Soulless (Maiden of Time Book 2)

by Crystal Collier

  The corner of his mouth twitched. She leaned close and pressed her lips to his ear. “You have given me of your energies before, I wonder whether it is possible for me to lend you strength.”

  A crystalline nexus appeared in her mind, an orb that lodged within her own breast.

  Kiren grunted. A dark cloud billowed up in her thoughts. She pushed it back, focusing on the sphere he’d revealed deep within herself. She pressed it toward his consciousness. Zaps of light coursed through her veins, reaching for his skin.

  Kiren’s hand jerked, but he was too weak to pull away. She gripped harder. She was a kettle, tilting and spilling into a nearly empty glass.

  Kiren’s fingers tore free.

  She lifted her head and met his ocean sky. Her entire body wanted to collapse and sleep for a week, but he was well.

  “Never do that,” he whispered.

  She crossed her arms, her voice shaking. “Promise me I will never find you as I did just now, and we are agreed.”

  He frowned.

  Lester chuckled. “She’s a spitfire, that one.”

  Alexia leaned into Kiren, stealing a moment to gather her strength. “How did you do that—without the necklace?”

  Kiren slid an arm around her. “It was not the medallion that enabled me to act. It was something within, but I have never been able to unleash it on my own. Or perhaps I have never tried.”

  “Because you always possessed the weapon.”

  He nodded. “A weapon we must retrieve.” His gaze turned to Lester. “They will come and come again until it is within our possession. I am not strong enough to keep them away, and clearly Mae’s threat is no longer enough.”

  “Agreed,” Lester said, turning back toward the inn. “But we’ve far too many needin’ protection.”

  “I will go.” Kiren righted himself and climbed to his feet. “Apparently I can defend myself.”

  “At what cost?” Alexia rose. “Had they come back you would have been easy to finish. You cannot go alone.”

  His brows scrunched together. “I would risk no one else.”

  “Good.” She dismissed Lester with a nod and faced Kiren. “We are agreed.”

  “Alexia, no—”

  “You saw what I did.”

  His face paled.

  She hated his reaction—hated that she could feel his horror through their bond. He had known many of the creatures she sent on, and his pain was palpable.

  Yes, she was a murderer. Whether he was horrified by her actions or not, he had to recognize her power, and she would never allow anyone to hurt him.

  Kiren’s jaw muscles clenched. “Let us be off then.”

  Kiren had barely spoken the entire journey, and Alexia was frustrated that he remained so quiet, but—with the regular twitching of his brows—she discerned a battle must be raging inside. Whatever he was thinking, it came at her in waves—the reluctance, then a deep-set determination, followed by mental agony. Perhaps he was equally torn over the loss of Bellezza, or perhaps he was still seeking an excuse to send her away to safety.

  Alexia didn’t want safety. She wanted him.

  The clouds cooled from orange to purple, drowning the trees in shadow. The dusty trail was rutted from multiple footprints, greenery setting off the bleak tributary.

  Kiren stopped and grabbed her hand, pulling her quickly into the trees. Silence filled the wood.

  Eerie silence.

  A chill crept up the back of her neck.

  Shadows flitted by through the fading greenery, at least a score of creatures slipping into the night. Alexia pressed closer to Kiren, seeking his warmth. His arm rounded her.

  The silhouettes disappeared and crickets hummed in the darkness. A breeze washed against her cheek and Alexia resumed breathing.

  They hurried into the shadows, nearing the hatch to the underground. With a wary look, Kiren slipped in ahead of her. She followed, relieved as he reclaimed his grip on her hand.

  Earth and fungi mingled in her nose. The darkness was as deep as tar. Kiren tugged her forward and she scuffed her feet along a pebbly surface, worried about stumbling into a rock or wall.

  Heat latched around her ankle.

  She squeaked.

  The grip tightened, searing fingers around her thin stocking. She grabbed the instant five seconds back and jumped.

  The veil of reality shifted before her and Alexia pulled Kiren to a halt.

  His voice echoed through her mind. What is it?

  She opened her memory to him. His fingers wrapped around her shoulder and the cave exploded into a fracture of senses. His senses. A distant drip echoed off the walls, dulled against the cavern floor where bodies must muffle it. Decay curled in the back of her throat and she gagged. The vaguest light touched a dozen corpses strewn across the narrow stretch of hall, still in the blackness.

  She slowed her heart and moved forward, stepping gingerly between the prostrate forms.

  A dim glow appeared from around a bend. Light pooled in grooves that beveled the walls, like they’d been excavated one fingernail scrape at a time. Heavy doors lined the hall, laden with iron brackets, locked into place by metal bolts. Kiren slowed as they passed, his senses bleeding through their connection: the echo of heartbeats on the other side, the warmth of Passionate energies.

  Prisoners? Alexia wondered.

  Kiren’s grip tightened on her, his jaw clenching.

  They hurried down the hall. From what Bellezza had told them, the hive consisted of three circular tunnels, each connected by small inlets. If they were right, whatever was most precious to the Soulless—the medallion—would be kept at the heart.

  They came around the bend and froze. An open door gaped before them, cloaked creatures standing just inside. Hisses refracted off the prison, jeers that formed words she couldn’t quite understand.

  Alexia readied to jump them back, but Kiren tugged her forward, his shoulders stiff.

  Oil lamps leaked sickly shadows across a tiny chamber, illuminating a thin, black-haired man crouched against the far wall. Grime stained his clothing, and exhaustion weighed his shoulders.

  Regin. Kiren pulled her closer and his memories seeped into her: The man stood between Kiren and an army of Soulless, putting the creatures to sleep with a single touch.

  Edward had told her stories of this man. Dull manacles encircled his wrists, cruel irons that suppressed Passionate gifts. Keys glinted at his jailor’s hip, mocking their prisoner with the hope of freedom, yet no means by which to reach it. It was cruel, and Alexia would not see her husband’s friend suffer more.

  She seized the seconds, slowing time. She grabbed the keys and dragged their brick weight across the stale chamber to the prisoner’s side. She tested keys until one slid into the lock and freed both his wrists, slipping the keys into his pocket. She returned and took Kiren’s hand, then let time go.

  Fatigue washed through her.

  The manacles dropped from Regin’s bony wrists. His mouth twisted one direction, then the other as the Soulless stood over him, frozen. He glanced between the jailors and his eyes lit. A grin broadened the hollow planes of his cheeks. He leapt to his feet and smashed a palm into each of the Soulless creature’s brows. They dropped to the floor.

  “’Bout time ye got yer lazy hide here.” Regin stepped around the fallen forms, his Irish brogue fascinating Alexia.

  “When you could infiltrate the whole hive and put them to sleep? Why would I bother?” Kiren bounced.

  “Aye, why would ye bother? That’s what we have her for.” Regin bowed to Alexia. “Much obliged.” He patted his pocket and keys jangled.

  “Who else is here?” Kiren asked.

  “Nelly, Bran and Cecil are the only ones I know of. I hear the screams though. There are others.”

  Nelly. Alexia swallowed hard. The poor cook!

  Her husband’s good humor faded. “There will be a fight on the way out. Creatures litter the exit.”

  “Oh, I got a good fight in me to be had.” R
egin saluted. “Get to it then. Ye have business, I assume, and I’ve got a dungeon to clear.” He moved to the next cell and threw the door wide as Kiren pulled Alexia away.

  They sped into the unknown, silence so heavy that every breath felt like a scream. They made it to the second circle when a whisper of cloth froze her. She stopped. Two creatures breezed around the corner and paused.

  She closed her eyes. Ten seconds back, make a turn in the tunnel and circle back around. She seized the moment and jumped.

  Kiren halted when she teetered. “Dearest?”

  She dragged Kiren around the corner as the two beings shuffled by. He turned a questioning eye on her. She pulled him along, leaping to safety with every encounter. She jumped back more and more frequently as they neared the inner circle and Kiren gifted her with doses of energy as she wearied. Still, Alexia could feel the weight of exertion in her tired muscles, the way her vision occasionally swam, the increasing ache at the back of her skull.

  They rounded the corner and came face to face with one of the Soulless. She gasped and reached back thirty seconds, but before she could grasp the moment, Kiren grabbed hold of the creature. Its mouth flew open. Sickly energy trickled into his skin. The limb beneath his fingers withered and narrowed as its life bled into Kiren. The creature dropped to the floor.

  Alexia turned on her husband.

  “I can give life, and I can take it,” he admitted softly, not meeting her gaze.

  “It cannot be dead?”

  His head shook. “Weakened.” He tugged her onward and added softly, “May God forgive me.”

  The inner circle.

  They skidded to a halt at the ring of the sanctum, lamplight glistening off slow ripples of a pond that occupied the middle of the chasm, reflecting lines of radiance from lamps across two doorways, one on either side of the water. Kiren aimed for the nearest one, energy rippling through his fingers, the sense that his medallion was near. He threw the door open.

  Sixty-Six

  From the Shadows

  A robed being stood in the corner. Another prisoner? Alexia waited for red eyes to appear, but only darkness filled its hood.

  Kiren held perfectly still. “Identify yourself.”

  “Welcome to my home,” the woman spat.

  Brazen alto smacked Alexia with an undercurrent of rage. Kiren trembled as though he’d been speared by an arrow to the heart. Chills flashed down her arms, but it wasn’t her own reaction, rather Kiren’s horror. Who was this?

  “Deiliey,” he whispered. “Let me see you.” His voice trembled with longing.

  Alexia squeezed his fingers, needing him to explain this, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. He was mesmerized. She needed him to look at her, just to look at her. Why couldn’t he tear his eyes away from the shrouded woman?

  Slender hands slid from beneath the cloak, her skin ivory smooth. The curve of her nails was like almonds, their edges chipped and dirty. She lifted her hood away.

  Short hair grazed her jaw, unevenly hacked off and white where it reflected lamplight, but dark at its roots. Pale skin turned upward, a pointed chin, a thin nose and high cheekbones. Lashes lifted, a wave of luminescence skittering across them.

  Jade eyes cut into Kiren.

  He extended his fingers, reaching for her—as though in a trance. His eyes were wide, his breathing shallow and quick. Yearning burst through their connection, a desperation that left Alexia leaning toward the woman. How did she have so strong a hold over him?

  Deiliey’s jaw tightened. “Do not look at me that way. I do not want your pity!”

  “This is not pity.” His Adams apple bobbed, a rush of emotion exploding behind his words. “This is love.”

  Alexia let go of him, her breath catching.

  Sixty-Seven

  The Other Love

  Bitter guilt and soothing relief pooled in Kiren’s mouth like curdled milk. The lamplight flickered odd shadows across the folds of Deiliey’s cloak, beveled with dark rivets, mysterious and lengthy, like her disappearance. How long had he believed, hoped, and yet feared she was dead?

  Alexia pulled away from him. He distantly registered the movement, but Deiliey stood before him. Deiliey! He ached to wipe the uncertainty from her gaze, to ease the tremble in her cheek. Time had not been good to her, robbing her face of its roundness and stealing the kindness from the lines of her mouth. He wished he could have protected her, that he could turn the clock back and start again.

  Deiliey backed away a step, her eyes squeezing. Her shoulders rolled back.

  And there it was in her stare and the smoothing of all expression—blankness, apathy. She didn’t care. His emotions had failed to reach her once again. His toes bit into his boots, the muscles in his back and legs taut.

  “It is time, Kiren.”

  He flinched. He didn’t know which hurt worse, the way she spat his name, or the dread of her insinuation. It couldn’t be time. Not yet. There were still things undone, events that must take place.

  Alexia covered her mouth.

  “You are wrong,” Kiren grated through clenched teeth.

  Deiliey’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Have you ever known me to be wrong?”

  “Yes.”

  Her fists balled. He dove into her gaze and reached for her thoughts. The Vatican hall reared up in her memory. She cringed, wearing nothing but her revealing chemise, her womanly shape exposed. Bishops and priests stood, their jaws dangling as they worked to fathom how this woman had fooled them all for decades, her stolen robes drooping from Kiren’s hand. She couldn’t breathe. They would kill her—worse—for this betrayal. He had taken everything from her! His brow furrowed. I am sorry, he had mouthed, but she didn’t believe him.

  Deiliey blinked. “You left me for dead.”

  Alexia gasped. Kiren half turned her direction, speaking to them both, “I allowed you to escape.”

  Deiliey’s lip twitched upward. “Shall I return that favor? Is your life worth so much more than mine?”

  “Corona—”

  “Tell me!” she shouted, grabbing his suit coat, her face inches from his. A hint of apple blossoms rolled over him, almost masked by the earthy fibers of her covering.

  Kiren closed his eyes. He wanted to confess how deeply he regretted his actions every day, how much he loved and feared her, how thoroughly he realized he had failed her. But the truth—after he had banished her for the good of the Passionate—would make no difference in how she hated him.

  Her breath raged hot across his cheek.

  “I am sorry,” he whispered. The hollow echo of his words filled his ears—like the gaping emptiness within her that he could never fill.

  Sixty-Eight

  Corona Deiliey

  A hand clamped down over Alexia’s shoulder. Searing fingers bit into her. Hisses clacked about her.

  Blackness swooped in. Fiends crooned, ivory nails gleaming murderously down.

  “No!” Deiliey’s cry echoed through the cavern.

  The creatures screamed in unison, falling back like dominos. One plunked into the black water outside the door, another crumpled against the wall, a third tumbled to the floor. Alexia uncovered her head.

  The woman stormed toward her, burlap robes swooshing around her feet. Short, dark hair fell across her cheeks, pale skin ghostly, crimson eyes a bonfire in her ethereal complexion.

  Crimson? They had been green but a moment ago.

  Kiren lay on the floor across from her, clasping his temples, eyes squeezed tight.

  Alexia gasped and pressed backward. The woman halted over her, glaring at the fallen creatures. They groveled and slunk away, disappearing into the shadows.

  Who was Deiliey? The queen of the Soulless? And more importantly, if she was so powerful, why had she not harmed Alexia? Wasn’t she Kiren’s past lover? How could he have lied to her all this time?

  No decaying stench wafted from the woman, rather a pleasant spring pollen mixed with dirt. Her face and hands were smooth and perfect, no e
xposed bones. Deiliey reached down and caught Alexia’s arm, tugging her forward.

  Alexia stumbled. Her rescuer dragged her across the cavern and Alexia wanted to resist, but she already planned to jump back in time and prevent Kiren from being harmed. Curiosity kept her moving.

  Deiliey snapped and one of the Soulless grabbed Alexia’s other arm and shoved her into the adjacent room. In the center stood a stone pedestal, like a lonely, gray finger. Dull links glimmered atop it, leading to a diamond-like wedge of metal.

  There it sat, a simple pewter face that called their world to war.

  Deiliey pushed the door closed. They occupied darkness alone, except for a faint light that emanated off the necklace.

  The woman’s eyes pierced Alexia’s. They were all that existed, those vibrant, ruby circles, rings of eternity, lucid promises of joy and pain. They didn’t hunger, but promised to feed her hunger. They didn’t ache, but promised to soothe her suffering. They were everything she could ever want, the promise of forever, the hope of a million lifetimes all wrapped into one.

  “Welcome, Alexia Dumont, to the inner sanctum of the accursed.”

  Alexia couldn’t think beyond the promise in those wide eyes: the hue of violent roses at full bloom, the blush of ripe strawberries, the color of life.

  “You will not fight us.”

  Of course she wouldn’t. Why would she do such a silly thing while everything she could desire was within arm’s reach?

  Or was it?

  She frowned, certain something was missing, but what? Or whom?

  Those eyes crushed down over her, like a barrel of burning coals, erasing all but the fire. It seared into her brain—flaming fingers that slithered, gripped, and tore.

  She screamed, eyes flying shut.

  Blackness.

  Stone pressed against her cheek.

  “Very well done, Alexia.”

  She lifted her head. The woman sat next to her, fingers curling and uncurling like she wanted to reach out. Why? To further torment her? To prove her superiority? To prove once and for all that Alexia didn’t deserve Kiren?