Heart's Inferno (Fallen Guardians 4)

by Georgia Lyn Hunter

  Týr countered Narfi’s moves, only wanting him gone from this realm. Then the bastard’s words struck him with the force of a sword to the heart. “You…?” he rasped. “It was you.”

  “Yes, it was me in Tartarus,” Narfi jeered. The ominously recognizable sound had bile rushing up Týr’s throat. “I am a little disappointed you failed to see through my disguise back then—oh, wait, you were stripped of all your abilities.”

  “Why come after me now when you had millennia to do so?” Týr croaked.

  “Believe me, I would have done so the very first day you set foot on this realm! But that bitch, my aunt, found out what I did to you in Tartarus. She had me trapped in Niflheim with the damn dead until I escaped to Lyngve. No matter, this time, you will not arise again—”

  “No!”

  The furious, feminine yell broke through Narfi’s hold on him. Týr wheeled around, his heart thundering in his ears. What the hell was she doing here? “Kira, get outta here!” he roared.

  “I’m not going to let you hurt him again, you son of a bitch!” she snarled at Narfi.

  “How quaint, your whore protecting you.” Narfi flashed, grabbing Kira by her throat, dragging her in front of him like a fucking shield. She tugged at his arm, but he seemed to have it glued around her. “Don’t move!” he spat at Echo. “And don’t call those Guardians, or she dies.” Narfi’s smirking grin flashed back to Týr. “Is she truly yours, old friend?”

  Týr clenched his fists, wanting to tear him apart, limb by limb. If he told the truth, the bastard would kill her, especially with his twisted sense of justice. “This is between us—”

  “And her.” Narfi pressed his blade to her trachea as if to drive home his point. A crimson droplet seeped down Kira’s neck.

  The helpless rage churning through Tyr stuttered at the glimmer of red forming in Kira’s fingertips. He had no idea what she did, but the next second, Narfi flew back in a powerful blast of iridescent red streams.

  Týr dove for him. “I’m gonna make you pay for that!”

  “You didn’t before, you can’t now.” Narfi shoved him off with a psychic thrust. Týr stumbled back as Narfi blurred to the opposite side of the clearing, a sizzling blue bolt forming in his palm. “Fen, now!”

  A thunderous growl reverberated across the forest. The trees shuddered and snow fell from the branches. A shape larger than a bus hurtled toward them…a huge motherfucking wolf!

  “Kira, get the hell out! Dematerialize!” Týr roared and flashed, but the power-bolt slammed into his side and sent him crashing to the ground as Fenrir leaped through the air…

  Kira tripped back in horror at the huge, monstrous wolf coming at her, landing on her hands and bottom on the mushy surface. Only the wolf skidded to a halt at the last second, sending snow spraying everywhere, even into her face. Her heart in her throat, Kira swiped away the ice bits and stared into eyes glowing like amber orbs. The beast’s maw opened, revealing fangs longer than a sabretooth tiger’s. The wolf prowled closer.

  “Fen, don’t!” Týr bellowed from behind her, the sounds of grunts and snarls escalating.

  Kira swallowed hard. “Fen…” She reached out a hand, praying the wolf wouldn’t rip it off. “You were Týr’s best friend once. He loved you, he still does—”

  Hot breath blasted across her face. Oh, God!

  “Fenrir, destroy the bitch!” Narfi screeched. “What the hell are you waiting for, you dumb idiot?”

  A growl, louder than crashing thunder, deafened her. Kira slapped her palms over her ears, eyes shut, unable to watch the wolf tear off her head. More snow sprayed, bits stinging her face.

  I erred once at the Gates of the Gods, never again. I stayed with them, I heard. Voices travel in the wind, I know. He is my brother, never you.

  “You pathetic animal,” Narfi sneered. “As if I ever trusted you, brother! Island Lyngve eagerly awaits your return.”

  Breathing hard, Kira opened her wet eyes to a huge, furry black body in front of her, as if protecting her. The wolf snarled and leaped. Narfi flashed back, releasing a small, sizzling orb that arrowed through the air and struck the wolf dead-center of its chest. A hissing bluish haze surrounded the wolf, its yelp abruptly cut off as it vanished.

  Narfi smirked, keeping Týr at a distance and counter-circling him. “You’re next.”

  “Kira—” Echo grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the edge of the trees then whispered, “I called Aethan—” Whatever else she would have said got lost in the din of a terrifying, crackling sound, the noise reverberating in the clearing like icebergs shattering.

  Echo cursed. Kira gaped, not sure if what she saw was real.

  Zombie-like figures of decaying, armored soldiers crawled out of the ground. Metal creaking eerily, they rose and surrounded Týr, wielding heavy, corroded broadswords, axes, and spears. Rusting chainmail armor and rotting leggings of centuries ago sagged from skeletal frames. Tarnished half-helmets covered their decaying, withered faces.

  This wasn’t a burial ground, especially for those types of dead.

  “So, you summon dead warriors?” Týr taunted.

  “Demons can be great allies,” Narfi smirked.

  Týr’s entire body suddenly went utterly still. The movement was barely perceptible, and Kira only picked up on it because she was so in tune with him. His fingers clenched, and a look of absolute shock crossed his face. His gaze flashed to hers, his eyes narrowing.

  Was he pissed that she was still here?

  Too bad. Her man needed to get his big warrior head back into the game. She wasn’t leaving until this battle was over and all those scourges were sent back to wherever the hell they had come from.

  She glared right back at him. Besides, she had a promise to keep.

  His expression hardened, his attention back on his nemesis. In an eddy of smoke, his mystical black sword glowed briefly as it appeared in his hand.

  “Yes, your magical weapon.” Narfi scoffed, surrounded by the dead. “Let’s see what you got, bróðir—” He flung out a hand as if to hold Týr back, but nothing happened.

  Snarling, Týr rushed into the horde, his weapon coming down in a deadly arc. Skeletal heads flew, the dead soldiers crumbling into dust. More circled him.

  His own sword palmed, Narfi lunged at Týr, who ducked, ramming his blade into Narfi’s belly. He roared, pitching a spell bolt with his other hand. The power of the hit sent Týr stumbling back.

  The shithead! Kira shoved away from Echo and threw out her hands. Red tendrils streamed free, wrapping around the corpses surrounding Narfi. Dammit, missed. She clenched her fingers, and the net tightened, severing the dead into several pieces. They clattered, fell, and disintegrated.

  Týr spun like a tornado, his sword a blazing flame in the night as he cut through the dead, demolishing them.

  Narfi punched the frozen ground. Ice crackled. More dead scrambled out of the earth—

  A feminine grunt erupted near Kira. Echo was at her back, her obsidian dagger in hand. She slashed and killed with the precision of a seasoned slayer.

  Keeping one eye on the dangerous corpses, Kira removed her jambiya from its sheath, her focus on Narfi. He watched Týr with such hatred, her stomach dipped. She refused to let the scum who’d hurt him so brutally in Tartarus carry through with the threat of killing her mate. She ducked three swords coming at her, but the last one sliced her biceps through her jacket and sweater. Teeth clacking together at the sting, she lashed out, her blade cleaving off the dead’s hand. In a cloud of dust, he poofed and vanished, startling her. More came, and she eviscerated them in seconds.

  Man, Wrath’s weapon was lethal in a fight.

  “No, you don’t, whore!” Narfi appeared in a flash and kicked her hard in the belly, sending her flying backward.

  An enraged snarl reverberated in the air as she crashed to the sludgy ground. Pain exploded through her, she lay there unable to breathe, so sure someone had yanked out her lungs.

  “Kira!”

&
nbsp; She couldn’t speak to reassure Týr she was okay.

  The chilling clinks of squeaking, rusted metal drew closer. Several undead soldiers pitched towards her. Her jambiya lay buried in the snow several feet away. Yep, death was gonna happen if she didn’t get her butt up and moving. Wait! She couldn’t die, not with having immortal parents. But, damn. She groaned. Everything freakin’ hurt. She must have fractured a rib or something. Kira tried to summon her deadly ability but couldn’t concentrate with the pain sweeping through her.

  Gritting her teeth, she scrambled to all fours, barely avoiding another rusty blade slashing at her. She dove forward and grabbed her weapon. Propelling to her knees, she swiped at the decaying legs near her, separating them from their body. With a dull thud, the corpse fell and crumbled.

  More bright swords joined the melee, blazing in the moonlight. Oh, thank God. The Guardians had arrived. She ducked another killing blow, striking out with her blade.

  “Aethan, get the women outta here!” Týr bellowed.

  “No, she dies!” Narfi shrieked. A whizzing blue bolt headed straight for her.

  Shit! Before she even moved, Týr was there, sword swinging in a deadly strike. Narfi reeled back, his blast going off-target, hitting a tree instead. Debris exploded everywhere, the huge tree crashing down. Týr rushed him. Narfi hurled a red, crackling ball and grinned. “I’ve been saving the best for last.”

  The orb slammed Týr in the chest, sending him staggering back several feet. He stumbled to a halt and then just stood there, looking a little shell-shocked. Then he fell to his knees, his head lowered, a red stain seeping into the snow around him.

  “Týr!” A scream ripped free from Kira’s throat. She leaped up and sprinted to him, domino-ing through the corpses in her way. She slid to her knees beside Týr, grasped his biceps, and pulled him over. His jacket parted. Nooo! Her body went lax. She couldn’t breathe, her gaze latched onto the huge hole in his torso. Blood gushed out. She could see everything, his shattered ribs, his…

  “Oh, God—oh, God—” She put her hands over his wound, trying to stop the flow. “Týr, please, please don’t die…”

  “You both will,” Narfi sneered, another sizzling ball of power in his hands.

  A black rage took over, so fierce that nothing else mattered but protecting the man she loved. In pain and anger, she flung out one blood-drenched hand, and with everything in her, she let her abilities loose. “No, you fuckin’ don’t, you demented godscum!”

  Gossamer threads of red tangled around Narfi, trapping him. He staggered back and looked down at himself in surprise. Then, he laughed, pulling at the threads that glimmered in the moonlight. “Pretty.”

  Kira clenched her fingers hard. The web tightened, slicing through his face, neck, torso, and limbs. His merriment turned into snarls of pain. Sparks of power shot out of him as he tried to evade the trap, but the threads didn’t snap. Blood flowed from his cheeks, his body, his limbs, pooling on the snow in a gory, crimson splash.

  It wasn’t enough. She wanted to hear him cry out his agony—beg for mercy—she wanted him to hurt so fucking badly before he died. Her power amped up like a nuclear-powered rocket. The glimmering red threads lassoed around his neck tightened, severing flesh and bone.

  Screeches echoed. Swords clanged. Sudden warmth surrounded her, the glow so bright, she shut her eyes. Her only thoughts were on severing Narfi’s head completely.

  “Kira, watch out!” Echo yelled.

  She blinked and refocused. Leaping tongues of flames soared into the night air then rolled, snaking like a serpent around Aethan, Blaéz, Nik, Dagan, and Michael, melting snow and incinerating every scourge it touched.

  Her gaze rushed back to Týr, and she gaped. His veins bulged, each turned a fiery orangey-red. Sparks shot out from his skin. Though his eyes were closed, fiery power rolled out from his hands with unerring accuracy. So gravely wounded, and yet he protected those he cared about.

  Where Narfi had fallen, still fighting her deadly web, the flames swept over him, exploding like gasoline thrown on a bonfire. His shrieks cut off, and he crumbled into smoldering ash. As the blaze raged on, Kira put her other hand back on Týr’s wound, trying to keep the gushing blood inside his chest…

  Hold on, my love, you have to hold on… There is no way I can exist for eternity without you. Tears crowded her eyes.

  “Kira!” someone shouted from a distance. “You have to let us in. He needs help.”

  Air sawed in and out of her lungs in choppy breaths. She lifted her head to stare blankly at the archangel, who seemed to be trapped in a colorful haze. His hair hung in damp strands around his harsh features. Michael swung his weapon again. Steel met colors, and sparks flew. An unseen power blast sent the archangel careening back.

  Kira glanced around in confusion at the shimmering hues entombing her and Týr. Then she looked up. Not a haze. A gigantic orb. And they were inside it.

  Had she created it? She let go of her mind’s hold on the power, and like a gossamer web, the globe parted, floated to the ground, before dissipating.

  The warriors rushed to Týr, forcing her to scramble back.

  Týr’s eyelids flickered open a little. His normally vibrant light toffee eyes resembled black holes. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “Ki...”

  “Týr—” She darted back to him, but Echo grabbed her arm. “No! Let me go, dammit!” Kira fought her friend, but Echo didn’t let go, she wrapped her arms tighter around her instead. “Let them, Kira. They know what to do.”

  Tears fell. “I can’t lose him, Echo. I just can’t.”

  “Then we do what you always told me. We believe.”

  Kira didn’t respond. Her wet gaze fixed on Michael and the Guardians. They formed a wall around Týr, blocking her view of him. Someone pulled off Týr’s jacket and tossed it aside.

  Kira grabbed it, crushing the leather to her chest. The scent of citrus and green pine merged with a coppery odor crowded her nose, seizing her in a stranglehold of anguish.

  “Use this,” Dagan rasped, pulling off his shirt and handing it over. Michael pressed the fabric against the gaping wound in Týr’s chest. A shimmery white miasma seeped out of the archangel and shrouded Týr. Minutes passed. “He’s not healing,” Michael snapped. “Some damn spell’s blocking me. Get Lila to the castle, now! Dammit, stop fighting me, Norse. You’re losing more fucking blood. Yeah-yeah, she’s fine!” In a flash of silvery sparks, Michael vanished with Týr, leaving a river of crimson marking the gray, sludgy snow where he’d been.

  “Kira?” Aethan crouched beside her. “Let’s get you back to the castle.”

  She pulled her gaze from the gory site. “He can’t die, Aethan—” She could barely get the words out, anguish splintering through her. “He…Narfi said Týr would die this time.”

  “We won’t let him.” Aethan’s jaw hardened. “We’ll find a way to get that spell off him, trust me. Týr’s one stubborn male, he won’t go down easy.”

  “I’ll clear out this…scene.” Nik approached, picking up her jambiya from the sludgy, red-streaked snow. He held it out. As she reached for the blade, her gaze fell to the glossy red gore coating her hands.

  Týr’s blood. And tears welled again.

  Chapter 30

  Kira slowed from pacing the second-floor landing, stopping at the entrance to the corridor leading to Týr’s quarters. Christ! How much longer?

  Silence echoed like a harbinger. One would think none of the warriors were there. Yet all three lined the wall outside their quarters like guards, arms folded.

  For heaven’s sake, make some noise, this place is like a damn morgue!

  Echo, seated on the Queen Anne chair, glanced Kira’s way, her worried expression softening. She rose and cast Aethan a quick look. He merely stared at her, his expression flat. Her mouth pressed briefly into a tight line, she joined Kira.

  The door opened, and Hedori stepped out, looking like he’d been through hell. He shook his head. “The spell
still obstructs his regenerating abilities. Lila?”

  “She’s not at the brownstone,” Blaéz said. “Nik’s tracking her.”

  It had been two hours since they’d brought Týr back. Any longer, and Kira realized she could very well lose him. Apparently, immortals could die from certain weapons and spells, and Narfi had been determined to kill Týr. A painfully slow death had been his idea of revenge.

  God. Kira rubbed her gritty eyes, wanting to kill Narfi again. Teeth grinding down, she pulled her cell out from her jacket pocket and called Gran—no, her mother. It went to voicemail. No, no! She bit the inside of her lip to stop from crying again. Please. Please, Týr needs you. He’s been badly wounded, and I’m so afraid.

  “Shh.” Echo put her arms around her and hugged her. “She’ll come. You know she will.”

  “Then why isn’t she answering?” she demanded. “It’s because of me. I ruined everything…” She broke off at a shimmer in the air. A strange, powerful sensation like a caress coasted across her skin.

  I heard you, child, her mother’s faint voice coasted in her thoughts.

  The warriors shifted in a thud of boots just as a tall, willowy figure in a long, flowing deep blue robe and a snowfall of hair took shape in the corridor. Of course, even in this form, as an invited guest, Luceré could bypass the wards protecting the castle. A glow emitted from her, almost like a halo, reminding Kira of an angel. But she was an Ancient, a being Kira still had no concept of.

  The Guardians had already cut off the corridor, blocking her mother’s path. Then they stilled, brows creasing in confusion.

  Kira darted forward, stepping protectively between her mother and the warriors. When Aethan suddenly inclined his head as if in a bow, Kira frowned. Did he know Luceré?

  The other warriors slowly offered the same kind of greeting. They stepped aside, making way.

  “This is my mother, Luceré,” Kira said, leaving their odd reaction to worry over later.

  Echo gasped. “Gran?”

  With a tiny smile, Luceré nodded. “Yes, my dear.”