about your other abilities. Your strengths. Your weaknesses.”

  Raine sneered.

  “You did ask,” he pointed out with a winsome caste to his features that made her skin grow cold.

  “Yeah, I did.” She sighed, weary to the bone. “So. You want to talk? Let’s talk.”

  His features darkened and his mouth pursed slightly. “Truly?”

  “Sure.” She scoffed humorlessly. “What could a little conversation cost me? Maybe you’ll leave me alone finally and I can get on with my life when we’re done.” Her voice cracked at the end but she hoped he didn’t notice it.

  Daemon was silent for a long stretch, watching her with his bright coin eyes and not moving at all so that Raine wondered if he would ever speak again. The weight on her chest felt like a bus had parked there and the discomfort was getting to be all she could think about in the awkward pause. After a small eternity Raine could stand the silence no longer.

  “What do you want from me?” Her strained voice came from the depths of her despair. She dropped the clumps of soil and put her loam-dampened hands in her hair, but it only brought her a small comfort to have the earthen minerals against her temples. Nothing could have given her any real comfort in that moment, save Grimm’s embrace.

  The pain in her throat tightened like a garrote and for a moment Raine couldn’t breathe around it. She closed her eyes and soldiered through the agony. She must be stronger than this.

  “I find myself curious.” Raine heard Daemon step closer, his footfalls deliberately making sound on the forest litter—she knew full well he could move silently over any terrain. “Why this sudden capitulation after so great a struggle against me?”

  “What do you care, so long as I’ve given in?” She opened her eyes and looked up at him from behind the tangled drape of her hair. He was as tall as his brethren, but not so tall as Grimm. When she stood, he might only be five inches taller than she, no more. It lent her some courage. Some.

  On the face of it, Daemon’s fair hair and leonine eyes might lend him an angelic aura—for a moment. But that moment would pass every time he opened his mouth. The innocence his Apollonian features lent him was instantly dispelled the second he spoke. He had the dispassionate tone of a sociopath, with a bitter, cynical twist to the corners of his mouth at the same time. His eyes were deep wells of secrets no human mind was ever meant to plumb, and holding his gaze too long was like touching something ancient and funerary. When he moved, everything that was sane and rational in Raine wanted to run screaming into the dark overgrowth of the forest, her innate fear of him attacking her on a genetic level she couldn’t begin to articulate.

  Daemon regarded her with something like sympathy that bordered on exasperation. “I have courted you far longer than I have ever courted another.” His smile chilled her marrow, the glint in his eyes half mad. “Any other woman would have thought me in love with her.”

  “What. Do. You. Want. Daemon.” She spoke through gritted teeth, not necessarily because she was angry—she was, a bit—but to keep them still, to prevent them from chattering. “Just spit it out.”

  She prayed for the strength to play this farce through.

  He moved closer and crouched beside her on the balls of his feet with a long-suffering sigh, his lengthy—very lengthy—legs bent sharply as he buried his hands in the soil, much as she often did. Raine thought of a praying mantis perching next to her and wanted to laugh madly, her grip on her sanity slipping dangerously now that he was so close. She could have leaned over and into him easily.

  It was untenable, but some dark part of her—the onyxian cord that tied them together perhaps—urged her to do it. To lean into his strength. It whispered that if she did, her pain would ease, her worries and her maladies would dissipate, as they never would with just the touch of some dirt or sand. If she accepted comfort from him, she would feel something altogether new. A power unlike any other.

  Raine felt certain Daemon knew what she was feeling and that he welcomed it.

  No, Nightingale. It is your power he needs. You have no need of his.

  Raine started. It was as if Grimm’s voice was in her ear. It was so strong, so real. She whipped her head around and looked to the shadows, more than half expecting to see Grimm standing beside them.

  He wasn’t there, of course. She knew better than anyone exactly where he was.

  Something in the air around Daemon affected her on a cellular level. It was a sort of radioactive effect, an invisible field of energy shaking the foundations of reality so that her soundness of mind turned to noise. He was too close; his earthy scent in her nose was like a perfume of ancient spices she had no name for—nor did she care to know them. Shadows danced at the edges of her vision. Static roared inside her mind, thunder crashed, lightning blinded her and the world bled white…

  The next thing she knew, Daemon had her head between the palms of his hands—his skin smelled like saffron and myrrh—and sweet, blessed silence had fallen over her like a cooling frost. Her hands were wrapped around his wrists, her fingernails dug deep into his skin, drawing blood that dripped down upon the ground. He bleeds red, she noted savagely, abruptly returning to sanity.

  He had dialed down the radioactive field that had so devolved her sense of self, and Raine wondered what it had been and what it meant that he could do that to her so easily.

  “Please. Tell me what you want.” She struggled to get the words out of clenched teeth, frothing at the mouth.

  “I want that which you have an overabundance to give,” he answered at last, none too steady himself, and for a moment Raine glimpsed something almost humane in his face—he was as shaken as ever she had seen him. “I desire only what you have already given to so many others.”

  His gaze
bore into hers.

  “It is the same thing you have been robbed of for years without recompense, yet I am more than willing to reimburse you for it.” The words were smooth on his tongue, like wine was fine, smooth and intoxicating. His voice spoke lyrics to an insidious music that slid into her mind and haunted her. “I desire your power, Raine. Your vitality.”

  God damn him, he really was the devil.

  So he wanted her life, that was all. She wanted to scoff at him but knew she didn’t dare.

  He wanted to use her power to what? Make an army, bigger and stronger than any ever before—and he could do it too; with the two of them together, there was nothing that could stop them. He would create a force of unimagined scope to move against his enemies, destroy the world and everything in it.

  He made it sound so blasé, so criminally easy.

  No doubt it would feel easy.

  Even as she watched the world burn, he’d make it easy, because the devil’s way was always the path of least resistance, the shortcut. Raine was desperate but she wasn’t a fool, so she must now be wary. Not because she wished to escape the devil…not anymore. The time for running was at an end.

  She’d run all her life and it had gotten her nowhere.

  All roads led her here, to this lonely copse, this damn stretch of road where she should have died years ago. But she hadn’t. And so it was. Here again, time to pay her due, which was long past owed.

  Fine.

  So be it.

  Raine would give Lord Daemon what he asked for. In the end she would have to. It was how all such stories ended. But first she had her own demands. Her “vitality” would not come cheap—for her to make a deal with the devil, he’d have to make it worthwhile, a deal for all the ages. He wanted to play her? She’d play him first and she was a far better musician, of that much she could be certain.

  She jerked her head out of his hands, scooting backward. “Get away from me.”

  He held his palms out, a gesture of goodwill she was sure he didn’t possess. “You have yet to hear me out.”