by Tigris Eden
Unable to lift her head, she couldn’t even respond, everything was heavy and limp. Darkness took her. Sucking her into a complete void. It was soft, warm, and smelled like wet earth and wood long after the fire had turned it to ash. It surrounded her, shielded her from the flames, and the pain immediately ebbed, zapping her of what little energy she had left. She could still hear voices. People were speaking in that strange language. Just like the man who’d visited her in the past. Two males were arguing over the state of her well-being. One clearly wanted her dead. The other argued about taking her to someone called Feur. Feur. The name sounded familiar—like she should know whom it was—but her mind couldn’t reach far enough into her memory to pull the knowledge free.
The one who wanted to take her to Feur sounded like Bael. Abrihet didn’t know whom the other voice belonged to, but he was adamant that someone named Baylor would want her dead.
“You should have left her to die. The entire purpose of her going in the fire was to claim her life. Why do you think I did what I did? I called out to her. Made her think there were others in danger.” “It’s not your place to pass judgment, Eckard.”
“She’s an abomination.”
Me? Why?
She didn’t understand why they felt that way about her, or why her life even mattered to them. But she was pissed the bastard called Eckard thought to trick her. She’d thought people’s lives were at stake.
“Don’t you think I know that,” growled the male that sounded like Bael.
Abrihet tried to swallow but failed. Testing her throat again, blood seeped from the sides of her mouth as she choked.
Neither man cared, or at least they ignored her as if they didn’t. She was held awkwardly, half-cradled in strong arms. The steady heartbeat of her rescuer was the only thing that kept her from succumbing to total darkness. Abrihet couldn’t see the other guy at all. She also couldn’t remember leaving the building. When did we leave? How did we leave? The only thing she remembered was him—whoever he was—telling her that he would get her out. How was it the could even be in the fire and not harmed?
Maybe he’s like me.
Even if that were true, he’d have to be in pain as she was. That was no ordinary fire.
Abrihet couldn’t control her body’s functions at all. It was like her brain wasn’t connected. She existed, but only in the sense that she was aware of what was going on around her. She tried to open her eyes, but couldn’t. Blackness surrounded her. Only darkness.
“Baylor is going to want to see you first thing,” the male—Eckard? —stated.
“Let me put her in my room first.”
“Why your room? Take her where the others are kept.”
“Leave it, Eckard.”
Abrihet listened intently. She could tell that the two men went their separate ways, but she still couldn’t see anything. Her eyes wouldn’t open, or if they were, she was in complete darkness. Her lids weren’t cooperating with her brain’s commands. Open your eyes. Open. Your. Eyes.
Nothing happened for a handful of seconds. Her body lay on something that felt threadbare, almost like an overused futon. Light filtered through the darkness behind her eyelids, and Abrihet tried to open her eyes again. This time, she was able to, and when she took in the sights around her, her mouth opened in a silent scream. Nothing came out—no sound—but if it had, she knew it would have been ear splitting.
A creature was standing in front of her with glistening, red skin and black markings. His entire face was a series of harsh lines outlined in what looked like black kohl. Like he was wearing war paint of some kind. His lips were black, even his horns were black. But his eyes were a brilliant amber. The man—or creature—in front of her wasn’t Bael at all. It was something else. A demon. Or monster. It stood over Abrihet, peering down with an intense look in its eyes. Behind it, shadows rose against a reddish-brown wall. Wings. His wings. Dear mother of God. Where am I?
As if he had a front-row seat to her mind, he answered her question. “You’re in hell, Abrihet. What we call Wraith. Welcome.”
Chapter 3
There are dreams, and then there are nightmares. Abrihet was staring in her own beautiful nightmare. Only she could make hell look so inviting. With the exception of the demonic figure, everything else was gorgeous. It was like she was inside some cliffside fortress. She could hear waves hitting a rock wall. It was almost calming. The fixtures inside the demon Bael’s room were simple but still amazing. A hand-carved table with a detailed scene out of a history book painted on its surface was off in one corner with a matching chair. It looked almost like the painting above the Sistine Chapel, only the creation scene was something out of gothic horror movie. Creatures of all kinds in different poses, carnal acts, and violent wars decorated the legs of the furniture. There was low, recessed lighting in the ceiling, but it wasn’t electrical. It was something she couldn’t explain. There were murals on the ceiling as well as the walls. A complete story told in art, and as she tried to decipher its meaning, she caught a delicious aroma.
The reddish-brown walls next to her head smelled spicy, almost like cinnamon and nutmeg with a hint of dark chocolate. It felt weird to associate hell with a bakery, but that’s what it smelled like to her. A decadent kind of sweet with chocolate, buttercream frosting, and vanilla. She had the strangest desire to lick the walls—if her body would obey her commands.
Abrihet could hear others outside the door. Someone was pissed and insisting that they dispose of her right away. She instinctively knew that didn’t mean they would take her back home. She wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t understand what it was the voice was implying. To put it simply, he wanted her dead. Pulling in a deep breath, Abrihet went through what options were available to her. You’re in hell. There aren’t many places to go. Home, she could go home. But how?
Thoughts jumbled, she pulled in another breath and froze. Shouldn’t hell be hot, or maybe even cold? Or at the very least smell like sulfur? She’d heard those particular descriptions when others spoke of hell. She’d heard it was a frozen tundra, or that fire erupted from the deepest of volcanoes. In Ethiopia, an active volcano in the badlands called Erta Ale, or Irta’ale— ‘smoking mountain’—thought to be a gateway to hell.
Abrihet didn’t know if it was true or not. But if she were, in fact, really in hell, then she was in deep shit. Her mom was found on the edges of the lava lake as a young girl. It was in the Caldera, where Abrihet’s father had found her mother. Some said it was a whirlwind romance, and then the night before she was born, her father left without saying goodbye. Her mother had never gotten over it.
“He has a right to see her,” Demon Bael said.
His voice was so much like her sexy landlord. It was hard to ignore. Smooth, deep, and there was a slight rasp to it. It had Abrihet thinking of what his voice would sound like against the shell of her ear, or on the side of her neck. She didn’t understand the sudden pull to her demon neighbor. Was he her rescuer? Why had he brought her here? How had he brought her here? I was sent here as punishment for Sara’s death... That had to be it. That had to be the reason. What else could it be? But one thing was clear– she wasn’t dead, and this wasn’t a dream, so, then, all the things she was hearing and witnessing were, in fact, real. Very real.
Shit.
“He has no right. He lost all rights when hooked up with her mother. A female that tricked him, or do I need to remind you of that? She has no place here among our kind. She will not be accepted,” another male voice—the one Bael had called Eckard—said.
“Says who?” Bael responded.
“I do.” She didn’t know who’d said the last part, but it wasn’t Bael, and it wasn’t the guy who wanted her dead.
“Baylor, she is the light. My light. From my Telling. I know she seems child-like, but she is mine, and is of age.”
“Did you get too much sun while you were in Terra, Bael? Have you lost your mind? She is not the light.”
Well that answ
ered her question. It had been Bael who rescued her. And really? A child? I’m twenty-four years old, ass munch. Hardly a child. And what was this shit about being of age? Or her being Bael’s light? She hoped the fuck not, even if she didn’t know what that meant. She didn’t want any part of that, no matter what it was. What she wanted to do was go back home. Letting out a petulant sniff, she tensed when the door to her would-be jailor’s room opened. Three very tall, and very muscled men stepped through the opening. They didn’t come in all at the same time, or maybe they did, and Abrihet’s mind was still in freak-out mode because it looked as if the door actually adjusted to their size. The space inside the room shrank as their massive forms took up space. All three men crowded her. Two of them looked at her as if she were the scum beneath their feet. The other, the one that slightly resembled Bael but wasn’t—was it? —didn’t look at her. His arms were crossed, and he was looking at the male that was the tallest of the three.
“I see no light. She is not the one,” the tallest said.
Abrihet was about to argue with them when she noticed she was naked. As in, butt-ass naked.
“I am the only one who can see her light. No other. She only reveals her true self to me, Baylor.”
“Reveal my true self? Just hold the fuck on. What are you going on about?” Her voice was scratchy but she knew they heard her.
How much more did she need to reveal? I’m fucking naked.… She should have asked for clothing, instead, she used the threadbare blanket. She pulled it to her chest and was stunned for a moment. Her body was completely healed. Not a scratch or mark on her. Don’t think about that. Address the issue at hand.
“So, you guys are trying to kill me?” Her voice was strong and cocky. Even if this weren’t a dream, and was, in fact, a very fucked-up reality, she wasn’t about to let them get the upper hand.
Three pairs of dark eyes stared back at her in shock.
“She can understand us?” the one she thought might be Eckard asked incredulously. He was tall, his hair an interesting mix of silver and black with two black horns that stuck out from dark, curly locks. They sparked as if they were about to burst into flames. All of the males were bare from the chest up, their wings tucked behind them. And they all wore short, wrap-around kilts, belted at the waist with pleats gathered in the front. What time period are they from?
“Of course, I can understand you. Duh. You think I can get some clothes?” The men were half-naked, but she wasn’t about to put her body on display any longer.
“We’re not speaking English, girl. You speak our language. As to the clothes, you’re not worthy of clothing,” Eckard said.
“I don’t know about you, but where I come from, women are given respect, granted privacy. I would like some clothes. And while your language isn’t anything like English, yes, somehow I understand it. Get over it, Eckard.”
She looked to Bael, hoping he’d bring her some clothes. No such luck. All he did was raise a brow in her direction.
“She is my Luxa,” Bael said. Abrihet actually knew that word. Was very familiar with it, in fact. Her mother had called her that as a child. It was a term of endearment. Where did demon Bael get off calling her that?
“Don’t call me that. Only my mother called me that.”
His eyes raked over her as he stood bare-chested, arms still crossed.
“I will call you what I wish, Luxa.”
The other male, the taller one, had black hair spun through with orange. The sides had a dusting of white on them, like he was much older than the other two males. He took three steps, and then his large, meaty hand wrapped tightly around Abrihet’s throat. Cutting off her air completely, he pulled her to him. His face that was once calm transformed into a look of unfettered rage and hatred. “You will not speak to us, nor will you look at us. I despise your kind.” Seems Eckard isn’t the only one who wants me dead.
The air in her lungs was already failing, but when he tossed her body against the wall, Abrihet hoped the nightmare would be over, that she’d wake up—possibly screaming—in her sleep. But no such luck. Her body crumbled to the floor with a thud, and although there were spots clouding her vision, she was still in the room with three large males. Two of which were hell-bent on killing her. But as she lay there, two things happened.
Bael let out a mighty roar; one she was sure shook the ground she lay sprawled on. Then he charged the male who’d tossed her against the wall. Everything happened so fast, Abrihet wasn’t sure if what she was seeing was really happening. Bael’s hands went to the taller male’s neck, and he lifted him clean off the ground. The ceiling wasn’t all that high but, apparently, they were high enough to accommodate the move. He tossed the male away from him. The tall demon—Baylor? —went flying back into the opposite wall, smashing into the table and chair, but that wasn’t enough. No. Bael made him suffer as he repeatedly punched the other male while he lay slumped on the floor, bleeding from several wounds.
Abrihet didn’t understand what was happening, though it kind of looked like Bael was defending her. But if that were the case, why hadn’t he stopped Baylor from tossing her across the room in the first place?
“You will not touch her. You are not to even look at her. She will be the next queen, our Karaliene.”
Abrihet didn’t know what that meant, but Baylor didn’t like it, not one bit.
“I would see her dead before I let that happen, brother.”
Abrihet tried to rise but found that she couldn’t. Then, Bael was there, lifting her into his arms and gently placing her on the bed again.
“Rest, Luxa. Be still. It would be wise if you did not speak. Down here, things are different; allow your body the time to heal.
As if it were that easy. She felt like someone had taken a meat tenderizing hammer and bashed her body repeatedly until she was laid flat. She tried to open her eyes, tried to talk, but Bael kept telling her to be calm.
“What’s happening?” she finally croaked.
“Quiet, Abrihet. Rest.”
Then her eyes closed on their own, and she did exactly what demon Bael had told her to. She rested.
XXX
Bael dragged his brother out by his neck and tossed him into the hall.
“What you did was unnecessary.” Bael was trying to reason with Baylor. The female was his light, and even if he wished it were not so, it was. The Teller never made mistakes. She’d called it many years before. Half-Wraithian, half-Terran.
“You were supposed to kill her.”
“It is forbidden to kill our other halves. You would condemn me to an eternity of loneliness?”
Baylor didn’t say anything. Instead, he looked to Eckard.
“Eckard says she killed a human female. That right there is reason enough to end her. Even her own kind is not safe from her.”
She was only eight at the time, and it had been an accident. He’d done his homework. Or Ranore had.
“She was a child. None of it matters now. She is mine, and as such, she is my responsibility. He shouldn’t be explaining himself. He was the next in line to become the Mērjoslu. His brother didn’t know his place. Ultimately, it was up to Bael. Everything was.
“I don’t deal in kindness. I deal in punishment and death. Do you have any idea what will happen if Braxus finds her here?” Baylor pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want her scaring the others.”
“Scaring the others? Are you serious? She’s the one who will be frightened. She is the one who will need to adjust to our ways.”
“Yeah, you think? What about Nars or Blex? I don’t want the girls upset.”
Bael’s nieces were a lot tougher than their father gave them credit for.
“The girls will be fine. But I still think the first person to see Abrihet should be her father. At least give him that. He’s been going to the pools every day to atone for his actions.”
Baylor arched a brow. “I can’t allow that.”
“You can’t? Don’t forget who’s ne
xt in line. You may be older, but I’m heir to the throne, Baylor.”
His brother let out a large sigh, and they both turned when Abrihet started to moan.
“She’s waking up. Handle her.”
Bael gave a sharp nod. She was his responsibility and so much more. She was his light–his Luxa.
“When Father finds out, he’ll have you hung up by your entrails and allow your flesh to be peeled from your skin until you’re bled dry. Then who will sit on the throne, brother?”
“You let me handle Father.”
“How will you deal with me, Bael?”
Fuck.
His father, Braxus, stood next to Eckard. Ranore, Bael’s second-in-command, was there, as well. Braxus’s facial expression didn’t give anything away. His eyes were expressionless. His stance passive.
“Father, I have found my light. She is the one the Teller spoke of.”
“You will bring her to me. We will see if she is worthy of being Karaliene.”
“You can’t mean that, Father!” Baylor yelled, shocked.
“I am not going against the Telling. If what the Teller said is true, she and your brother will bring glory to our people, and bring great wealth to their dynasty.”
Bael stepped forward. “Father, she is injured.”
“Get her up and bring her to me!” his father roared, his cool façade easily slipping away. He had a habit of appearing calm when he seethed underneath. The tone of his voice said it all. He was livid.
Braxus turned and left the room. There was nothing left for Bael to do but bring the girl to his father, and she’d have to go on her own two feet. If he helped her, she’d be viewed as weak, and there was no place for weakness in Wraith. Only strength and sheer brutality would earn her respect. And maybe keep her safe.
Chapter 4
You’re in hell, find a way to deal with it. Being butt-ass naked in hell was a fucking travesty. Only hell didn’t look—or smell—anything like Abrihet had pictured. It wasn’t like she could get up and go looking around, either. Not after her confrontation with Baylor. What she should have been doing was screaming, howling, sniveling, maybe even whimpering. But she did none of those. She listened to what was going on around her and took in all the sounds she could. Confined to Bael’s room gave her time to think. He’d been sent to kill her. She’d gathered that much from his conversation with the others. But he hadn’t because she was his light. She needed to use that piece of information to her advantage. It obviously meant something big, and whatever a Karaliene was, she was going to be it. Eckard wanted her dead, Baylor hated her, and Bael’s father Braxus wanted an audience with her. Aren’t I Ms. Popular?