by D. Fischer
“Do you not care for me as you once did?” Sandy asks.
“Of course I do,” Nally spits. “But this isn’t possible. It’s a trick of the mind.” He tugs on the ends of his long brown hair pinned back by a leather strip. As he paces under the crystal leaves, his tongue darts out again and coats his lips with another layer of gleaming saliva. “They said I was going mad. They told me so. I didn’t believe them. They’re right though. I am mad.”
Sandy blocks his path and wraps his arms around the dwarf’s bulky neck. “You’re not mad.”
Through all the seriousness of the situation, a delirious chuckle bubbles up my throat, and I cough to clear it. “I beg to differ,” I mumble, and Dyson shoots me a warning scowl. I look away, smiling anyway.
“Why are you here?” Nally asks, sniffling into the sandman’s borrowed fur from the Guardian Realm. Realizing what he sheds his tears on, he quickly lifts his head and clutches the fur with meaty, calloused fists. “You - This - You’ve walked with the Guardians.”
Sandy inclines his head. “I have. It is why we are here.”
“Oh?” Nally questions. He retreats from Sandy’s embrace, needing the space for an immediate explanation.
With a deep exhale, Sandy explains everything, even details I knew nothing about. His time in the Death Realm, the battle, the fallen angels and how it came about. It is a tale I am familiar with, but to hear his side of it - the things he had witnessed and what he had to do to survive - it’s almost like I wasn’t a part of those memories at all.
Something he said hits me most though. I had no idea Tember had such deep love for Erma. My heart sinks, and I swallow my guilt for being so absorbed with myself. I should have known. The way she would talk about Erma, the wonder that had glistened in her eyes were telling enough when I reflect on them. The mere mention of the fee had a smile tugging at her lips every time.
However, I can see why their love would be conflicted. My own coven disowned me because of the simple request I had asked of Erline. My relationship with her is beyond complicated. Though I wish more than anything I could change history and never have met Erline, I know that if I did, we wouldn’t be fighting for freedom today. And I would be motherless. And Dyson would be in the void. And Sandy would still be forced to tend to his Fee’s needs. The devastation would go on and on.
My mother. It’s better to know she’s alive, knowing we’ll never have a proper relationship, than to know I’ll never see her again. My mother would have been in that battle on the Death Realm if I had not stepped in on the cold, wintry night, and she would have died again, spending eternity in the void.
Small blessings, I tell my inner sorrow.
Dyson feels my turmoil, notices my rigid posture, and snakes his hand into mine. His prodding forces me to uncross my arms. I give him a small smile, thanking him for his support, and squeeze his warm fingers in mine. My smile quickly fades though, and Dyson’s hand is whipped from mine, stolen by the dwarf on bended knee.
I squeak when he kisses the flesh of the back of my hand, and horror shrouds my face.
“Dragon,” Nally coos. “I have much to thank you for and much to beg of you. Your dreams filtering into our realm have gifted most with the ability to feel!”
I double blink. “Come again?” My what? Is that why Sandy can feel emotions? And the others we crossed paths with on our way here?
The sandman chuckles. “Does this mean you will help?”
Nally stands and pulls his smock away from sweaty skin. “Yes. But first . . . first you must see what we’re dealing with.”
With an exaggerated huff, I wipe the slobber from my hand onto my jeans and grumble under my breath at Dyson’s low chuckle.
The two exit together, and just as I go to follow, Dyson grabs my arm and whirls me back. My chest bumps into his, and I look up, bewildered. His eyes twinkle the reflection of the crystals, and the hues of yellow shining through them play across his face. He searches my eyes, and when my face softens, he bends and brushes his lips against mine.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DYSON COLEMAN
DREAM REALM
Somehow, we had managed to sneak our way through the rest of the eerie tree wombs undetected. Nally knows every crook and cranny, every path that’s always taken and the ones that barely show any travel. I trail at the end, contemplating what Fate had bestowed upon me like a king to his knight.
Fate is an alpha dog, a command you can’t ignore but one I know I can trust in word. My wolf warmed to him instantly, seeming to know more about him than I did. Animals have a sixth sense, even the supernatural kind, but it can be irritating when he has more information than I do.
His voice keeps echoing in my head though, telling me what I must do, what I must discover for myself. If I close my eyes, I can still see the swirls of his sparkles. It sort of reminds me of Reaper’s Breath, the way the specks had moved, and for a second, my thoughts touch on the creature of the Death Realm and what Fate has in store for it. I miss that cunning creature.
It’d be easier if Fate had just told me what I needed to know. Instead, I feel like I’m on a wild goose chase. This, the creatures Sureen is building for her own personal army, is one of them. The dome, another. He wanted me to see it for myself, perhaps to understand the severity of the situation.
The dome is the entire realm’s life force. It’s Sureen’s beating heart of magic; where she draws her power from and where she fuels it. If it were destroyed, does that mean she would be destroyed as well?
But now is not the time to consider these possibilities. I just hope Fate will tell me when the time is right.
I lower my gaze from the dome back to Kat hiking in front of me. I’m aware of what she feels for me - reluctance yet trusting. And I can still feel the tingle on my lips where hers brushed mine. I can also understand her deeper feelings like the love she keeps carefully tucked away. She's scared of it, of what I offer.
I believe she only trusts me because her instincts demand it. She feels more herself when I’m around, when I’m touching her. Getting her to feel more for me is the true challenge, and because of this, I feel like I stole the kiss in the forest. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity for a true one, so I snuck it while I could, under the tree womb.
Kat’s not a Shifter. Not really. She wouldn’t feel the bond like I do. Anything more than this first step in a relationship is lost to me. Wooing women is Flint’s area, and even though he gave me advice in all aspects female, I don’t think his advice will work on this complicated woman striding in front of me.
As if she’s aware that I’m thinking of her, she peeks at me from over her shoulder. I smile and give a saluting wave.
She’s deliciously stubborn and formidably strong. I have one shot to make her mine and one shot only. The last thing I want to do is make it seem like I manipulated her into loving me. She has enough of that going on in her life - a life which is no longer her own. The fate of the entire realms rests solely on her shoulders.
Fate warned me of this also, to make sure she stays on the right path. He told me by simply being near her, I’ll be able to keep her intentions on the straight and narrow. I’ve witnessed how easy it is for her to lose herself when faced with choices concerning life and death. Kill or be killed.
That’s the true reason I brought her with me, for fear her darkness would chase away what I offer - solace - while I’m away.
I halt as a festering tickle scratches at my throat. Bending, I cough and splutter, using my knee to support my upper half.
“You okay?” Kat asks, hovering over me. She pats my back and jars my spine with the strength of it.
Breathing in a large gulp of air, I stand upright. “Yeah,” I croak and wipe sweat from my forehead. I gaze at the beads of precipitation incredulously, and a chill raises goosebumps over my skin.
“Come on,” Kat whispers and tugs on my sleeve.
A few long strides, and we we’re back in line behind our two escorts, my lun
gs oddly huffing and puffing with the effort. Maybe the air is different here, and it’s just a matter of getting used to it. After all, these caves are mined. That should kick up dust enough for a bout of allergies.
Passing piles of satchels, a momentary thought nags my conscience about taking some of them. Sandy said this place is a warning label of flammable objects. If the dream dust is the same, it would make one hell of a weapon.
Instead of acting on this instinct to arm myself and my mate, I stride past them and pocket this information for a later time.
We reach the edge of the trees and start traveling around the curve of the dome. Kat shields her eyes from the bright light it pulses, and I squint, refusing to allow her from my sight. This area may be void of travelers right now, but I’d be a fool to believe we aren’t being watched. Inside me, my wolf takes in each detail, each subtle movement of my friends, ready to defend his mate if the need arises.
It isn’t long before we arrive at a brass, rusted door which couldn’t possibly lead to anything but underground. I suppress the urge to tip the ever curious Katriane - who examines it with more interest than I do - over my shoulder and demand we return to the Guardian Realm where it isn’t as foreboding as a door leading to the unknown. Underground is a death sentence with only one way in and one way out. Only a fool would go in there.
The handle looks to be the only thing which isn’t deteriorating, and Nally opens it with a firm, muscular grasp and one heaving yank.
Stale and rotten air wafts my face, and I turn my head from the offending smell. I cough, cupping my fist over my mouth. The cough feels deeper, rooted in a spot I can’t ease. When it subsides, I turn back to the group and eye the pitch-black entry suspiciously.
Kat hesitates at the opening and then squares her shoulders.
“Wait,” I demand, grabbing her upper arm as she moves forward.
She whips her head to the side and squints at my hand. “What?”
“What if -” I begin and shoot Nally with a speculating expression. “What if it’s a trap?”
“Well,” she says with little patience, shrugging off my grip. “There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?”
And with that, she ducks her head and dives into the darkness. Her feet patter against the stairs, and Sandy and Nally shoot impatient eyes at me.
“Nally can be trusted, Dyson. I give you my word.”
I clear my throat. “Right,” I grunt and follow Kat in.
At the back of an absurdly large room, the stairs step out into an opening that’s hidden from plain sight by rows of machines. White stone, identical to the Death Realm, holds the walls up in haphazard and sporadic placement. It’s as though it was assembled hastily. I suppose you can’t have inferaze walls with the inferno burning in the center of this fortress. Its flames are as tall as I am, a blue so bright it’s almost clear, and two dwarves feed it with small chunks of inferaze. The smell of the fire is like some kind of alluring spice, almost indistinguishable from a heavy scent of decay lingering in the air, though I can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from.
As we sneak to the first machine, Nally pushes us behind. The big, boxy machine grinds and turns gears. It looks like Frankenstein’s lab in here, and an uneasy feeling settles over my sixth sense.
I cough again and wipe another odd layer of sweat from my brow. The sweat is pouring from my body in the heat of this place. I flare my nostrils and take in a proper breath, but it’s useless, and I cough again under Kat’s watchful concern.
Mindful of the hot metal, we inch as close as we can get to the machine. Sandy, Kat, and I peer our heads over the top of it after two chatting dwarves hobble by.
Instead of hiding with us, Nally continues forward, weaving between the dwarves working this misshapen factory and the gears poking through slits in the ground. With a destination in mind, unbeknownst to me, he composes himself by straightening his spine, acting as though he belongs. I suppose he does. This is his realm, and after listening to the conversation he and Sandy had on the way here, mostly one sided, it sounds like he’s a dwarf in a high-ranking position if not someone respected. I had suspected he was boasting because not minutes before, he was rambling about how insane everyone thinks he is while slapping a dragon’s hand from touching his infant sandman.
“Did Nally build these?” I ask, eyeing each machine.
Sandy brushes his hands against the rusted metal of the machine we duck behind and hisses when his skin sizzles. “Yes, this is his work, his design,” he says, shaking the burned flesh at his side.
“Then how can we trust him?” Kat mutters, and I roll my eyes. Now she asks? Now? When I had voiced my concern not moments before?
Women.
“Because like I, the dwarves are forced to serve.”
There’s no choice but to trust him, I suppose. Either he tattles, and we’re dead, or he doesn’t, and we’re caught and then very dead. Hysteria threatens to bubble in my chest. Our chances of getting out of here undetected by a loyal creature of Sureen are slim to none. Come to think of it, I’m surprised we haven’t tripped some sort of alert already.
“We need the dwarves, but I have a terrible feeling about this,” Kat mumbles.
She’s right. We do need them. If they can create these machines, there’s no telling how their brilliant minds could aid us in the coming days.
“What do these machines do?” I ask.
Kat grimaces after taking a whiff. “It smells of corpses.”
“Because it is,” Sandy mumbles, keeping his eyes on his friend’s whereabouts. “Nally said that not all of the shade humans competed in the arena. Some were taken here and stripped of their skin. Their skin is fed into these machines and sown together for a new creature.”
Katriane flashes wide eyes at the side of Sandy’s face. Guilt lingers there before malice replaces it. This truly is some sort of Frankenstein bullshit. Many of those people were my friends.
I turn forward, my jaw ticking, and I wince as the muscles ache. My legs strain when a wave of exhaustion overcomes me, my limbs jelly.
“Are you guys hot?” I ask, but neither answer.
Suppressing a cough, I squint at tall and wide podiums which reach from ground to ceiling. Each one has a large, hinged door at the base, and I jump when several open in unison. Steam exits the openings, and giant feet step through. Their movements are robotic like a march of nutcrackers, only these aren’t nutcrackers.
Kat gasps beside me, and I hoarsely curse under my breath, wobbling limbs forgotten. The ground shakes with each stride as several orcs emerge and file in a line. Marching, they head in a direction we can’t see from our position.
“An army,” Sandy mumbles, his attention divided between the orcs and the safety of Nally who still converses with his friends.
“You’ve been busy, Sureen,” I mumble. “It would seem the Colosseum was not only to feed a twisted mind but to line the humans up for slaughter in more ways than one.”
“And to test the new creature,” Kat growls.
Oh, it was for more than that, I think to myself, remembering my promise with Fate not to share what he’s told me.
“You are correct,” Sandy agrees.
“What’s he doing?” I ask, worried Nally’s spilling the secrets of our whereabouts. Normally, I’d be able to hear what’s being said with my sharp shifter hearing, but a ringing sound is vibrating my eardrums, threatening a massive headache.
“Gathering our army,” Sandy mumbles.
“I don’t think a few dwarves are going to compete with that,” Kat grumbles, flicking her thumbs at the exiting orcs.
Sandy’s anxious face spirals to grim. “They’re knowledgeable, young dragon. Brain will always beat muscle even if we only have a few on our side.”
I cough into my hand, barking, and something wet splats against my palm. Pulling it away, I observe the liquid, fingers trembling.
Blood.
“That’s not good,” I whisper. In a pocket o
f my mind, I acknowledge that allergies wouldn’t do this.
Kat’s attention is hesitantly released from the scene of filing orcs and chatting dwarves, and she gawps at the red staining my fingers. Her eyes widen and lift to mine, slow and filled with such fear. Then, they flicker with her dragon’s immediate presence.
Sandy’s voice calls from far away, an echo down a long hall even though he’s directly beside me. “Your eyes are bleeding, Dyson.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AIDEN VANDER
DEMON REALM
I shimmer to the same spot I left Ferox and her sisters. They remain exactly as I left them, as though they didn’t move a muscle while they waited for my return. Time works differently on each realm, this I’m aware of; I didn’t know how different until this very moment.
Ferox watches me, wary but expectant. “Is it done?”
“Can’t you smell it, sister?” Another answers, her voice shrill and displeasing to the ear. Her slitted nostrils flare, and she pulls in my scent. “It’s unlike any other feed I’ve encountered.”
Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I tuck my feelings to hide my guilt.
“Did you kill your victim?” Ferox asks.
My jaw ticks, and I narrow my eyes, my head still tucked. She takes my unvoiced answer as confirmation and tilts her head while her eyes roam my body. “Interesting. You feel sympathy.”
A sister pyren swims forward, level with Ferox. “Perhaps he’s more formidable than we realized.” This one’s voice is pleasing but childlike. I peek under my lashes to place the face with the voice. “A demon who feels, a demon who’s most powerful . . . you were right to choose this one, Ferox.”
“Choose me?” I question, confused. No one chooses me. I’m not a possession.
Ferox smiles. “Yes, Thrice Born. I chose you because as it stands, you’re the only one who can free us. The rest blindly follow Corbin and do his bidding without a second thought. You . . . you feel. A heart beats in your chest.” She points. “How do you feel?”
