by Eve Langlais
“In times of danger, yes, but what of when there is no danger? Can you honestly say you’d be content with only a part of me? To watch another man woo me with his words? Know that I am sharing myself in another bed?”
Titus’s turn to look away, his fingers drumming. “I’ve thought of it.”
“And?”
Titus uttered a deep sigh. “I don’t know. I’d like to think I’ve evolved enough to not care, but as you said, jealousy isn’t something that easily leaves.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “Is this your way of saying we’re done?”
No Titus? The very idea almost stopped her heart. She leaned close and put her hand on his leg. When he wouldn’t look at her, she reached with her free hand to turn his face.
“I don’t want to lose you. I just don’t know if I can love you the way you deserve.”
A sharp rap drew them apart, and she flushed, almost as if she felt guilty about being caught, especially since Desmond glared at her through the glass. “We have company.”
With a sharp whistle, the horses pulling the carriage halted.
“Is it me, or is there a horde of something bearing down on us?” Titus remarked, opening the carriage door and descending.
Desmond didn’t look perturbed at all as he stared at the gathering storm of dust preceding the rampage. “It would seem that something has noticed our passage. My guess would be trolls. They tend to live in these parts.”
“Shouldn’t we just outrun them?” Titus asked.
“Then that leaves them at our back,” Erela stated. “If we run into something else impeding our travel, we’ll be caught between them.” And crushed.
Titus pulled off his tunic and shirt, revealing his pale chest, defined with muscle. Nothing like the slabs Desmond possessed. “What’s the plan?”
Desmond raised his hand and dragged it down the front of his face. Where it passed, armor appeared, the black matte scales absorbing light. When he was done, every inch of his body was encased in fluid metal. His voice echoed from within the helm, and he raised his sword as he said, “We fight.”
Erela didn’t disagree when Titus muttered, “He’s nuts.” But neither did the vampire flee or turn coward. He pulled the daggers he’d sheathed at his thighs, and his face took on a feral appearance as he drew his darker nature to the surface.
“Let’s see who the better killer in battle is,” he declared before charging at the approaching beasts.
“I am,” Erela murmured, drawing her own sword. It sang as it appeared, the metal humming with excitement, more alive here than on Earth.
Hungry, too.
Logan stood beside her and cocked his head, his green-eyed gaze dancing with excitement.
“Will you fight by my side?” Erela asked.
“Awoo.” The howl and a sharp bark were her replies as they strode more slowly to take up position.
The stampede of trolls started to take shape, the dust cloud large and ominous and yet there were only about nineteen in the charge. One stood taller than the rest.
Erela raised her sword. “The big one is mine.”
“He might be bigger, but he still only counts as one,” Desmond declared.
“You think you can best me, Dark Lord?” She smiled at Desmond.
He saluted her with his blade. “I think they should have attacked with more. This is barely a fight.”
“You’re both insane,” Titus grumbled.
Not really. More like alive. Erela’s body thrummed with energy. She didn’t wait for the enemy to arrive. She ran to them, screaming her old battle cry. “Die!”
Not fancy. Yet it always served to get her in the right mood. The only good demon was a dead demon. She’d been taught that since she could walk and hold a sword. The Dark Lords might rule them in Ha’el, but outside, they were hunted and shown no quarter.
She darted past the first troll that she might extend her sword, sliding through the beast’s tough leather hide, eyes stinging at the sudden acridity in the air. The beasts smelled, even more so when they bled.
They also stung the tongue, a fact Logan quickly learned as his wolf took a bite, then promptly gagged.
But she couldn’t stop to mind him. The battle had begun.
Sweat rolled into her eyes as she swung with wild abandon. A gleeful joy rose in her with each stroke. This was the most alive she’d felt…why, since her release from the asylum.
She laughed as she danced among the enemy, her body moving to a battle music only she could hear. One that allowed her to evade the dragging of claws, the snapping of teeth. Her blade sliced like the bow of an instrument, leaving behind its own melody in the wake of the screams of the dying.
Everything was bright and white, the sun of this plane shining its approval. The monsters about her recoiled from the brilliance. Cringed.
Died.
Until there were none left, and she stood in a field of bodies, her body thrumming with energy.
She turned with a smile to see Titus gaping. Even Logan’s wolf stared. Hearing a loud clap, she turned to see Desmond striding towards her, his dark armor gleaming as he declared, “Bravo, arammu. You’ve grown in power since the first time I saw you fight.” How ironic that he was still the only man she knew who took pride in her ability.
And Erela inhaled it, a flower blossoming at his warm regard. “How many did I kill?”
“Almost as many as me.” He swiped away his visor to reveal a wide smile.
She snorted. “We both know I won this round.”
“Are you we going to stand around discussing this until more of them find us?” A disheveled Titus looked none too pleased. His skin was marred by brackish fluid, his mouth burned from biting flesh that didn’t agree.
“He’s right. We should get going.” She said it, yet spent a moment longer staring at Desmond.
Wanting nothing more than to throw her arms around him and find a place with no blood. A place to sink to the ground and take him into her body while the adrenaline still coursed through her veins.
She abruptly spun away. “The day is wasting.”
Chapter Sixteen
As Erela spun from Desmond, he almost reached for her. Desire coursed, fierce and wanting. After battle, sex was always good. But sharing it with Erela used to be great.
Did she remember? He caught up to her side and whispered, “Do you recall those mountain lions we cleaned out?” A joint effort between their kingdoms along the border.
“I do.” And judging by the blush on her cheeks, she recalled the cave they’d found after.
She’d bitten him so hard to hide her cries of pleasure, he still bore a mark.
“We make a good pair.” It was the only thing he said before striding away from her, whistling for his stallion, who’d chosen to chase down a troll that had cowardly chosen to escape.
During the course of the battle, a few trolls had slipped past and gone after the carriage. The mares took care of them, but not before damage had been done to one of the conveyance wheels. They stared at the axle dug into the ground. The metal wheel was bent.
“I don’t think we can fix it,” Titus remarked, still looking sour that he’d not acquitted himself as well as others in battle.
Actually, Desmond could repair the wheel. It would take only a little bit of magic, and yet he held back. He didn’t like Erela tucked away with the vampire—it didn’t escape his notice how intent their conversation had been before the interruption. Not to mention, Desmond knew Erela would be happier outside.
And her happiness meant more to him than a vampire with sore buttocks.
The night-mares, released from the chariot, weren’t happy about having riders on their backs, but they obeyed once Desmond’s stallion nipped at their flanks.
Erela, still soaring on the bloodlust and high of battle, raced ahead, her laughter ringing out. The wolf loped by her side. The vampire, however, bore a pensive mien.
“You look troubled,” Desmond remarked.
“I’ll get over it.”
Desmond guessed the cause. “Have you finally grasped that she’s not a damsel in distress?”
“I’d say that’s become quite obvious. She is formidable.”
“She is.” Said with great pride. “And you are not sure how to feel now that she is gaining in power.”
Titus shot him a dark glare. “I’m not threatened by a woman with strength.”
“But you are also less certain of your affection now that said woman has shown she doesn’t need you.”
“She needs me.”
“As a friend, yes. But you are not her equal.”
“Let me guess, you are?” spoken with a sneer.
“Maybe before I was, but Erela has grown in power. She is stronger than I. But unlike you, I revel in it. She is a woman beyond compare.”
“Is that why you chased her despite the rules forbidding it? Because you saw her potential?”
“I saw many things. And don’t take that disparaging tone with me. You pursued Erela because you liked being a hero. Now that she is the one doing the saving, you struggle with the change.”
“You make me sound shallow,” Titus muttered.
“Don’t project your inadequacy on me. I am not the one intimidated by Erela.”
“What is she?” Titus asked. “I know you don’t have the answer, but more and more I think that is the true reason for her banishment. Someone fears her.”
“Fear would have seen her dead long ago. But I do agree the secret of her parentage is the cause of her troubles.”
“Apart from Ha’el, Earth, and Babylonia, what other places can you travel to? Surely, the answer lies there somewhere.”
“There are many worlds. Some quite inhospitable to our kind. Many with intelligent lifeforms, but none have people that compare to Erela. The coloring of her hair and eyes is quite unique.”
“Not really. I’ve seen people with platinum locks before. We get them on Earth all the time. Although I will grant you the purple eyes are new.”
“Perhaps she is half human then.” Desmond offered Titus a smirk. “But that doesn’t explain the magic simmering in her. Power that was hidden before.”
“Or maybe you just didn’t notice it.”
There was no way Desmond would have missed it. It leaked from her, a brilliance that called to him. Called to others. It was why she’d managed to draw the vampire and werewolf to her side. She was irresistible to them. The wolf had yet to shake the allure of the magic, but it seemed the vampire was stronger than Desmond gave him credit for.
The draw of her power wasn’t what drew Desmond, though. In Ha’el, Ifrit females tended to gravitate to the healing arts. They didn’t wield swords and laugh when they split someone sternum to groin. Erela killed and didn’t care. Loved with a passion that didn’t hold back.
When they fucked, they did so hard and gloriously.
Perhaps Desmond was the one under a spell. But he didn’t care. Erela made him happy.
And he wasn’t about to share her. Which was why he asked, “What do you want from Erela?”
The vampire laughed, a low, hollow sound. “She asked me the same thing. And you know what? I don’t know anymore. I thought I wanted her. A part of me still does. But this place.” He waved a hand. “It’s not my world. Even if I can walk in the sun, I have no power here. I belong on Earth.”
“But Erela belongs here.” An odd thing to say given that she wasn’t Ha’el born. Yet she fit in. Belonged here.
With me.
Before she could make that choice, however, she needed to deal with her rage. For that, she required vengeance.
And Desmond planned to give it to her. With a bow wrapped around the target if it wouldn’t comply.
They made camp that night amongst stone ruins. The walls barely waist high, the keep long abandoned so far ago in time their records made no mention of it. Desmond set the wards that would warn them if anything approached. The wolf made himself useful by fetching dried wood that burned brightly. The vampire hunted, bringing back a hare by its three ears. He was missing one finger.
“Bloody things are carnivores on this side,” Titus grumbled as he spitted it to roast. A nice gesture given he didn’t partake of the meal. Erela, however, enjoyed it. She ate her roasted meat, drank from the carafe of wine Desmond had brought, then pulled her cloak around her like a blanket when she settled down to sleep using the wolf once more as a pillow. Desmond took first watch. The vampire second.
Then because he knew Erela would be annoyed if he didn’t, he shook her awake for the third. “Your turn to stand guard.”
She blinked the sleep from her eyes and smiled. “Thank you.” Nothing more.
She sprang to her feet, and with Logan at her heels, stalked to the edge of the shadows while Desmond lay down in the warm spot she’d left behind—because it was closest to the fire and not because he was pathetic.
They rode at dawn, the wolf doing his best to keep up, and when Logan tired, the vampire misted and gave up his steed. They made good time, so that by the late afternoon, they arrived at their destination.
The lone tower jutted from hard-packed dirt, a jagged spire many stories high.
“Is that where we’re going?” Erela asked, slowing her mount to drop back by his side.
“It is.”
“Who lives there?”
“The Ha’el representative for the tribunal.”
Her mouth rounded in surprise. “You found out who it was?”
More like saw by accident as a youngster. His father had paid Lord Mustafa a visit. While the men discussed boring details of their youth, Desmond went wandering, right into a closet with a secret panel that led to a hidden room that only held a few dusty books and robes.
But the symbol on the robes was distinctive enough to have stuck with him.
“Let’s just say, last I heard, he still represented us.”
“Was he the one in the dungeon?” The bastard who’d healed her, so she could be punished again and again.
Desmond’s fists clenched as the moment flashed, slapping him with pain and despair. “I don’t know. We’ll soon find out.”
“Is he expecting us?” Erela asked.
“No.”
“I’m surprised we’re just riding up to his tower,” she remarked.
“There is no need to hide. Mustafa is no Dark Lord. He has no troops to call. Merely a scholarly Ifrit living on the edge of the wasteland, a recluse who doesn’t get involved in Ha’el business.”
“Which makes him a perfect candidate,” Titus noted, having retaken his shape to stride alongside them. “A person with no power ties. An education. An ability to disappear for meetings without notice.”
“They will need a new person to sit on the tribunal once I am done with him.” Because even if Mustafa weren’t the one who’d healed Erela in the dungeon, he’d still played a part in her being forsaken.
Erela cast a startled gaze at him. “If you kill him, there will be trouble.”
“And?”
“Your kingdom will be affected.” Erela chewed her lip. “You should remain behind while I confront him.”
“Like fuck,” Desmond said, intentionally vulgar, “are you confronting him alone. If my suspicions are correct, he is a traitor.” There was only one punishment for one such as he.
Actually, there were several. Whipping. Lashing with a barbed tail. Crucifixion. The rack, which stretched the limbs until they ripped. Food deprivation. Sensory torture.
Ah, the possibilities to make Mustafa pay.
“We must find out what he knows about the others before he dies,” Erela reminded him as they cantered towards the spire.
“He doesn’t need his legs to talk.” Made it harder for them to run, too. Nothing like watching them crawl as you stalked them, each loud thud of a boot a reminder of their impending doom.
“All this talk of torturing the guy is fine, but in case you hadn’t noticed, we haven’t made it inside yet, and I don’t see a door,” Titus
pointed out.
“That’s because you are looking in the wrong place.” Desmond raised his index finger and indicated a spot near the tip of the tower.
Titus cursed. “You just pointed to a balcony six stories in the air.”
“And? Mustafa is reclusive. Only those who truly wish to see him will bother to knock.”
“I’m not knocking,” Erela announced.
“I should hope not. Let him panic at our arrival instead.”
Arriving at the stone spire, they dismounted and peered upward. The red rock, striated in gray and black, appeared seamless. The magic that fused it long since dissipated and not something easily done anymore.
The once powerful Ifrit had weakened over the eons, now reduced mostly to small tricks. Like levitation.
Desmond gestured to Erela. “Come close, and I will lift you.” Logan followed, but Desmond shook his head. “We need someone to stand guard outside, lest the enemy approach without our knowing.”
Logan parked himself amongst the steeds, Titus misted and rose in the air, and Erela crossed her arms and waited. Desmond stepped closer.
“What are you doing?” she asked, stiffening but not moving away.
“You need a ride, or are you finally going to use your magic instead of wasting mine?”
Her nostrils flared. “I don’t know how to use it.”
“Then maybe it’s time you tried. Touch my hand. Concentrate on what I’m doing.”
She hesitated a moment before placing her fingers atop his. Not necessary for the lesson, but he enjoyed it. Desmond slowly drew in some of the magic imbuing the air. Pulled it in and shoved at the ground until they lifted.
“You’re pushing us with it,” she remarked.
“Magic is a raw material that requires shape and direction.”
“Wouldn’t it just be easier to give yourself wings again?”
“Wings are complex things. They require careful planning. Melding with the body. They use great amounts of energy, so require forethought. Whereas this,”—he kept pulling and pushing the magic, making them rise higher and higher—“is simple. Efficient. It doesn’t deplete my strength and is ideal for something basic like this.”