The Amagarians: Book 1-3 (The Amagarians boxset)

by Stacy Reid

  His laughter curled around her, and she captured it, savoring his taste.

  “Bold, are we?” The husky whisper against her lips was filled with arousal.

  “Do you not like boldness in your women?”

  His eyes a brilliant dark green glowed with drowsy sexuality. “It has its uses, yet I must admit I have never had a hari so consumed by lust she pinned me to the ground with the intent to ravish me.”

  A growl rumbled from his throat as she rubbed her chest against his, in an attempt to ease the painful throbbing that had infused her breasts. Her nipples tightened, eliciting an answering whimper from her. “I do not believe I like the feelings inside. My breasts ache, my center throbs, and I want to do things to you I am not sure how to achieve.”

  His fingers stroked her nipple, causing her to arch in exquisite need.

  “An honest statement, hari Tehdra? Might pleasure be your undoing? Should this be my weapon of torture?”

  “I am ever honest with you, my king,” she said lightly.

  “A complexity I must unravel. A hari who is untutored in sensual arts, who blushes but is also duplicitous.”

  Tehdra recoiled at his statement. She sat up, and it was impossible to miss the hard erection pressed so intimately against her core. She could not help moaning. Amusement curved his lips. Staring into his eyes, she lowered herself until her nose pressed against his.

  “You laugh at me?”

  “I laugh at the contradictions you represent. Worry not yourself, Tehdra, I will unravel them.”

  She ran her tongue across the seam of his lips. The blood in her veins became molten, and she wanted to consume his essence. “What contradictions do I present that you need to take time from your precious kingdom to unravel?”

  “You are the enemy,” he said it so innocuously it caught her off guard.

  Her eyes clashed with his. All traces of humor had vanished, and in its place, was a watchful awareness that probed and cataloged her reactions. She had forgotten that she dealt with a master at deception.

  A piercing cry reverberated through the mountains, instilling a dangerous stillness in Ajali, and granting her a reprieve. A reprieve from what, Tehdra was not sure. Death? Imprisonment? Torture?

  “They come,” he said flatly and spun her around. He flashed to his feet, standing with feet braced apart.

  Tehdra slowly rose and inhaled. Darkans. She saw them in the shadows that moved towards them with sinister intent, a team that moved with predatory swiftness in impeccable formation. Their intentions were made clear with their pattern of movements. The group of ten—five in front and five flanking them—offered little avenue for retreat. That was all Ajali, and his blades would see, ten enemies approaching, not the additional three Darkans that flowed in the middle within the shadows. Those hidden Darkans was their certainty for success.

  Betrayal shafted her insides. “Ajali,” she said, her voice throbbing with anger.

  A frown had marred his features before his mien smoothed to blankness. He thought her shakiness due to fear. The confirmation that Darkans worked with other kingdoms, not on her king’s orders rattled her hard.

  “Acheron and Gavyn follow; they are less than a mile out and will be here in a few minutes. Stay alerted.”

  White light flashed with an intensity that blinded her. Thunder rolled ominously, shaking the very earth beneath her feet. Avindites, who wielded and controlled lightning. Bolts of lightning peppered the air in precise attacks at them, trying to separate her from the king. The bolts imploded upon impacting the earth, leaving scorch marks in their wake. The sound of Ajali’s blade unsheathing rang loudly in the clearing.

  Tehdra was blinded by the electric glare of their lightning, leaving her momentarily defenseless. Her thought raced ahead, cold and calculating. Their fighting form, their moves and the coordination of their attacks indicated the highest caliber of assassins. Without thinking, she blended the shadows around her, pulling them from the trees, the assassins themselves, and stepped inside. Cool darkness greeted her, emptiness, a void that others would never understand. She dug deep and absorbed the darkness, learning the shape of the shadows around her, the pockets she could manipulate to her whim. No longer blinded by the light that surrounded them like halos, she paused in the void and mapped her moves with lethal precision.

  Ajali fought with a deadly grace that had two of the attackers maimed on the ground, all without calling his flames. Tehdra’s heart clenched as she saw the shadows at his feet bend, elongating as the Darkan shifted under his flank, rising. Tehdra surged with the shadows and appeared behind the attacker.

  Shock flared in his eyes as they regarded each other without their beastly essence, only blades and taijiu skills to determine the victor. This man was unknown to her. The brutal coldness buried inside her sprang to life as she smiled. His eyes slit. That’s right. You’re not fucking with just any Darkan. Her smile widened. He slashed at Tehdra, his speed and adeptness at shadow stepping placing his age at around two centi or more. They viciously came together. Tehdra moved with the assassin, her lethal dance dislocating his shoulders and hipbones and severing his lower spinal column.

  Though paralyzed from the waist down, he still fought. Tehdra grunted as a blade embedded itself high in her shoulder. He was severely hurt, yet he pulled on energy and bent the shadows trying to distort her perception. He threw daggers with deadly efficiency. The weapons whistled through the air, and pain streaked through her thigh as another one found her. She launched towards him with the intent to rend his neck from shoulder. He allowed the shadows to carry away his body like waves rolling in inky darkness. Ripples alerted her to another Darkan stepping into the abyss in which they fought. More than a dozen blades sliced through the air, aiming for her with brutal precision. Streaks of pain sizzled down her spine, yet it was the scream of rage and denial from Acheron that caused fear to pump deep inside her.

  The taste of the shadow pulsed on Tehdra’s tongue and vibrated across her skin. She inhaled deeply, drinking the void into her being. She shiktred to Ajali’s side and intercepted the sword that was thrust towards his back. Pain, unlike any Tehdra had ever experienced cascaded through her as the blade pierced her stomach, ripping through tissue and organs. The enemy slashed the sword up, parting through her flesh with an easiness that testified to the blade’s sharpness. Her screams echoed across the mountains. In a daze, she saw the ball of fire that curled around her incinerating the enemy as a sword lopped off his head.

  She crumpled, cold sweat enveloping her body.

  “Acheron!” Ajali snapped. “Call the wraiths.”

  Nausea churned in her gut, and she grabbed Ajali’s hand. “Are you hurt?” she managed to ask through the pain.

  “Do not speak,” he hissed as blood bubbled from her lips.

  She had never been hurt this badly before without her beast. The beast present in all Darkans allowed them to heal at a more accelerated pace than all other Amagarians. If she had her beast inside, her wounds would have already started to heal, checking the damage. Instead, hot blood poured down her leg, soaking her caftan.

  “Get the fucking blade out!” Ajali roared.

  Acheron’s face swam in her vision. “Brace for the pain,” he said in his broken voice. “Gavyn hold her down.”

  “Should we remove it and unplug the wound, the blood loss would seal her fate,” Gavyn warned.

  Ajali cradled her head in his palm, and his other hand gripping hers in a tight hold. “Get it out, Acheron. It has a serrated blade. The edges are still ripping at her insides.”

  “She jumped from the bushes straight into the path of the blade meant for your back. Why would she do that if she is the enemy?” Acheron asked quietly, probing at her wound.

  They knew she was the enemy. She shifted, intending to disappear in the darkness. But the pain that knifed through her stomach had her heaving.

  “It makes no sense. When she disappeared, I thought she hid, allowing the people she worked
with, to kill you without hurting her.”

  “Remember she is untrained in taijiu, Acheron. It seemed she hid to protect herself. But the minute she saw the death blow aimed at you, Ajali, she intercepted it from her hiding space. I am not sure if she did a brave or stupid thing because death is coming to claim her,” Gavyn whispered as if loud voices would inflict more pain on her.

  “Aye, Gavyn, that it is. Her breathing is too shallow, her skin cold and clammy from the blood loss,” Acheron replied.

  Ajali’s tone was cold and vicious. “She will not die. Do all in your power to save her, Acheron, and I will be in your debt.”

  An eerie cry filled the clearing.

  “Here comes Kezriel. Let’s go!”

  10

  I am flying.

  Tehdra wavered in and out of consciousness. She felt the rhythm of Kezriel as he rushed on the wind. Nausea roiled as agony lanced her, robbing her of breath. The pain inside her stomach was cold with sharp stabbing fire at the core of the damage, creating an unrelenting cramping. Death hovered; its insidious creep skulked through her. Strong arms held her, and the scent of Ajali teased her nostrils and brought a sense of contentment in the midst of such harsh distress. A sharp bank of the creature dragged a weak moan from her. Gradual darkness slinked in and took her mind under, allowing her body to savor every bite of chilling agony unwillingly. She was unaware of the raw, ragged moans she uttered before the darkness of oblivion claimed her.

  Acheron flew beside his king with speed to Adara. The hari Tehdra could die in the minutes it took to reach the city of light. It made no sense for Ajali to stop at any other villages to seek the aid of their healers. He would want access to the healing elixir he had stored away. She would be restored to perfect health instantly; it could not recover her from death.

  Acheron kept his senses opened, on alert for any attack. His friend and king had almost been taken and could have been killed, if not for the courage of a mere slip of a girl. One he had intended to torture a few hours from now, for they all knew she lied. She was not from Aria, or if she was, she was someone’s well-kept secret.

  Kezriel banked, straightened his wings, and shot through the sky. The moan that came from her throat caused his gut to tighten in regret. Lines of pain bracketed her mouth, creating deep grooves. Her already pale skin appeared even paler, and cold sweat beaded her skin.

  He and Gavyn had worked tirelessly and with grim efficiency to withdraw the sword and stop the bleeding as best as they could. A blade designed to cause maximum damage to organs upon its withdrawal yet, for it to remain, the poison coating the iron would have shriveled her insides, causing irreparable damage.

  She had launched herself between their king and his assassins. Why would she give her life for him? Acheron had been engaged with two enemies, while his king battled several, two of them shooting bolts of lightning from fingertips like claws, and the other spewing water, creating an electrifying attack. Then an earth wielder assassin, bending his valnetium iron sword, had attacked Ajali from behind, while two more engaged him in a frontal assault, their lightning bolts shaped like the sharpest of swords thrusting toward him from above. Earth, lightning, and water had come at them in torrents of deadly warfare. The heat of Ajali and Acheron’s flames had turned almost all water volleys into a mist, melting earth, but unfortunately amplifying the lightning. It had been a harsh and swift battle. The assassins were skilled of the highest order, but their cadre was the deadliest in his kingdom. And yet, their king had almost been taken.

  Their strike had been masterful, and in a different time and place, Acheron might have admired their strategy. Perhaps they would have gotten Ajali. Acheron would never know because the hari Tehdra had chosen to intercept and take the most damaging blow. His king had barely dodged the sword of lightning that had slashed his neck. Blood still trickled from the wound, pasting his shirt to his form.

  “How is she?” Ajali asked gruffly.

  Gavyn grimaced, regret keen in his eyes. He’d agreed to her being under Acheron’s blade in his torture chamber despite the fact he liked her.

  “I fear she will not make it. Kezriel flies with speed, but death is slowly approaching,” Gavyn said.

  The flame in his king’s eyes swirled, and Acheron’s guts tightened. Hoping to give his king some hope, he said a swift incantation and surged his power deep inside her body. He found nothing. The anomaly of it had him peering at her pale, still form closer. “I cannot find her spirit to hold onto. There is a fracture as if something is missing or holding it away from me,” he said.

  “Death?” Ajali probed sharply.

  Acheron, being a part witch, should have been able to find her spirit so he could enchant it to force it to stay with her body. Was it death that meant that it was missing?

  “Fracture in what way, Acheron?” Ajali demanded.

  “I sent out an incantation for her spirit, and I could not find it. There is a low buzz signaling that it should be present, but there is a discordant note inside of it. Her spirit is different. I cannot taste it, feel it or learn its essence because its essence is fractured.”

  “How are you even able to connect to feel the discordant note when you have not used any charm to bond her?”

  “The relaxing of her mind due to pain and death’s stealthy approach is what has allowed me to slip under her guard. Otherwise, I would not have been able to penetrate the natural barrier guarding her spirit.”

  “What are her chances?” The grimness in Gavyn’s voice was not lost on Acheron.

  He refused to create false hope. “We have staunched the blood flow as much as possible, but I would say she has lost more than half. Her wounds are severe, and the shock alone would kill most. Only her will to survive can keep her alive for the few minutes needed to get the elixir.”

  They rode in a somber silence that stretched interminably. With her actions, she earned the loyalty of the rest of the king blades. Unbreakable and unbendable. Their only thought now would be to save her as she had saved their king.

  With a flex of tendons and muscles, the wraiths landed in the bailey.

  His king flashed from the wraith with speed, the flames of his chakra pulsating around him as he moved to save her. Acheron allowed the darkest of power to ebb through his veins, needing to save her. It was not lost on him that a few hours before, he had been advocating for her death. But now he saw something he never thought he would have before this hari’s presence in Nuria—his king profoundly caring about someone.

  Ajali cradled Tehdra in his arms and flashed through the courtyard, ignoring all cries and exclamations at the sight of so much blood. The speed that Ajali flowed with had her blood flying through the air, peppering the ground like raindrops. Within seconds he entered the healing room on the upper floor of his wing. Several healers gathered with Bastien, holding the glowing, clear crystal jar that contained the healing elixir.

  “Administer it!”

  The healer flinched at the rasped command, and Bastien stepped forward in concern. Rage or any deep emotions displayed by their king was not something to which they were accustomed.

  “My king.” With a quick obsequious bow, the healer approached Tehdra’s still form laid out on the massive bed. With quick efficiency, she arranged Tehdra’s limbs, set a golden funnel between Tehdra’s lips that would minimize spillage and poured the elixir inside. The healer cradled her head as they waited, tension strangling their breath.

  “What are you waiting for?” Gavyn rapped out, harsh and impatient.

  “She breathes no longer, my lords. The elixir does not work on those who death has already claimed,” the healer said, her tone heavy with regret.

  “The buzz of her spirit has flamed out,” Acheron confirmed, closing his eyes.

  The healer gasped, splattering drops of the precious liquid as Ajali approached.

  She dislodged Tehdra and bowed at his feet, trembling.

  Acheron flashed to Ajali. His subjects revered him, but the woman w
as shaking. When Acheron peered into Ajali’s eyes, he inhaled deeply, understanding what had inspired the fear in the healer. Twin orbs of flames replaced the green of his king’s eyes, giving them the most diabolical cast. Strong emotions bled flames into his kings’ eyes, obliterating iris and natural color, leaving only a flaming pit of fire.

  Acheron observed the hari who seemed to have ruffled his king from the moment of her arrival. It disturbed Acheron in some deep, unfathomable way that she meant something to Ajali. His king did not agitate easily.

  Acheron flared out his senses, searching for her spirit. He punched deep inside, digging, moving through barriers which should not be there, barreling through with such brutal momentum to find the lowest of energy. He almost missed it. “Her spirit barely hangs on; its final flame is dying as we speak.”

  With a blur of speed, Ajali had Tehdra in his lap and filled the funnel with the elixir. He poured until the jar emptied. Minutes passed in tense silence as they waited for her body to heal.

  “She is not healing. Did you give her the required amount?” asked Gavyn.

  Without answering Ajali refilled the golden jar and trickled the elixir down her throat once more. The hari did not stir. He gently shifted her on the bed and stood.

  “Stand,” Ajali ordered the healer.

  “Thank you, my king,” the woman said, surging to her feet.

  “Tell me all you know about the elixir and why her body does not respond.”

  The healer stiffened and clasped her hands before her. “I do not know, my king. Whispers say that if one’s spirit has passed beyond this realm, the elixir does not work.” She glanced around the room. “Only a witch has the power to incant and holds the spirit to a body while healers work, my king. Should I summon the white witch who lives in Adara?”