Hunt the Darkness (Order of the Blade Book 11)

by Stephanie Rowe

“You’re supposed to be a hero,” the old man said. “It’s your birthright.”

  “My birthright?” Vlad glanced at his tablemate. There was something in his eyes, something knowing, something Vlad was sure he’d seen before. “I do know you.” It wasn’t a question this time. “From a long time ago.” But he couldn’t place him.

  A pleased smile stretched across the weathered face. “Yes.”

  He offered no more explanation, but before Vlad could ask, another shout jerked his attention back to the street. He turned sharply, and he saw the kid’s wheels hit the broken sidewalk. The skateboard flipped, and the youth went careening through the air, heading straight into the street, into the path of an oncoming garbage truck. “Stupid kid.” Vlad jerked his index finger at the boy. The youth stopped in midair, and then tumbled backwards, landing softly on the sidewalk next to his board while the truck rumbled past, oblivious.

  “You’re not a hero?” the old man said, nodding at Vlad’s extended finger.

  He closed his hand into a fist. “What do you want?”

  The man leaned forward. “Prince Vladimir, your time has come.”

  Vlad stared at him, shocked by the use of the title he’d abandoned so long ago, by the reminder of the world that had betrayed him on so many levels. “What did you just call me?”

  “Prince Vladimir.” The old man leaned forward. “Surely you remember your kingdom’s magi?” He held out his hands. “Sir Anton Nikolov, at your service.”

  For a split second, Vlad was too stunned to react. Pain struck deep and hard as he stared into the eyes of the magi who had magically bound him to Sophie when they were married. The magi had been younger then, still spry and agile, not the old man he’d become. For a split second, Vlad was back in that moment. He could see the freckles on Sophie’s cheeks, her blue eyes gazing at him with such hope and trust, and her trademark sparkle. He could feel the power swelling through him as he’d sworn his life to her, to his friend, to a girl he’d never kissed romantically in his life, but was still willing to promise forever to.

  “You remember.” Sir Anton smiled, but Vlad felt like he was free-falling into the past, into hell, into the horrors he’d worked so hard to survive.

  Images of the childhood he’d worked so hard to forget tumbled through his mind. Of Sophie. Of his parents. Of hers. Of the crown Vlad had destroyed after that God-forsaken night. Of Sir Anton, Vlad’s magical tutor and mentor, who Vlad had seen riding into the mountains on his horse the night all hell had broken loose. “You could have helped,” Vlad snapped. “You could have used your magic to save her, but you left. You walked away.”

  Sir Anton raised his grizzled eyebrows. “She was your responsibility, not mine.”

  “What the fuck? Seriously? I was sixteen, and I had no idea how to use my powers. Your job was to train me—” At Sir Anton’s serene expression, Vlad slammed his mouth shut against the rage that wanted to spew out of him. Fuck yelling at the old man. He’d hated him for so many years, he didn’t have the energy to hate him to his face, not now that he was just an old, withered man. Regrets and blame wouldn’t change the past. He took a deep breath. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  He tossed a twenty on the table to pay for his beer, then he stood up and strode away, emotions raging through him so violently he could barely make it across the deck. He fisted his hands, fighting to blank his mind, to shove aside the emotions that haunted him every second of his life.

  His boots thudded on the steps, and he strode over to his Harley, which was parked illegally right in front of the cafe. He swung his leg over the seat, then froze when he saw Sir Anton standing in front of him, blocking his path.

  “Get out of my way,” Vlad snarled, not even caring how the old man had beaten him to the bike.

  Sir Anton put his hands on Vlad’s handlebars. “She needs your help.”

  Vlad didn’t care who Sir Anton was talking about. There was no way he was in the mood right now to go save some kid that Sir Anton wanted rescued, someone the old man had decided not to save himself. “I don’t help anyone. Ever.”

  “Look at your finger.”

  Vlad didn’t even acknowledge the command. He just punched the ignition button on his bike…but nothing happened. His bike, which he kept in meticulous condition, didn’t start. Anger fermented through him, and he glared at the man gripping his handlebars. “Get your magic out of my bike,” he snapped.

  “Look at your finger,” Sir Anton repeated.

  Scowling, Vlad held up his index finger, the one he used for magic. “Looks fine.”

  “Not that one.”

  For a moment, Vlad had no idea what the old geezer meant, and then, suddenly, awareness dawned on him. The old man was staring at Vlad’s left hand, at his wedding band from his marriage to Sophie. Vlad gritted his teeth, refusing to look down at the ring he’d never taken off.

  The day they’d been married, his wedding band had been a glistening gold. She’d gone back to her kingdom that night, to pack her belongings so they could run away together…and she’d never returned, because that was the night her parents had murdered her.

  The moment Sophie had died; his wedding ring had turned from gold to black. Over the years, it had faded to a dull gray. He was afraid if he stopped thinking about her, the ring would disappear completely, and he’d lose what little connection he still had to her. The ring was his connection to her, and he wasn’t about to let Sir Anton threaten it. “Fuck off.”

  Sir Anton leaned forward, his blue gaze piercing. “Look at the ring. Now.”

  The command seemed to reach inside Vlad, jerking him from his stubbornness. Instinctively, his gaze slid downwards to his hand. It looked the same as always. Dull gray. “So what?”

  “Wait.”

  Vlad gritted his teeth in irritation, but just as he was taking his gaze off it…it changed. For a split second, he was too stunned to register what he was seeing. The ring was no longer a dull gray. It was a turbulent purplish-black, like the oceans of hell had come to life on his finger. Pain surged through his hand, and he realized it was burning him, searing his flesh as if it was melting through his skin. In the hours before Sophie had died, when death had been looming, the ring had turned that color and burned his hand.

  Just like this.

  He jerked his gaze off the ring and looked at Sir Anton. “That’s why you’re here. You know why my ring is doing that. Tell me.”

  “Princess Sophie isn’t dead. She’s in grave danger. She needs your help.”

  Chapter 2

  For a split second, hope leapt through Vlad, a violent, almost unbearable hope that Sophie was still alive, that he would see her, that he could have a second chance—

  Fuck. No. It was a lie.

  Sophie was dead. He knew it. He’d seen her die.

  The old man was playing a trick on him. Anger churned through Vlad, and he leaned forward, putting his face right up to the old man’s. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice dark and ominous. “Sophie’s dead. I know she’s dead, because after my parents tried to kill me, I went to find her. I arrived in time to see her parents hurl her into that pit of demon hell to try to save their precious kingdom. I heard her screams. I watched her slip out of my hands into that abyss. I watched my ring turn to black as she died.” He would never forget watching Sophie plummet to her death, screaming for him, her hand outstretched for his.

  His name had been the last word she’d ever spoken. In the face of death, she’d called to him…and he’d failed her.

  Sir Anton began to laugh, a pitying, cynical laugh. “Is that what you thought all these years? That your black ring meant Sophie was dead?” He slapped Vlad’s face, his palm stinging with surprising force. “You stupid punk. The black meant she was suffering. The gray meant her suffering had lessened somewhat. If she were dead, the ring would have disappeared.”

  Vlad felt himself blanch. “What?”

  “Yes, you fool. The purple and black colors mean terrible, terrible t
hings are happening to her. She’s in trouble, Prince Vladimir, and you’re the one who is supposed to help her. You were bound to her by magic, by a ring that connects you both until you die.”

  Until death do you part. He remembered the words. But he hadn’t realized…he hadn’t understood… “The ring…” He could barely say the words. “It would have vanished if she were dead?”

  “Yes. The bond was until death. If you’ve still got a ring, you’ve still got life.”

  “Jesus.” Vlad was paralyzed by the news. “Sophie’s alive? She’s been alive this whole time? She’s been suffering?” The world began to spin, a thousand stabs of guilt and horror hurtling through his body. He felt sick, almost violently ill at the depths of his betrayal. He’d been carrying her call for help on his hand all this time, and he’d ignored it? He’d run around hating everyone on the fucking planet, while she’d been in hell?

  He’d seen her fall into the pit. He’d watched the chasm slam shut, cutting him off from her. He’d felt his connection to her die, severed by death, leaving behind nothing but a gaping emptiness that she had once filled.

  But she hadn’t died? She’d survived? But how? Where? He grabbed the front of the old man’s cape. “Where is she? Don’t tell me she’s been with the demons this whole time.” His entire body tensed as the words left his mouth, as the possibility loomed before him. No, it was impossible. Impossible.

  Sir Anton raised his eyebrows. “She’s been with the demons this whole time.”

  “What?” Vlad felt like he’d been sucker punched in the gut, and he gripped the magi’s cape more tightly. “You knew? All this time, you knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Sir Anton shimmered slightly, and suddenly Vlad wasn’t holding onto his cape anymore. The old man had moved six inches backward, just out of Vlad’s reach. “You weren’t ready.”

  “I wasn’t ready? What the fuck?” Sweat beaded on Vlad’s brow and he gripped his handlebars, struggling to grasp the enormity of the situation. He bowed his head, fighting to regain his composure, to think, to stay in control of the situation. All the self-recrimination hammered at him, but he fought it off, knowing he had to stay focused. He had to find solutions, not self-hate. The time for hating himself would come later, after Sophie was safe. “Where is she? How do I find her?”

  There was no answer.

  He looked up.

  Sir Anton was gone.

  Swearing, Vlad jerked around in his seat, searching the crowds, but he was gone. “Hey!” He leapt off the bike and started running. “Come back! How do I find her?” He shoved his way through the crowds, searching for a black cape, but all he saw were shorts and tank tops, people dressed appropriately for the heat. “Anton!” He reached the end of the street, and his heart sank when he saw empty sidewalk stretching ahead of him. “Come back!” he bellowed.

  But the magi had vanished.

  Vlad looked down at his hand. The ring was churning violently, the purple and black now mixed with scarlet red droplets that looked like blood. Strength seemed to drain from his body, and he collapsed to his knees. “Sophie,” he whispered, his voice raw with anguish. “I’m so sorry.” The weight of his guilt was so heavy he could barely breathe. How had he not known she was still alive? How—

  No.

  No.

  No.

  He didn’t have time for that. He had to find her, and he had to do it fast. But how the hell was he supposed to find her?

  He shoved himself to his feet, struggling to find his balance as he stumbled over to his bike and swung his leg over the seat. He didn’t turn it on, though. He just sat there, the hot leather seat burning through his jeans while he fought to find answers about a world he hadn’t thought of in centuries. His parents were long dead. He had no idea if his kingdom was still there. Was that the place to start? To the abyss that had opened up and taken her?

  He let out his breath, replaying everything he could remember about that night. The demons. The smoke. The acrid stench of suffering and taint. The stoic expression on his mother’s face as she’d thrown him into a steaming pit of hell that he’d escaped only because of his magic. The same cold look on the visages of Sophie’s parents as they did the same thing to their daughter. The way that abyss had sealed itself, vanishing from sight as soon as Sophie had fallen into it.

  No, that wasn’t the place to start the search. That had been two hundred years ago, and the abyss had closed instantly. He’d clawed at the earth until his fingers were raw, trying to pry open the earth that had claimed Sophie. There had been no way in. The demons were long gone from there.

  But where were they now? Who knew demons? Who really knew demons? He didn’t have time for fake practitioners. He needed the real deal. He’d been so far removed from that world for so long, he didn’t even know where to start.

  Gritting his teeth, he closed his mind, his thoughts leaping across years as he scanned everything he knew, everyone he’d met, every experience he’d had. They flooded his mind like a movie in fast forward, tumbling through in perfect clarity—

  A face flashed through his mind, and he stopped, drilling down his focus. He recalled a man who had come to visit the kingdom just before the demon attack. He’d warned the royal family of the impending demon assault. He’d known it was coming, and he’d told Vlad’s parents how to protect themselves, not that they’d listened. Instead, they’d chosen to make a deal with the demons, to sacrifice their son for their kingdom’s safety. Who was the man who’d warned them? Who was the man who’d known about the demons?

  Vlad quieted his mind further, struggling to recall the man’s name, his face. He saw a shadowed brand on the man’s forearm in the shape of a spear. A Calydon, one of the immortal warriors created from demon blood thousands of years ago. The name flashed in his mind, and his memory flooded back. The man had been named Dante Sinclair.

  Vlad’s eyes flew open, stunned by the memory he’d shut out for so long. He’d run into Dante again recently, less than a decade ago, but hadn’t recognized him from his youth. He’d helped Dante track some rogue Calydon warriors in the Oregon high desert…until the rest of Dante’s team had showed up, and Vlad had learned what they were all about.

  Dante hadn’t simply been a badass warrior. He’d been the leader of the Order of the Blade, a band of elite Calydon warriors who protected innocents from rogue Calydons. The Order was a group of self-proclaimed heroes who were willing to fuck over the innocent in the name of duty, just like his parents, and Sophie’s.

  The moment Vlad had learned that Dante and his crew believed in sacrificing one to save thousands, he’d withdrawn his aid. After the betrayal by his parents, Vlad had zero tolerance for pretentious self-proclaimed heroes who used their mantle to hide the fact that they sought only glory and power at the expense of the weak.

  He’d rescued the rogue from the Order, and then trapped the team in a mountain of boulders that he’d known would take them days to dig out from under. He’d abandoned them, once again reminded of the bitter nature of humanity. Glory in the name of sacrifice was all a bunch of crap.

  He hadn’t bothered to waste energy remembering them…until now. Calydons had demon heritage, and Dante Sinclair was rumored to have a mansion in Oregon, over two thousand miles away.

  They probably hadn’t forgotten that he’d sabotaged their mission, and he was shitty at apologies, especially when he didn’t actually mean them, but he’d deal with that when he got there. He needed their help, and he’d figure out how to get it.

  This time, when he punched the ignition button, his engine roared to life. He glanced down at his finger, and brushed his thumb over the churning ring. I’m coming, Sophie. I swear on my life I’ll be there. Hang on. He thought of her face, of her voice, of her laughter, and something turned over in his chest, something he hadn’t felt in so long. Hope? Connection? A fissure in the constant loneliness that consumed his existence?

  He might see her again. He might hear her voice again. He might have
to block one of her punches when she got annoyed with him. He bowed his head, fighting off the surge of emotions, emotions so different from the hate that had beat at him for so long.

  After a long moment, Vlad lifted his head. His face was hard. His mouth tight. His gaze steely and focused. The face of the warrior he hadn’t bothered to be for a very long time.

  He hit the gas. The bike leapt forward, the engine roaring as he sped north, hurtling ruthlessly toward a team of warriors who were his only chance to save the one person who mattered to him.

  How long did he have? When his ring had turned purple two hundred years ago, she’d been in the demon crevasse within two hours.

  Son of a bitch.

  Was that all the time he had?

  He couldn’t fail her twice.

  Being hunted by demons was never convenient, but there were definitely times that were less convenient than others.

  Like now.

  Now was a very inconvenient time to be hunted by a demon.

  Especially when the demon in pursuit was an enraged demon king, who was incredibly pissed that Sophie Flanagan had just kidnapped his current concubine and was trying to get her to safety.

  On her best day, Sophie was no match for even an underachieving runt of a demon, so the odds of her winning a face-to-face showdown with Lucien were pretty much nil. The fact that she was handicapped by the unconscious woman in her arms, whose fate depended on Sophie’s ability to win, made the situation all that much more…challenging? High pressure? So insanely stressful that she could barely think clearly?

  Yeah, that last one. That was a pretty accurate description of how she was feeling at the moment.

  Her arms trembling with fatigue, Sophie pressed herself against the wall of the cavern, trying desperately not to gasp for breath as she listened to Lucien’s heavy footsteps thud along the adjacent tunnel.

  His footsteps paused, and she heard him inhale, as if he were sniffing the air, tracking them. Sophie grimaced, sweat trickling down her temple. Lucien was a thug who ruled with brutality instead of finesse, but he would be able to sense them if he slowed down enough to try, which it appeared he was doing.