Alamir: Blood of Kaos Series - Book One

by Nesa Miller

  Hope seeped into the void, shining a faint light. Coming to his feet, he returned to the bedroom, scooped up the half-packed bag, and returned to the living room. There, he gathered the broken fragments of Midir’s sword, the twin to Ba’alzamon and was gone.

  Later in the evening, everyone came together in the kitchen, listening to Spirit tell her story. Suddenly, she stopped and looked toward the hallway. “Someone’s here…in the lounge.”

  When Inferno jumped to his feet, she grabbed his arm. “Go easy.”

  Wolfe, Elfin, and Linq followed close behind. They were left speechless at the sight that greeted them.

  Standing in the middle of the room was Dar, covered in blood and gore, his face streaked with dirt and tears. “They would not give me what I asked for. Otherwise, it would not have come to this.”

  “Are you hurt?” Linq asked.

  Dar’s cold gaze landed on Inferno. “Where is Spirit? I must speak with her.”

  “Not with those blades in yer murdering hands. Answer the fucking question,” Inferno blustered from the doorway.

  Dar dropped the bag, patiently placing Ba’alzamon at his feet. “The bag is Etain’s. Leave this blade where it lies. No one is to touch it. No one.” As he reached back for Nim, other hands in the room moved to their swords. Sensitive to the tension, he held the blade flat in both hands, extending it out in front of him. “Take this to Spirit. Only she can locate what is lost.”

  With no response from Inferno, Linq reached for the sword. Dar acknowledged the elf with a nod, then moved toward the door.

  Inferno blocked his path. “Yer gonna answer me before ya leave this room, or ya won’t be leaving at all.”

  Dar eyed the man and his men behind him. He turned to Linq. “Please, get the blade to Spirit. I will be along to explain.” His steady gaze returned to those blocking his way. “It is not my blood. I went to Midir’s castle in search of retribution…for Etain.”

  “Is he dead then?” Inferno asked, motioning to his clan to stand down.

  “He was not there.”

  “From the looks of ya, I’d say he won’t find much when he returns.”

  “It’s urgent I speak with Spirit.”

  Inferno stepped aside, but followed him to the kitchen.

  Dar found the mage rising from her chair. “Spirit, you must scry for Etain.”

  She backed away. “No. You keep away from me. She is gone. I saw her stabbed through the heart with me own eyes.”

  He stopped, caught off-guard by the fear in her eyes. He scrubbed at the dried blood on his chest, doing his best to will her into acceptance of a new perspective. “My brother would not have taken her body if she were dead. Look at the mark. It glows. It is faint, but it glows.”

  Her gaze went to the mark, the struggle to believe showing in her face. She came closer to Dar, a tentative hand stretching out, lightly touching his chest. She looked up into his eyes.

  “Now, will you scry?” He motioned to Linq. “This blade is bound to her by blood.” He slapped a swathe of old leather on the table.

  “What is that?” she asked, accepting the sword.

  “A map of realms,” Linq said before Dar could answer. Inferno and his men completed the circle around the table, peering at the unusual map.

  “It’s like nothing I’ve seen before. Where did it come from?” she asked.

  “Makes no difference from where it came. If she were in the Alamir realm, I would know. Our mark tells me she is alive, but nothing more. This map shows the realms above, below, and beside us. She is in one of those. Scry with the blade and you will find her.” He reached out to her, but she stepped back. “Please, Spirit. I’m begging you.” He sighed and let his hand fall to his side. “She is all that matters to me.”

  “I will try,” she said, uncertainty in her face. “But you must wait outside.”

  “As you wish, milady. I have faith in you.” At the door, he asked Inferno about his forge. The man offered to walk with him. “Thank you, but no. I need to be alone for a while. Sit with Spirit. She will need your support more than I.”

  With Ba’alzamon in hand, Dar made his way to the forge. He wasted no time in stoking the fire, infusing magic into the flames, making them burn hotter and brighter. Quickening the tempo of his words, the fire intensified into a blazing inferno. He placed the fragments of Midir’s shattered sword into a smelting pot and set it over the flames. As the fragments melted, Dar lifted Ba’alzamon.

  “I’m sorry for what I am about to do, my old friend. The time has come for you to be reborn. This union will increase your power and remove any sway Midir may have had over your brother.” Using all his strength, he broke the blade from the hilt and slipped it into the pot, watching the black metal slowly merge with its twin.

  Giving the two blades time to melt properly, Dar designed two new hilts. Once the concoction was ready, he removed the pot and poured the molten metal into three casts, two larger than the third. From the far wall, he chose two hammers…one heavy, one lighter. As the metal cooled, he prepared for the work to come, choosing several fine-tipped chisels and placing them close. He returned to the blocks of black metal. The first, heated to a bright red glow, he placed on the anvil and pounded, turning and folding the metal, molding it to his will.

  He labored well into the morning hours, sweat rolling down his body, slowly washing away the gore. With each bang of the hammer, sparks flew as the blade took shape. Patiently working the material, a curve formed, broadening toward the tip. Satisfied, he placed the blade on the worktable, then retrieved the other block of black metal. As with the first, Dar worked with the material until it was the same size and similar balance. He stepped back to view the twin scimitars.

  With lighter strikes, he rounded the last block of metal into a medallion in the shape of the sun. Using a fine-tipped chisel and the light hammer, he etched flames into the metal that matched the ones on his chest, then returned to the worktable. On the first blade, he etched a sun with rays running down its length. On the opposite side, he repeated the design. The other blade, which he decorated with burning flames, received the same attention to detail.

  “Nice work,” Linq said, standing at the door. Dar looked up, a smile on his face. “I think they would make even the most skilled weapons master envious. You do realize you’ve worked straight through two nights and a day?”

  “Has the sun come up?” Dar asked, admiring his work.

  Linq glanced over his shoulder. “Not quite yet.”

  “What gets you up this early?” Dar raised a brow. “Or did you pull the short straw?”

  His question brought a grin to the elf’s lips. “I’ve come to offer my assistance in the hunt.”

  “Your offer is well met. Thank you, Linq. But I do this one alone.” Dar placed the medallion in a pocket. “I will not risk the death of another by my brother’s hand. This will end with the death of either Midir or me.” He picked up both swords. “I could use your help in another way.”

  “Since you won’t allow me to travel with you, it’s the least I can do.”

  “The blades must be named so they know their master and understand their duties,” Dar explained as they walked toward the shore.

  “From the fracas of the other day, I would think all that fairly clear.” Linq grinned.

  “Just do what needs doing, elf, and let me get to it.”

  Dar extended his right arm into the first rays of the sun. Dagger in hand, Linq cut into the Krymerian’s forearm. Dar dragged the blade with sun etchings through the welling blood, lifted it up, and declared, “I name thee Day Star, Sun of Salvation, for the light of my life. Darkness shall flee from your light.” He extended his left arm, allowing the elf to repeat the process. Dar dragged the second blade, etched with flames, through the blood, lifted it to the sun, and declared, “I name thee Burning Heart, Flame of Retribution. Darkness may flee, but it cannot hide from your cleansing fire.” The blades shined in the early morning sun in acceptance of t
heir commissions.

  Dar lifted both scimitars to the sun, crossing them over his head. “Midir! Death is coming for you.”

  16

  Mon Petit

  The air shimmered, opening a portal. Demon servants suddenly materialized as Midir entered his domain, Etain in his arms.

  “Welcome home, milord,” said his most trusted female servant, Lilith.

  “Get me a sheet,” he ordered, hurrying into the closest room. In the library, he rushed to a red velvet chaise, laying her down gently. “And bring cloths soaked in a solution of chamomile and lavender.”

  “Yes, master.” She bowed, exiting the room.

  Raum, his manservant, stepped forward.

  “Have my bed freshened and turned down. Our guest will be recuperating there for the next few days.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  Lilith quickly returned with a sheet. “The solution is almost ready, sir.” A simple nod acknowledged the information as he wrapped the sheet about the patient, leaving the wound exposed. Etain cried out in pain, but did not wake.

  Midir spoke softly. “I'm sorry for the rough treatment, mon petit, but it is necessary.” Pushing stray wisps of hair from her face, he leaned over and kissed her forehead. His finger traveled across her cheek and down to the mark, the ugly wound in its center. “The things you make me do to you.”

  Another minion arrived with several cloths and a basin of steaming liquid. “Shall I tend to her, master?” Lilith asked.

  “Leave us.”

  She and the minion bowed and quietly left the room.

  Dipping a cloth into the solution, he gently washed the wound, removing the dried blood. A small incision in his forearm allowed a healing flow of blood into the wound. It sizzled, emitting a thin trail of smoke as it penetrated the layers of tissue. She grabbed at her chest, emitting a low hiss of pain.

  Sweat covered his brow, struggling to hold her still, but was encouraged by the reaction. “Release the demon. It will quicken the healing process.”

  As suddenly as she had awakened, she fell limp in his arms. Dabbing her face with a fresh cloth, he checked the wound and found it had sealed, leaving only a faint scar.

  Aware of her loss of blood, he stripped off his shirt and dragged the blade across his shoulder, then pulled her close. “Mon petit, we must rebuild your strength. You are too weak to sustain the demon. Take mine to make you strong.”

  Her eyes fluttered open, roused by the scent of blood. Her lips curved in a slight smile and she kissed his cheek. “Dar. You always take care of me,” she muttered, flicking out her tongue for a taste. In the next moment, her lips clamped onto the flow.

  “Yes, mon petit. Take it all. It is an endless spring.”

  Her eyes opened to the long dark hair, glancing at the distinctive jaw and strong neckline. Something made her jerk back and look down at his chest. Her eyes traveled to his face. “No!”

  Weakened, he collapsed to his knees. Violet eyes darted about the strange room. She turned her back, curling into a ball within her wings.

  Having heard the screams, Raum rushed in. “Master, let me have Lilith get you something.”

  “Not necessary,” he croaked. “She is amazing, is she not?”

  “Yes, milord. Who is she?”

  “She is my future wife. Let's see that half-wit brother of mine stop us now.” He looked up at his manservant. “Leave us. My lady can provide everything I need to regain my strength.”

  “Keep your hands off me.” Her voice was cold. “I will kill you before I marry you.” Her wings retracted and disappeared.

  Midir smiled, trailing a finger along her bare back. “You will change your mind, mon petit.” He chanted a spell, coaxing her into a deep sleep. Rolling her onto her back, his fingertips traced over her perfect breasts, lingering over the mark. “This will be the first thing to go after we rid you of these disgusting rags.”

  After removing her boots and clothes, he wrapped the sheet around her before scooping her up into his arms. Lightheaded from his own loss of blood, he stumbled back a step, but recovered well enough to carry her upstairs to his bedroom. As instructed, the bed linens had been changed and turned down. Laying his prize on the bed, he sat on the edge. To have her here... It was almost too much to endure. He smoothed the hair around her angelic face and savored the sweet taste of her lips, as his hand roamed over her body, choosing to interpret her unconscious moan as one of pleasure.

  “See, mon petit, you respond to me quite nicely.” His tongue slinked along her neck. “I will teach you to appreciate the sweetness, as well as the darkness, of love.”

  She turned onto her side and curled into a fetal position. This only served to encourage his attentions. He rolled into the bed, spooning his body to hers, groping the curve of her hip, coming around to her belly, then cupping her breast. “You will be mine, mon petit,” he panted, his obvious excitement straining for release. With great effort, he forced himself away, lifting the covers over her. “I must be patient,” he whispered, adjusting his trousers. “We have plenty of time.”

  He reached for her delicate arm. Extending a single talon, he dragged it along the inside of her forearm. His head dipped, his tongue snaking out for a taste of the sweet nectar. A delightful burn lit up his mouth. Eager for more, his lips encased the incision. Drinking the salty elixir, he felt it scorching the back of his throat. A hiss escaped through his teeth as he withdrew.

  “Perfection. I cannot afford to waste any more time. Your training will begin soon, mon petit. We will reprogram that beautiful brain.” He tucked her arm under the covers. She was getting harder to resist, but he must not spoil his own plans. “By the time he finds this place, our welcoming party will be in ready and waiting.”

  Enjoying a huge stretch, Etain woke the next morning, refreshed and renewed. Her hand landed on a body tucked beneath the covers beside her. She rolled over, throwing an arm over her sleeping warrior, snuggling into Dar’s warmth. “Good morning, sleepyhead. What does my irresistible master have in store for me today?”

  He took her by the wrist and turned. Nose-to-nose, he said, “Today, you will learn the correct way to fight with your demon senses. For now, you will learn how to love like a demon.”

  “Midir.” Memories of yesterday rushed in. Struggling to get free, her horror escalated when she found they were both naked. “What have you done? Get off me!”

  He worked a knee between her legs. “Mon petit, you enflame my soul. Be my demon love. Turn for me as I make you mine.”

  “Stop with the mon petit crap.” Her ivory talons extended, leaving trails of blood in their wake. “I am not yours and never will be.” Her entire body heaved against his in a valiant attempt to push him off.

  “Turn for me,” he demanded, pushing her arms above her head.

  The demon materialized, her wings digging into the mattress. A fully aroused Midir changed as well, his great white wings fanning out behind him. His broad smile revealed deadly fangs. “It has begun.”

  “It has not! You will let me go.” Frustration made her gasp for air. She fought with everything she had, but nothing worked.

  “Etain,” he said in a malevolent whisper. “You took my blood willingly.”

  “No.” But the look in his eyes told her it was the truth. “I-I thought you were Dar.” With the confession, her demon blood cooled.

  “Luckily for me, we look so much alike.” He leaned in for a kiss, but she turned her head.

  “Please, Midir. I can't bear this.” She felt broken inside, as though she had betrayed her love for Dar and her family.

  In an unusual moment of benevolence, he complied with her request. The effort of calming his blood reflected in his face.

  “This one time, Etain. You will not find me so generous again.” He rolled out of the bed and dressed, casting an occasional glance in her direction. Etain kept her head turned, the sight of him unbearable.

  He paused at the door. “Think on this. Whether anything happened
or not, he will assume the worst. Do you really think he’ll want you back?”

  She reached for a vase on the bedside table and hurled it at the door as it was closing. “Go to hell!” Throwing herself from the bed, she crawled, like a wild animal, to the open balcony doors, tears spilling down her cheeks. Beneath her were sheer cliffs ending at a shore of rocky crags. She would have to fly.

  To where?

  Not even a shimmer could save her. Without knowing her exact location, there was no hope of escape.

  Her mind tumbled back to yesterday. “Oh god, Spirit. I'm so sorry.” Sitting on the floor, she wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her head on her knees, crying for the loss of her dear friend.

  In the stillness, she could hear Midir, downstairs barking orders. The sound of his voice made her skin crawl. “I will be free of you, then I can go home.”

  Looking about the room, she noticed another door. Rather than walk, she crawled across the floor and pushed it open. The room on the other side boasted a huge stone bath in its center. Coming to her feet, she bypassed the tub for the walk-in shower, setting the temperature as hot as her skin could handle.

  I will avenge your death, sweet Spirit, along with those of my family. It may take time, but it will happen.

  With the dregs of the day washed away, she turned off the water and was surprised to find Midir standing at the door. “Have I no privacy in this prison?” she asked, wrapping herself in an oversized towel.

  “Nothing to do with you is secret from me,” he said, watching her every move.

  “So it seems.” She dried her hair with another towel. His comment brought back an earlier conversation. Their eyes met in the mirror. “Is it true what you said about my inheritance?”

  “I wanted to take care of you.”

  “Not murdering my family would’ve been a good start.”

  “No, that had to happen. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here today.”

  She felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. “Why? What’s so special about me?”