The Chosen Trilogy Boxset

by David Leadbeater

  Eliza and Milo went down with resounding cries. The demons swarmed over them, securing their arms and legs in any way possible. Sitting atop them. Striking at their necks and faces, but not killing them. Not yet.

  Ken’s heart sank like a boulder in the ocean. Dozens of demons were now running up the slope to Dementia’s aid. Mindless and driven they came, dedicated to one thing only—the capture of the infiltrators.

  Dementia fought with wild abandon. Truth be told, Felicia outmatched her, but Dementia’s grief at losing her brother fired her every move. Felicia struck and struck, almost ending the demon-bitch’s life time and time again, but Dementia hung on. Ken saw the end of the battle approaching quickly, and the outcome didn’t look good.

  Agony weighed on his heart. This was it. The end. All was lost. Goodbye ‘Frisco, sorry I’ll never see you again. No more to ride the waves. No more to grace the bars.

  His eyes fell on Rapatutu’s body and locked on the one item that looked totally out of place. The tattered book that had fallen from the demon’s robes and now lay on the ground next to the cooling body. The brown-leafed, flea-bitten volume that lay open, pages fluttering, so that Ken could easily see it was an old copy of the Bible.

  The artefacts are everything. Risk it all!

  He lunged and picked up the book, then ran back to Lilith whilst the demons stormed the top of the hill. With a desperate look of looming disaster and doom he handed it over to her.

  “Please take this. Take it to Miami. Search out Aegis and give it to them. It holds the key to our survival.”

  Lilith stared at him as if he’d grown elf ears. “Me? I’m . . . I’m the . . .”

  “Please,” Ken said, already turning to meet his fate.

  “I haven’t known you long, Ken, but this . . . this doesn’t seem like you.”

  “Everything changes,” he said. “If the change feels right, embrace it. The best future is the one that isn’t written in stone.”

  “Take a chance?”

  “Take a chance.”

  Lilith wasted no more time, turning and haring away with the artefact, vanishing into the dark. Ken hefted his sword, knowing that this girl they’d met in hell, this young girl, held the future of the human race in her hands because she carried one of the seven artefacts. But what else could he do? Life was all about chance. He’d just taken one.

  The demons drove toward him. Feeling rebellious, Ken saw a chance to settle a score and ran for Dementia, intending to break the pair up and free Felicia to help him kill her. Sword swinging, he waded in. Dementia disengaged and dived away. Ken now faced the wolf and saw the storm of regret and hopelessness swirling in her eyes.

  “Fight till we die,” Ken said. “We fight till we die.”

  Felicia snarled in his face. In that instant Ken saw what lay on the floor between them.

  Dementia’s own artefact. The demon-bitch had dropped it in the tussle—a rolled up length of material, held together with ancient twine. Possibly a priest’s robe, a cassock. It lay within easy reach. Ken scooped it up. Felicia moved to stand between him and the onrushing demons.

  She snarled again.

  The command was clear. Go. Get away. The artefact is everything.

  “No.”

  Felicia lunged, the wolf’s big skull colliding with his midriff. The force, the impact, was much harder than he could have imagined. Ken found himself pin-wheeling backward, arms flung out, unable to stop himself as he was propelled down the hill. After that, gravity took hold and he tumbled down as the vampires had, falling further away from the battle and his precious Felicia with every painful scrape and bounce.

  Into the darkness of hell.

  Felicia’s scream split the air.

  *

  Beyond light, beyond the freedom of movement and fresh warm air, beyond even the assumed expectations of choice and option, is the one place a wild thing never hopes to find itself. For Felicia, the wolf, freedom and space were everything. They were her world, and the everlasting sense of them gave her the will and passion to live. Life was not easy for a lycan. Outcast, considered inferior, hunted by some, most lived in constant fear.

  Some, like Felicia, rose above.

  But life still hurt. The transformation from human to lycan hurt—bones were broken. The change back hurt. The few days after were a blur of aching and sharp jabs as bones knit. But every single moment away from the wild hurt more.

  And now?

  The agony consumed her. The demons had brought along several cages, barely big enough to fit Felicia and Eliza inside, let alone Milo. Felicia, having switched back to the human state when the influx of enemies overwhelmed her, found herself practically folded into a steel cage. Her head pressed hard up against a set of bars, her face squashed, her arms hanging through because they simply would not fit. Her feet poked out the back, her rear mashed by the bars back there. Not an inch of movement was afforded her. The demons carried the cage over their heads, and every time it jiggled the pain in her constricted bones and flesh grew worse.

  She screamed without let up.

  Her eyes dulled and became blank. Her world was at an end.

  TWENTY FOUR

  Lucy has become a shade. A thrall.

  Lysette shuddered deep down as she thought about Ethan’s words and what the sixteen-year-old had done. Lost Girl had sought out a new family and embraced it with all her heart.

  With no thought for her dad whatsoever.

  Lysette had seen struggle within the girl. She’d seen it as far back as that night when Logan and she had wandered the gardens of the house of Aegis, years ago it seemed now, on the night of the attack. She had warned Logan. But what on earth was the man supposed to do? Battling demons, both imaginary and frighteningly real. Battling a god. Coping with the emergence of a strange new power that heralded a new development in the human race.

  The species had evolved, it seemed. Of course, she thought, Stan Lee’s genius was never in doubt. We were always going to evolve.

  But this?

  Too personal. Too close to home. A girl’s life had been ruined. Lysette wondered if, even now, there might be a way out. Lucy couldn’t adopt this new life, a stuttering light quenched by the dark, just another vampire’s shade lost to the light. There had to be a way.

  Funny thing was, she almost trusted Ceriden. Still. So it was him that she sought out, and believed at face value when he stared at her in surprise.

  “Lucy?” he gasped. “Already? Oh, dear, that’s going to be an issue.”

  “I’ll say. Not only is she the daughter of your most powerful weapon, she is also Chosen and an elemental. Now a shade. You’re messing with things you don’t know how to control.”

  “I never wanted this. I never courted her. It is Ethan, one of Strahovski’s hot-headed lot. They are impulsive. Rash. Damn the Viennese. I tried to fill her mind with fantastic fashion. Gucci and Armani. But,” the vampire king sighed, “they just aren’t so popular anymore. The heathens now have Superdry and Duck and bloody Cover. Mercedes Benz instead of Lancia. Bugatti instead of Maserati.” Ceriden fairly swooned. “Oh, the depths to which we have fallen.”

  Lysette tapped his shoulder. “Try to focus, big guy. Besides, didn’t Lancia pretty much rust themselves to death?”

  Ceriden flinched as if struck. “Reel in your flapping tongue, hillbilly!” After a second, he seemed to collect himself.

  “Really?” he asked. “She has truly become a shade at this time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, dear. Logan was warned, you know.”

  “I do know that. But look at what the man has had to put up with. Look at what he did, for God’s sake! Helped save the world.”

  “Yes. The poor man deserves more. Does he like soccer? Or models? I can offer introductions, you know.”

  Lysette studied the vampire’s eyes. There were no obvious signs of subterfuge and his mind was clear, serene. She saw that he was a being who lived in a particular, defined world, a bit like
a politician, and had no real idea of what people went through outside his specific sphere of influence. “Tell me. Is there anything we can do?”

  “For Logan? Well, aside from the introductions—”

  “No. I meant for Lucy.”

  Ceriden frowned. “I’m not following.”

  “To help her, you fool. To make her right again. To give her father a chance.”

  Ceriden’s eyes flashed and anger crept to the front of his brain. Lysette saw an evil will and black things slide forth, and instantly reviewed her opinion of Ceriden.

  “We are her family now. She has crossed over. Lucy has joined us, and we will fight tooth and nail for her.”

  “But . . . what of Logan?”

  “He will deal,” Ceriden rasped. “Or he will find the entire vampire race set against him. Lucy is ours now.”

  Lysette backed away, hands up. In the midst of all this warfare, this unceasing battle, she had hoped to find an ally in Ceriden. He seemed to understand all the stakes and the uncertainties. But she’d only found prejudice, jealousy and small-mindedness. There were no visionaries anymore, just charismatic people with agendas.

  She left the room hurriedly and sought out Lucy. She, for one, would not let this lie. Not this night.

  *

  Outside the door that led to Lucy’s room, she paused. Voices came from within. The soft, lilting girl’s voice interposed with the still light but deeper boy’s. Her tones were happy, her laughter quick and genuine. His was reflexive and cheerful.

  Then something hit her. There was no subterfuge going on here. The feelings these two were experiencing were genuine. Who was she to jump in the middle?

  It’s the girl I was fifteen years ago! I see The Bastard and how he was going to kill me. I see . . . innocence lost before its time. Broken. Never allowed a chance. I see . . . a promising future dashed on the rocks.

  And the rocks were the dark wills of evil men.

  Lysette Cohen had wanted a baby. It was her purpose and reason for living. It was a deep devotion that existed in her belly, in her heart and mind. The best person that she could ever be. That dream had been torn from her when she’d started running—the very power that had saved her life then forced her to sift through the minds of others.

  Could she ever risk her child with even the gentlest of the men she met? Deep down, everyone seemed to harbor a demon.

  So now she fought demons for real, every chance she got. Ethan was a demon. Ceriden was a demon. Lucy would not live to regret such a bad decision.

  Lysette walked into the room.

  The scene stunned her to the spot. Lucy sat on the low bed, legs crossed, her hair pulled away from the side of her face. Her lips were curled in laughter, eyes happy. Ethan bent over her, fangs poised just above the skin between ear and neck.

  Blood dripped from their points, spattering the bed. Small, angry red holes pulsed near the nape of Lucy’s neck. Lysette gasped.

  The two turned to her. Lucy scooted across the bed, hiding her neck with her jacket. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

  “Come with me,” Lysette managed, stepping forward. “Come with me and I will protect you.”

  Ethan blocked her path, fangs still protruding, and gave a snarl. “Stand back.”

  “Out of my way, Fangoria,” she said. “I’ve chastised bigger toddlers than you.”

  But Lucy didn’t want saving. “No, wait,” she said. “You can’t take me. I don’t want to go.”

  “It’s for your own good.” Lysette sidestepped Ethan, trying not to look at the blood coagulating along his gums.

  “This is my decision. I made it.”

  “Your father’s not here. You shouldn’t be here. But you had nowhere else to go. It’s bad luck, but we can fix it.”

  “No, you can’t fix me. I’m broken forever. I . . . I—”

  “Come with me, Lucy. Please.” Lysette held out a hand.

  “Stop trying to be my mother. I don’t have a mother! She left and then Dad left and now . . . now . . .” Lucy took an enormous breath and fixed Lysette with blazing eyes.

  “Leave me alone. I don’t want your help.”

  Lysette hesitated.

  “Can you read my mind?” Lucy all but taunted her. “Can you?”

  Lysette did. She saw hatred—for her, and she saw love and acceptance—for Ethan and his race. She saw disgust—for her father, and she saw belief—in the vampire family.

  She saw a girl turned around. A girl lost.

  Feeling like she was stumbling in the wilderness, Lysette turned and ran for the door. The tears that streamed down her face were not self-seeking. Not egotistical.

  They were for someone else.

  TWENTY FIVE

  Ken crept and crawled through filth. Barely conscious. The tumble down the hillside had disoriented him. The cracks and bumps he suffered to his head damaging nothing but still shook him up. When he landed, the world was black—both the physical and mental world—and when he tried to move nothing worked. Not only that, but all sound had stopped too. He lay there, barely conscious, for how long he didn’t know, but gradually, bit by bit, the last few minutes before his fall crept back into his mind.

  And grew clearer as he tensed reawakening fingers around the object clutched in his right hand. A soft, rolled-up length of robe.

  His lips moved, dry against the cold ground.

  “F . . . Felicia . . .”

  Ken fought to rise. He set his palms firmly on the ground and pushed up with all his might. Pain exploded through his joints. Ken ignored it, steeling his heart. Felicia had been captured. The playful Lycan was in trouble. Ken would not take another moment’s rest until he found her.

  Struggling to his knees he let out a breath. Every muscle ached. Every bone felt bruised. The good news was that nothing seemed to be broken. More good news—he’d bounced so far no one had tracked him. Sounds now reached his ears: the caterwaul of exultant demons. He could almost picture them capering and dancing around the lycan’s cage, none of them bright enough to fully grasp the loss of the artefacts.

  But Dementia would. And the demon-bitch had lost her brother to Felicia. Her wrath would not be easy to withstand.

  Where are they taking her?

  Ken resolved to sneak around the hillside. Again, the dilemma struck him. The artefacts were far more important than any individual. He’d already sent Lilith off with one artefact. But he couldn’t abandon Felicia. If it had been one of the vamps . . .

  Crap!

  It hit him then. The vamps had been caught too. He was going to have to save all of them!

  Ken’s back fairly bowed beneath the weight. Never had he felt such responsibility. Never had he expected to. Surfer boys from California led relatively uneventful lives, rich with frivolity and heavy on recklessness. Falling for werewolves and rescuing vampires was as far from his to-do list as anything was likely to get.

  He skirted the dirt-ridden foothills, a shifting fiery sky above and a blasted landscape at his back. When he came around the final curve, he was expecting a shock, but it was far worse than he could have expected. Many, many demons stood, cavorted or slouched their way around three cages. Thick trunks were being inserted through the tops of the bars so some of the demons could carry them.

  Inside the cages, bloody and beaten, were the remains of Ken’s team. Milo, so big his head was down near his feet, his huge back pushing at the bars. How they’d crammed him inside was beyond Ken. Eliza, smaller, had been forced up against the bars; her arms and legs stuck through to either side, then bound. She could barely move.

  And then there was Felicia. The poor lycan was similarly crushed up against the bars, but shook, smashed and rattled at them with every breath. She howled her fury at the skies. She wanted freedom; liberty. Ken looked away, unable to watch it any more.

  Dementia came under his scrutiny. The demon-bitch was gesturing, and generally kicking out at anything that didn’t move quickly and to her liking. Demons sprawl
ed all around her, gingerly picking themselves up. One had had enough. It leaped with claws outstretched, bellowing, but Dementia plucked it from the air, a hand around its neck, and squeezed until there was an audible snap. She dropped the demon and left it where it lay, not even deigning to glance in its direction.

  Ken tried to stay optimistic. The game wasn’t up yet, not by a long shot. He cast a careful eye to the top of the hill, sighted in on a landmark—the battered side of the house with three empty windows—and carefully buried the artefact at the base of the foothill. He sighted it in with several more distinctive stumps and bushes and then crept away, confident he could find it again.

  Dementia screeched, apparently the signal to get under way. Half a dozen demons hefted each cage over their shoulders and started along a barely discernible track, heading predictably toward the distant glow that Lilith had pointed out earlier.

  The Pit.

  Ken let them range ahead. They wouldn’t be hard to follow. He clung to the dark periphery, using the shadows as cover, a fact he found rather ironic considering who and where he was. The demons were a noisy bunch, like a gang of drunks out on a Friday night bar crawl. Ken half-expected bottles of tequila to be passed around. He wasn’t surprised when Dementia started screaming at them and cuffing them back into line.

  The march continued with a little less enthusiasm. The vampires were silent behind their steel bars. Felicia continued to howl, despite repeated blows. Ken’s heart leaped with every yelp, every heartfelt wail. He couldn’t stand to hear her that way.

  Time passed. Ken rummaged around for some food, realizing only now that his supplies were dwindling. The water situation was a tad better. He ate and drank, then studied the horizon. The flickering glow up there was becoming less hazy. Details were now apparent, details he didn’t really want to see.

  The ground descended gradually toward the Pit. Ken flicked his eyes around, almost unable to believe what they showed him. To the right lay an extensive graveyard, thousands of tombstones erected around ribbons of lava that snaked along the ground. Gnarled trees reached beseechingly toward the blazing skies, their hopeless requests lost in dreadful eternity. Hell was eternal. Once down here . . .