Disobedient (Rise of the Realms: Book Two)

by D. Fischer

  “What?” I ask.

  “My creator is coming.”

  I shift toward him. “And?”

  He looks at me. “Do you not understand? If she’s coming, she has a reason to be here. This is a Colosseum, wolf. A place of death, a place of battle and blood. If she’s due to arrive, she won’t be coming alone.”

  I narrow my eyes. “And . . . What? Is she bringing more sandmen? I don’t really see that working out for her. Your kind seem gentle and uncontroversial.”

  His large hand slaps against the loose rocks covering the ground, fury driving his wild emotions. “How are you so dense? She would bring protection, perhaps a few contenders to enter the entertainment. She’ll bring beasts.”

  “What kind of beasts?” I scratch my jaw, skeptical.

  “I do not know.” He shakes his head. “There were none when I was there.” He thinks for a moment, his scrutiny flowing across the cell as he peruses his brain. “Someone had to reverse the spell on Katriane. The only one who could do so is Sureen.” His eyes widen, and he looks back at me. “They’ve made a deal with her; to release Katriane in exchange for life.”

  I jut my chin. “How can you be sure?”

  “I know my creator, wolf. I was the one she called upon to bed her when she grew restless. She would speak to me, discussing dreams of creating beating hearts, of becoming ‘alpha,’ as you would say. Jealous behavior continuously drives her purposes. She desires an army.”

  “And what? You think she’ll come here, bring her new army creatures, and give them a test run?”

  His jaw ticks. “Yes. Yes, she would.”

  “Ah, hell,” I curse.

  TEMBER

  GUARDIAN REALM

  “What should I expect?” I ask, my voice rising above the howl of wind. The farther we go in, the more the trees thin. The wind has an easier time passing through, beating against our bodies and swaying our purposeful steps.

  “You will remain silent,” she declares, quirking a perfect, red eyebrow.

  I hold a tree limb for her to pass under, bending it as far as it will go. Jaemes is up ahead, whistling a tune. I don’t know if he’s whistling to ward off predators or if he’s doing it to annoy me. Through this trek, he has made verbal jabs at me, his wit strong for the average elf.

  She continues after passing under the branch. “They will not take my suggestions if you are to give your input. The tribes won’t take kindly to you being there in the first place.”

  I heave a breath. “They’re not the only ones.”

  Taking a finger, she catches a stray hair tickling her jaw, and tucks it behind her ear. “Are you referring to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah,” she expresses, smiling. “So, you do consider my feelings.”

  I take a deep, calming breath. “I’m not saying they aren’t justifiable, Erma. You sent me there to watch after Kat, to discover what we did not know. I could not do that with wings.”

  Erma is silent for several strides, my heart aching at the loss of words until she finally speaks. “You chose one human over your home. Over me.”

  I stop in my tracks and whirl to face her, my hands clenching at my sides. “This one human is stronger than me, than you, than her creator. She should be someone we fear, yet we use her. My actions may have let her down, but my intentions were pure. Can you say the same for yourself? Perhaps it is you whose judgment is disturbed by emotions.”

  Ticking her jaw, she narrows her eyes before pushing past me. “We shall speak no more of this.”

  I study the back of her head before my eyes lift to our escort. His ear is tilted toward us. He’s eavesdropping, picking up our conversation to find a weakness. The edges of his lips curl in a smug smile, and he turns his attention back ahead of him, his torso swaying with each stride the matua takes.

  I pick up a jog, my shoes slipping against the snow, and match my pace to Erma’s quick strides. “What do you know about him? Can Jaemes be trusted?” I whisper.

  Licking her bottom lip, she responds in the same hushed tone. “He’s the son of his tribe’s chief. Though he sits high in rank, he’s overlooked by his father’s eye. Jaemes does not relay information, not to his father.” She pauses, adjusting the fur draped over her shoulders. “He made me this, you know. Back when I lived with the elves, Jaemes was a gentle man and a formidable warrior. His brothers, however, gained the main focus from their father. We spoke on several occasions, Jaemes and I. He does not wish to take his father’s place when the time comes - if the time comes. He prefers to protect, rather than guiding.”

  Jaemes’ hand is placed on his thigh while the other holds the wood of his bow. His back is straight, the muscles rippling with confidence and pride. I find myself softening toward him, even relating to him. “I see. And how does this make him trustworthy?”

  “Because I believe the bond Jaemes and I once had is still in place.”

  I sigh and rake my hands through my hair. Without intention, her words return guilt to the pit of my stomach, churning it like butter. I no longer own the trust of Erma, and I’m conflicted about it.

  On one hand, I know I did what’s right. Perhaps I went about it the wrong way in regard to Kat, but I did my duty. Trying to fight for Erma’s affection, when she was in the wrong, isn’t something I want to endure. I shouldn’t have to. However, I’ve loved Erma most of my life. She’s what I know, she’s what my heart beats for, but she’s also what’s forbidden. If the others were to discover what Erma and I have – had – then the consequences would unfold with brittle results. We have enough going on at this moment. A lover’s quarrel should be placed low on our lists of concerns.

  Erma tilts her head to the branches above, and her jaw ticks, the muscles rippling against a soft cheek. “Incoming,” Erma murmurs.

  Bodies drop from the trees, agile and sure-footed. They land, crouched, watching me like I’m prey. A few, but not many, stand upright, their heads in positions which reflect their curiosity, and their eyes sweep my body.

  “We’re close, aren’t we?” I ask, studying the elves.

  “Yes.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  KATRIANE DUPONT

  THE TWEEN

  Striding through the tween, I find myself miffed and consumed with my thoughts. My hand clutches my stomach in hopes of holding the fog inside me immobile. It seems to be playing a game of ping-pong, using my organs as bumpers.

  I’ve searched my memory, tried to remember my lessons, desperate to discover what this creature is. It helped me, so it’s not an enemy, right? I frown, skeptical of its timely aid. I’m surrounded by beings and things who use me – or with the agenda of ending my life. How do I know this thing isn’t any different? There’s no telling the lasting effect of this little spell it placed on me.

  The creature stills, a silent, cautionary demand. I lift my head, my face relaxing. A thick wall of swirling fog, mimicking the sky above and the ground below, churns and sways. It’s thick, clouds folding in on each other, like a churning thunderstorm absent of lightning. My eyelids flutter, and I absentmindedly scratch my jaw, considerably fearing it and its undeniable lure.

  I sigh, a gust of breath puffing my cheeks and blowing my lips, vibrating them against each other. It sounds like a motorboat, and I almost laugh. The pull it has on me is strong and addicting. All I want to do is heed its desires, and the insanity of it is appalling.

  This is it. My lips purse. The portal to the death realm.

  Glancing behind me, I take a deep, calming breath. Of their own accord, my legs gather speed, running before I can slink away like the coward I feel. The fog envelopes me, crackles along my transparent skin like liquid to rock pop candy. My heart thuds, and I bite back a scream. My skin feels like it’s on fire, like the fog knows I’m of the living. It contains some sort of acidity, attacking each nerve and leaving behind pain as it travels to the next, inspecting every inch of me, punishing me.

  I close my eyes, grit my teeth, and dig my f
ingernails into my palm, waiting for it to transport me to the other side. This must be some sort of defense mechanism – to have a portal which detects a shade.

  The creature hunkered inside me expands, spreading itself from toe to toe, from finger-tip to finger-tip, lessening the pain. I marvel at it, hope replacing the feeling of possible demise; a beacon of relief. Each nerve pulses and throbs. The creature is doing this. It’s protecting me, muffling the beat of my heart.

  In shock, I open my eyes precisely at the moment I’m shoved out by an invisible force, spit and discarded, deemed worthy. Flying through the air, my palms hit stone, and my knees buckle to a bruise. It’s odd – I still have all sensations. Whenever I died and became a shade, I expected objects, emotions, senses, would be different. Maybe it’s because I’m not truly dead. What does that make me? One third witch, dragon, and ghost? What’s next? Let’s throw mermaid in there, too. I could pull off the scales thing.

  I shake my head and rake my nails on the back of my forearm. I’m losing my mind.

  Standing, I use the denim of my jeans to dust the tiny pebbles of stone from the wounds in my hands. I turn my head, absorbing my surroundings. A stone wall is in front of me, an arch for a doorway, and a crumbling white brick path leading inside. It’s eerie here . . . quiet and dark. I suppose it’s not much different than the Tween. The only difference is there isn’t any vegetation, half-dead or otherwise. No breeze, no sunlight, just . . . stone. It reminds me of an ancient roman structure.

  I slink to the wall and run my hand along the stone. It flakes and crumbles against my fingertips, dust specks floating to the cemented stone beneath my shoes. Such an ancient and uncared for wall. It makes me wonder . . . Is this wall for keeping foes out or keeping the unfortunate in?

  Brushing my hand along my jeans once more, I search for any signs of life, but there aren’t any. I twitch my lips and prop my hands on my hips. I don’t even know where to find Dyson. The sandman said he’s being detained in a colosseum, but I imagine the death realm is large. I know nothing of this place besides the basics. My plan has no plan.

  I shrug. What’s the worst that can happen?

  Stepping forward, I shuffle through the archway and into the tunnel.

  ELIZA PLAATS

  DEATH REALM

  Aiden didn’t follow us to the throne room, to the place I’m marrying the fee I despise. I find myself filling with relief because he won’t be here to witness this. His last memories of us are ones of love. I don’t want them to be of me wedding another.

  The only reason I don’t choose death over this, the only reason I’m holding a sliver of hope, is that Kheelan will be forced to share his magic. His jealousy, his greed, his maliciousness, will be his downfall if it’s the last thing I do.

  I’m shaking. My emotional nerves quiver my muscles, and consuming revulsion turns my stomach. My cheeks are heated, and every part of me wants to attempt to flee. But instead, I stand my ground with a straight spine, holding the hope that someday I’ll be able to deliver justice deserved.

  As I stand beside Kheelan, our wrists bound in rope, Corbin is in front of us chanting words I cannot understand. It sounds like Latin. I look at the archway from which we entered. Yaris is the only one who stands there, a look of boredom on his face as he leans against the wall, arms crossed. His tongue slithers out, licking the tips of his fangs. A drop of blood is dried on his pale upper lip.

  I breathe through my mouth and turn my attention back to Corbin. He grasps my free wrist and everything inside me pleads to recoil. Kheelan willingly gives Corbin his arm, holding it out toward him. Corbin clutches his fingers around Kheelan’s wrist, and Corbin closes his eyes. His lips move, but I don’t hear a sound passing through them. It’s a silent whisper, a wordless prayer, but to whom, I have no idea. Who is it they must ask permission from, for such a union?

  Nothing happens at first, the soundless words seeming useless, but then his eyelids flutter, and heat gathers in my wrist, seeping from Corbin’s fingers. It’s a painful scorching, one from the pits of hell he surely came from. I grit my teeth as it intensifies, traveling up my veins like hot liquid oil. It reaches my elbow, my upper arm, my shoulder. My mouth opens against my will, and a scream rips from my throat.

  Kheelan laughs beside me, a staccato of hyena giggles. His glee for my pain is pure.

  I feel the heat crawl to my heart, lighting it afire and swelling it to an impossible size. My legs quiver, my body convulsing but powerless to collapse. Something invisible holds me up, forcing me to endure every sliver of agony.

  My throat is raw from quickly fleeting wind with each passing scream, and I squeeze my eyes shut, allowing my head to recline, my face tilted to the ceiling. The hair I had carefully and numbly placed atop my head loosens and escapes its clips, cascading down my back in locks of red.

  Electric bolts build through Kheelan and my conjoined palms, the tingling sensation a welcome pain compared to the one within my chest. A heart attack has nothing on this; that I am sure.

  “Make it stop!” I scream, my words resounding off the walls.

  I feel it – I’m aware of what’s happening, even as my brain pushes against my skull, allowing more room for what my human body wasn’t capable of handling. My insides feel like they’re expanding, the stretching a whole new ache. My insides shift, allowing room to substitute for what I’m being granted: Power.

  Sweat covers every inch of me, and stars speckle my vision. I can’t breathe. I can’t fight it off. I can’t take it much longer. My feeble human body isn’t made to withstand this.

  Black takes over the stars in a wave of blessed darkness, and my body thuds to the floor.

  DYSON COLEMAN

  DEATH REALM

  My hands are behind my head as I lay my back against the sharp rocks. I study the ceiling, scanning left and right. There’s not a single flaw or texture on the entire expanse. It wasn’t man-made . . . or vampire made. I guess it’s what the King of the Dead gets if he twitches his nose and toots magic from his ass.

  Disastrous scenarios surface in my mind, working their way in and interrupting my perusal. Thoughts on ways to fight whatever is before us filter in, distracting me. I was never much of a fighter when I was alive on the earth realm. That was my pack’s strength, whereas my brain was the most useful. Strategy plans were my thing. I can’t come up with anything though. These kinds of scenarios are uncharted territory. Stuff like this, games of death and toying with lives, isn’t in the supernatural histories to learn from. We will be going in blind, and there is nothing I can do about it. It’s frustrating as hell. Evo – Ben . . . they’d know what to do. They would already have a plan formed, several versions and back-ups in case one failed.

  I suck in my top lip and pull it between my teeth. I wonder what they’re doing right this very moment. I release my lip with a sucking pop.

  The crackling of the bars of our cell stops, and I frown, lifting my head as Sandy pokes my shoulder. I sit up, my words stumbling as Jane, Tanya, and Gan are shoved into our cell by snarling vampires. You’d think they thought we have a chance at fighting back. Their hostility is irritating, and I’d love to deliver a snarl of my own. Don’t these predators recognize when they’re herding prey?

  Scrambling to my feet, I fold Jane in a hug first. A strand of her hair tickles my eyelashes. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

  Jane huffs, her body quivering in fear. “They told us . . . We are to fight alongside one another, Dyson.”

  I hold her out at arm’s length, frowning. That’s a good thing . . . right? I’d rather have it that way than having to kill each other.

  Gan bends his knees and folds his legs, sitting right where he stood. He wraps his arms around his calves and rocks back and forth, his fingers curling around his forearms. My forehead wrinkles. In the brighter light of lit candles, he’s dirtier than I imagined he would be. The human odor and stench wafting from his body curls my insides.

  Tanya pulls at her fingers.
“They’re organizing everyone, putting them in groups that they’ll fight with or against. Dyson.” She lifts watery eyes to mine. “I don’t want to die. Not again.”

  Dropping my arms from around Jane’s shoulders, I grab Tanya and press her head to my chest. “We’ll get through this.”

  “How?” she mumbles, her fingers curling against my shirt.

  I run my hand over her hair. “I don’t know.”

  TEMBER

  GUARDIAN REALM

  Instead of staying at their posts, propped hidden in the trees, the curious Inga elves trail behind us. They talk amongst themselves in hushed whispers filled with hate, and for a moment, I’m glad I don’t understand their language. Surely their words are directed at me, or about me, and the reason why I’m attending this gathering.

  “When will the council be assembled?” Erma asks.

  With the moving bodies close behind us, we’ve matched pace with Jaemes and his matua, forced to walk beside the animal. Its tail twitches from time to time, the smoke brushing my arm. It’s a warm smoke, one unexpected within the texture of vapors.

  “They’ve been assembled for many hours, discussing a shortage of livestock,” Jaemes responds.

  “Oh?” I quip. “Have you misplaced your resources?”

  He blinks hard, and his eyes light with mischief. “Oh. Sarcasm. My favorite.” He dips his head, tucking his chin. “I’ll tell you if you tell me.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Tell you what?”

  “Your wings.” He nods his head to my back. “Have you misplaced them? Or did they abandon you when they came to the realization you’re nothing more than a metaphorical wingman?” He cocks his head. “Or is it wing woman?”

  A small part of me wants to smile due to the invitation of the banter, but the more dominant and territorial side of me screams for revenge – to knock him off the four-legged creature and watch his arms flail before he thuds in the snow.