Disobedient (Rise of the Realms: Book Two)

by D. Fischer

  Whenever we are alone, she makes a point to touch me with affection, but this time, she passes me without a second thought or a moment of hesitation. Does she hold me as dear as she once did? Or is she as angry with me as Katriane?

  Searching the forest for danger, I settle into my natural element – a protector. I keep my muscles loose, my body at the ready.

  “Myla’s dead. Erline’s daughter is dead,” I blurt.

  She whips around, eyes furious. “What?”

  I incline my head. “She died in the past. Her second death.”

  Erma closes her eyes, turns and mutters, “Erline already knows. I had wondered why she seemed filled with sorrow before she left Sureen’s realm.”

  “What do you plan to do? Where are you going?” I ask.

  “Well.” She blows out a breath and stops. Her foot crunches in the snow as she turns to me once more, her face blank. “It would seem you’re intent on traveling along. I suppose you’ll find out when we get there.”

  Erma trudges onward while I’m rooted to the spot, snow up to my mid-calves. Her voice held no malice, but the lack of information said it all. She doesn’t wish to speak to me more than she must. I'm a disappointment to her, unworthy of her trust and time.

  I roll my neck, popping my spine, and follow with stealth and anxiety. My shoulders bunch, my tension profuse. This is enemy territory, and here I am, walking the land where I've ended the lives of many elves.

  I grit my teeth and press my tongue to the roof of my mouth. This is an appalling quest. We're beckoning misfortune.

  The snow packs beneath my soles, dense yet forgiving. The layers of crystals shift and vibrate the balls of my feet, a muffled, crisp crunch under each subtle modification of weight. Twigs, buried beneath, spontaneously snap; brittle, fragile, yet merciless, giving way to our location in a way I’m desperate to stifle.

  It’s ironic, how the snow and the debris beneath it resemble my current dilemma. I accommodate for whom I guard, which is my purpose. But beneath my surface, I am a dead branch, discarded by what created me, buried beneath a frozen land and considered fragments of what I once was.

  Eventually, she slows and allows me to match her pace. The heat boiling within her lessens to a simmer, her movements more graceful and less plodding.

  “Sureen and Corbin,” I begin, trying to find a way to tell her what I’ve learned from the Nally.

  Erma cuts me off with the wave of her hand. “I already know.” I frown at her admission, biting the inside of my cheek. Perhaps she’s more aware of her fee siblings than I give her credit for.

  I don’t know why she’s choosing to walk. She could use a portal to travel. Perhaps her errand requires more discretion, or maybe a more personal entrance than arriving abruptly, uninvited, to a territory that holds her in contempt.

  Wood snaps up ahead. Erma’s unaffected by it as though what lurks in this forest will never be the means to her demise. She forgets that she created capable creatures.

  I stop and listen, my eyes shifting through the trees, waiting for the branch to drop to the snow. It thumps to the ground moments later, along with other branches it hit on the way down. The solid, frozen soil beneath the snow trembles under its weight.

  The blizzard is getting heavy, packing its weight against frail limbs in the dead of a winter season. The scenery – white snow and black bark, makes it difficult to distinguish between nature and beings. The creatures here are built to blend.

  I breathe deep, letting my senses roam, calming the swirling emotions within like the dulling of a flame. One more breath, and a vibration in the wind catches the influx as the breeze switches; a whistle within the pockets of the wind. I keep my eyes closed as it travels closer, visualizing it, constructing its direction and shape.

  My hand flies to my cheek, catching the arrow before it grazes the skin.

  Opening my eyes, my expression blazes, the snowflakes falling against my cheeks melt. I snap the wooden weapon in two. A halo forms around my head, my protection, my nature, coming to the front.

  I duck down, glancing at the arrow as it plunges from my hand into the snow, ready for what’s to come.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  KATRIANE DUPONT

  EARTH REALM

  My eyes open, blinking and fluttering, to dispel the layer of oily grime gathered there. I lift my head, taking in my dark room through foggy eyes. Through the doorway, light from the living room filters in, unmoving shadows cemented on the wood floor, highlighting the dark grain.

  I couldn’t fall asleep without the light. The feeling of vulnerability had kept me awake. For some reason, the light chased away my insecurities.

  Something shifts in the corner of my room – a subtle twitch of cloth, enough to alert me I’m not alone. My attention snaps to the corner, and my heart thuds heavily, swelling one dense beat before dropping to my toes.

  A figure, dressed as a sandman but transparent like a ghost, nervously fidgets with his fingers. We stare at one another, his jaw firm, while my lips part. I want to scream, to be terrified, but the noise doesn’t leave my throat.

  Pulling the comforter tighter around me, I gulp. “Who are you?”

  Nervous, yet willing, he slinks in my direction. “Your sandman,” he murmurs.

  My eyelids flutter at the density of his deep voice. He’s tall, dark, yet his features are soft, even as his figure’s transparency plays with the shadows lingering in the corner. “Excuse me?”

  “You were my charge,” he gulps. “But . . .” his lips part, a breath hissing through him. His words are slow, calculated and measured. “I am dead.”

  “Um,” I shift, sitting up on the mattress, and scratch my jaw. “I know. I’ve been told.” I shake my head. “I don’t know how to help you.”

  “No.” He takes another step, tendrils and wisps floating where he once was before they merge with his body again. “You don’t understand why I visit.”

  I scratch the edge of my jaw, slowly. “Okay?”

  “I came to warn you, to caution the dragon. And to ask for help.”

  I gulp. My secret is no longer hidden. He even knows - a shade… or a sandman… my gosh, what does this make him?

  Keeping eye contact with me, he glides, his body connecting with the mattress, which cuts him off at the knees. I frown at the sight. Transparency has its perks I suppose. I double blink, my exhaustion fleeing like an animal in a forest fire. He’s a ghost. I have a sandman ghost in my bed . . . through my bed. How weird is my life?

  “Warn me of what?” I probe.

  His frown dips, matching mine. The light from the living room highlights his bone structure. “He told me you would recognize his name. He said he needs your help.”

  “Right. Okay. Um.” I shake my head a little. “What’s his name?”

  “The man with the beating heart calls himself Dyson Coleman.”

  My mouth drops open, my chin tipping to the side in disbelief. “There’s a human – a live human – in the death realm?” I pause, the name clicking with reminiscence of the Cloven Pack’s territory. My features relax as the memory surfaces.

  The stench of death . . . destruction . . . betrayal. The hiss of vampires . . . the splinter of a wood floor . . . the blood, so much blood.

  “He’s not a human,” I whisper, raking a hand through my hair. “He’s a wolf-shifter.” I look up at the sandman, squaring my jaw. “What does he need? What could I possibly do for him? How is he alive?”

  He looms over top of me, and as he bends his hips, every part of me wants to recoil. “It’s his punishment, to have a beating heart, to die once more. I want you to save him . . . to save them.”

  I gulp. “Punishment for what?”

  “For forming a rebellion.” His lips purse. “You don’t know what it is like there.”

  “Shush, okay? Shush, I’m sold. You have me sold. Where do I find him – them – you – in the death realm?

  His body begins to fade, and he lifts his arm, marveling a
t the magic. “The Colosseum.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  His white, sparkling eyes return to mine, his body disappearing altogether. His last words are a whisper in my room. “Free them.”

  DYSON COLEMAN

  DEATH REALM

  It’s not as dark here as the dungeons of the Keep though there are no windows. The colosseum isn’t as dusty and gritty, either. This wasn’t here before when I used to stroll the stone streets of the death realm. This is new. A structure this large should have taken years to build, yet here it sits in all its fine glory, waiting for blood to be spilled.

  Instead of individually celled, we’re bunched in groups. The ground here is made of crushed stone, tiny pebbles of cement. I’m betting it’s meant to be uncomfortable, to get the contenders ready, riddled with insanity, for the fight of their lives. That’s what Kheelan plans to do; we are all sure of it. He plans to make each of the shades human. What we are to fight against, we aren’t sure. None of us is relishing the idea we may be forced to fight friends.

  Our cells are barred with electric bolts, crackling in tune to a heartbeat. Rows and rows of electric bars separate the cells and the walkway between them.

  Candles are lit, their wax and wick never diminishing or fading. That’s the only source of light we’ve been granted.

  I look over to the sandman, his eyes closed. Through his transparent body, the stone wall rests, supporting his back as though he won’t fall through it.

  He’s reaching the witch, trying once more to haunt her, to ask her for help. If we are to survive, she’ll have to come here. I can’t sit around and wait, knowing all of these shade’s around me . . . they’re about to be granted life, only to die and float forever in a void which doesn’t exist on any realm. There’s no coming back from that fate. It’s a fate worse than their death, than this realm.

  The shades talk in hushed whispers as I sit in front of the sandman, watching his features, waiting for his return. I’m weak from the blood loss, and I know this is going to affect me when it’s time to pick up the sword, so to speak. I fainted, and I have no idea where this place is because I woke in this cell.

  At least they clothed me. My skin is wrapped in denim and cotton smelling of rotten flesh. No doubt it’s a vampire’s clothes.

  I shiver, my skin pricking with goosebumps at that thought. I hope to live long enough to make them pay for their mistreatment of my people.

  My mind wanders, and I miss the sandman opening his eyes, but his gasp brings me back to the present. Reaper’s Breath exits him, swirling and caressing his shoulders. It takes a lot out of a shade to haunt the earth realm. The Reaper’s Breath was always a comfort, a welcome when returning to this realm.

  “Well?” I ask, leaning closer to him, my elbows resting on my knees.

  Sandy glances around, his eyes shifting from side to side as he grasps his bearings. “It is done,” he nods.

  Hanging my head, I breathe a sigh of relief. “She agreed?” I ask, looking at him through my eyelashes.

  With a subtle dip of his chin, he nods. Just as I, he knows it’s important to not alert the other shades. Giving them hope where there may not be any is cruel. At this point, hope is a treacherous game built by false expectations and delusional courage.

  ELIZA PLAATS

  DEATH REALM

  My mind works frantically to absorb this impossibility I’m witnessing. Aiden’s woody scent is gone, replaced by a sweet aroma I don’t recognize. The edges around his eyes are harder than steel, void of emotion, while molten red drifts within them like flowing lava.

  Aiden takes me in, sweeping from my head to my toes, to the tray on the ground, and returns them to mine. “Eliza,” he greets with no emotion.

  My heart breaks, shatters and scatters inside my soul, and my knees threaten to give, to drop to the floor in a devastated heap. This isn’t him. This can’t be Aiden. It’s like someone scooped out everything he was and replaced it with something else.

  “Aiden,” I mutter, tears welling in my eyes and blurring my vision. I wipe them with the back of my hand, moisture coating my skin.

  Corbin rocks back on his heels, his hands in his back pockets. A smile spreads across his face, exposing straight white teeth. “You must be Eliza. You are more stunning than I thought you’d be.”

  With reluctance, I turn my stare from Aiden, swiveling my head in Corbin’s direction. My lips form a thin, tense line. “What did you do to him?”

  Kheelan’s head bobs back and forth between us, his mouth parted in distasteful agitation and his greasy hair struggling to sway.

  Corbin sucks in his bottom lip. “I made him. Is he not to your liking?”

  “No,” I spit. “What is he? What did you do?”

  His head shakes in a cocky sort of way, and the smile lowers into a smug twist of malice. The skin along his cheeks puffs. “He’s a demon.”

  “No,” I deny, shaking my head in exaggeration. I twist my head, seeing the shell of what he once was. “He’s not a demon.”

  “He’s feeding from your fear even now,” Corbin whispers in my ear.

  A screech leaves my throat. I don’t know how he’s suddenly standing behind me. I didn’t see him move. One minute he was standing there, the next, he’s behind me, whispering over my shoulder, his chin almost resting on the crook of my neck. Hot breath fans my cheek, the scent as delicious as a taunting chocolate cake.

  “How did you do this?” Kheelan demands, ignoring the rest of the conversation. “How did you bring him back from the void?”

  Corbin leans away from me. “Haven’t you learned already? I always have a trick or two up my sleeve.”

  Kheelan splutters, his white cheeks changing to a shade of scarlet. I stagger away from Corbin and turn so my back isn’t to him.

  Corbin holds up a hand, silencing Kheelan, and points to Yaris. “You. What do you hear?”

  Yaris frowns and puckers his lips past his fangs. He swings his head to Aiden, the candlelight highlighting his black veins. His blood-red irises twitch, roaming Aiden’s large frame. “A heart.”

  “Well done!” Corbin shouts, slapping his palms against his thighs.

  Licking my bottom lip, I turn to Aiden, his molten eyes still locked on me. He angles his head, lines forming between his eyebrows, and his lips twist down in scrutiny. Something crosses his expression. It’s momentary, fleeting, but gone before I have a chance to grasp it. Recognition, maybe? An emotion? My heart holds onto it, gluing a broken piece of it together.

  Instead of wiping the trail of fresh, hot tears dribbling from my chin, I let them sit. The salt burns sensitive flesh with a prickling pinch as it dries. “Is this why you came here?” I mumble, turning to Corbin. “To torment me? To feed from me?”

  Corbin tucks his chin, his lips twitching, holding back a smile. His cheeks pucker in sexy, smug pleasure. “I’d never do such a thing.” Even as he says it, I know his words are a lie. I’m the snack, maybe even an appetizer for a feast I’m unaware of. “We came for a wedding, among other things.” He arches his shoulders, bowing toward me, and his breath fans over my face. In the candlelight, his black eyes glint with the yellow reflection. Lifting his hand, he runs his fingers over the edge of my jaw. “Your wedding dress looks striking. I’ve always been fond of black.”

  Kheelan snaps from his mental stupor while Corbin’s eyes remain locked with mine in a silent challenge. “Right.” Kheelan smacks his lips, bringing the focus back to him. “Yes. A wedding. Corbin? You and I will discuss this later.”

  Corbin’s eyebrows wiggle once, his only sign of acknowledgement. He leans in a little closer, his scent intoxicating as his breath fans my face, and our lips almost brush. Against my conscious will, I briefly close my eyes, the pull so strong that all I wish to do is bask in it. The undeniable lure drags me underwater, and I’m powerless to wade through it. I know what he’s doing, I know what this is, and now, I understand who he is. He’s mastered the art of manipulating hormones: f
ear, paranoia, lust . . . He’s fully aware that he’s capable of ruffling anyone’s feathers because he has the strength to do so.

  His lips twitch, and as they do so, they slide over mine, featherlike and sensual. I open my eyes to the black depths which capture mine, and the lust flees, replaced by earlier fear . . . Fear because he can manipulate what I should be able to control.

  “You should really do something with that fiery hair,” he whispers, his breathy words fanning my face. “It won’t do for your wedding.”

  TEMBER

  GUARDIAN REALM

  Calling upon Ire, I feel the familiar grip of carved elven wood settle within my palm. Electricity travels through the solid weapon, lighting my skin with a pleasant tingle. It charges me with adrenaline, forcing ultimate focus.

  The wind still howls at my back, shuddering the trees’ barren limbs, but the snow declines to a slower rate. My ears pick up the sound as each flake settles to a final rest against the snowbanks. White sparkles twinkle throughout the banks, a subtle yet captivating shimmer as light filters through the branches, reflecting off the crystals. The forest aromas tickle my senses, the breeze carrying the scent of burning wood from the East where one of the tribe’s villages had settled. Every brush of hair against my cheek, every melting flake against my skin, makes me feel as if the world is moving in a slower motion.

  I scan the woods, blocking out Erma whose resentment could melt icicles. The breeze shifts again, aiding and guiding. It paints an invisible map, pointing me in the direction I seek. I scan each tree and the limbs which sprout from their trunks.