Disobedient (Rise of the Realms: Book Two)

by D. Fischer

  I watch the angels behind him, their eyes shooting daggers in Erma’s direction. I prepare to call upon Ire, calculating their next moves by the subtle twitch of the muscles lining their bodies. Jax’s fingers jerk, and I know he’s thinking the same. His fleeting eyes tip to Corbin, and I study the expression crossing his face as it softens in thought. The corners of his eyelids tick, and his fingers clench and unclench, considering his next move, no doubt. I lean frontward, tensing my shoulders at the ready, prepared.

  Angels can fall. We are given choices on how we live the life Erma has granted us. If for any reason they decide to fall, to join a side darker than our nature, Erma is powerless to stop it, free-will her motto. Is this what he’s considering? Does he consider betraying his own kind?

  The double doors to Erma’s bedroom swing open, and Jaemes plods through, his expression blank while he takes in the scene. His features twist in surprise, then a hard edge appears around the eyes as he, too, prepares himself for the hostility smothering the room. As all attention turns to him, he raises a hand and grips the stiff string of his bow which lay across his bare chest.

  “And the plot thickens,” Corbin remarks, his lips smacking in satisfaction.

  “An elf?” Dena hisses, her nostrils flaring.

  Jax calls upon his bow and arrow and takes aim at Jaemes in one fluid motion. “So, it is true – the speculations. Our creator has truly abandoned the rest of us.” He firms his lips, his eyes narrowing. “What will the rest do, Erma, when they discover you hold an elf in your chambers and you bed an angel? What will they say, when they discover how far you’ve fallen from grace?”

  Jaemes’ eyes snap to mine, his free hand’s fingers twitching, prepared to grab an arrow. The black tattoos along his hand turn a light shade of brown from the strain. I shake my head once at him, silently telling him to back down. If he were to return the hostility, it would be disastrous. This room isn’t large enough for a small battle between an elf, two fee, and three angels.

  Erma advances closer to Jax. “I am grace, Jax. If I were anything less than what I am, I would be concerned. But since I have an exponential amount of strength compared to you, since I created you, since I created all of you, your point, theories, and speculation, are baseless.” She lowers her voice. “I choose the direction of course, Jax. Either you turn back around and walk out of here, or you release the arrow, and I end the life I’ve given you.”

  At the square of his jaw, Jax’s muscle ticks as he considers her words. Dena’s gaze roams over the creatures in the room, weighing her accusations against the right course for her survival. With one step, Dena makes a decision and backs out of the office. Outside the arch doorway, she spins on her heel and leaves with heavy footfalls. Her wings rustle against her back, a few white feathers breaking free and floating to the marble floor.

  Jax remains strong, back rigid, his arrow crackling and filling the space of intense silence. The electricity pulses through the air, mimicking the arrow. Emotions rotate across his face at an alarming speed while I work to quiet my breaths, my hand twitching at my side.

  Slowly, he stands to full height, lowering his bow to his side, and the arrow disappears with a pop. He turns to Corbin, bowing his head. “Corbin,” Jax greets. “Lovely to see you.” Turning, he expands his wings, taking up most of the archway. One, two, the feathered-limbs beat, and billows of wind blow light objects and my hair in swirls. His feet lift from the ground and he soars from Erma’s chambers.

  She watches him go, her jaw ticking at a furious speed. She twists to Corbin, pinning him with a murderous stare, ready for another battle of wits.

  “I think he likes me,” Corbin suggests with glee.

  Growling, Erma crosses her arms. “What are you doing here?”

  He smirks, folding his hands in his lap. “I could ask you the same thing.” Turning to Jaemes, studying his features, he adds, “Last I heard, the angels and the elves were at a constant war. Has this changed, or are you challenging the dimensions and dynamics of your realm’s limited capabilities?” Erma remains silent, her posture rigid. His smile expands, and he inclines his head. “Is there a reason behind your actions, Erma?”

  “There is,” she utters through clenched teeth. “And I have no plans to share them.”

  Reclining into the back of his chair, he nestles his spine against it. “I see.”

  “Don’t you be getting any ideas, Corbin. Things are not what they seem. Now tell me, what are you doing here?”

  “Really?” Corbin’s left eyebrow lifts higher. “It seems to me you’ve started something you may not be able to control. I’m excellent at restraining a hostile crowd . . .”

  “You didn’t answer her question,” I mumble. I’d rather not know what Corbin has in mind for restraint. Chances are, it ends in death and destruction.

  Corbin doesn’t spare me a glance, choosing to keep his attention focused on the only powerful person in the room, besides himself. “Is it unprecedented to pop in for a visit?”

  “Yes,” Erma quips.

  Smacking his lips, Corbin leans and rests his elbows on his knees. “Are you preparing to send your angel and elf to the earth realm?”

  I narrow my eyes, Jaemes speaking for me. “If you are here to be an elf devotee, I assure you I don’t need another shadow. Tember already reserved that occupation.” I snort, and Jaemes’ tone dips deep and serious. “What does it matter to you?”

  Corbin shrugs. “A few reasons. One,” he points to Jaemes’ head. “It will be difficult to hide the nature of an elf – the horns, ears, and tattoos - they do not scream discretion. Though the earth realm is filled with costumes and oddities, you will still draw unwanted attention and suspicion.” Frowning, I glance at Jaemes, seeing Corbin’s point. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Two,” Corbin continues, looking at Erma. “Your charge is no longer there.”

  Erma’s head juts back, surprised. “What do you mean? How do you know?”

  “Because he’s tied to her,” I express, my words a sigh. I scratch my forehead, scraping my nails across the skin. Kat’s destiny is so intertwined with the realms and those she encounters, it’s difficult to hold that at the forefront of my mind. How can I protect her from the tangled web of this life, from the consequences which follow her like persistent shadows?

  “What do you mean?” Jaemes questions, placing a hand on his hip.

  “Myla was Erline’s daughter. She was inserted into Kat to make her the dragon your people fear,” I growl as I begin my backlash. “She was married to him. When she died the second time, she may have gone into the void, but the marriage contract did not. Corbin’s blood is still tied to Kat. The contract is still live. He can find her whenever he wishes.”

  “Very good, little angel,” Corbin begins with sarcasm so thick I snort. “A gold star for you.”

  Erma bends frontward, hostility in her tone. “Where is she, Corbin?”

  Shaking his shoulders in satisfaction, he grins. “The death realm.”

  KATRIANE DUPONT

  DEATH REALM

  “You scared me,” I whisper before realizing what stands before me. In the back of my mind, I knew it wasn’t another shade, but the reflex was automatic – to reply as if what stood before me was a friend.

  The vampire’s red irises are locked on my hand where my heart beats below it. Black, long lashes fan her high cheekbones, and matching veins swim under her skin. The fog at her ankles swirls, tendrils of mist like her dusky ebony hair cascading down her slender shoulders. Eyes resembling fresh blood lift to mine. Her top lip curls and she hisses past sharp fangs. Tiny droplets of spittle soar with the sharp, quick passing of breath, landing on the skin of my arm covering my heart.

  “What do we have here?” she taunts, sauntering closer. “A lost little lamb?”

  A patter of feet echoes behind me. I take a step back from the vampire and swivel my head, peeking over my shoulder. Another vampire, traveling at the speed of light, makes her way through the al
ley.

  The black-haired vampire slithers toward me. “I wouldn’t do that,” I caution. My voice is deep, foreign, as the dragon within me comes forth. My defense mechanism kicks in, against my better judgement, as though it’s natural. I suppose it is. I squash it down, mentally stroking my dragon’s muzzle, easing my anxiety. Dead vampires won’t be able to take me hostage.

  She tilts her head to the side as her companion comes to a full stop, directly behind me. “Do what?” she asks, the words dipped with a sickly-sweet quality.

  “How did she escape the Colosseum?” the one behind me asks.

  Moving the hand covering my heart, I open my palm facing out. “I wouldn’t kill me,” I suggest, covering my tracks.

  “It doesn’t matter how she escaped,” she answers, ignoring me as though I’m the cattle belonging to a slaughter house. I half turn my body, allowing her to think she’s catching me unaware, and the female vampire with ebony hair grabs me from the side. She wraps her arms around my torso, locking me in her grasp. I feign struggle and force a smug smile from my face. Vampires were never smart. Food drives their motives.

  “What should we do with her?” she hisses, the words tickling my ear. The stench of death wafts in the small space between us, and I wrinkle my nose, attempting to avoid breathing in. “We could keep her for a pet.” She flicks out her tongue and trails it along my neck. I cringe as it leaves a coat of saliva, moisture dripping down the slope. Skin licking and taste testing wasn’t part of my plan.

  “You know we can’t,” the other declares. She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “If Kheelan were to find out one had escaped, we’d be ash under his foot.”

  The vampire lifts her nose from my jugular and whips her head to her friend. A feral growl, a possessive noise, snarls past her exposed fangs.

  “Don’t even start,” she warns, pointing. “We serve Kheelan and nothing more.”

  AIDEN VANDER

  DEATH REALM

  Behind me, something grasps my attention, diverting my focus even as Corbin reappears back in his chair, pretending he never left. My muscles tense, my shoulders bunch, and I attempt to fight it, to draw back like it’s a taunting flame that burns upon touch. It’s a pull, a sensual lure, a tug at my broken heart. It’s one I recognize. I was a shade the last time I felt that breath of fresh, crisp spring air after a long, unforgiving winter. She was what I breathed when I was drowning, my anchor, the one I left in the unforgiving sea in hopes of saving her from a fate I knew she didn’t deserve. She’s the pure, the untainted, the savior who was never asked. She was my everything.

  A familiar scent travels to my nose, and I draw it in against my will, savoring it, tasting it . . . basking. It pulls me from the scene of death before me, luring me with the promise of a sanity in the face of chaos. I can no longer hold back my curiosity, not when I know who stands behind me, not when I’m interested in why it’s happening.

  Uncrossing my arms, I slowly look over my shoulder. My tense muscles strain as a war breaks inside me: to look, drown, and fall once more, or to divert and remain who I am – strong, powerful, merciless.

  With tentative, carefully placed steps, Eliza walks through the stone archway and onto the platform from which we watch. Her red hair cascades around her shoulders, and her face is pinched in internal pain. Those captivating, sparkling eyes jerk in horror to the field of sand tainted in evidence of death. Her attention swivels between all those fighting in the arena, the slaves delivering futile blows. I know what she’s seeing. I gulp as the horror of what I allowed, of what I chose not to stop, settles inside me. Sympathy drowns me, flooding my insides until my eyes widen, and I gasp for breath, desperate to release the pressure.

  Below, three vampires toy with half a dozen humans. They slice them with sharp claws, bite them with pointed fangs, and dance away before the humans have time to connect their weapons to the predators’ flesh.

  Breathing hard, my lips part when our gazes lock on one another, and a hush of wind whistles past them, taking the pressure with it. Watching her, having her undivided attention, releases my guilt and pumps life and humanity back into me. Emotions flood as she saves me, restores me, though she doesn’t know it. She simply has to stand there and let me lose myself in those blue eyes that I’ve spent most of my time avoiding in favor of power. Eliza stands for everything my third birth eliminated yet the only one who can restore it. There’s a new draw which wasn’t there before, back in her bedroom. It’s power. I can taste the power as it mingles with mine.

  She stands taller, even with the carnage below us. I purse my lips, contemplating the difference in what she once was to who she is now. What changed?

  Shaking her head, she stops me from voicing my questions. I frown, concerned, and fully twist my body to face hers. How could she know what I was going to say?

  Pulling a hand from around her middle, she holds it out in front of her. She tucks her chin, and her eyebrows dip. Hair tumbles from her shoulders, and she sucks in her bottom lip, biting the skin. I look to what holds her attention captive – to what concern has her absorbed. My pinched face relaxes in awe. Along the delicate, silky skin of her palm, slivers of electric bolts play with the lines and indents, silently crackling between each finger. Unlike a storm, these bolts are slow, taking their time from finger to finger, like a cat rubbing along an owner’s leg.

  Her head snaps up, and her wide eyes find mine, sparkling with unshed tears. I watch her throat constrict, and fear wafts from her pores. The invisible smoke tumbles my direction, and it’s then that I fully understand what I am. It’s a choice I’m all too willing to make…if for nothing but her.

  Gritting my teeth, I squeeze my eyes shut, my hands clenched at my sides, chanting to myself. I won’t allow this. This isn’t what I want. My demon side screams in fury for turning my back on my nature, lighting my nerves on fire, and threatening to consume me. I allow the waft of fear to pass, refusing it access to my pores. I won’t feed from my anchor, from the keeper of my heart.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  KATRIANE DUPONT

  DEATH REALM

  Forcefully marching along a hallway, we pass many humans huddled or standing inside cells. I frown at the construction of them. Instead of bars, they pulse with an electric current, each human keeping a safe distance from them.

  Shouts and battle cries filter through the alleyway stretched between the cages. It’s an echo, so I know it isn’t anywhere close. I gulp, hoping I’m not too late.

  “You’ll be in the front,” my ebony-haired vampire usher hisses, shoving me from behind.

  Burning candles along the walls light our path. I stumble anyhow, the vampire’s strength surprising.

  Humans stand to their feet, coming as close to the cell’s electric bolts as they dare, watching my march. I don’t make eye contact with them, instead, choosing to bite the inside of my lip and gaining as much information as I can about the inside structure. It’s difficult to concentrate while I’m forcing myself to squash sympathy. Seeing the large spread of humans, I know I won’t be able to save them all.

  Turning a corner, we approach a tall, lanky vampire. His black, greasy hair is disheveled atop his head. He leans against the wall with his arms crossed and an ankle overlapping the other.

  “Yaris,” my vampire escort mumbles, her voice dense with guilt.

  He smirks and puffs his chest. “Did you let one get away, Sara Lee?”

  Sara Lee, shoves me once more, hissing like a feral kitten. “I don’t know how she got out.”

  “Right.” He unfolds his arms, pushing his back from the wall. “Taking her to the front?”

  “Yes.”

  Yaris narrows his eyes, sweeping me from head to toe. “Very well.” We pass him but not before he takes a sniff in my direction, his jaw almost bumping my shoulder. I recoil, goosebumps lighting my nerves, and the muscles along the back of my neck stiffen.

  We pass many more blood-sucking men and women, and a sense of pride surges
within me. The Reaper’s Breath was right. Getting caught was a good plan. There’s no way I could have made it in here undetected. These creatures of the undead roam this place like an angry ant hill.

  We bend a sharp curve, and Sara Lee shoves me into an archway where light filters in. I fall, my hands scraping against the stone floor.

  “You’re with the next batch,” she snarls with distain. Her footsteps echo as she leaves, and a hand grasps my upper arm.

  “Are you okay?” a male voice asks.

  I glance up, my eyes meeting another’s. My heart sings, skipping beats to an irrational tempo. My plan is working far better than I had hoped. Not only did I gain access to the inside, but I found the man I was looking for. “Dyson,” I whisper.

  He frowns and blinks hard. “Kat?” He pulls me to my feet and curses. “You’re here?”

  Sliding my bleeding hands along the thighs of my jeans, I nod. “It would seem so.”

  Dyson rakes a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands, and jolts, pacing, giving me a chance to realize we aren’t alone. I swivel my head, taking in the others around me.

  Two women and two men stand before the electric bars leading to an opening. I’m guessing beyond the bars is the main attraction. The shouts are deafening here, coming from inside the narrow walkway just beyond.

  Swords line the stone wall, axes and weapons I’ve never seen before.

  I look to the humans watching me with frightened eyes. They’re still, almost too still, waiting for introductions, or possibly a rescue. One of them I recognize. “Sandman?”

  He inclines his bald head, and my eyes widen as the single candlelight on the wall reflects on his shiny skin. He’s human. I wasn’t expecting that though I don’t know why.