Disobedient (Rise of the Realms: Book Two)

by D. Fischer

  With slow, careful movements, I instinctively clutch the rock, and turn to face the heavy breather behind me while holding my breath. I’m prepared to let a scream rip from my throat. Not that it’d do any good.

  I shouldn’t have turned. I should have run as soon as I knew someone was here with me.

  My gaze lands eyelevel with the chest of a hooded figure. The black robes are tattered with age and sway like the cloth is under water. The creature’s boney shoulders protrude under the robe, and a hood covers a head I can’t see. Is there a head? The space inside is so black, utterly dark, I can’t even make out eyes or the tip of a nose.

  It exhales again, the breath fanning my face. It’s the unmistakable breath of death, ragged and rotting.

  “A reaper,” I whisper before gulping.

  It hovers over me, looming and reeking of impending demise. I stumble back but too late. A boned hand reaches out quicker than I thought possible and thrusts forward, shoving me against my sternum. My feet leave the ground, and I fly backwards. The force of the shove causes the air to leave my lungs, and they ache before my back hits a tree.

  I plummet to the ground, landing on my rump, and struggle for oxygen in a place barren of any. Clutching my throat with one hand, I cough and splutter. I palm the rock, and twist and turn it between my fingers.

  The reaper rises a few inches off the ground and floats toward me. Using terrible instincts – instincts which give me pause, questioning my sanity – I chuck the rock at the reaper. The rock thuds against its chest with no effect. It drops to the ground with a thud, the fog swallowing it once more.

  On shaky legs, I stand to my feet, using the tree to guide me and support my weight with a fumbling hand. With my other hand, a ball of flames flashes to life, crackling and churning within my palm. My eyes glow, reflecting against the never-ending fog. It highlights the dips and edges of its structure, like a sunrise’s hues playing with clouds. A renewed sense of protection overcomes me, and I allow myself a moment to bask in it. This moment for myself quickly fades when another reaper reveals himself, floating in from behind a nearby tree. It’s like it came from seemingly nowhere. Then another. And another, until I’m surrounded. I steady my back against the bark, using my other hand to produce another ball of flames in hopes of a more effective defense.

  I swivel my head left and right, frantically throwing together a plan. I need an exit. If I can create an exit, I can run. Surely these creatures can’t run as fast as I can. Right?

  Together, their breathing is vociferous and ragged. It sounds like a semi’s engine, roaring, brash, and intimidating.

  I’ve fought fee, I encourage myself.

  Well, I’ve sort of fought fee. Surely a group of reapers would be a cinch. They only escort the dead to the death realm. Somehow, this thought doesn’t comfort me.

  My mother’s vision floats in my conscience, whispering words of caution. I squash it down, refusing to let her prediction waver my failing instincts.

  A tendril of fog, like a flying snake, zips through the trees to my right, catching my eye. Unprepared for this oncoming threat, whatever it may be, I launch the two flaming balls to the reapers on my right.

  The closest reaper combusts into flames, winking from existence with an astounding boom. The tree trunk behind it cracks down the middle from the sound vibrations, splitting in two, and begins to descend to the ground. Another reaper floats out of the way of the falling trunk at a speed I would have never thought it capable. The cracked wood narrowly misses it, it’s splinters snagging on the cloth of the reaper’s cloak. With a thunderous roar, the ground shakes from the weight as the trunk hits. I bend my knees, my arms flailing as I grasp for a sliver of balance.

  With the gap of the two missing reapers, I take the opportunity of distraction. I dig my heels in, pump my arms, and run through the opening I created. Flames light my hands and lick my arms. Without aim, I throw them over my shoulder, continually shooting at what I’m hoping is a reaper. I don’t hear an explosion and lower myself to the ground, digging my feet in the soil as I push forward.

  The snake-fog zips my direction, and I pause from my assault on the reapers, hurling one at the fog instead, while using my free hand to shoot once more behind me. The flames go right through the snake. I prepare to throw another, to scream in fury if it would scare it off, when I fly through the air, an explosion rocking me off my feet. I bounce against the ground in a thud, most of my weight landing on my shoulder and scraping the skin.

  Scrambling to stand, I use my hands to finish pushing my top half up while my feet propel me onward. My lungs are suffocating. I’m dizzy and faint. I weave through trees, jump a boulder, the mist covering the ground whisking away with each reckless step. Trees snag my clothes, rip my skin.

  They’re getting closer, the heavy breathing behind me gaining in speed, and I chance a glance, peeking over my shoulder. The reapers floating in my direction are quicker than I can run. My muscles are already aching and tired.

  I glance forward, my mouth open to gasp for more oxygen than this place has. The fog that was snaking its way through the forest obscures my view, swirling around my head, and I stumble as I attempt to bat it away. I should have found a way to destroy it. I shouldn’t have dismissed it. I stumble to the ground, my elbows scraping against dead twigs.

  Taking a swing at the fog, it continues to swirl and zip before it stops. My mouth hangs open, gasping for air. I fight with myself, forcing my body to remain human, to not let my fears unleash the dragon within.

  The fog takes the opportunity and dives inside the opening, slithering past my tongue and down my throat. I choke and splutter, feeling its cold tendrils working its way inside me. It curls around my organs, and I suck in a deep breath as its coldness penetrates them. My hand flies to my throat, but my gaze snaps to the reaper’s advance. Choking for air, I hurl another ball at them, watching in amazement as the hand I lifted to do so and notice it is see-through.

  What is happening?

  My heart beats an erratic rhythm inside my chest; I’m not dead. What did the fog do to me?

  The reapers slow as they approach, their cloaks swaying in that unnatural, underwater way. Their breaths are normal, like the trek to track me down wasn’t a ragged one. One bends, inches from my face, yet I still can’t see any of the features hidden under the hood. I hold my breath, waiting for its wrath. I’m not supposed to be here, and it knows it. What do reapers do with the humans they catch touring amongst the dead?

  It breathes on me, rugged and stanching. I close my eyes, seal them shut with every muscle in my face, and turn from it. I wait for the worst to happen, for my fate to be sealed. But, the breathing fades, releasing my face from the feeling of impending death, until I no longer hear it. I frown and peek open an eye, watching the reapers back as they retreat to the place from where they came.

  Frozen still, I rapidly blink and blow out the breath I’ve been holding. The air gushes from my lungs in a harsh torrent and my ribcage screams as my chest expands to capacity.

  Why am I still alive? A nudge from inside my stomach humbles me. I can feel the fog swirling in there, holding my organs like a lover would hold a hand. Is it friend or foe? Somehow the creature made me invisible. It knew I was coming, knew I was in trouble, and came to find me. Or maybe it happened to be taking a stroll. Either way, I’m grateful because without it, I’d be dead.

  Lifting my hand, I go to place it over my abdomen, curious to see if I can feel the creature inside me, but I’m caught off guard when my hand goes through my stomach, floating there as though I’m nothing but mist.

  I twist my hand, testing its boundaries. I’m not dead. My heart still beats. But somehow . . . somehow this creature made me look ghost-like. A shade but with a beating heart.

  What kind of magic is this?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ELIZA PLAATS

  DEATH REALM

  My hair snags on the bristles as I brush the red strands in front of the ma
keshift vanity with an unseeing gaze on the mirror. My soul feels empty, my heart irreparable. It shouldn’t matter that Aiden’s alive. I’m to marry Kheelan, to be his queen. I have no choice in the matter. I’m the slave here, and Aiden isn’t Aiden. Not anymore.

  My conscience nudges me, desperate to regain hope, but even I know hope isn’t a stable reality. Something inside him was there, but it fled as soon as it crossed his mind. What I would give to know what was going through his mind. Could it be . . . maybe he isn’t gone from me forever?

  Setting the brush down on the vanity counter, I spin on my stool and take in my small allotted room. There’s a double bed in the middle, springs poking out the foot of the mattress. It’s terrible to sleep in, practically impossible.

  Besides the wooden vanity behind me, an ancient rocking chair sits in the corner. This is all that makes up my belongings. I suppose I should be grateful to have anything. Chances are, this is the last time I’ll step foot in here. Will Kheelan make me sleep in his bed? Force me to have sex with him? A shiver runs up my spine, and my shoulders twitch at the unwelcome feeling.

  No, my conscience screams at me, conjuring pictures of Aiden and squashing images of having sex with a greasy, cruel fee.

  I blink slowly, regaining my stubbornness which had fled the moment I realized Aiden wasn’t gone forever. He’s eternally changed, eternally opposite of me, forever bound to never love again.

  But . . . the flash of light that crossed his eyes . . .

  A knock sounds on my door, strong and sure, startling me. I don’t have time to answer, to even rise from my stool, not that I would have. It swings open. Aiden stands within the door frame, one hand tucked into his pocket. He opened it with such ease. It takes every muscle I have to open the heavy stone door enough to slip through.

  Our eyes lock, and his jaw ticks. The translucent flow of moving lava inside his eyes gives me pause, and I bite my bottom lip. I should fear him, but I don’t. I wish once more that I could have any form of telepathy. Does he still feel? What does it feel like to be a demon? To feed on someone else. Does he feel what they feel? A sliver of me hopes he feels my inner turmoil, my dread and heart break.

  “They’re waiting,” he conveys, his voice deeper than I remember. I’ll never get used to this new Aiden, this stranger.

  Swallowing, the lump in my throat feels like I’m gagging on a marble. I stand on numb legs, and the stool I’ve been sitting on, for who knows how long, creaks under the loss of weight.

  Stalking toward him, I start to lift my hand and cup his cheek, curious if his skin still feels the same as I remember.

  The rational side of me rips me apart for loving a man so deeply, and I barely knew him in the first place. But the other side of me believes in true love, in soul mates. That’s the only way I can explain to myself the pull which tugs on my heart.

  My fingertips are inches from his face, feeling the heat radiate from his cheek. He recoils, avoiding my touch, and my hand falls to my side, empty as the numbness creeping through my bones.

  “Do you even remember who you are?” My voice is weak, held captive by emotions my body isn’t allowing me to feel. It’s as if the sound does not belong to me. It belongs to some frivolous girl I don’t like, love, or wish to acknowledge.

  “I remember everything,” he answers simply but slowly.

  I curse under my breath, a touch of rage driving my next words. “You’re like a robot. A shell of something you once were.” I purse my lips, searching his face. “Do you feel anything?”

  His throat constricts as he swallows, as if his next response is filled with wishes and the gift of hope he can’t present to me. He shakes his head, watching my face carefully. My vision blurs with unshed tears.

  I skim my hand to his chest, to his heart, where I know it beats behind his ribcage. I know it’s there. Yaris said so. “And what about for me? Do you feel anything for me?”

  His gaze searches my face, memorizing it the way he did once before. Plump lips part on his perfectly sculpted face, words beginning to form. It reminds me of the very first dream we shared together.

  Footsteps echo down the hall’s narrow passage. Aiden’s head swivels, and a voice calls out.

  “Did you find her?” Yaris asks.

  I push past Aiden, rage tickling through my once numb body. My arm touches his as I pass, a new scorching sensation brushing my skin. He sucks in a shocked breath, and I take a chance, glancing over my shoulder while exiting my room. His expression is one of surprise, a shudder rippling down his stocky body. It’s momentary, passing all too quickly, and all that’s left is a slice of disbelief and possible interest. For what, I don’t know.

  I bunch my lips and push them to the left, chewing on the inside of my mouth. Frowning at Aiden, I call back to Yaris. “Right here.” I quiet my voice to a notch above a whisper. “Are you okay?”

  “I –” he tilts his head, words failing him. The lava flowing in his eyes disappears, and the irises I remember, only belonging to Aiden, come forth. My lips part, and the action is enough to pull him back to his demon self. Those beautiful, human eyes disappear, returning to his new, true nature.

  I inhale, hope stirring in the pit of my stomach like a swarm of angry bats. Is he – Was that…. Did he feel something?

  Yaris barges into my doorway, grasps my upper arm, and my thoughts flee as he tugs me down the hall.

  AIDEN VANDER

  DEATH REALM

  Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I watch Yaris lead her away, the two of them disappearing in the dark. I tilt my head, staring at the floor of Eliza’s room but seeing nothing.

  My thoughts work frantically, trying to come up with what I just felt.

  I felt.

  She touched me – she touched me, and for a sliver of a moment, I felt human again. It was momentary and fled like a bat at first sunrise, but it was there, consuming and short-lived. I berate myself for the weakness yet wish to explore it.

  What was that emotion? My heart thudded a new beat; my stomach swirled with an anxious, oily nausea. My eyes narrow as I work out this conundrum. Did I feel hope? Love? Both? Or was it only a mimic of what once was.

  It can’t be possible. I’m not made for such feelings. The feast of fear is what drives me. But as I stood in this room, I felt no fear wafting from my Eliza . . . It wasn’t what I was feeding from.

  My Eliza. . .

  I swallow, thick and difficult.

  “Thrice Born, you waver,” Corbin divulges behind me. I didn’t hear him fade in. I didn’t feel his arrival. My thoughts were consuming, throwing me off my game.

  I turn to him, a frown dipping my eyebrows. “What?”

  Corbin holds Eliza’s brush in his hands and twirls it within his fingers, cocking his hip to the side. He looks up, his jaw ticking. “I did not make you for love. Love clouds the judgment, demon.” He tucks his chin, his eyes boring into mine, and he lowers his voice. “You cause me worry.”

  Placing the brush back on the vanity, he slithers over to her bed, looking at it from all angles. He pulls at the edge of the quilt draped over the surface, straightening the wrinkles.

  “What do I do with a demon if he grows feelings? I must say, I’ve never run into such a problem, but then again, you are the first of your kind. I’ll have to remember that little hiccup when I pull the new humans from the void, creating more demons in your image.” He spins slowly to me, crossing his arms over his chest. “Their deaths will have meaning; I can promise you that.” Corbin never hides his true nature from me, the sadistic side of him prominent in my vicinity. “I know you’re keeping the full extent of your capabilities from me. Do not cause me worry, Aiden Vander. Worry causes me to take irrational action.”

  He shimmers from his spot, reappearing inches from my face. His black eyes are hard, his lips tense. “First, I will make her feel fear like she’s never known. Her screams will drip in terror. I’ll let it consume her, let her pleas fill my chambers until she begs for death. I’l
l force you to feed from her while I slice her inch by inch, limb from limb, until you’re standing in a puddle of her blood. I’ll make you drink from her wounds while she takes her last breath. You’ll be forced to watch the life leave her eyes just as she will be forced to witness the demon who takes it. I will kill her, Aiden. Slow. Agonizing. Cruciatu. Do not force my hand.”

  He shimmers, leaving me in Eliza’s room by myself and with his lingering scent. Anger rips through me instead of the fear he hoped to deliver. I do not fear him. I will never fear him.

  Eliza is mine, my thoughts snarl.

  DYSON COLEMAN

  DEATH REALM

  “Has she arrived?” an unfamiliar voice asks.

  A black-haired female vampire on watch slouches against the wall. She scrambles to stand flat on her feet, caught off guard. “Fee Corbin,” she stutters.

  “Sara Lee,” Corbin greets, waltzing to her, his feet thunderous. “Has Sureen arrived?”

  Sara Lee swallows in fear. “No, sir,” she discloses, her voice weak.

  He narrows his eyes, his jaw ticking. “Very well. When she does, have her wait for me. We have much to discuss before the games begin.”

  I frown, watching his body waver, shimmer almost, becoming translucent before he disappears. Sara Lee stands, her back rigid with stiff posture. She blows out a breath and touches her fingers over her lips, her shoulders visibly deflating. I clear my throat, relieving a tickle, and her glare snaps to me.

  I glance to my left, eyeing Sandy when he fidgets in his cross-legged position. His white eyes are impossibly wide, fear-filled, and his thick lips part. He’s been turned into a human just as every shade held within the cells, and his skin glistens with the candlelight. My mind takes me back to his screams of pain as the process began. It could be heard all the way in here as Kheelan rebuilt his heart. I remember the feeling of intense agony. It’s not something I ever want to relive. My wolf had even perked his ears when he registered the sandman’s suffering. I believe he’s growing a fondness for him as amazing as that sounds. At least he’s stirring.