Queen of Skye and Shadow complete box set : Queen of Skye and Shadow Omnibus books 1-3

by Thea Atkinson

  His childhood had been similar to mine except his mother had abandoned him and his siblings with their father for a stranger. He worked the fields with his brothers and sisters, hoping to help their father make a go of the farm.

  It was a simple enough story, but nothing about a man's past is ever simple. Adults grew out of childhood and carried the baggage of it, good or bad. Hunter's might have been a powder blue unicorn backpack if not for the worst winter in memory sweeping in before the harvest could be pulled out of the ground.

  I faced the door to the schoolyard, knowing that inside were a dozen children who would carry this trauma into their adulthood.

  If they were lucky.

  If they weren't, the adult inside who survived that winter by using the bodies of his dead family to keep him warm would simply snuff out that trauma, making it a moot point. I might hope that the child in him would recall that awfulness and want to spare these children but I feared he would feel only the rawness that remained as he stripped his humanity from his soul the way a whore peels off her knickers.

  Even so, I knew he would keep his word. He wouldn't have me accosted outside. He would be the model of just restraint, he and his Ruby Skulls until he passed judgment. He'd been careful not to say he'd spare the kids if I showed myself. He'd said only that he would release them.

  Dead or alive, he would release them.

  I didn't so much as turn to Colton as I spoke. I inhaled, bracing myself as he pushed open the door and I only let it go when the door swung wide.

  Light crept in ahead of me, spilling onto small faces. All of them under ten. My chest ached just looking at them sitting there at their desks, all facing the door instead of the whiteboard.

  "You're here," came a voice from the corner.

  I pivoted on my heel even as Hunter's palm pressed onto the door, shoving it closed. It whispered on its hinges as it clicked shut.

  "Hunter," I said, edging away.

  "It's been a while, Skye," he said. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

  "Just a few hours, actually," I said, pretending to look at a watch on my wrist. "I'd say I'm right on time."

  I heard his boots clomp against the wooden boards as he closed the distance between us. He wore his blade the way a fictional swashbuckling pirate might, slung over his hip. His hair was a bit more grey, but he was still handsome. The square jaw was set with a hard edge, though, that took any charisma his looks might have and turned it into a hateful profile.

  "I have to pee," came a pained and shrill voice from the back of the room.

  Hunter didn't turn to the voice.

  "Hold it," he said.

  A small squeak sounded and I guessed this game had been played out several times over the hours.

  "No reason she can't go to the bathroom," I said. "I'm here. You said you'd let them go."

  He crossed one foot over one ankle and leaned against the wall, watching me. I squared my shoulders instinctively making myself bigger. He grinned when he caught me.

  "I see you came armed," he said. "I don't think that was part of the bargain."

  "If you didn't expect it, you'd have made sure one of your Rubies would unarm me."

  I spread my feet apart, balancing on my toes, ready to grab for Excalibur and swing if I needed to. But he didn't move.

  "Well," I said. "Are you going to let them out?"

  "Or what, Skye?" he said, pushing off from the wall and heading toward the closest child. A girl of about eight, with her head on her forearms as she rested on her desk.

  He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head up. I might have spit at him, but the girl didn't flinch or wince. She met his gaze coldly.

  Shock, I guessed. She had no emotion left in her.

  "You weren't much older than this when I found you," he said.

  "A bit older, actually. You remember what suits you."

  He lifted an eyebrow and let the girl go. She sank back down on her arms.

  "Get up, sweetie," I said to her. "You and the rest of the class. School's out."

  A boy to her left got up and hoisted her by the armpits as the rest of the kids rose. They swarmed forward and Hunter pulled his sword out, holding it high.

  "You know what I said," he told them.

  They froze. One of the kids started to cry. Another complained that someone had peed on the floor.

  "Jesus," he said.

  "They're kids, Hunter," I said. "You can't control them like they were letters on a wanted poster. You can't shape them how you want."

  "I shaped you," he said. "You're the woman you are because of me. You know it. I showed you everything you know."

  He laid his hand on the pommel of his sword.

  "That's what I get for showing kindness."

  I almost laughed.

  Kindness.

  "You don't know what kindness is anymore," I said. "All you care about is finding people stripped of humanity as you are."

  I thought I saw his lips twitch. I'd struck a nerve. But I knew beyond that small telltale sign, I'd see no more. Any sense of expression smoothed away as he composed every muscle. He was withdrawing. Beginning the instinctive process of pushing down and burying any feeling that might have bubbled to the surface.

  I watched it happen even though it only took seconds, and I wondered if that was what I looked like, if it was as clear to everyone else or if I was just so accustomed to Hunter that I could see what he was doing.

  I might have pitied him if I didn't also know that it signaled the end of his willingness to talk. The next thing he said would be spoken with his sword.

  Whatever time he had granted me, had run out.

  I just hoped they were ready outside. Because I had one chance to get these kids out of here and I was going to have to use it.

  I stepped sideways, quickly, reaching out for the door as I moved. The moment I laid my palm against the wooden panels, I felt the surge rushed to my arm and out my palm.

  The wooden fibers of the door responded to the energy crackled as they sparked to life. I yanked my hand back as Hunter gasped in shock and ducked to the side.

  "Run," I yelled and thrust my self into the throng of them. Despite their crying and wailing, I pushed at their backs shoulders and to their credit they ran, finding somewhere within that last bit of energy they needed to run headlong through the open doorframe.

  I heard Hunter curse.

  His blade was raised.

  He had his eye on one of the kids.

  He was swinging.

  Without thinking, I threw myself in the path of the arc.

  -15-

  I expected to feel the bite of steel, and I mentally prepared for the pain.

  Instead, Excalibur moved all on its own and I heard the clash of metal on metal. I rolled midair, and I fell on my side just out of reach of Hunter's sword.

  The impact took the oxygen out of my lungs and I sucked on air as I skidded along the floor.

  Through the open door, I could see that Lance and Sadie and the rest had grabbed for the Ruby's weapons and that they lay on the ground, glowing red hot.

  Parents had rushed forward to meet their children and were already running headlong out of the courtyard to find safety.

  Whatever happened next I would accept it. That quick glance made whatever would happen worth it.

  The whistle of metal moving through the air came to me. I flipped onto my back, Excalibur held over my chest. It took the most of the impact of the blood blade, but my shoulders still sang with pain.

  I met Hunter's eye as our swords connected and though his face was set with grim determination, and nothing more, his gaze held everything he couldn't say.

  I could read it like a book and found within acute disappointment. Betrayal.

  And deadly intent.

  He had no intention of letting me live.

  I pulled Excalibur away and rolled to find my feet. I staggered as I lunged to stand. I spun all at once, sword level and parallel to the floor. A dan
cer couldn't have pirouetted any more naturally.

  I didn't expect to meet flesh with my blade. I just needed room to dodge away and gather my stance. He too, used the time to recover and we faced each other, both of our hands gripping our swords.

  There would be no more talking. Whatever he'd wanted to say, he either said or buried back in the murk of his psyche.

  I didn't wait for him to make the first move. He would expect me to do that. He'd taught me to assess my partner, take the time to watch his eyes and intuit his intent. I needed to keep him off balance.

  I swung weakly at first, testing Excalibur. He blocked me easily.

  He parried, striking out with force. I let Excalibur take control, again testing its power.

  It met his blood blade with equal force.

  He smirked. Obviously thinking by the sheer size of my weapon that it was taking all of my strength to heft it let alone swing.

  Good let him think that.

  I could hear shouting and the noises of scuffle outside. Someone, Lance, maybe, hollered my name.

  I had to believe that the team had taken down the now unarmed Ruby Skulls and were trying to create order out of the chaos.

  To risk checking would be foolish. Hunter had trained me all those years ago. I'd never been his equal and even with Excalibur, I couldn't risk a single distraction.

  The sword seemed to be able to meet swing for swing. Each time his blade struck Excalibur, his intent echoed down the length of steel, warning me.

  Hunter didn't hold back. He came at me fast and hard, realizing that the sword was too heavy for me to manage. He wanted to press that point, unarm me. He would take me down without prejudice, without emotion, and I doubted he would feel any pain of loss later.

  He was far greater at shutting himself down than I was. He'd had years more of practice.

  He grunted with the effort as he pirouetted. The blade whistled in the air. Droplets of energy flew off and spattered against the floor.

  I dodged one more swing, holding Excalibur high with one hand. The moment his plate struck mine, I felt a surge of energy. Excalibur waking up, no doubt. His own blade rippled with red light as though it had been plunged into a vat of blood and was dripping with it.

  I sought his eye, searching for evidence that he saw it too. That the blood that flew from his blade with each renewed swing and parry and thrust was as visible to him as it was to me, but he showed no sign of it.

  He struck at me again. The blade bit into Excalibur, and as though it had found purchase in the steel, stuck there for a full heartbeat. A groan escaped me as I suffered a flash of image. A teen, gangly and hunched with uncertainty found acceptance in a gang of young thugs. I saw a brutal rape. Murder. They took what they wanted and the teen hardened. His back straightened with confidence. His lip curled with suppressed rage.

  I broke free of the image, yanking Excalibur away, and leaping out of reach.

  I was breathing hard. My muscles ached.

  I caught Hunter's eye. Had he seen the same? Was it his thoughts, transferred from his blade to mine? Somehow translated into image.

  I felt sweat bead and run down the back of my neck. My grip was wet on the handle, but it felt more viscous than perspiration. It felt sticky and warm.

  Excalibur was coated in blood.

  Yet Hunter was clean of wounds.

  He shook his hand out, tossed his sword into his left.

  He knew I was used to fighting with the balance of two weapons. I imagined he thought I was handicapped by the one sword.

  He came at me again with a look of expectancy. I lunged sideways. Struck out as though my sword was a knife, point stabbing at Hunter.

  I didn't expect to strike, but it met resistance. Another image pierced my mind's eye. This time, the face of a man I didn't recognize. I saw him leap from bed in the dark of night. Watched him thronged by youths who attacked with knives and clubs and bats.

  I staggered backwards at the force of the image. The onslaught of the emotions that powered through me.

  Was this the Blood Blade's magic or Excalibur's.

  "Is that you?" I said of the youth in my vision.

  If Hunter heard me or cared, he didn't answer. Instead, he kicked a chair at me and I hopped sideways, barely keeping my feet beneath me as it struck my shin. I flinched as pain lanced through me.

  He used the chance to barrel into me, knocking me backwards. I pinwheeled, Excalibur lifting over my head as my hands flailed.

  That was it. I knew as I fell that it would be over. Mercy was not something Hunter understood. He was single-minded and as victory rose as possibility, he'd close in. He'd finish it.

  I was done.

  But the sword didn't fail.

  It acted on its own, seeking Hunter's sword like a homing pigeon.

  Magic sent me more pictures as steel met steel. A pile of bodies, young once with the flush of life on their skin, death riding their features with a whitewash of horror. The man stood over them, chest heaving. Only his eyes, manic and fear-widened, could be seen through the coating of blood on is face.

  Hunter on his knees. The man looked down on him.

  I was suffused with shame and pity. Fear crept up my spine but it wasn't my own. My wrists and hands were coated with fluid. My grip on Excalibur was tacky.

  "You," I said again. "Oh my God. It's you."

  I scrambled onto my knees and lunged toward the door. It was too much, this magic. It was leeching into my pores and whether it was Excalibur or the Blood Blade or the mixture of both, I couldn't contain the emotions that poured through me. None of them my own. All of them like a virus trying to invade me and my own consciousness fighting to overcome them.

  It was worse than feeling your own pain because you battled it double.

  I wanted to run and hide. Survival instinct went into overdrive. The blood on my hands grew. I felt as though I'd paid for power with my very soul.

  More came. Faster. And not just images. Thoughts. Feelings. Strong. All of them. Overpowering.

  I couldn't hold them all. In my mind, fingers smoothed over the cover of a dogeared copy of Art of War and I felt pride and wonder in a way I'd never felt before. It brightened the darkness. Such darkness, so black the light hurt my eyes.

  Pain lanced my temple and I squeezed my eyes shut against the pain instinctively, let go a shout without meaning to.

  It was one moment but it was all he needed to regain the upper hand.

  My scalp burned. I was hauled backwards. My back thudded against the wall as I was thrust aside. Air coughed from my lungs. I rolled over, vainly trying to put my shoulders against the boards in an attempt to push away.

  Hunter stood in front of me. His sword was held rigidly against his side. It dripped blood and each droplet cried out its desire for vengeance. The sound of it made me want to stop up my ears. I battled the urge to drop Excalibur and cover my ears.

  I'd betrayed him. He'd trusted me. Wanted to leave me his legacy the way Earl had given him purpose. Earl. Who was Earl?

  I'd ruined it all.

  His face showed no sign of those emotions or memories.

  It was calm as he stalked toward me. A mask carefully and painstakingly painted over decades to show control and when he spoke, it was measured and purposeful.

  "It's done, Skye," he said as he advanced. "You could have made a difference in this shitty world. Now you'll just be one more statistic."

  The arc of his swing was wide, pulling from the air the energy of a thrust borne of his shoulder blades and his back. His left foot scuffed the floor as he put his hips into it.

  I ducked, but Excalibur met his thrust and cried out. The force of the meeting rang down my elbow. I fell to my knees.

  Excalibur fell from my grip and flew sideways. Hunter hopped to avoid the bite of it as it sailed toward him.

  His foot found a puddle of water. The urine, I thought. The little girl couldn't hold it after all.

  He slipped and skidded backwards,
himself pinwheeling as he fell.

  Excalibur clattered to the floor and skittered toward the door.

  And in the same motion, my heel caught the pommel and pushed it out of reach.

  His boot tip met my ribcage and toed between the bones, holding me there.

  His sword came down.

  I rolled just in time to avoid his thrust, a strike so forceful, he fell onto his side when he missed his target. A look of pain flashed across his face. One of the blood splatters looked like it was moving toward him but he didn't seem to see it. It might as well have been invisible to him.

  I clawed my way to the door. All I could think was I had to get out of the school. If that blood was only visible to me, if I was the only one reeling from his memories, then I had to get out of reach of his blade and its effects.

  Trying to get to the door was like moving through cold water. My limbs felt numb. My mind was fogged with ice.

  My hand met Excalibur's handle. It slid into my hand so smoothly someone might have placed it there.

  Just feeling its leather grip helped remind me of what I was there for.

  It wasn't just skill that matched us, it was the magic in the blades. Both were powerful, but both took their tolls. Whatever he'd done to acquire that magic would eat away at him. And he'd take its cost out on the people he professed to preside over in justice.

  I had to kill Hunter. The town would not be safe until he was gone. I'd deal with my own price later.

  I pushed myself to my feet and gripped Excalibur tightly. I couldn't feel its weight; I only knew it was seated in my palm because my arm felt longer, somehow. I didn't clench my fingers around its grip. It fit perfectly. I barely knew it was there.

  I closed the distance between us as he crab-walked toward his sword, scrabbling with his fingers to search the area behind him.

  "You have to die," I said to him as I stood over him. "That sword of yours needs to return its magic to whoever you bartered it from."

  "Impossible," he said. "The sorcerer is dead."

  I caught sight of his Blood Blade just inches from his fingers.

  "You wanted me to feel nothing? You wanted me to execute justice without compassion? You're wrong about that. We need justice. We need someone to show the nation the right way. But you are not that person."