Roaring, the flames split as Adair charged through them, and Cesan unsheathed his blade just in time, sparks flying from the steel as they met. Twisting, Adair slashed at his knees, his chest, his arms, forcing Cesan back toward the hungry flames. Rolling away from the fire’s edge, Cesan attacked with magic, the force slamming into Adair.
Bow to me.
Cesan seethed. “Never,” he spat, and Adair abandoned everything, and the only thing he succumbed to was the darkness within him.
He was relentless, moving inhumanly fast, his blade an extension of his arm, slashing, cutting the back of Cesan’s knees, and Cesan faltered, blood running down his calves.
Panting, Adair slammed the pommel of the hilt into his father’s back, bones cracking from the force. He prowled around him, years of rage thrumming in his veins. All the times he made him feel small, worthless. All those secret meetings filled with blood and bruises. The hidden tears, the betrayal.
Stopping in front of him, Adair plucked the crown off his head, twirling in it between his fingers.
His voice was low when he said, “You know, I never told anyone what you did to me. You taught me to hate myself, that I was never worth anything...” He crouched down in front of him, slamming the sword into the dirt. “...and I believed you.”
Cesan’s gaze raked the sword in Adair’s grasp, recognition flaring in his eyes. “You have your mother’s sword.”
Adair licked his lips. “I enjoyed killing her almost as much as I will relish in killing you.” Standing, Adair tossed the crown aside, and the iron melted before Cesan’s eyes.
Adair dove into his ability, the world leaving him. He was nothing but never-ending bloodlust, and he tore through the false king’s body, ravaging it of any power, leaching that same magic that burned through him.
And he took it all.
Slamming back into his body, he watched the lifeless Cesan crumple in front of him. The inferno stilled, disappearing into pulsing embers. For a moment, all he could do was stand there. The power that raked through him was intoxicating and never ending. He trembled, and he completely lost himself.
The him that was caged, that was fighting, was dead, nothing stirred in him except those alluring voices, and they chanted one thing to him, purred to him in pleasure and ecstasy.
Dark King. Dark King. Dark King.
Grabbing the Curse, he sheathed it, turning to his army of dabarnes. They reminded Adair of wolves, now his pack, ready to hunt for him—to kill for him. Before him, the hundred of dabarnes bowed, his army that was born from nightmares.
“Anyone who is of ability and wants to join my forces can. Rid the world of its weakness, rid the world of the doubt, of the lies. There is one king now, and they will either bow, or they will die,” Adair said to them. The roars were shattering, and Adair screamed over them. “We are the future!”
Adair looked to the mountains and grinned, the thought spreading through his ranks. “Bring anyone who wants to rebuild this world to the Draken Mountains. My kingdom will be born there. Go. But tell no one of this location. Ever.”
The army roared, galloping through this city of ruins, and pleasure raked through him. He knew they would spread through the country like a plague. Soon, the world would know his name. A mad, dark king.
Adair started walking toward the Draken Mountains, and he was remade. Everything was a distant detail, and he was his power.
“Listen to us, and you will be unstoppable.”
The smoke curled around him, and he took off, cutting through the air, less of a man and more destruction. It was seconds before he was standing before the face of the mountain, and giggles sounded in his mind when he rolled his neck.
He flipped his palm over, and on the opposite hand, a dark green talon replaced his nail. Cutting deep and slow, his blood welled, dripping onto the dirt. Placing his hand on the cool stone, he dragged his flesh over it, tiny splinters of rock entering the wound. Stepping back, Adair looked at the blood red slash and grinned madly when the stone turned to dust under his blood, creating a doorway.
“All of Might, our Dark King.”
Alone, with the chilling voices of the Oilean curling around his mind, Adair stepped into the center of mountains, and didn’t look back.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Brokk
Running deeper into the woods, the two monsters closed in on their heels. Froth collected at the corners of his mouth, and he wanted to stop. He wanted to give in. Memphis’s shirt was in his mouth; his friend was unconscious and thrown across his back, the bloodied fabric the anchor between them.
Stumbling, he pushed harder, his quaking muscles drained of energy. Flashes went through his mind, leaving Emory, their idea of growing forces against Adair. Memphis crazed and broken. He knew his friend wanted to leave, but he couldn’t let him, no matter how mad they were at each other.
Even though Memphis could be annoying and stubborn, he loved him.
A day had passed since Emory left, since the fall of the Academy. It was a long night of endless running; the once comforting blanket of night turned against him, harboring screams and breeding nightmares.
Brokk leapt over a decaying log, his back paw catching, and they were both flung forward. They landed hard, and Brokk swayed to stand, looking at his friend who didn’t stir. Snarls sounded behind him, and he knew he couldn’t run anymore.
He turned, sides heaving, as he took in the two circling dabarnes. They snapped their teeth, daring him to prove their dominance wrong.
His hackles rose, and he dove down deep into his motivation for staying alive. And then he charged, his growls guttural and deep. They clashed, claws ripping fur and skin, spittle and froth flying. Brokk sank his teeth deep into the rotting flesh, choking and gagging. He was body checked, flying violently as the second dabarne caught his throat, dragging him down.
Its teeth held him, any movement on his end would tear through his flesh. The second one prowled up to him, saliva dripping from its maws, and Brokk understood that he wouldn’t stand a chance two against one. He needed to fight now.
He flattened his ears, his growls intensifying, as he prepared to twist his body from the dabarnes pinning grip. A flicker of movement flashed to their left, and a wild scream cut through the woods. A young girl charged at them without hesitation, without fear.
He was in awe of her courage and stupidity.
The dabarnes stalled, and Brokk felt the energy surge through him as he shifted back, slamming his fist into the creature’s jaw, teeth flying onto the ground. The girl was pale and covered in dirt, her electrifying blue hair unbound. A small curved blade flashed as she sunk it into the side of the dabarne, and it screamed.
He parried, shifting back, and threw everything he had left in him at the wounded one to their left, and with a crunch of bones, it dropped. The girl practically growled at the other one, but another scream tore from their right, and the three most unlikely people Brokk ever thought to see ran past the trees.
Alby. Wyatt. Jaxson.
They threw themselves at the monster, blades sparking, the wet thud of steel into flesh, and Brokk shifted back, dumbfounded. Once both forms were still, they chortled, relief flooding into their voices.
“Brokk! You guys are alive?” Jaxson exclaimed.
“Who’s the girl?” Wyatt asked.
“No one else survived. Alby hid us, but then we heard howls and followed them,” Jaxson continued, talking over Wyatt.
Overwhelmed, Brokk ignored the questions and turned to the girl. “Who are you?”
Jutting her chin out, she said, “Bryd Reit.”
“Why are you out here?”
“My town...” her chin wobbled, “...was destroyed by those creatures. I was one of the only survivors to escape. The rest of my fellow villagers, those who didn’t perish, left with them on the promise of glory with the Dark King.”
A heavy silence fell over them, and Brokk raised his eyebrows to his friends, all of them knowing exactly who
the Dark King was. She locked eyes with Brokk.
“Please. Help me.”
Running his hands through his hair, Brokk exhaled. “As long as we are out here, we are targets. Where can we hide? Somewhere Adair won’t find us.”
Alby croaked, “I can hide us, until we figure it out,”
“No, look how drained you are already! I’m not having your death on my hands as well.”
“I can hide us,” Bryd spoke calmly.
They all turned to her as Brokk whispered, “How?”
She smiled and spoke to Alby, Wyatt, and Jaxson. “Please. Stand still.” She concentrated, and Brokk almost dropped to the ground in shock, as one second he was staring at the group, and the next all that remained were the woods.
Bryd lit up at his expression. “I can cloak anything, for any length of time. I can hide us, if you will have me.”
The group returned, and tears slid down Brokk’s face as he broke down, completely and utterly. The last twenty-four hours caught up with him, and he just cried, raking breaths dragging in as he caved in on himself.
His heart broke as he thought of Emory a world away, and he silently promised himself he would cherish her safety until the day he died. He wouldn’t let her parents’ dream die, no matter how far they had drifted themselves. He saw his purpose sharply then, and he choked down laughter as he stood, legs shaking and taking in the spitfire in front of him.
“Yes. We will have you,” Brokk managed to reply.
“Excellent, as long as you aren’t a group of murderous psychos, this should be great.”
Brokk really laughed now. “You’re safe. We are what’s left of the Academy.”
“Like the Academy?”
“The one and only.”
She nodded, lost in thought, before she whispered, “That’s where we should go, probably.”
Back to the Academy?
He mulled over the thought before nodding slowly. “It would be the last thing Adair would expect. What do you say, should we go back home?”
Their swearing and catcalls were answer enough, and Brokk limped over to Memphis, scooping his still unconscious friend up.
They slowly made their way back home.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Adair
Two years later
Standing on the shoreline, the Black Sea crashed, the mist and salt coating his skin. His hands shook as he clenched the parchment in between his hands, the words branding themselves in his mind.
Marquis Maher was now the King of the Shattered Isles.
Yelling, Adair incinerated the letter in his palm, the scorched paper catching in the wind and floating like ash.
“Calm yourself, our King.”
“Is this what you wanted? After everything? To share my reign with a King from across the Sea?!” he yelled to the open air, to the wind and the crashing waters.
“You know you and your people need his resources.”
Adair paced back and forth, Marquis’s words bouncing in his mind: Go to war with me and lose your trading routes my father upheld with you. Cross our waters, and I will kill you.
Adair sent emerald green fireballs rocketing out from his palms, just to watch them flare, then hiss and die as they hit the water. He envisioned they were Marquis, and it calmed his racing pulse. Wrenching his gaze, he turned, popping the collar on his black jacket, and walked back to his kingdom.
He entered the woods, deep purple leaves and moss creating an illuminating light. The woods circled the Draken Mountains, the beauty here unlike anything Adair had ever seen.
One that captured the essence of shadows.
Hisses and growls followed his footfalls, and yellow eyes flickered to life, watching his movements. The Noctis Woods—better known by his people as the Heart of Midnight—was a refugee for ancient dark magic. It was his reprieve, a place where he could just be. The foliage of leaves casted a brilliant dappled light, and Adair looked up. Across the sea, Marquis thought he had him shackled, backed into a corner.
Adair chewed on the inside of his lip, his answer forming in his mind. Whispers from the shadows pulled at him, but in a flurry of mist and shadow, he was flying.
In seconds, he passed through air and stone and materialized in his court room. His throne was inky black, bones carved into it, and Adair stared at his loyal guards, smiling viciously.
“It would seem we are supposed to show our allegiance to a new King across the Black Sea.” They shifted uneasily, and Adair snapped, “Parchment and ink, now.”
They scrambled, and Adair chewed his cheek. His dark gaze flickered back as he was handed what he needed, and nodding, he started his letter.
“Marquis...”
He wrote eloquently and without hesitation, and knew his old friend would come to trust him again over time. And until the day they didn’t need him anymore, Adair would convince him he had bowed to their agreement.... Only to sink the knife in his back when he dared not look.
His low growl of laughter erupted from him, bouncing around the room, as beneath them, their kingdom grew, because to his people, he was their safety.
His guards bowed their knees around the room, as he wrote, softly weaving lies, sinking his claws deeper into everyone he could. Adair would never live in a world where there was opposition of another resurfacing. He would kill all flickers of defiance against him, starting with Marquis Maher.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Brokk
Six Years Later
Sweat rolled down his spine, making his black armored chest plate feel suffocating over the top of his black shirt. Kieroian steel was an impregnable iron, one they were lucky to get their hands on to fuse in their protective gear.
The night was bleak and all-consuming as Brokk Foster looked to where he knew his best friend and Commander were hidden. Weeks of tactical planning and training brought the soldiers of Black Dawn Rebellion to this moment.
The slight tremor in his hands was the only sign of how he was feeling. Pressing himself closer to the mossy ground, Brokk breathed in the sweet smell of dewy grass. There was a snap of twigs, and the group went rigid, frozen in the shadows. Laughter filled the forest air as four men with blood red sashes placed brazenly across their chests walked into view a few hundred yards away. They quipped at each other, totally relaxed, their voices sounding like a constant buzz.
Blood thrummed in Brokk’s ears, and his heart pounded wildly. The seconds felt like centuries until finally he saw a flash of silver, and Memphis’s smooth voice filled his mind, “Now.”
Brokk didn’t need to be told twice. Springing from the ground like a demon from the darkness, he pulled his curved twin blades out in front of him in seconds as he cut them off. The group stopped in the pale moonlight, exposed.
He tauntingly greeted, “Evening, boys, sorry to interrupt your rounds, but I dare say, you’re a little close for comfort to our home. Convenient for us though...” He twirled the hilts in his hands. “...we wanted you exactly here.”
The leader of Adair’s men took a daring step toward Brokk. Smirking, he readied his blades, and in a flurry of movement, his friends dropped from the tree branches that had camouflaged them. Dressed all in black, their weapons brandished in front of them, the Black Dawn Rebellion acted.
Nyx Astire was a flash of purple hair as she froze one guard in her telekinetic grasp, slitting his throat before he could react. Blood spattered her as she lithely moved on to find her next victim. To Brokk’s left, Jaxson and Wyatt threw their knives, not even having to use their abilities to slay their enemy. Brokk charged, eyes fixated on the two guards that broke away from the fight.
The familiar popping and breaking of bones shivered through his body as animal instinct took over, and the wolf inside him did too. The ground shook from his colossal paws, golden fur rippling like a beacon in the night. His growl rumbled like thunder, and for a split second, he forgot who he was. All that mattered was that he took his targets down.
Paws shredd
ed fabric, bone, and sinew as Brokk ripped apart the soldiers. The screams died in the night, and flicking off his emotions, Brokk did what he was trained to do. What they had all trained to do in the six years Adair Stratton had become the Mad King.
Shifting back, trying to calm the elation of how good that just felt, Memphis snapped him out of his glorified moment. “Brokk! Come here.”
The last guard was openly crying now, forced to his knees, hands shaking behind his head. Brokk almost felt sorry for him. Almost. Up close, he was much younger than Brokk thought, fear replacing the guard’s bravery now. Memphis’s icy blue eyes cut into his, and he didn’t have to say anything for Brokk to understand.
Telekinetic or not, his friend wore his heart on his sleeve. They were all on edge, and who could blame them? Six years of hiding. Six years of losing this war. Brokk swallowed back his thoughts, wearing his mask, one of confidence and anger.
“W-who are you?” The guard’s voice squeaked out several octaves higher than it should have. Nyx kicked him in the gut, making him gasp for air.
Her thick purple hair was pulled back in a high bun, revealing Nyx’s uncanny ability to have stone cold features. Her violet eyes flashed, relishing in the man’s pain, her slender figure ready to kick him again. Nyx had been recruited into their cause when Alby found her in the northern Arken Mountains, her community destroyed by Adair.
Nyx flicked her gaze to Memphis, her lips curling up as she took in her boyfriend and Commander who crouched down in front of their prisoner. His long blond hair was tied back, revealing his severe features.
They all bore scars, some more visible than others.
“It’s your turn to listen. We are your worst nightmare. If you don’t comply with our demands, you will die. If you co-operate, you will return home with a message to your king.”
Brokk didn’t think the man’s face could go even paler. Memphis took a thick blindfold out and, in a gruff manner, tied it over the guard’s eyes. Nyx looked to Alby who looked to Wyatt and Jaxson. Brokk put a hand on Memphis’s shoulder, squeezing lightly before slinking behind the prisoner, smelling his defeat.
Heir of Lies (Black Dawn Series Book 1) Page 25
