by Nikki McCoy
I’m no better than my father, he thought with frightening realization.
Laya wrung her hands nervously. “What I haven’t told Tailor yet is what happened when my mate and the other followers succeeded in the incantation. When the spell was performed on the fifth Ba’Kal and his spirit was ripped from his body, it didn’t die. You see, it wasn’t the spirit they needed, necessarily. It was the separation of the spirit from the man that released the power of the light in the Ba’Kal. When the man died, the spirit was forced to find a new home to avoid dying.”
She paused for long seconds, then said, “The spirit entered my womb and joined with you, Dhani. I think it was only able to do that because you were still unmolded and innocent. That’s why you’ve always felt two spirits inside of you when all other Ba’Kal have just one. The joining sent me into labor immediately and you were born a month premature.”
Dhani felt the blood drain from his face. He’d never told anyone about his second spirit, not even Keenan. He’d been too afraid of what it might mean. That he was abnormal, a freak. To him, however, his falcon had been as much a part of him as his leopard. They’d kept him sane during the torture and loneliness of his childhood.
Now his falcon was gone, perhaps forever. It was the piece of him Roh Se Kahn had taken in exchange for a part of his own soul. The perfect solution for the dark God. By leaving Dhani’s leopard inside him, no one would suspect he’d been changed. It was also what had given Roh Se Kahn the ability to send him back to the human realm.
Just as Dhani’s father had done, Roh Se Kahn had ripped Dhani’s second spirit from him and used the light from the separation to open a rift to the human realm. The dark God would’ve passed through himself if it were possible, but to create a large enough rift would have required the dormant light of several others, as the group of Roh Se Kahn’s followers had provided during the first incantation that had freed him.
Although Dhani had lost all communication with his spirits upon being dragged into the alternate realm, he’d felt the separation of his falcon keenly. It had almost driven him insane when Roh Se Kahn had performed the spell to send him back. After Dhani’s failed attempt at suicide, however, he’d had no choice except to deal with it.
Tailor creased his brow. “You have a second spirit? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Dhani took another drink and winced as the liquor scorched his dry throat.
“Because it’s hard being different,” Quinn replied for him, a note of sympathy in his voice. “You can be afraid of what others might think, even when you know they love you.”
Dhani nodded, surprised again at the way Quinn could read him so easily. He supposed they both had more in common than he’d originally thought. Quinn had been the Aucinthe. The one person in the world with the power to bring about the rebirth of the Bassen’kir. In a similar fashion, Dhani was the only Ba’Kal ever born with two spirits.
Quinn then turned an accusatory glare on Tailor. “And you weren’t exactly the most receptive person when you met him.”
Tailor twisted his lips wryly. “I was an asshole.”
Quinn snorted his agreement.
“That’s not all,” Laya cut in. She looked from Tailor to Dhani and back again, then said slowly, “The fifth Ba’Kal my mate used for the spell, the man whose spirit entered my son”—she took a hesitant breath—“his name was Dominic.”
Silence filled the room. Dhani frowned in confusion at the significance of that name. It was oddly familiar. Then it hit him, and the room seemed to tilt around him. Nausea rolled through his stomach as he turned to look at his mate in horror.
His second spirit had belonged to Tailor’s first mate.
Tailor’s skin turned ashen and his muscles strained with tension. There was no emotion in his energy or on his face. Nothing to portray what he was feeling.
No one moved or said a word until Tailor rose stiffly and left the room. Dhani flinched when he heard the front door open and close. His mind was blank at first, trying to grasp the concept of what he’d just been told.
He carried, or had carried, the spirit of the man who’d originally been chosen by Miel Se Luuda to be Tailor’s mate. He’d never been meant for Tailor after all. They were only tied together because of some sick twist of fate. A cruel joke devised by the Mother to give them both the fantasy of happiness.
It wasn’t real. None of it had ever been real. Tailor’s attraction to him had only been the call of Dominic’s spirit reaching out to him through Dhani. Once again, his life had wrapped him up in another lie.
First, his mother had faked her own death to get rid of him. Then, when he and Keenan had been rescued from the rogue Vam’kir, he’d thought things could only get better, only to be sucked into an alternate realm by Roh Se Kahn to save his friend’s life. Now, he was learning that the connection between him and his mate had nothing to do with him at all. On top of everything, he had no right to be there. Evil dwelled inside him and he’d been hiding it from the start.
He was nothing more than a minion. A living lie.
He looked around at the faces staring back at him, all holding a mixture of disbelief and pity. It was more than he could handle.
Barely reining in the sobs suffocating him, he ran from the room and took the stairs two at a time to his bedroom. He slammed the door behind him then went to the closet and began rummaging through the boxes on the top shelf. It was there somewhere. It had to be. He’d seen it before when he’d been going through the clothes Tailor had bought for him.
Hastily, he swiped at the blurring moisture in his eyes, growling in frustration. He had to do this. It had to be possible. The universe had no right to demand that someone should live with so much pain. The mounting pressure in his chest threatened to rip his heart apart, unable to contain the agony.
His hands shook violently as he reached for the last box on the shelf. Twin sparks of electricity bolted from his palms, exploding the box before he could grab it. Bits of cardboard rained down around him and the heavy objects inside clattered to the floor. One was the leather-hilted dagger he’d found two days ago.
He snatched it up then went to stand in front of the dresser mirror. His hair was almost completely white now and streaks of tears stained his flushed cheeks.
He was an abomination. The darkness in him was beating against his will, trying to drown him. When he’d been sent back to this realm, his only hope, the only thing that had taken away his despair, was the thought of seeing Tailor again. All he’d wanted was to find that brief moment of happiness he’d been searching for his entire life.
But Tailor wasn’t his anymore. He never had been. The dream Dhani had been clinging to was still just that—a dream. Without Tailor, there wasn’t any reason to keep fighting.
At the same time, though, he couldn’t simply give himself over to the dark God. He refused to be the instrument of Tailor’s destruction.
Dhani gripped the dagger in both hands and pressed the tip to his chest. He took one last breath then jerked the blade toward him with all his strength. It nicked his shirt before it flew out of his hands and embedded itself into the nearest wall.
Waves of anguish crashed into him and he let out a wild scream, punching the mirror in front of him. He turned and sank down, his back hitting the dresser. The sobs he’d held in came pouring out beyond his control. His mind raged at the injustice of his life. How could he be so damned? How could he have been such a fool, striving to live through so many obstacles only to be the tool used to carry out Roh Se Kahn’s plans of genocide?
He wept until there were no more tears left in him. Eventually, his thoughts emptied and his mind went blank, eyes staring into nothingness. When the door opened, he didn’t have the energy to move or even blink.
Quinn appeared in front of him and sat down. His face was grim, though Dhani couldn’t muster the curiosity to figure out why. Quinn then poured liquid onto a cotton swab and daubed it over the knuckles on one of Dhani’s hands. It stung,
but the pain was distant. Through his peripheral vision, he watched as Quinn wrapped his hand in gauze then moved to sit beside him.
He didn’t resist when his head was pulled down to rest on Quinn’s shoulder. His body felt numb, like the shell it had been in the alternate realm. Faraway words sounded in his ears, murmured softly in gentle voices. He didn’t recognize any of them, but they didn’t matter. His eyes closed as the heavy weight of exhaustion bore down on him and he surrendered willingly to it.
A single thought entered his mind just before sleep overcame him. A simple thought. A prayer for death.
Chapter Eight
The silver cast of the moon drew deep shadows from the forest around Tailor. He lifted his eagle’s head to the slight breeze, listening to the rustle of nature and breathing it in to clear his thoughts. Ahead of him, a dim light shone through the lace curtains of his mate’s bedroom window on the second floor of his cabin. He stared at it, hoping to catch a glimpse of Dhani.
When he’d left the cabin, he had shifted immediately and taken to the skies, his only thought to get away from the confusion and turmoil of his emotions. After years of being forced to suppress them, he still had a hard time processing them. He hadn’t been prepared to take in the revelation Laya had disclosed. His mind was still trying to make sense of the situation.
From the beginning, he’d known there had to be a reason why he’d been given a second mate. Another chance at happiness. Come to find out it wasn’t a second chance at all, but a new beginning with his first chance.
The intricacies of it all made his head hurt, but in the hour he’d spent flying, searching for reason in the absurdity of the situation, one thing had become clear. He was tied irrevocably to Dhani.
A shadow blacker than the night drifted out from the tree line and he grudgingly flew down from the branch he was perched on. He took back his human form at the same time Manning shifted from his panther spirit and met his gaze. Manning held two swords in his hands and tossed one to Tailor.
Tailor caught it by the hilt, curving his lips in a private smile at the fact that his friend knew him so well. The temptation to work out his anger and confusion as he always had—in combat—was strong. However, it wasn’t what he needed this time. He drove the blade into the cold ground. “How did she know?”
Manning didn’t need an explanation for the question. Tailor knew his friend wouldn’t have left without getting every unsaid piece of information from Laya, just as he would have if their roles had been reversed.
Manning pushed his own sword into the ground. “She researched you before she went looking for you. Found out the spirit that had entered Dhani had belonged to your first mate. She was able to come to her own conclusion that you two were mates because of that spirit.”
Tailor nodded. It changed nothing. His thoughts were still reeling in confusion and the pain in his chest only grew stronger.
“Do you want him?”
“What?”
“Do you want him?” Manning repeated. “Dhani. Do you still think of him as your mate?”
The question took Tailor by surprise. It was so far from the subject his thoughts had been circling around that it took him a moment to answer. Yet, it had everything to do with the problem he faced. In a ragged voice, he said, “I love him.”
“Then why are you out here instead of in there with him?”
Tailor raked a hand through his hair and turned his back to Manning. “It doesn’t matter to me that Dhani has Dominic’s spirit. I mean, yeah, it matters. It explains a lot, but it’s not the only reason I fell in love with him. Dhani is…mine. He’s the kind of person that makes me feel like the luckiest bastard on earth just for knowing him. He was willing to love me even after I hurt him. Hell, he sacrificed himself to save a friend. I can’t imagine my life without him. Again.”
“So what’s the deal?”
Tailor whirled around, his hands balled into fists and teeth clenched. “Don’t you get it? I didn’t just kill Dominic. I served him up on a silver platter. When I led that group of Vam’kir into our community, I thought I’d been responsible for his death. Fuck, it would’ve been preferable!”
He laughed almost hysterically. “Only he wasn’t killed. He was taken and used for a spell that ripped him apart to free our enemy. I should’ve been there to protect him! I should’ve looked for him when I couldn’t find his body. All these years, I’ve blamed myself for his murder when I should have searched for him. He suffered a fate worse than death because I was too consumed with grief to remember one of the first rules my father taught me! Never believe without proof.”
He spat out the last words, nearly retching over the foul taste they left in his mouth.
Manning’s expression remained impassive. “You couldn’t have known.”
“No? No? I searched for Dhani, didn’t I? I chased after the impossible, knowing I had about the same chance of finding him as a neutered squirrel has of busting a nut.”
Manning furrowed his brow. “What?”
“The point is…I found him. I never gave up on him. Where the hell was I when Dominic was taken?” he shouted. The rage and self-hatred he’d felt when Laya had revealed the truth came rushing to the surface, so strong he couldn’t see straight.
“All our lives,” Manning ground out, “I’ve seen you follow meekly in the steps of your father. You were like a dog begging for scraps, doing anything to please a man who could never be satisfied. He beat the shit out of you on a daily basis and you just stayed there and took it every time. The first time I’ve seen you do anything for yourself was the day you met Dominic. Then Dhani came along and gave your life meaning again.
“Tell me you want to throw him away just because you can’t get over your past. Tell me he’s not worth your pride and I’ll put you out of your misery right now.”
Fury consumed Tailor and he lunged for Manning, rearing back to throw a punch. Manning dodged it then wrestled him to the ground. They went at each other viciously until Tailor pinned him down and raised a fist to strike him. Manning caught it in his palm before it could hit his jaw, meeting Tailor’s gaze with the same ferocity. “We can go at this all night. It wouldn’t be the first time, but I’m not the one you should be focusing on.”
Tailor vibrated with the emotions flooding him. There was so much guilt and shame crushing in on him, tearing him apart, he didn’t know how to take back control. It was only the hard tolerance on Manning’s face that brought him back to awareness.
He fell into a sitting position at Manning’s side and dug his elbows into his knees, burying his head in his hands. Tears stung his eyes for the second time in his life. The only other time he’d cried had been after losing Dominic.
Manning sat up and spoke in a low voice. “I’ve lost a lot of friends and good men in the battles we’ve had to fight. I don’t want to lose another. Dhani needs you as much as you need him. So quit dickin’ around and show him that you love him.”
Tailor laughed on an exhale and dried his eyes. Manning was right. He had more important things to do than wallow in self-pity. He stood and clasped Manning’s hand to pull him up. “I really hate you sometimes.”
Manning grinned. “Shut up and go to your mate.”
Inside, they found Cy standing at the foot of the stairs with his arms crossed and an implacable expression on his face. Laya was arguing with him and apparently getting nowhere.
“I have a right to see my son. Now get out of my way,” she demanded.
“Not ‘til my man says it’s okay.”
“He’s not even here!”
“I am now,” Tailor said as he strode toward them. He clapped Cy on the shoulder in thanks then turned to face Laya. While he believed she had the best intentions for her son, he didn’t want to deal with her yet, and he doubted Dhani wanted to either. “Take one of the spare rooms down the hall. I’ll let you stay here only on the promise that you give Dhani space until he’s ready to talk to you again.”
She gl
ared defiantly. “I’m his mother.”
“And I’m the one he trusts,” he said, meeting her defiance evenly. “Take the offer or get out.”
Her lips pursed in indecision, though she didn’t argue further. Instead, she walked stiffly down the hall he’d indicated and chose one of the bedrooms.
Manning went upstairs with Tailor. In Dhani’s room, Tailor looked around in alarm at the mess. The closet had been ransacked and bits of a cardboard box lay scattered over thrown paraphernalia, as if it had exploded from the inside. Tailor recognized the box as the one he’d stored a few old daggers in and found one of them embedded in the wall next to the closet door.
The contents on top of the dresser had been knocked to the floor and the mirror was shattered. Splatters of blood painted the shards in the center and the few that had fallen down. Leaning against the dresser on the floor was Quinn, fast asleep with one hand in Dhani’s hair. Dhani was also asleep, lying with his head in Quinn’s lap and his thin body curled into a ball.
Tailor noticed cotton swabs and a bottle of peroxide beside them before he saw the bandage covering the knuckles on one of Dhani’s hands. Blood had seeped through the bandage and dripped onto the floor at Quinn’s knee. Tailor shook his head, almost afraid to ask. “What the hell happened in here?”
Manning shrugged. “We heard him banging around up here, then he screamed. We found him like this, collapsed on the floor with his knuckles bleeding. I think he tried to use that knife on himself and got pissed when he couldn’t go through with it.”
Another wave of guilt hit Tailor. He should’ve been here. He never should’ve left Dhani alone. Still, it didn’t feel right. The Dhani he knew wouldn’t have resorted to suicide, no matter how bad things seemed. Roh Se Kahn had changed him, of that there was no doubt, but they hadn’t been discussing Dhani’s time with the dark God. They’d been talking about Dominic’s spirit and the new home it had found in Dhani.