by Everly Frost
Infernal Dark
Bright Wicked 3
Everly Frost
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue – Three Months Later
Stay in Touch
This Dark Wolf (Soul Bitten Shifter #1)
Storm Princess Saga : The Complete Collection
Also by Everly Frost
About the Author
Copyright © 2020 by Everly Frost
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Frost, Everly
Infernal Dark
Cover design by fantasybookdesign.com
For information on reproducing sections of this book or sales of this book, go to
www.EverlyFrost.com
[email protected]
For everyone who dares to hope.
Chapter 1
I claw a path through the dirt in the center of the arena. Blood and dust coat my fingers, my torn armor, and even my white hair. Cyrian’s dark magic courses through me, raking at my insides like daggers. The weight of agony forces me closer to the ground until I’m dragging myself through the dust.
I won’t stop until I reach Nathaniel’s side.
He lies a few paces away, his body laid out where Hagan left him. Even in death, Nathaniel’s powerful figure fills my senses, his arms corded with muscles, his broad shoulders and strong thighs demanding my focus. Every part of him—his body and his absent soul—calls to me as if he were still alive.
His eyes are closed, his chest is still, and the pool of blood beneath him continues to grow, a steady increase that grips my heart more painfully than Cyrian’s magic. Strands of Nathaniel’s walnut brown hair are plastered to his jaw, sweat and blood making them cling to his full lips.
A single delicate line of blood cuts through the sand between him and me, the path I now travel.
My only goal is to drag myself close enough to draw his hair away from his face, to straighten the strands.
It’s a hopeless, helpless goal. But it’s all I have.
The onlookers up in the stands shout and scream at me. Now that the fight is over, Cyrian’s hunters are forcing the humans to leave the arena at knifepoint. Many of them cry Nathaniel’s name. Others scream at Hagan, calling him a monster, but many more—so many more—scream for my blood.
“Hurt her!”
“Make her pay!”
Their vengeful shouts strike through me. I am the fae who brought about Nathaniel’s death. For what I suspect might be the first time, the humans scream their support for Cyrian. Nathaniel was their hope. The true heir to the human throne. The rightful Fell King.
It’s my fault he’s dead.
Two days ago, I invoked the Law of Champions. I bound Nathaniel to fight me to the death at the end of the third day. I invoked the Law by mistake—a challenge spoken out of anger and fear. The outcome of the fight will determine the fate of both lands. If I win, my queen will rule over both Bright and Fell. If Cyrian’s champion wins, Cyrian will rule.
Yesterday, Cyrian invoked the Three Chances to replace Nathaniel as his champion. For Cyrian to succeed, Nathaniel had to die by dawn today.
The sky is growing brighter by the second. Within minutes, the sun’s first rays will shine through the haze that covers Fell country. Once that happens, Hagan will replace Nathaniel as Cyrian’s champion, and I will be bound to fight Hagan before dawn tomorrow.
Four paces away, Hagan hasn’t left the spot where he retreated after he killed Nathaniel. He is the only other human with the strength to truly challenge Nathaniel. Hagan’s broad chest is inked with runes that are visible through the rips in his shirt. Two thick scars twist and intersect across his stomach, perceptible beneath the tattered edges of his clothing.
His expression is blank, his shoulders hunched, his lips drawn and pale. The braid of his black hair is matted with blood where it sits close to his scalp. The usually sharp intelligence in his tawny brown eyes is dull, his gaze hollow.
He pushed Nathaniel out of the way of an attacking wolf during the fight, shoving Nathaniel into one of the deadly spikes that jut from the walls of the arena. As much as I want to hate Hagan, I don’t believe he was trying to kill Nathaniel in that moment.
Cyrian paces beside me as I crawl through the dust, his jubilant laughter crushing me as badly as his magic. I draw on a trickle of my starlight power to help ease the pain he’s causing me. Now that the sun is rising, my power is finite. I have to be careful how much I use because once it’s gone, I’ll have nothing left until sunset.
Towering over me, Cyrian’s dark light flickers around his torso and arms. It plays across his black hair, highlighting the colorful runes that run all of the way from his right shoulder to the silver wristband he wears.
His dark brown eyes glitter with triumph.
“Where are you going, Aura?” Cyrian laughs, kicking sand into my face.
I manage to close my eyes before the dirt hits me, coughing and tipping my face away, my eyes streaming as I continue to crawl along my painful path.
“Nathaniel’s dead,” Cyrian snarls. “There’s nothing you can do now.”
I’m not strong enough to stop Cyrian from hurting me. He warned me that I’m no match for his limitless dark magic. I didn’t believe him at first, but I do now.
Drawing on another trickle of my power to give me strength, I drag myself the final agonizing distance to Nathaniel’s side.
Cyrian doesn’t try to stop me as I lower myself to Nathaniel’s chest, curl my fingers around his hand, and press my forehead to his. I’m breathing heavily, nearly passing out. It took everything I had to make it back to him. I’m lucky that the Law of Champions stops Cyrian from killing me. If not, I’d be dead now.
Nathaniel’s palm and face are warm against mine, giving me the illusion that he’s still alive. The space between us glows just like it always did when we touched. I gasp air into my chest, trying to stay lucid, trying to contain my screams.
There was nothing I could do to save him. The Three Chances stopped me from using my power to influence the outcome of the fight between Hagan and Nathaniel. When the Vanem Dragon flew to Fell country to bind Nathaniel and Hagan to their fight, he warned both me and Cyrian that fae magic and dark magic couldn’t be used to interfere with the fight. Until dawn breaks, neither of us can touch Hagan or Nathaniel with our magic.
Despite that, I tried. After he was impaled, I pressed my hands over Nathaniel’s heart and flooded his chest with my power in an attempt to cauterize his wounds and stop the bleeding. Desperat
e to save his life, I dared the Three Chances to repel or even kill me. It didn’t do any good. My magic glowed, but Nathaniel’s breathing stopped.
Releasing his hand now, my arm shakes as I press my palm against his cheek. My hand comes away coated in gray dust. My power leaks between us despite my every effort to contain it. I’m shivering and in pain but determined to straighten his hair despite the blood and dust on his face.
Now that I’m touching him again, my control is breaking.
Everything inside me is breaking. My mind, my body, even the cavity inside my chest where Nathaniel’s death tore my heart apart.
Where is your heart?
I shake my head violently, trying to displace the question Cyrian whispered to me during the fight. He looked at me as if I’d suddenly been a mystery to him. The intrigue in his eyes filled me with fear. I didn’t have an answer for him because his question didn’t make sense. All I know is that I spent the last day as Nathaniel’s shield, protecting him from wolves, hunters—even Cyrian’s torture—but in the end, I couldn’t shield him from death.
Before I can finish my task, Cyrian bends over me, wraps his fingers into my hair, and yanks my head away from Nathaniel’s. My arms whip out, refusing to let go of Nathaniel’s shoulders even when the pain Cyrian’s dark magic causes me reaches the point where I can no longer function.
My thoughts are simple, reduced to a single, overwhelming instinct: Don’t let go.
Cyrian’s breath is hot against my ear as he kneels and curves over me, still gripping my hair.
“Hold on to him while you can, Aura,” he whispers. “The moment the sun rises, I will use my magic to tear Nathaniel’s body apart. I might leave you with his hand, but that is all.”
My whimpers turn into a scream—loud now that the arena is nearly empty. “Get away from him!”
Out of control, my power blasts between us, cold starlight sizzling through both of my arms—one outstretched to push Cyrian away, the other pressed against Nathaniel’s chest.
Cyrian jolts away from me.
The wash of dark magic surrounding his body protects him from the burning impact of my starlight—and I’m lucky it does. Until the final fight, I can’t hurt a human. The punishment for breaking that rule is my instant death.
Even so, Cyrian releases my hair so suddenly that my head whips to the side. I end up facing Nathaniel, watching helplessly as the power I released flows through his chest, bright streaks like lightning—a blast strong enough to stop his heart if it were still beating.
A sob rises inside me, but before I can release it, Cyrian backhands me so hard that my head knocks into Nathaniel’s. The impact cracks between us, a spark of starlight igniting across our faces. The flash is so bright, it’s as if our bodies are flint.
Tears of pain stream down my cheeks. I grip Nathaniel’s shoulders, trying to stop the world from spinning as I drag in another scream. My cry chokes in my throat as I inhale the scent of his skin. Powerful burned caramel, so warm I’m sure I’m the one who burned him.
Cyrian grabs me again, but his hands barely brush my shoulders before Hagan barrels into him with a roar. “Let her grieve!”
Shocked, I stare up at Hagan as he grips Cyrian’s chest, pushes him off-balance, and flings him into the dirt.
Hagan was never my friend. He and Nathaniel trained side by side as boys, called each other brothers, but that had been before Cyrian took control of Hagan and the other hunters and turned them into his killers.
Cyrian hits the ground on his backside, his face filling with rage. “That was a mistake, Hagan.”
Quickly jumping to his feet, Cyrian brushes himself off, closing the gap so that the two men stand face to face. Cyrian was once a champion, a warrior. His physical skills have given way to his reliance on magic, but he is still stronger than the average human.
Hagan gives a slow shrug as he stands his ground. He glances at the sky. “I’m guessing I have another ten minutes before your dark magic can touch me again. After that, it’s up to you what you do to me. You should consider the outcome if you hurt your champion before the final fight.”
Dark light fills Cyrian’s eyes. He grits his teeth. “You will regret defying me.”
Hagan returns Cyrian’s stare. He shakes his head, a slow and certain side-to-side motion. “My family’s dead. Christiana’s safe. I have no honor left, no reputation to tarnish. There’s no way for you to hurt me other than to torture and kill me.”
“Everyone has a breaking point.”
Hagan points to the scar that cuts across his stomach. “You already found mine and used it to your advantage. Nathaniel is dead. So is my half-brother. You have no leverage over me now.”
Cyrian takes a step back, his sharp eyes raking across Hagan’s defiant face before landing on me. Cyrian’s hand flies out, dark light spears the air into my chest, and pain shrieks through me again.
In response, Hagan’s fist flies out, catching Cyrian across the chin, but Cyrian continues to pour darkness into me even when Hagan hits him again.
My magic was already simmering at the surface, leaking between Nathaniel and me. It bursts around me, a glowing shield. I can’t afford to use this much of it, but I can’t seem to stop it.
I close my eyes as the pain eases the more I focus on my starlight and its source deep within my chest, far within the reaches of my mind. That vast, silent place where nothing exists except my light.
Dropping my head to Nathaniel’s chest, I drag in the scent of his skin again as my fingers curl into his torn shirt, pressing against his chest.
His warm chest.
I pull back to study him.
He shouldn’t be this warm. He shouldn’t seem this alive.
Pressing my ear to his heart, I listen… waiting… hoping… for a beat. Hoping I was wrong when I saw his breathing stop. When he became completely still.
I don’t hear anything. No breath sounds. No bright heart thudding in his chest.
Tears slip down my cheeks as I open my eyes. I’m conscious of Hagan lifting Cyrian off his feet and throwing him across the arena so hard that Cyrian bounces and rolls. The hunters haven’t returned, but they’ll be back soon. Hagan may be their leader, but it won’t take Cyrian long to order the hunters to restrain him.
“Nathaniel,” I whisper, pressing my cheek to his. “Where are you?”
Running my fingers through his hair, I’m shocked to see his skin flush when I press my hand against his jaw.
His heart may not be beating, but somehow, impossibly…
He’s alive.
There’s no other explanation for his warmth and the reaction of his body to mine—the glow between us, his scent, his immense presence filling my senses…
Acting quickly, I rip at the hole in his shirt where the spike broke through. The wound sits above his heart, through his shoulder.
I stare in shock at the skin around the exit point.
It’s partially cauterized. Blood oozes from the cut but only at a trickle.
My head begins to shake as I try to understand how. The only explanation is that I did it. It might have been when I first pressed my hands to Nathaniel’s chest before Hagan pushed me away and told me he had to end Nathaniel’s life. Or it could have been when my anger soared through me just now and I screamed at Cyrian to get away from Nathaniel.
None of that should be possible.
My fae magic shouldn’t be able to touch him…
Reaching around his chest, I struggle to turn him onto his side to check the entry wound in his back. The weight of his torso and muscles and the blood coating his chest make my task difficult. Quickly repositioning myself and drawing my legs under me, I use my knees as a wedge beneath his back so that I can slowly lift him. With a final heave, I finally succeed in getting his left arm to drop across his chest so that gravity pulls him far enough onto his stomach that I can pull up his shirt and study the wound on this side.
It’s also cauterized.
I don
’t understand how my magic worked, but if I did this—if I somehow minimized the flow of blood—then I can finish the job.
Leaning across him, I slip my right hand over his back and my left hand across his chest, covering the entry and exit points of the wound.
I have to be careful.
Yesterday, Nathaniel described my power as having many facets—the capacity to destroy as well as the power to heal. I’d eased the pain in his bruised ribs by warming his torso with my starlight. Now I need the sharp edge of my power—the fiery element. Too much will destroy whatever life clings within him. Too little won’t work.
Drawing on the well of power inside me, conscious of the limited amount I have left, I allow starlight to flow from my chest down my arms. I don’t temper it, don’t soften it, allowing it to remain sharp and prickly. A burning cold.
Pinpoints of starlight widen beneath my palms as I block out Hagan’s and Cyrian’s shouting only a few paces away from me.
I hold on to my power for another second before I release it.
Light flashes on both sides of Nathaniel’s chest.
Rapidly shutting off my power, I check his back first, then his front. Both sides of the wound are completely cauterized.
I haven’t healed him. His internal injuries are still catastrophic, but I’ve stopped him from losing any more blood. Now I need him to breathe again. And then I need to get him to a healer. I don’t know how I’m going to do that, but I tell myself to face one problem at a time.
