Dark Angel

by Kim Richardson

  The elf’s eyes widened at my comment, the only indication that he hadn’t appreciated my tone, but he said nothing. His eyes moved to Tyrius on my shoulder. Here we go.

  “You’ve gained the trust of a baal demon,” said the same elf, his voice softer than when it was addressing me. Lovely. Apparently, affection of these creatures ran in the family.

  “I trust Rowyn with my life,” said the cat. “Just like she trusts me.” The hair on the cat’s back rose, and he looked like he was about to swat the elf if he dared get too close or do something stupid like touch him. Oh, please touch him. Please. Please. Please.

  “You can keep the baal after we kill the Hunter, if that pleases you, my son,” said the High elf, leaning back into his chair.

  “Excuse me,” cried Tyrius, his voice cutting through the chamber. “I’m not for sale here. And I don’t belong to anyone. Rowyn’s my friend. We’re partners.”

  “I don’t think they care, Tyrius,” I breathed, my gut twisting.

  “He’s not for sale, Edwin.” Gareth’s tone was murderous, and it made me nervous. This wasn’t going to end well. I could feel it.

  Edwin’s face twitched, his lips curling in disgust. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” he said disdainfully. “You don’t give orders here, outcast. You’re nothing. You made that choice long ago.”

  Tyrius made a sound in his throat. “That Edwin looks like he wants to kick Gareth’s nuts up into his skull.”

  Yeah. He did. Damn.

  The High elf’s eyes had never left me, and I fidgeted under his stare. Eyebrows high, his expression became sour and irate. “A Hunter,” he said, and Edwin backed up a step from Gareth and looked to his father. “Tell me. Have you ever Hunted elves?” he said smoothly, his anger an icy thread in his voice.

  “No.”

  The High elf watched me. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I’m telling you the truth.” Bastard .

  “Hunters are fools. They have no direction, no honor,” said the High elf irritably, and then he fell into a fit of coughing. It was a wet, mucous-bound cough, sounding like each one tore a hole in his throat.

  A servant female ran up the dais and handed the High elf a drink in a cup. All the while, keeping herself lower than him and with her eyes down, she retreated backward down the dais and returned to where the other servants stood waiting.

  The High elf wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tossed the cup on the ground. “Hunters. But what is it to me? Nothing. I care nothing for the city of humans. Or half-breeds and demons,” he added and had another coughing fit. “I care about my city and my people. They need to be protected from outsiders like you. Outsiders who came here uninvited and unwelcomed. A grave mistake.”

  “Gareth invited me.”

  The High elf glared at his son, red blotches spotting his face. “You would bring this lesser, low born female to our secret city?”

  “This is better than reality TV,” said Tyrius, his body shifting with excitement. “And we’ve got front row seats.”

  Gareth cleared his throat. “Elves have invited non-elves to this city on special occasions for thousands of years. This changes nothing.”

  “Having relations with an angel-born, no less, does not constitute a special occasion,” yelled his father as he pounded his fist on his throne. “You certainly have been busy all these years. Developed a taste for these female beasts. Did you? Time and time again, you’ve slighted us, turned your back on your own kind. And for what? Females like her? You could have had your pick of any elven female, but you’ve slighted them too. You’ve insulted me by your whore-mongering with human females.”

  “And you’ve insulted me by refusing to accept who I am. By trying to make me into something I’m not.”

  “You had no right! No right to come back with this whore!” The High elf’s face was red, and he was taken by another coughing fit. He was nearly purple now, looking more like a shriveled-up prune than a king. He waved his hands to one of the servants, who obligingly ran to him with another cup of drink.

  “Who I sleep with is my business, Father,” said Gareth, his voice taking on a dangerous tone. “I won’t stand here and let you insult Rowyn.”

  The High elf’s eyes landed on his son, his face twisting at what he saw there. “What is it that you hate so much about your people?”

  Gareth’s eyes danced dangerously. “Where do I begin.”

  “You are a Highborn elf!”

  “Not anymore,” said Gareth, his anger and desperation finding a release in a movement of controlled anguish. “And not for a very long time. I’ve never wanted this life,” he added softly, and my chest squeezed at the torment in his voice.

  The High elf shook as he tried to pull himself straighter, his face creased with strain. “Your place is here with your kin.”

  Gareth stood his ground. “My place is in the city. I’m a businessman now. I keep a shop. I have clients. I have a life outside of this forest—a life I want to get back to.”

  The High elf narrowed his eyes. “You are a disgrace to your family.”

  Gareth’s expression was laced with a threatening warning. “I came here for some dragon’s breath,” he said, his words hard. “That is all.”

  The High elf howled in laughter. “Then, you came for nothing. Because you’ll never get any.” His father’s face twisted in anger. “Never. You will never get your filthy hands on our most precious dust.”

  “It’s not for me,” countered Gareth. “It’s for a friend. He’s going to die. Only dragon’s breath can save him.” He sighed. “I don’t need much. A small amount would be enough.”

  “How can you be so selfish?” scathed Edwin as he straightened to his full height, glaring at his brother.

  Shit. I realized that was the wrong thing to say at the angry dark color that rose to Gareth’s face.

  “Selfish?” growled Gareth, eyes narrowing dangerously. “Selfish?”

  I looked at Tyrius as he mouthed the word “fight.”

  “Turning your back on your kin is selfish,” continued Edwin, anger showing in his posture. “Coming here after all these years, not to see your family, but to ask for something is selfish. Over the years I’ve learned to accept your choices. Your…” he moved his hands around in the air, “way of life. We never interfered. We respected your choice, though we never understood it. But I never thought my little brother would be so selfish.”

  A snarl appeared on Gareth’s face. I’d never seen him lose control like that, and it made my pulse jump. “I’ve done everything Father has ever asked of me,” said Gareth as he got in Edwin’s face. “I became the best in pullomancy. Even as his youngest son, I beat him. I beat all of you. And what did he do to me? He shunned me. You all did. So don’t you dare tell me I’m the selfish one.”

  “Or what?” said Edwin, leaning forward. “What do you plan on doing, little brother?” His hands went to his jacket, confirming my suspicions that he had some elf dust hiding in there. It explained the long jackets.

  My hand slipped to my waist. If he tried anything, I was going to cut him with my pretty soul blade.

  Worse though, was the smile on the High elf’s face, like he wanted Edwin to kill Gareth. Bile rose up in the back of my throat and I swallowed it down. Sick bastard.

  Gareth clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing further. “I’ve always respected Father. He disrespected me.”

  “You chose a mortal whore over your own family, your own blood!” shouted Edwin, looking enraged. “He devoted years of his life to train you in elf magic. And you repay him by a scandal. By rebelling. You brought shame to this family, brother.” Edwin turned and chose to look at me then. “Seems you’re doing it again with this one.”

  Bastard . My pulse thundered. If Gareth didn’t punch him soon, I was going to clobber him.

  Gareth took a step forward, but another male elf jumped in. “That’s enough,” he said, and slunk between Gareth and Edwin, breaking their gaze
s on each other. “There’s no need for this. Let’s us all take a moment to calm down.” His hair was pulled back in a low ponytail that I hadn’t noticed before. He looked younger than Edwin, but older than Gareth and definitely a brother.

  For a long moment, Gareth looked at Edwin, unknown thoughts making his jaw clench and a dangerous light catch in his eyes.

  Silence. Gareth ran a hand over his face, his eyes far away, never really settling on anything. Edwin, well, he had the nerve to look at me like I was, well, trash.

  Gareth shook the tension from his shoulders and took a slow breath, looking shaken, but it was from repressing his anger, not fear. I wanted to reach out to him, but his brothers were in the way.

  My gaze fell on the female elf. I didn’t like what I saw on her face. Her smile was sour and showed a mild amusement and triumph.

  “If you choose to stay in this city with your kin,” said the High elf after a short silence, his voice softer. “I will let you live. You will still be an outcast, that will never change, but you can lead a peaceful life. If you refuse… you will die.”

  Gareth shook his head. “You know I won’t. Not after everything that’s happened.”

  “Gareth, don’t be stupid,” said his other brother with the ponytail. “You knew the risks by coming here.”

  “Asher. You know why I can’t stay here,” answered Gareth.

  Asher leaned towards his brother, his breathing quickened. “Do you want to live the rest of your life doing crap jobs and selling human medicine in this human city? What about your God-given gift? What about your family? Your people?”

  “My family died long ago,” said Gareth, and I held my breath at the pain in his voice. I hated seeing him like this. But I hated even more that I couldn’t do anything about it.

  Edwin’s permanent frown was cemented to his lightly wrinkled face. “Your family was always there. You chose to separate yourself.”

  “You excommunicated me,” Gareth all but snarled. “The entire community did. And because of what? Because I loved a human woman? I don’t want to be part of that kind of community.”

  “And where is your precious woman now?” Edwin’s tone was sour, and I hated the knowing expression on his face. “Where is she, eh? I heard it lasted but only a few years. All that scandal for nothing. You could have prevented this all together.”

  Gareth’s frown deepened, his expression frustrated. “You did this.”

  The High elf snarled, giving him an almost serpentine look. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t destroy you and your whore where you stand.”

  Gareth’s face was blank. “I don’t have one,” he said, and my breath escaped me.

  I leaned over, my blood pounding in my veins. “What are you doing?”

  “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry,” said the elf, through tight lips.

  “I am worried,” I hissed back, bewildered. What the hell was wrong with him?

  Gareth held his father’s gaze. “You exiled me all those years ago, High elf. But you’re still my father. I came because, after all these years, I thought maybe you would have changed. But I can see now that was a mistake.” Gareth turned to look at me. “I’m sorry, Rowyn.”

  My lips parted, but nothing came out.

  The High elf was pointing a shaking finger at Gareth, his lips pulled back into an ugly snarl. Finally, he said, “You are no son of mine,” spit flew from his mouth. “I shall have you both executed.” The High elf’s voice was final, making me shiver despite my anger.

  “Rowyn,” came Tyrius’s worried voice. “I don’t like this.”

  “Me either,” I answered, though the tremor in my voice betrayed me.

  Gareth’s lips curled back. “Don’t. Don’t do this.”

  “The law is the law.” The High elf smiled a snake’s leer. “You should have thought about that before you came here with them. Now, their deaths are on you. You will be executed along with your whore.”

  “Remind me never to come back,” I told Gareth, though my insides twisted. I thought I was going to throw up.

  “Guards,” the High elf called out.

  “Oh, shit,” I breathed. Fear galvanized me. This didn’t look good.

  The six elf guards looked unhappy about it, but they lined up around us, swords out, every movement in sync with the others.

  “Uh, Gareth,” I said, “this wasn’t part of our plan.”

  Gareth’s features twisted, his broad chest expanding and contracting, and he looked past me, towards his father, his fingers gripped into fists.

  “Father, if I may,” said Asher. “If Gareth agrees to—”

  “Be quiet!” howled the High elf as he pounded the armrest on his throne. “You may not,” growled the High elf. “I’ve made my decision.”

  I shot Gareth a look. “Gareth. Do something.” Was he truly going to let this happen?

  But the elf looked straight ahead at his father, venom practically dripping from his eyes.

  I stared at the High elf’s eyes, realizing we were going to die.

  We should have never come here.

  The High elf smiled his serpentine smile again. “You will die at sunrise. Take them away.”

  13

  As it turned out, Stormhold Castle had a dungeon. And yup, we were its newest tenants. We didn’t have to pay rent or anything. We’d just pay with our lives.

  We found ourselves in a room off a long hallway every bit as opulent as the others that lined it. Our prison cell was mostly a cavern with a dirt floor and walls—no windows, just rows of wrought iron bars that looked like pure silver and gave off a purple glow. Across from our cell was a glass box with what I suspected to be purple elf dust shimmering on the wall like a dim light fixture. The light was subtle, but it was all we had, leaving our prison comfortably dim without being dark.

  Nine feet from ceiling to floor and about twenty feet wide, most of the walls were natural stone, cold, wet, and gross. Piles of old blankets and bloodstained clothes had served as a bed for the tenants before us. Across from me was a stack of bones. Probably the remains of the tenants before us.

  The smell was the worst, like years of accumulated piss and feces and rotten meat. I breathed through my mouth. You would too.

  My butt was getting cold and numb from sitting on the floor for so long. I’d slid down after my useless attempt of hacking at the silver bars with my soul blade.

  “You’re wasting your time,” Tyrius had said after half an hour of hitting and sawing the bars with my blade. His eyes gleamed in the semi-darkness like two blue moons. “You can’t cut through silver forged with elf magic. It’s like trying to drill a hole through granite with a sewing needle. It’s pointless.”

  Stranger still was that the elf guards had stripped Gareth of his elf dust but had let me keep my blades. The elves had known my soul blades were no match for their prison equipment with magic bars. We were screwed.

  The cell was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Tyrius and I could pick locks with our eyes closed, and yet, after searching everywhere, running my fingers over every single silver bar, I couldn’t find a lock nor a door to our cell. I don’t even remember having seen the bars when they pushed us in the room. They just sort of appeared when I turned around. “Elf magic,” Tyrius cursed again and then spat. Guess he couldn’t do anything about it either.

  An awful feeling of dread settled in me, and my gut clenched. But I was angrier with myself. We didn’t get the dragon’s breath and now in a few hours we were going to be executed.

  Excellent. Best trip ever.

  The elf scent of sulfur mixed with lavender pressed into me musty and sharp. Tension pulled through me, and I took a calming breath. No need to have a freak-out. I needed to think, to come up with a plan to get out of here.

  I heard Tyrius’s tsk before I realized he was lying flat on his stomach on the floor next to our jail bars, his ears swiveling back and forth, listening.

  “Any luck?”

  A tired sound escap
ed the cat. “I’m sorry, Rowyn,” he said as a deep frown appeared on his furry face. “There are wards protecting this cage from my own magic. I can’t pick a lock I can’t see. We’re screwed.” His sour mood matched mine.

  “It’s not your fault, Tyrius.” I sighed, letting my head fall back against the cold wall. “There’s got to be another way out.”

  Tyrius scrambled to his feet. “You know any spells to blast away rock?”

  “I wish.”

  “I told you, you’re wasting your time and energy,” came Gareth’s voice from across the cell.

  I glared at him, though his eyes were closed, his head resting on the wall behind him. “You,” I seethed. “You shouldn’t even be talking. You got us into this mess. And you did nothing while your father threw us in here to die.”

  Gareth bobbed a brow. “Do you trust me?”

  “No.”

  “Rowyn.”

  “Gareth.”

  Head bowing, Gareth opened his eyes to look at me. “Be patient. It’ll all be okay.”

  “Oh, really?” I was going to kick his insufferable ass. “Okay, then, Master Yoda. How about you do some of your Jedi tricks and remove these damn bars!”

  “I can’t.” The light from the silver bars showed the lines around his eyes. The hint of weariness in his eyes shifted to warmth as he took in my irritated expression.

  I bit my tongue to stop the relationship-damning words from flying out of my mouth. Because once they were out, I couldn’t magic them back in. There was no undo button in the real world, though I really wished there was right about now.

  “Don’t worry,” soothed Gareth. “I’m telling you. It’ll be fine.”

  “Be fine?” I growled, shaking under the temptation to kick him. “How can it be fine? Sunrise is in less than two hours. I’m not dying in this shithole. You hear me?”

  “We’re not going to die,” he said, his voice calm and controlled, which only made me more furious.

  “How can you be so calm?” I yelled, and then I crossed my arms over my chest. “I should kick your ass. That’s what I should do. Tyrius—stop eating spiders!”