Drake of Tanith (Chosen Soul)

by Heather Killough-Walden

  “And when that happens, he will become whole again,” she said. After she’d overheard her brother and her father speaking of Darken, Zeta had done a little research. She’d paid a visit to the ruined and abandoned library of the Blue Robes. She’d paid a few mages for some well-placed spells. Drake and Darken were indeed one, as Astriel had told Oberon.

  And when Asmodeus died and Drake became king, Tanith would officially accept his place in Abaddon, repairing the soul he’d ripped in two when he’d turned away from his heritage and his land and left the nine circles of Hell. Darken would get what he wanted. Or part of it, anyway.

  Darken’s lips turned up ever so slightly.

  Zeta went on, encouraged now by the fact that she’d gotten the worst of it out and was still breathing. “You will be whole once more and more powerful than any other being in Abaddon. The king of Nisse can have anything he desires,” she said. “Including the daughter of Malphas.”

  “And young Raven Grey,” Darken said, taking a step forward, “as the wife of the King of Nisse, will become an Abaddonian queen.”

  Zeta lifted her chin, her gaze narrowing. Darken was way ahead of her, it would seem.

  “And hence be forced to keep her end of a bargain that she so rashly made with a particular Fae princess,” he went on, the sound of hard, cold amusement lacing his deep tone. “Am I following you, your highness?”

  “Perfectly,” Zeta said. There was no point in denying it. It was like he’d said. She would do anything to be queen. And when Raven Grey became the queen of Hell, she would have the power to wage war against the Fae kingdom should they not crown Zeta their queen.

  Darken laughed again, low and mean as razor-edged silk. “Just checking.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  As the portal swirled to life in front of him, Drake looked down at the gem in the palm of his glove. It glowed bright red and pulsed in time with the forming portal. Their magic was linked. It was this way for unicorns; their nearly ethereal bodies existed in several planes at once, and so it was this particular type of legerdemain that they influenced. This was why a piece of their horn lent the user control over transportation magic.

  Drake looked back up at the portal, squeezed the gem tight in his hand, and willed the magic to take him directly to Raven’s location.

  Before him, the portal warped outward, growing temporarily brighter. Then it shifted, grayed out at its edges, and calmed down once more. Beyond its now settled rings, a misty land could be seen. Drake stared through the opening at this vast, meaningless, gray and white landscape and took a deep breath.

  The portal beckoned, pulsing before him, and Drake didn’t hesitate. He could feel the coiling cruelty of the land that waited on the other side. He knew that it hungered for his sanity and that it wouldn’t be long before it had its way. Once he stepped through the transporting rings and into the mists of the Witherlands, he wouldn’t have much time to find Raven.

  Quickly, he pocketed the ruby, jumped through the portal, and felt it tug at the fibers of his being. Transporting was hard on a body; it stretched and drained those who moved through its times and spaces. Drake took it in stride and prepared to land on his feet on the other side – when he sensed a disturbance in the waves of magic around him. They seemed to rip open, to be shoved aside as if something else was coming through after him.

  Drake had barely enough time to process this and draw his sword before the portal was spitting him back out again and he was rolling forward across the marble-like ground and impenetrable mists of the Witherlands.

  With expert ease, Drake came to his feet and spun.

  And Darken laughed. “You should have just killed the unicorn, Drake. Would have saved you precious time, and I wouldn’t be here right now.”

  Drake felt numb staring into his own features. He felt cold. He was gazing into the molten mercury of his worst fear, his most dreaded nightmare. He was looking at a part of himself he thought he’d left behind – and had never wanted to see again.

  With resigned terror, he glanced down at the sword in Darken’s hands; it was the same as his own. He looked at the symbols on Darken’s armor, and as if to mock Drake, they mirrored the symbols on his own chest.

  Drake took a step back. The mists of the Witherlands curled around his black clad legs. His mind told him Darken stood before him, and knowing how the Witherlands worked, his heart desperately wanted to believe that it was only this land’s inherent evil once more playing tricks on his brain.

  But he’d felt the shift in the portal before coming through. And deep in that same heart, he knew the truth. The Witherlands might have loads of misery in store for him, but the one who stood before Drake then and there was no figment of his imagination. He was real enough.

  Drake tried to think, to clear his mind of fear in order to make way for logic and planning.

  Raven was somewhere nearby. He could feel her. He could almost smell her, like a whiff of promise and redemption in the land of the damned. The unicorn’s gem had worked, and the portal had brought him to the one he was seeking. But it had also brought Darken. He couldn’t call out to her now, no matter how near she may be. He couldn’t let her anywhere near him.

  Darken looked down at his sword. And then, suddenly, he was sheathing it. Drake didn’t know what to make of the sudden action. He stood his ground, the hilt of his own sword gripped tightly in his gloved hand. He watched as Darken glanced at him, smiled a wry, devious smile that turned Drake’s stomach into lead, and pulled a second weapon from his shoulder.

  Drake recognized this one. And when he did, the led his stomach had become began to rise up his gullet. It was a bow, one very familiar to Drake.

  “Princess!” Darken called, his voice sounding far too much like Drake’s. Drake’s eyes widened. No, he thought. “Come this way!” Darken finished.

  The bow belonged to a priest of Haledon. It belonged to Loki Grey.

  “Drake!” came a response from somewhere in the mists. The female voice was a little unsure, a touch desperate, and very beautiful. Drake felt despair brush him then, and he closed his eyes.

  “It was you who saved me from The Hunt,” he said softly. He now knew what had happened when he’d been hit and knocked unconscious. He now knew who it had been.

  “You could have done it yourself if you hadn’t been so preoccupied – or weak,” Darken said, a slight reprimand lacing his words. “Love will ruin you, my friend. Luckily you have me to watch over you.”

  Drake said nothing. He knew Darken was only taunting him, egging him on.

  Darken sighed. “You would have been the catch of the century, Drake,” he said, an unspoken admiration in his tone. “With the madness of the Hunt upon you, you’d have carved a path of death to put all others to shame.” He shook his head. “You’d have been a contender for the position of Death God.” He squared Drake with a hard, meaningful look. “But that wouldn’t do. That isn’t your place, and you and I both know it.”

  He hesitated, just a moment, before he raised his chin again and once more called out. “Raven! Over here!”

  Drake’s heart skipped. “It’s to be like this then,” he said softly. If Darken had Loki’s bow – then he might have Loki as well. Drake and Raven had left them behind on the ground when the Hunt had come through.

  And if Darken had Loki, then he had a bargaining chip that Drake could not compete with. Raven would do anything to save her brother. She would do whatever Darken told her to do.

  In that instant, understanding dawned on Drake. He saw Darken’s plan as if it had been laid out before him on a table. It was a map outlined as clear as day, and the X that marked the spot was Drake’s doom.

  Using Loki as bait, Darken would draw Raven to him. And then he would take her to Asmodeus. And Drake would have no choice but to do what his father wanted. Not if he followed his heart.

  Darken was right. Love was to be his ruin.

  “Imagine it, Drake. Hearing the clock strike twelve and knowing
that your running is over. You’ll be king.” Darken laughed. “I’ll be king.”

  “I will kill you, Darken,” Drake said.

  Darken’s brow lifted. He appeared utterly unconcerned. It was chilling for Drake to look into this aspect of himself and see such cold, hard resolution. “And kill yourself?” Darken asked, clearly disbelieving.

  A call came from the mists. “Drake?” Raven’s voice, closer this time. “Where are you?”

  “Stay away!” Drake called out suddenly. It was all he could think of doing. Darken and he were matched in every aspect but one. Where Drake exercised restraint – Darken would not. He could not. It was not in his makeup.

  Whether Raven heard or not, he didn’t know. He felt as if the entire realm were against him just then. And because his luck seemed headed that way, he was willing to bet that Raven either didn’t hear him, or was too stubborn to do what he said. They were both sunk.

  “The bitch of it is, Drake,” said Darken now as he took a step forward and Drake took a step back. “Now that you see the error of your ways, it’s too late. You’ve already defied the old man. He’s through playing nice.” Darken shook his head, the expression on his handsome face both disappointed and determined. “He just wants to punish you now. And he knows exactly how to do it.”

  There was a scrape of boot upon the ground behind Drake.

  Suddenly, everything was happening too fast. Only the instinct in his blood was able to keep up. His movements blurred, as did Darken’s, and by some twist of incredible luck, he made it to Raven first.

  She froze in his arms, something in her telling her not to struggle. Or maybe it was the shock ramrodding through her. After all, she was being held by him – and she was also staring at him where he stood several feet away, watching them both with cold metal eyes.

  “Drake?” she whispered, the uncertainty painfully plain in her tone.

  Darken wasn’t in a mood to fool around, apparently, because he immediately killed the game by lifting Loki’s bow so that she could plainly see it. “Come with me now, Raven, or I will kill your brother. Understand?”

  Drake could feel the tension rip through the woman in his arms.

  “Don’t listen to him, Raven. He would never do away with such a powerful playing card.”

  Raven exhaled sharply, her breath shaky, her body now trembling. If he wasted the energy it would take to read her mind in that moment, he would most likely find her thoughts a jumbled mess. Drake was threatening her brother’s life. And Drake was telling her to ignore the threat. It was a terrifying, confusing game. But that was the Witherlands for you.

  “Sure I would, Drake,” Darken shrugged, looking completely nonchalant. He turned to pace a few casual feet away. “After all, the priest isn’t the only one on the Terran realm that Raven cares for. And it’s always a good idea to do away with one hostage at the beginning, just so that everyone knows you're serious.”

  In his arms, Raven’s body shuddered. “Let me go, Drake.”

  Gods no, Drake thought, his grip tightening. “They’ll kill you, Raven. Make no mistake.” If Asmodeus didn’t destroy her physically and snuff her out of existence, he would destroy her spiritually. Either way, the Raven he knew would be no more.

  Darken chuckled softly. “Always the pessimist, aren’t you, Drake.”

  “Realist,” Drake shot back, his teeth grinding, his heart hammering.

  “Defeatist,” came another voice, deep and powerful. But it came too fast, too sudden, and Drake wasn’t able to move in time. The blow hurt; for an instant, he felt the impact as a blinding pain that struck in the same place he’d been struck before. And then there was nothing.

  “It’s something I’ve never been able to stomach in you, son.”

  *****

  Raven heard the impact of the attack and felt Drake’s body go limp around her. His strong arms slid down the length of her body until he was face-down in the mists. The Witherlands were closing in on them and everything was falling apart, but Raven’s thoughts clarified and pin-pointed the moment Tanith collapsed.

  “Drake!” The word left her lips and she was kneeling beside him before she could comprehend what she was doing.

  However, the presence now closing in at her back stiffened her spine. She couldn’t ignore it. The voice that had spoken still echoed in her ear drums. She knew the owner of that voice. She knew it so well, she was afraid to look up – to glance back. Instead, she forced herself to lean over Drake’s still form and ignore the two pairs of boots that move toward her, caging her in on either side.

  Blood trickled from the base of Drake’s head to the fog-shrouded ground beneath him. His ebony waves were wet with the thick liquid… Raven raised her hand, her fingers poised over the wound. Shouldn’t it be healing?

  And then the presence behind her came very close and lowered himself to one knee. Raven heard the rustle of his clothing directly at her back, and she closed her eyes. His power washed over her as he moved in; it was as if he were surrounded by a permanent bubble of pleasure, persuasion and promises. She didn’t stand a chance against him.

  “He’ll live,” he said, the voice coming so close.

  Raven’s stomach clenched, her nipples hardened against the inside of her shirt, and she barely suppressed a moan. Her skin harbored a chill as she shivered under his obvious attack. He wasn’t holding back. And why would he?

  “But will I?” she managed to ask. She was impressed with herself and frankly amazed that she’d managed a single word, much less two. But they were weakly spoken. A whisper, a tremble – nothing more. Drake’s “twin” was now forgotten; Asmodeus had her undivided attention.

  He chuckled behind her, the sound awakening parts of her body that should have gone stone cold. And suddenly she hated him.

  “You’re the woman my son loves,” Asmodeus said. “You’re going to be his queen. Tell me, Raven,” he whispered, leaning in to send rivulets of his influence rolling over her. Raven bit her lip hard. “Why would I kill such a soul?”

  Her teeth broke the skin, drawing blood.

  “Especially when it’s kept in a vessel such as this one?” Asmodeus added as his hand came around her. She felt his touch at her lip like a brand, and she recoiled. But she had nowhere to go but back.

  And back was where he was.

  He leaned over her as she settled into him. She had no choice. She was melting, and he was hard and unyielding. He felt good. He was horrible. He was wonderful. “Such a vessel, with such a sweet, sweet taste.”

  Raven opened her eyes and looked up. She could no longer fight him. Asmodeus smiled as he licked the blood from his fingertip. She watched in breathless, heated fascination as he closed his own impossibly powerful eyes and seemed to slip into some sort of pleasure.

  That was my blood, she thought numbly. My blood is doing this to him.

  Asmodeus exhaled a rather shaky breath then, and lowered his head. Raven felt irrevocably torn. She was mesmerized by him, by his beauty, his charisma, his absolute power. And she hated that he had all of these things. She hated that he was holding her in his arms. Most of all, though she was fascinated with the effect it had over him, she hated that he was tasting her blood - when she had yet to give it to the man she loved. She had yet to give it to his son, whom he had just knocked unconscious and who was now bleeding beside them.

  When the Lord of the Nines once more opened his eyes, they were glowing with the infamous fires of Hell. “Oh, little one,” he whispered. “You are a saving grace. A pleasure in so many ways.” He smiled, showing her the same perfect, wicked fangs that Drake sometimes wore. “Your mind is tireless, spinning with guilt and love and hatred. It’s refreshing.” And then he shook his head. “And your blood tastes like salvation.” His expression became serious, spearing Raven as no weapon could. “No one will be killing you, Raven Grey.”

  Raven’s heart sank. For some reason, it was the worst thing he could have told her.

  Chapter Nineteen


  When Drake awoke, it was to find himself staring at a pair of brown leather boots. He blinked and jumped to his feet. If he’d been human, the motion would have knocked him out again, but he wasn’t human. And neither was the man watching him.

  “After this, Tanith, I’ll consider my debt paid.”

  “You let them take her,” Drake accused, tenderly rubbing the back of his neck. A blow dealt by anyone other than his father would no longer hurt. But Asmodeus had a way of punishing his son that no one else in any realm could match.

  Magus took a deep breath, seemed to consider something for a moment, and then cocked his head to one side. The Witherlands' mists coiled around him and he ignored them. “I’m only a god, Tanith. My powers are limited.”

  Drake would have laughed under different circumstances. He and Magus had a bit of a history, and he’d always appreciated the god’s easy-going manner. However, at the moment, anything easy-going was the last thing on Drake’s mind.

  “Would love to catch up, Tanith, but you’ve got to run.”

  Drake said nothing further. He knew what was coming. Magus raised his hand and white-hot power formed in his palm. The god of magic hesitated. “For what it’s worth, you gave it Hell, Tanith.” His expression was genuinely regretful.

  Drake felt his chest hitch.

  Then Magus waved his hand and the world melted around Drake. Within seconds, the gray of the Witherlands’ mists was tinted with red. He could hear crackling nearby, along with the hollow, echoing sound of raging, burning wrongness. The air took on the scent of smoke and the claustrophobic choke of ash. He could feel it smudging his skin even before Magus’s power slipped from his form and the world solidified once more.

  Drake felt the parched ground beneath his boots and heard the rocks crack to dust as he slowly turned in a circle to take in his surroundings. Half a mile away stood a fortress of towering, impenetrable obsidian and ruby. Around it and as far as the eye could see, Nisse stretched to the horizon, red, black and hopeless.