Drake of Tanith (Chosen Soul)

by Heather Killough-Walden

  Drake didn’t say anything further. Instead, he knelt beside her and then lifted her into his arms. As he did, Raven’s legs stretched, causing her injured skin to pull taut. The sudden sharp twinges raced across her damaged flesh, drawing a harsh cry from her parched, irritated throat.

  “You were hit with the Rakshin’s blast,” Drake told her as he pulled her into his chest and held her tight. “You have severe burns across your legs.” His own voice seemed as deep and beautiful as ever, utterly unaffected by the smoke and heat broiling the air.

  “His blast?” Raven asked, wondering what a Rakshin was. Her voice trembled with her pain, and she had to try very hard not to cough. And then, realizing that a Rakshin must have been the monster she’d killed, she asked, “Where is my brother?” This time she did cough. The movement caused a jolt in her legs. She drew in a sharp breath of nasty smoke, coughed again, and closed her eyes once more.

  “I’m here,” Loki said. She heard him cough violently, but the cough drew nearer, and that was a comfort. “We have to –” More coughing. “Get out of here!”

  “This way!” came a gruff command from somewhere beyond Loki’s desperate hacking. Raven recognized the voice as belonging to Grolsch. She pressed her forehead into Drake’s shoulder and tried to focus on the voices, on the crackling of the forest around them, and not on the agony attempting to consume her. She couldn’t have cared how Loki managed to not be hit by the same blast she’d been hit by – or why Drake, whose body had been sheltering her own during the explosion, seemed to be completely unharmed. She had no idea why the forest, damp with the morning and evening mists of Fall, had still managed to catch on fire.

  She couldn’t have cared.

  Loki was alive and she was alive and Drake was alive – and she was in soul-splitting agony. It was all that consumed her consciousness just then.

  Drake moved with her through the forest. She could hear his boots where they pounded out a quick pace against the sponge-like ground. For a brief moment, she opened her eyes, and the world simply blurred around her. Drake was moving with inhuman speed through the trees and underbrush. Raven distractedly hoped that her brother was able to keep up, but again, she only partly cared. Stars swam behind her closed lids. The pain in her legs was all encompassing.

  A while later – either short minutes or long hours, Raven couldn’t tell – Drake was slowing. Eventually, he came to a stop and bent, laying Raven down upon a soft surface. Raven blinked. She realized that she’d been drifting in and out of consciousness, and when the pain hit her again, she understood why.

  “Stay with me,” Drake said softly, leaning over her body. She could smell the leather of his clothing, touched only slightly by the hint of wood smoke. She could also smell something else – salt? Yes, there was salt in the air.

  It was the scent of the ocean. The soft ground beneath her was composed of sand.

  “Can you heal her?” Drake asked. Raven blinked a few times to bring her vision into focus and saw her brother standing beside Drake. The bounty hunter’s question had been directed to Loki.

  It took a second for Loki to reply, but when he did, Raven caught the note of panic in his voice. “I don’t know,” he admitted. Raven saw him kneel beside her and felt Drake move away. A spike of panic pierced her chest, but she managed to keep from reaching out. Mentally, she shook her head at herself. It wasn’t like her to be clingy. The pain was getting to her.

  “The truth is, Haledon seems to have forsaken me,” said Loki. But even as he said it, he placed his hands palm-down upon Raven’s chest and closed his eyes. “I just hope he hasn’t forsaken me in this.” Soot smudged his cheeks and forehead in black spots and he smelled a lot more like smoke than Drake did. It made Raven wonder.

  Barely. The agony in her legs was starting to push her toward unconsciousness again.

  “And these are the worst burns I’ve ever seen,” Loki whispered next. “What happened and why did it hit her so hard?”

  “Rakshins explode when they die by magic,” Drake said. As he spoke, Loki’s hands began to heat up on Raven’s chest. “The fire created in this blast is magical and will catch on anything – even ice.”

  “And Raven?” Loki asked again, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Why did she get so burned?”

  “Because her father is Malphas, the Ice Lord,” Drake said solemnly. “Creatures born in the fire will always have the capacity to cause her more damage.”

  “And why didn’t it hit you at all?” Loki asked next. From the tone in his voice, it was clear he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it come from Drake’s lips. Probably, he just wanted to have Raven hear it come from Drake’s lips.

  “Because my father is Asmodeus,” Drake replied. And then, in the stony silence that followed, he said, “Start healing, priest.”

  Chapter Eight

  Drake could see the light spread from beneath the priest’s hands where they were pressed to Raven’s midsection. The magic was working.

  Drake had felt enough healing spells to recognize what Raven was experiencing in that moment. The magic would be warm – but even on a body as burned as hers, it would be a pleasant warmth, like catching a ray of sunshine and a lull in the wind after stepping out of a cold ocean.

  It must have taken all of the priest’s concentration to heal his sister; the wounds the Rakshin had given her were grave. It was exactly this kind of damage that Drake had feared, and it was the reason he’d attacked the monster with his sword and not his magic. But there would have been no way for Raven to understand that. She’d simply done what she felt she needed to do. She’d killed the Rakshin in one attack.

  Drake was impressed. He’d known that she was powerful; he’d known, instinctively, that her magic would far surpass expectations. But seeing it with his own eyes was different.

  Unfortunately, she was suffering for it now.

  Rakshins were one of the few, special breeds of Abaddon that were called upon as assassins. They possessed the ability to creep up on their victims – giving off no sound or smell – until it was too late and they were prepared to strike. A Rakshin could become invisible, warp time around its body, and move with dizzying speed. The poison that dripped from its fangs and claws caused a state of numb paralyzation and eventually death. Worst of all was that a Rakshin’s venom could not be counteracted with the magic of an acolyte or priest. Once it took root in a victim’s veins, there was almost nothing that could be done to save them.

  Drake’s mind spun with the possible implications of the Rakshin’s appearance. Who had sent it? Who had it been after? There were too many dangerous factors at play at the moment, and as usual, all of them centered on Raven Grey. The Abaddonian princess was a magnet for trouble.

  When Drake had made it past the gates of Trimontium and into the heart of the elven city, he’d been only slightly surprised to find the elven guard in a heightened state of security, and he’d known in his gut that it had something to do with Raven.

  Despite his growing sense of unease and the weight of time pressing in on him, it was incredibly quick and easy work for the bounty hunter to gather the intel he needed: Raven had escaped Castle Eidolon, and with the elven princess’s help, no less.

  There were only so many places Raven would go, and Drake had been tracking people down for a very long time. He made it to Aster Hollow before she could and then backtracked until he saw them coming through the forest about two miles out of town. Grolsch was with them. Drake wasn’t surprised. The ork no doubt wanted to use Raven to get to Drake in the Witherlands. He was a smart beast and had been Drake’s companion for long enough to know to go for the jugular.

  Drake headed the party off and waited in the shadows. When the three of them came up the trail he’d cut off, he found himself going all too still. Seeing Raven again in person and so close stole the wind from his lungs.

  Drake moved toward her from the shadows, watching the magic gather in her palms, taking in the dark blue light in
her eyes and the plump pink of her parted lips, and his body came dangerously alive.

  And then he caught the scent of danger on the breeze.

  In that moment, Drake stepped out of the darkness, only wanting to see the recognition in Raven’s beautiful eyes before all Abaddon broke loose. He was given a sheer split second to enjoy it before the Rakshin attacked.

  Drake had no idea who the monster had been sent to destroy. Was it him? Was it Raven? Or… as improbable as it was, was it at least possible that the assassin had been sent to kill the priest? Drake wasn’t overly fond of Haledon’s acolytes. He wasn’t overly fond of any acolytes for that matter. He wanted to believe that it was more likely the Rakshin had been sent after Grolsch.

  Still, Loki Grey had been “crowned” as Haledon’s champion and had even taken on the god’s avatar not too long ago. The priest could well be viewed as dangerous in many people’s eyes. Many devils’ eyes.

  At the moment, however, Drake couldn’t keep from thinking the worst; it was part of who and what he was and was the reason he was still alive after thousands of years of doing what he did. And the “worst” in his eyes was the possibility that the Rakshin had come after Raven. She was the princess of Caina and the Chosen Soul. The soul’s power had already been proven. She’d destroyed a god when she’d taken down the Death Mage. A soul with the power to kill deities carried frightening potential, and Drake could think of more than a few individuals who would feel much better knowing that particular power had been snuffed out.

  Drake watched in stiff silence as the priest’s magic crackled and glittered over Raven’s svelte form. Raven had never gathered up enough courage to look down at what kind of damage had been done to her body. He could tell she wanted to – and that she also didn’t. But the agony he’d seen reflected in her beautiful dark eyes told him that her imagination was most likely filling in the blanks. She knew she’d been injured, and the pain scared her.

  Which made his blood boil.

  It took a lot to damage Drake by fire. He had his father’s blood, and flames practically licked along the insides of his veins by nature. However, there was one being in all of the realms who could make Drake feel the pain of a blaze. The Lord of Nisse could make anyone burn, and the king of Abaddon had used such a particular punishment on his own son when Drake was but a child.

  He would never forget that kind of pain. Nothing compared to it. He absolutely hated the idea of Raven suffering the same agony.

  Fortunately, now Drake could see that the pain was ebbing for Raven. Little by little, she unclenched her teeth and her lungs expanded more readily. Her shaking breaths were no longer whimpering, and the clenched fists she’d made were relaxing. As they did – so did he.

  When the priest began to topple onto his side next to her, Drake reached out and steadied him. Loki’s hands slipped from Raven’s chest. Healing her wounds had taken everything her brother had.

  Raven slowly sat up, moving with the ginger kind of care that came when one feared that any false move would bring back the agony. The agony, however, stayed away; her beautiful face remained more or less relaxed. The princess was able to sit completely up and look down at what remained of the leather breeches that covered her long, lean legs.

  The leggings were destroyed. Scorch marks laced the edges of what small strips of material remained, and her skin where the leather had been ripped was still red, as if she’d scraped it or rubbed it for too long. It would heal over the next few hours; it was always left over after a Rakshin’s attack.

  Miraculously, her leather boots were completely intact, if a little blackened.

  “Loki,” Raven said, turning to her brother. He was kneeling unsteadily, his head down, his blond hair shielding his face from view. “Thank you,” she breathed, clearly meaning it from the bottom of her heart.

  Loki slowly raised his head. Their eyes met, and Drake was instantly jealous of whatever silent exchange went on between the twins. He could have invaded her mind… they’d shared blood and he was forever a part of her now, as she was him. But he didn’t. Instead, he inwardly chided himself for being so juvenile. He was getting edgy. He’d used transportation magic and had yet to feed. The jealousy would only get worse until he did.

  “Any time sis,” Loki whispered. He swallowed hard and then added, “I think.”

  Drake wondered what the priest had been talking about when he’d said that he was forsaken by Haledon. Clearly, he still possessed his healing ability.

  “Good job, priest,” said Grolsch gruffly. The huge ork slapped a hard hand on Loki’s back, nearly knocking him over. But Drake reached out like lightning and caught him by the upper arm before he could topple. It was reflexive.

  Loki cast a thankful glance Drake’s way, but Drake could see the wariness that yet remained in that amber gaze. The priest didn’t trust him any more than Drake trusted the priest. And Drake couldn’t blame him. The last time they’d met, Drake had been dead set on making a bounty off of Raven’s capture. At least, that would be how Loki Grey would see it. And now the priest knew that Drake was Asmodeus’s son.

  Loki looked way, breaking eye contact, and looked up at his sister. Raven smiled gratefully at him. Drake felt his chest tighten at the sight of that smile. It was full of trust – full of love. It was the kind of smile she would most likely never give to him.

  Drake swore inwardly. He could smell Raven’s blood where it pumped temptingly through the throbbing vein in her delicate neck. It called to him. His gums ached and his impatience rose a notch.

  She might never smile at him again, in fact. Especially not after Raven heard what Drake had to say. She was in danger, and whether the Rakshin had been sent after her or not, the beast was the least of her worries. She had Asmodeus to fear, and it truly didn’t get more dangerous than that.

  The Lord of the Nines was under the assumption that Drake was here to say goodbye. But Drake wasn’t going to do any such thing. There was no way he was going to sacrifice his freedom for his father. And there was also no way he was going to let Asmodeus anywhere near Raven.

  Instead, he had a plan. It was insane and it might be impossible, but it was something. It stood a much better chance at success with Raven’s understanding and cooperation. He could only hope that once she heard what he had to say, she would refrain from hating him enough that she would be able to see reason and work with him toward the plan’s fruition.

  Otherwise, well… Drake hadn’t become the most sought-after bounty hunter in the realms by allowing people to escape him. Either Raven would come with him willingly, and their relationship might stand some sort of snowball’s chance in Nisse – or he would do what he had to do the way he was used to doing it: The hard way.

  Drake took a slow, deep breath and stood. Raven turned to look up at him from where she remained sitting. He gazed down at her, memorizing every perfect feature of her lovely face. And then he leaned over and, without breaking eye contact, he offered her his gloved hand.

  *****

  Astriel didn’t belong in this place. No Fae belonged in a place like this. It may have been a forest, and the forest may have been beautiful, but it was a lie. From the mists that perpetually choked the ground and low-lying branches to the lush canopy above that forever blocked out the sun, the land whispered wrongness. It was a living warning.

  These were the Woods. Not just any woods – but the Woods. They had no beginning and no end, and it was through here, and only here, that a being of the Terran realms would find passage to the land of Abaddon.

  Astriel had been here before. Anyone who lived as long as he did found themselves conducting business with a devil every now and again. The Woods outside of the first circle of Abaddon held all of the portals to almost every circle beyond. Nisse, the ninth circle, was the only realm unreachable in this manner.

  Otherwise, one only needed to know where to look for the doors – and be brave enough to go through them. Thus far, Astriel had visited every circle but the fifth,
sixth, eighth and ninth. He had reasons for never venturing into the fifth and sixth. And no one visited the eighth and ninth circles without an invitation.

  The first circle of Abaddon was called Shade and was known as the Land of the Lost. It was the only plane of Abaddon without a ruler, and for good reason. There was nothing worth ruling in Shade. The vast, flat planes and crumbling stone cities were home to nothing but wandering spirits, brainless, emotionless, and fleeting. These were the souls of the unfortunate beings trapped in the Witherlands. It was here that the land spit out the people it chewed up and digested. Not much was left when it was done with them.

  The second circle of Abaddon was called Trysta, and it was infamous among the more elite of the Terran and Fae realms. Trysta’s ruler was Lady Hope, a beautiful and horrible devil who was really no more than a well-endowed slave driver. Trysta’s realm was a prison for everything of aesthetic value that was ever captured by the pillaging and plundering of the world’s realms. It was in Trysta that the beautiful were gathered, trained, and then sold as slaves to the Lords of the Nine. More than a few of Astriel’s own harem slaves had been purchased in Trysta.

  The third circle of Abaddon was known as Blor, and its ruler was Lord Glasdon. Blor was rather boring, all in all. It was a vast agricultural realm, dull and yet incredibly valuable, for it was there that all of the food that supplied sustenance for the Nine Circles was grown and harvested. As a consequence, Lord Glasdon was quite… large.

  The fourth circle of Abaddon was Minea. It was the circle that the brave and foolhardy of the Terran realm most often sought passage to through the Woods. The reason for this was simple and tempting: Minea was ripe with treasure. Platinum, gold, gemstones, items of vast magical power – Minea was teeming with all of it. There was only one thing keeping the rest of the world from becoming vastly wealthy off of its shimmering bounty. Minea’s treasure troves were guarded by the most fearsome beasts in any land: dragons. In fact, it was the Dragon King who presided over the fourth circle. And so, what portion of the land not covered in wealth was thereupon littered with the bones of those who had unwisely treaded its soil in search of fortune.