by Mina Carter
"They took his soul from you? Who? Who has his soul?" Jesus Christ, was Dante's soul still alive somewhere? "Where the fuck is he?"
She met his gaze, and in it he saw the ultimate regret. "He's in the nether-realm," she said.
Ryland stared at her. "What?"
"The nether-realm. They took him."
"They?" But he didn't need to ask who 'they' were. He'd been born in the nether-realm. He knew what it was like there. He knew the creatures who ruled those lands, and he knew what drove them: greed, power, and pure, untainted evil. He knew, because he'd been one of them. "Jesus," he whispered, sinking down onto a damp rock. He bowed his head and ran his hands through his hair, fighting to stay focused. "Dante's soul is trapped in the nether-realm?"
Catherine nodded. "Same as my daughter, except her spirit is still in her body," she said. "I'm going to get her out."
Ryland's fingers dug into his scalp, and he suddenly realized that his fingers were elongating. Silver claws jabbed out of the tips of his fingers. "Jesus Christ." He jerked his hands off his head and fisted his hands, willing the claws to recede. "I can't go back in there," he said. "I fucking can't."
"Why not?"
"Because it will turn me back into this!" Ryland grabbed the collar of his shirt and tore it open with a roar of fury, showing Catherine the secret that he had kept for so long, the secret that only Dante knew.
* * *
Emblazoned on Ryland's chest was a drawing of a fanged monster with massive wings, blood dripping from its teeth, and claws plunged deep inside the chest of a woman. The creature's eyes raged with violence and death. Its body was covered in spiked scales, its head tipped upward in what could only be a howl of victory. Strewn around the creature were dozens of dismembered people, their faces still etched in the terrified screams of a violent death. It was like an ancient biblical drawing of a horror unleashed upon the earth by the very devil himself.
The image of the creature was a black outline on Ryland's flesh, as though someone had sketched it but never had time to fill it in. As she watched, the eyes of the creature seemed to move, rolling toward her as if targeting her as its next prey. Sucking in her breath, she tried to scramble backwards, stopped only by the vine that bound her to Ryland. "What in God's name is that?" she whispered, too horrified to speak. She could almost see its ribs moving with each breath, its nostrils flaring as it scented her.
"Me." He jerked his shirt closed, and she saw the sharp tips of something silver poking from the ends of his fingers.
Catherine gasped. "How can that be you?"
"It's what I was born to be," he said, his eyes almost boiling over with violence and anger, and death. So much death. "If I go back to the nether-realm, I will become it again." He met her gaze. "And the first thing I'll do is kill you."
She stared at him. "Me? Why me?"
"Because you're good, and I kill good things." He swept his forearm across his chiseled stomach and bowed low. "Say hello to one of the nether-realm's most prized experiments, a slave of the utmost power," he said. Then he raised his eyes to her, even as he maintained his bow. "And your worst nightmare. Everyone's worst nightmare."
"Slave?" she echoed. He couldn't mean slave. Ryland was a man of such power, an immortal warrior above and beyond the hold of anything and anyone. Nothing and no one would have the power to force him to submit to their reign. But even as she asked the question, she saw the grim acknowledgment in his eyes. He spoke the truth. Slave.
"Yeah." He touched the tail of the creature. "When color begins to fill this in, the power of the nether-realm begins to take me. When the image of the beast is completely filled in, I lose the ability to say no." He looked past her at the mountains behind them. "Every step I take closer to the entrance tightens its grip on me. I can't go there. Dante saved me for a reason, and if I go back there, all he wanted me to become is destroyed forever. And he is who I owe."
She lifted her chin, struggling to recover after his revelation. "Are you so sure about that?" she asked.
He narrowed his eyes. "Sure about which part? Because, yeah, I have a pretty vivid memory of what I used to be and what I had to do."
Empathy flickered through her for what he'd endured, but she fought to suppress it. She had to focus. Her daughter's life depended on it. "I meant the part about how going back there would violate what Dante wanted for you. How do you know what he wanted for you?"
Ryland scowled. "Trust me, I know. I'm not going back there."
She saw in his eyes that he meant it, and she understood it. She really did. She lived every day with being the creature she didn't want to be. She accepted that, and she could not ask him to turn himself back into that which he despised. "Will you at least guide me to the entrance so I can go in and save my daughter? I'll go in by myself."
Ryland laughed softly, bitterly. "If I take you there, how does that protect the Order? You're our angel. I owe you safety, and delivering you to the mouth of hell won't do it."
Catherine gritted her teeth in irritation. "I'm not the Order's guardian angel," she said for what felt like the thousandth time. "I'm an angel of death. How would an angel of death protect you?"
Ryland shrugged. "You give our weapons the power to kill."
"Don't you think that goes against what defines an angel? An angel who blesses your weapons with the power to take life isn't really very angelic, is it?"
Ryland narrowed his eyes at her. "I don't give a shit what you think you are," he said. "I know you're our angel, and I'm going to keep you safe. No nether-realm."
She lifted her chin. "Not even to save Dante? You're going to let his soul rot in hell because you don't want to be a demon again, or whatever you are?"
"Hey!" He grabbed her arm, his eyes flashing with fury. "Don't ever judge my commitment to Dante. There are not always simple answers."
"So, you'll let him rot there?"
True pain flashed in Ryland's eyes and he swore. Catherine saw the torment in his eyes, the weight of the choice he had to make, and her heart softened. How could she ask this man to break a promise he had made to someone else? There was so little of that kind of loyalty left in this world.
But if she let him be, she would be allowing her daughter to die. And there was no chance of that. Besides, she would never make the mistake of believing in a man again. She could not afford mercy. "If you take me to the nether-realm," she said, offering him what she already could tell he wanted most. "I will be able to find Dante's spirit and free him. You wouldn't have to go in there."
Ryland's eyes flashed with interest, and she knew she had him. "Take me there," she said. "Let me go get my daughter and Dante. When I come out, I will go with you." And she would. Once her daughter was free, she didn't care where she went. And if Ryland would protect her, then he'd do the same for her daughter.
His jaw flexed, but she saw the yearning in his eyes. "It's too dangerous," he said. "The nether-realm would kill you."
Galvanized by the window of acquiescence she heard in his voice, she stepped forward. "I can't be killed, Ryland. I'm the angel of death." It was a lie, a blatant lie, but she didn't care. So little could kill her, it was almost the truth. Unfortunately, much of what could hurt her was in the nether-realm.
Anger flashed in his eyes. "Don't lie to me, Catherine. Never fucking lie. I hate lies."
She swallowed, again accosted with that creepy sensation that he could see into her soul. "Okay," she said. "There are things in there that can kill me, but I have a lot of control over stuff in the nether-realm. The angel of death has powers down there."
"Do you?" Sudden interest flared in his eyes. "What kind of powers?"
She grimaced. "I don't know exactly. I've never been there. But the nether-realm is about the most heinous kinds of death, and that's my specialty."
"Is it, now?" Ryland met her gaze thoughtfully, then he took her hand and placed it on the creature on his chest. "Tell me, Catherine, could you protect me from this?"
Th
e drawing on Ryland's chest seemed to undulate beneath her hand. She could feel the sharp pricks of scales, the heat of a body hotter than his should be. Was it more than a drawing? Was it actually a part of him, living and breathing on his chest? "Are you a dragon?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Of sorts." He met her gaze. "Can you protect me from it?"
She took a deep breath, and knew it wasn't worth it to lie to this man who seemed to see inside her soul. "I doubt it."
"If you're my guardian angel, you can." He tapped his fingers over his chest. "Because this creature is death, and it's your realm. As you said."
"Well, I don't know exactly what I can do." She shook her head, guilt suffusing her even though she wanted desperately to say all the right words that would make him help her. She might be up close and personal with death, with secrets that were as horrific as his, but at the same time, she was an angel. There were limits to what she could live with, and deluding a man into risking his life wasn't one of them. "I can't let you go in there under false pretenses," she admitted. "I'm not your guardian angel, and I can't protect you—"
"I believe you are." His fingers closed around her wrist. "Which means you can protect me from myself. I'll protect us from everything else." His eyes blazed with intention. "We're going in there, Catherine, and we're going to get Dante back."
She stared at him as horror and hope warred within her. "You're going with me?"
"Fuck yeah. We're getting Dante and your daughter, and then we're getting out."
Fear shuddered through her, and she shook her head. She didn't want to stay aligned with him. She needed her space from him, room to find her daughter. "No, I want to go alone. I can't protect you from yourself." She knew better than to trust a man or to align with one. What would he do to her when he realized she really couldn't protect him? She knew too well the power of a man with a vengeance. "Just take me to the entrance—"
"No." He held up his bound arm, dragging hers with it. "We stay together, angel. You help me find Dante, and I swear I will turn over the bowels of hell to find your daughter."
The promise in his eyes struck deep, making Catherine want to cry...at the same time it made her want to flee from him as fast as she could, before he could betray her forever, in the worst way possible. "I can't—"
"You can, and you will. We will. There's no other choice." His eyes blazed with adrenaline and purpose, and she knew he was on a mission that would not be denied. "I'm getting Dante back, you're going to help me, and that's the end of it."
"Hey, guys," Thano interrupted, riding up on his horse while Zach strolled up behind, carrying a load of firewood so high it hid his face. "Good to see you all are dressed."
Irritation flashed over Ryland's eyes and he turned quickly toward his team, shrugging his shoulders so his coat fell forward over his chest, sealing the monster from view. "Change of plans," he said. "We're going to the nether-realm to rescue Dante. We leave at first light."
The die had been cast.
The rescue mission was in gear.
But as Catherine listened to Ryland explain to his men about Dante's soul, and saw their suspicious glances cast her way, the emotion burning deep within her wasn't relief that she'd just found a savior to help her reclaim her daughter. It was the haunting sensation of dark, ominous dread, as if she had just unleashed the darkest shadow over the earth she loved so dearly, and it was too late to lock it back up again.
Chapter Seven
THE CAMPFIRE FELT good.
Catherine knew she shouldn't relax in the soothing warmth, but she couldn't help it. She'd been so cold for weeks during her trek through the mountains, so worried about her daughter, the map, and the men tailing her. After all that effort, everything was falling into place. She had secured a team to help her breach the nether-realm. She wasn't being hunted. After carrying so much stress for so long, she had no willpower left to resist the temptation of sinking into this brief respite and trying to recharge.
She stretched her hand to the flames, drinking in the warmth and, more importantly, the light from the fire. She felt like a moth, lured to the flame in the dark of night, trying to pry strength from its roaring magic. She called to the brightness, absorbing it into her body. The fire dimmed, fading under her assault.
Zach gave her a strange look and flicked his index finger at the fire. It roared to life again, fed by his energy, while she drained it. Encouraged by the fact that Zach seemed able to replenish what she took from the fire, she harvested more of its energy. The flames dipped into dark shadows as she extracted the light.
Again, Zach flicked his finger at the flames, making them blaze up once more, but this time, he was studying her intently, clearly aware of what she was doing. She managed a smile, trying to look non-threatening, hoping he wouldn't stop feeding her light. She needed it desperately to stave off the decay of her soul long enough to save her daughter.
Plus, in truth, the warmth of the fire felt amazing, even aside from the fact it gave her light. Such a simple pleasure, to be warm, but she would never take it for granted again. Now all that was left was to find a way to sleep, somehow. She was so drained, she knew she needed to rest, but how could she? Since she'd reached the mountains, she hadn't dared slow long enough for more than an occasional brief nap, knowing that Ryland and the others were hunting her. But now that they'd caught up with her, now that they were surrounding her and offering her protection due to her apparent status as an Order of the Blade guardian angel, she felt almost safe.
She would never trust them, not truly, but she was smart enough to realize that Ryland's decision to escort her to the nether-realm was a gift she had to accept. She would take it, she would use his expertise, but she could never dare let down her guard. She would establish a plan to lose him as soon as it was reasonable. As soon as she could actually do it.
Her fingers traced the vine binding her to Ryland. He was several feet away, stretching the two feet of twine to the max. Would he try to put a new one on in the morning, when the sunlight dissolved this restraint? If so, how would she break it? She'd seen him try to cut it, but his blade had bounced off. A plant that an Order of the Blade weapon couldn't sever? What was it? There had to be another way to break it.
Until she figured out what it was, she had to be vigilant to protect herself against these warriors, and the choices they were going to make.
Through her eyelashes, she watched the interaction between Ryland and his teammates, trying to get a sense of who they were, of what the signs would be when they betrayed her. What did they value more than her? What would be the thing each would betray her for? Ryland valued Dante. She knew that. He would choose Dante over her and Lucy in a heartbeat, but that also meant that he would protect her as long as he thought she could help him locate Dante. So, the thing that made him least trustworthy in the end, made him most trustworthy right now. With him, she was safe for the moment.
Zach, she had no sense of. She studied the quiet warrior as he ate his dinner and looked over her map. His tousled hair was ragged, as black as the most barren of nights, a haunting eve when no stars and no moon lit the way. His eyes were a dark brown, not the bottomless black of Ryland's. Down his right temple, almost hidden by his hairline, was a six-inch scar. It was jagged and uneven, a brutal reminder of a battle lost. She knew Calydons rarely scarred, so she couldn't imagine what could have left such a mark on him.
The night was cold, although not as cold as when they'd been up on the mountains, but he was wearing only a T-shirt. His calf-length black leather duster was tossed over a nearby boulder, the metal rivets glistening in the moonlight. He was well-muscled and intense, but he kept his energy tightly wrapped, making it difficult to get a read on him. His loyalty to the Order had been evident in his initial reluctance to endanger her by taking her to the nether-realm, but once he'd understood that Dante's soul hung in the balance, he'd been on board. Loyal to the Order, but it was a different loyalty than Ryland's. Less visible. Less clear. She di
dn't know what drove him, and that made him dangerous and unpredictable to her.
And Thano. He was irreverent and sarcastic, always moving too quickly on his horse for her to get a sense of him. Her only real impression of him was the way Ryland looked at him, like Thano was the antidote to his hell. But now he was seated on the ground, finally still for the first time since they'd caught up to her, giving her the opportunity to inspect him more carefully. His horse was standing over him, his chin resting on Thano's shoulder as the warrior stroked the animal's face. She'd seen Warwick Cardiff, the black magic wizard who had kidnapped her, riding the beast, but there was no doubt that a bond had already formed between the stallion and his new rider. Was Apollo Thano's driving motivation? The thing that would compel him to betray her?
He turned sharply as she thought of him, his green eyes searching her out as if he, like Ryland, had heard her thoughts. There were hints of violet flecks in them, almost like tiny sparks of... "Oh my God." She sat up abruptly. "It was you." During her time in Warwick's merciless hands, she'd done things that still tormented her, things that had nearly destroyed her soul, things that had stripped her of time to find her daughter. The man sitting before her had haunted her nightmares for days, which could mean only one thing: that she'd visited him in her sleep, and that was never a good thing.
He raised his brows, but there was a sudden lack of mirth in his expression. "You just now recognized me?"
"Yes." She looked down at his legs, suddenly understanding why he was riding Apollo all the time. Thano was stretched out on the ground, leaning against a heavy log, acting like he owned the earth he was reclining on with such presence.
His long legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His muscles were as thick and cut as Ryland's, teeming with strength, but there was a lack of life in his legs that spoke of damage that ran deep. She had not seen Thano stand up for even a second. When he'd dismounted from Apollo, he'd parked himself right on the ground and hadn't gotten up. Something was wrong with his legs, or his spine, or his body, or something. As the thought drifted through her mind, she suddenly realized what had happened. "Oh, dear God," she whispered. "I did that to you, didn't I?"