by Sarah Fine
“I beg you,” said Aislin. “Don’t cast your spell on him. It would be more than he could bear, and I fear he would be nothing but your slave from then on. I’m afraid I would have to appoint a new ambassador, one who would be less vulnerable to your obvious charms.”
Baheera frowned as she glanced back and forth between Aislin and Cavan. Her subjects were all rapt, many of the males looking resentful that she would even consider a Ferry over one of them. But Moros was overwhelmed by Aislin’s brilliance, especially when Cavan said, “Please, Charon, it is only for one night.”
“No, Cavan, I’m afraid I can’t even consider it,” Aislin said. “Your mind must be clear.”
Moros knew the two of them had sufficiently sated Baheera’s ego when the woman nodded generously. “I understand,” she said, casting a sullen look over Cavan’s body. “I wouldn’t want you to lose yourself.”
Cavan put his hand on his heart, bowing his head so Baheera couldn’t see his relieved grin. “You have my eternal gratitude, Mother,” he said.
Baheera moved on, choosing a thickly muscled courtier with long black hair, and as she did, Aislin’s posture loosened. Moros felt an unexpected surge of happiness in knowing that she wasn’t willing to sacrifice her ambassador for the sake of politics, along with another wave of admiration for the woman by his side. Was there anything she couldn’t manage?
Baheera locked hands with her partner and raised them into the air. “Let the revelry begin!”
A whoop went up from the crowd, and to Moros’s shock, Aislin joined in the cheering.
“That was masterful, my dear,” Moros said quietly to Aislin as Cavan turned on his heel and raced off into the palace, probably desperate to comfort Magda.
Aislin grinned. “Why, thank you.” She glanced toward the dance floor and then up at him. “I don’t suppose you would care to—”
Zayed suddenly appeared and bowed low in front of Aislin. “Would you honor me with a dance, Charon?”
“Oh.” She tossed Moros a regretful, apologetic look. “Of course.”
Zayed grabbed her hand and practically wrenched her onto the dance floor, and had Moros not been wrestling his own murderous impulses, he would have found the shell-shocked look on Aislin’s face comical. She was elegant and graceful no matter what she did, but the foot-stomping aggressive undulations of the Lucinae were clearly not what she was used to. Despite that, she gamely tried to match Zayed’s moves, probably eager to kindle as much good feeling from the Lucinae as possible, given the daring subterfuge she’d just pulled off with Baheera. She knew her mission—to obtain a Blade of Life—and she was focused on it.
For him. For his survival and that of the servants of fate. Moros thought there couldn’t possibly be a person better suited for the job than she was, as hard as it was to watch her in the arms of another man. As Zayed’s large hands skimmed over her bare stomach, as he pressed his hips to her ass and moved her in a wild circle with a look of sheer pleasure on his face, jealousy flared in Moros’s chest.
As other courtiers noticed her beauty, they, too, lined up for a turn, each showing off his moves as she laughed and played along, looking delighted by the music and the dancing and the wild revels of the Lucinae. Many of them were twined around each other, thrusting and writhing as the musicians played on. Baheera had long since disappeared with her chosen lover into a hut down by the lake to swim and make love all night, but many of her subjects didn’t bother to seek privacy as their dancing turned to something far more intimate. Moros could smell the sex in the air, hear the pounding beat of lust and the cries of pleasure. He kept his eyes on the Charon as the vibrations traveled up from the ground and through the soles of his feet, winding his body tighter with every passing second.
When Zayed approached Aislin for a second time, Moros gritted his teeth. The young man’s gaze lingered on the swell of her breasts as he stroked his fingers down Aislin’s arm and took her hand, and Magda’s warning from this afternoon rang in his head. Zayed was about to ask for more than a dance.
Every inch of Moros’s body rebelled against the idea of another man making love to Aislin. She belonged with him. Another moment of denying it might kill him. Suddenly, everything was clear, the string around his heart, connecting him to this woman, the knowledge that if it were cut, his existence would not be worth having.
He was taking a step toward the two of them, ready to confess everything, when Aislin laid her hand on Zayed’s bare chest and gave him a radiant smile. “I’m afraid I haven’t danced with everyone else quite yet,” she said to him.
And then she turned to look straight into Moros’s eyes. The string connecting their hearts shortened, pulling him toward her before he realized he was moving his feet. She met him in the middle, and the entire miserable, bright, loud, cloying realm vanished. The only thing he was aware of was Aislin as her hand rose to grasp his. The leather of his glove was an unacceptable barrier between them, but as he looked down at it, her grip tightened. “Don’t remove it,” she said quietly. “People will be suspicious if they see you touching me. There will be talk, and it could derail what we’ve come here to do.”
Moros glanced over her shoulder to see Zayed watching them with a look of unbridled disgust on his face, as if he couldn’t imagine why she would consider offering the Lord of Death a dance. He tugged her a little closer. “But you want me to.”
Her lips parted as he moved within a few inches of her, the scent of her skin making his blood roar. “Now who’s full of hubris?” she asked, slightly breathless.
“I’m too old for that,” he replied, his body throbbing for her. If he pulled her against him now, she would feel every inch of his craving—his loose pants barely concealed it.
But her flimsy garment betrayed her as well—her pearled nipples were easily visible. “I’m merely being polite,” she said. “Diplomatic.”
“Is that so, my dear?” He skimmed a gloved finger down her stomach before settling his hand on her hip. “Or do you want this as badly as I do?”
“No idea what you’re talking about,” she whispered, her pupils dilating as she stared at his mouth.
“I’m talking about me, inside you. Right now.” The thought of it had made him so hard that it was tempting to make the fantasy a reality right here in the courtyard.
She swallowed. “I think you’ve been affected by the festive atmosphere.”
“I can smell your arousal from here.” It was making him crazy. He wanted to sink his teeth into her shoulder as he pounded into her. If she touched his bare skin, nothing would hold him back.
Her cheeks were tinged with pink. “Jason,” she murmured.
“What would the diplomatic cost be,” he asked, “if I were to take you back to my room right now and fuck you until you’re screaming that name?”
“Potentially high. A dance is one thing. A night together is another matter entirely.” Her eyes met his, and the silence stretched between them. His ancient heart pounded, fueled by a need so powerful that he was ready to die for it. And then she whispered, “But I’m having trouble caring.”
They had just turned and taken their first steps toward the palace when the horde of Shade-Kere burst from the jungle and began their charge.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Shade-Kere poured from the forest on both sides, their rotting flesh and oozing eyes gruesomely at odds with the verdant surroundings. Screams filled the air as the Lucinae realized they were under attack, and many started up the stepped hillside, seeking the shelter of the palace. The monsters raced to cut them off.
“Run for the lake,” Moros roared, ripping his gloves from his hands as he sprinted forward. “You’ll be safe in the water!”
Aislin cried out in helpless horror as two Shade-Kere ran along one of the steps and caught a fleeing female Lucinae by her flowing hair. One of the creatures raked its jagged fingernails across her stomach while the other sank its teeth into her arm. The light in the girl’s eyes brightened, then
faded as her blood flowed onto the steps. That scene was replaying itself over and over on the hillside below them as frantic Lucinae scrambled in all directions, totally unprepared to deal with the threat.
From the shore of the lake, Aislin heard one shrill voice cry for help above the rest—
“Baheera is down there!”
Moros shoved Aislin back as the first Shade-Ker reached him. As the creature lunged, the Lord of the Kere slammed his fist into the creature’s face, and it exploded in a haze of dust. “Get inside the palace,” he said with a grunt, hooking another creature around the neck as it charged at Aislin.
“But—”
Moros’s eyes glowed red as he finished off the Shade and turned to her. “Inside now,” he shouted. When she didn’t move fast enough, he grabbed her upper arm and shoved her toward the palace. “I can’t be everywhere at once. Please.”
Her first impulse was to argue with him—what did protecting herself matter if she was doomed anyway? But as the Shade-Kere continued to charge from the forest, she knew she was being selfish. Moros was the only one who could kill them easily, and he was already depleted from being in this realm. His first priority had to be Baheera.
“Be careful,” she said quietly as he leaped onto the steps that led down to the lake. Then she pulled her Scope from her neck and ran for the palace, her voluminous skirt billowing behind her.
As she reached the entrance to the palace, she heard a scream, followed by the slap of greasy feet against the courtyard stones. With her thumb pressed to the cold surface of her Scope, she whirled around to see a Shade-Ker coming for her, its muscles hanging from its bones in wiry ropes, the cavity of its chest a gaping, empty hole. She dodged its first mindless lunge, pivoting around a column and letting the Shade collide with a wall. And as it came for her again, its eyes glowing red like one of Moros’s Kere, she flung her Scope wide and swung the portal forward, capturing the creature in a whoosh of acrid smoke.
She closed her Scope quickly, knowing there would be no coin flying forth from the fiery pits in exchange for a dead soul. She’d given the Keeper of Hell yet another soulless abomination to deal with, and tomorrow she would stand before him during the summit and hope he could forgive the intrusion.
As the slaughter continued behind her, Aislin entered the palace. She had no intention of hiding out of sight until this was over. Cavan and Magda hadn’t emerged, and they might not be aware of the danger. More than that, they might know where Baheera had locked away the weapons, all of which had been dipped in the Spring of Life. They needed them now more than ever.
As she entered the grand hall at the front of the palace, crashes and shrieks echoed toward her. Some of the Shade-Kere had already gained entrance. She grabbed a heavy ceramic vase as she passed a table, heading for the corridor where she and Moros had overheard Cavan and Magda arguing earlier. Her heart was thumping fiercely, and she could not help but think how vital it felt, how right. “I will not die today,” she whispered as she peeked around the corner.
Three Shade-Kere were bashing themselves against Cavan’s door, probably sensing the life inside. Like Moros, they didn’t seem able to vanish and reappear at will here, but it was a small mercy at this moment, as Aislin could hear the wooden door beginning to splinter. A scream came from within—Magda. Was Cavan with her? The Shade-Kere were probably on their patio, too, closing in from both sides.
“Hey!” she shouted, her fingers clasped tightly around the rim of the vase.
The Shades paused for a moment, and as Aislin stepped into the corridor, they turned to her, their empty chests heaving with phantom breaths. Her muscles trembled, fighting terror as all three of them charged at once. I won’t die. I won’t die. She thought it over and over as they came after her, and when they were close enough, she crunched the vase into the side of a Shade’s head, sending it staggering. But just as she began to open her Scope, the second one hit her, and the platinum disk flew from her hand.
As fingernails clawed at her skirt, she swung the vase upward with both hands, catching one attacker at the base of the chin and sending its skull peeling backward—she’d snapped its spine. It stumbled, its head hanging from the back of its neck. Aislin kicked at a second one and dove for her Scope, her fingers raking at it in desperation. It was a few feet from her, but the third Shade had caught hold of her ankle and was trying to yank her away. Then its friend grabbed her other ankle, and they wrenched her toward them. One of them fell on top of her, going for her throat. She could feel its hands burning—it was trying to Mark her, but it couldn’t. She was a Ferry, and as long as she bore the Scope, surely she would remain immortal. I won’t die today.
It didn’t mean they couldn’t hurt her, though. It didn’t mean they couldn’t tear her to shreds. She squirmed frantically, barely avoiding the creature’s snapping, rotting teeth. Its partner was still pulling on her ankles, its ragged fingernails tearing her skin. Her nose filled with the scent of putrid flesh as she jerked her hip up and threw the monster off, then elbowed it in the side of the head, cracking its skull. Something hard bounced off her side, and she realized the stolen vase was on the ground next to her. As the thing lunged for her throat again, she slammed the vase into its forehead, again and again, until there was nothing left of its skull but a broken, empty bowl of bone.
It didn’t stop it, only made it more confused and clumsy. She was able to roll it off her just in time to get her legs up and kick the third Shade-Ker away. Her limbs felt electric, surging with the will to live. She flipped over and threw herself at her Scope, and this time she was able to scoop it from the floor. As the Shade leaped at her, she whipped open a portal to Hell that swallowed her enemy whole. Blood from her torn skin seeping down her ankles and making the floor slippery at her feet, she stalked down the hallway toward the two Shades she had disabled, sending them to Hell with quick slashes of her Scope through the air.
“Cavan!” she called.
He opened the door and poked his head out, his eyes round. “Aislin? My God, I had no idea it was you out here—”
She held up her hand. “Magda?”
“Here,” the girl said, appearing next to Cavan, her olive skin ashen. “We were hiding. They’re on the patio—”
“Do you know where your sister hid the weapons? We need them now.” She could barely hold on to her patience. Moros had been heading off to save Baheera, but it would put him in dangerous proximity to the water.
Magda’s expression hardened. “She didn’t tell me where she put them.”
“I think I know where they might be,” said Cavan, looking away from Magda as her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “There’s a secret chamber attached to her bedroom.”
“Take me there,” Aislin said. Cavan hesitated as they heard the shrieking roar of a Shade-Ker somewhere nearby. Aislin grabbed his arm, patience gone. “Are you a coward?” She gestured to the Scope around his neck. “There is your weapon. Use it like you were born to wield it, because you were. Magda can be killed by these creatures, but you can’t.”
She could tell by the fear on his face that he was thinking of all the stories of how Shades had mauled Ferrys in the Veil, leaving them injured and helpless, but at the mention of Magda, his fog of terror seemed to clear a bit. He reached back and took the Lucinae princess’s hand, his jaw set. “It’s this way.”
They ran, keeping Magda between them. Aislin took the front, meeting each attack with her Scope open and swinging. The bitter haze of smoke clung to her hair and skin, but to her it smelled like victory as they made their way across the palace to Baheera’s quarters. Once there, Cavan pulled a key from beneath a pillow and used it to open a small chamber concealed by a hanging tapestry. Throughout, Magda watched with hurt shock as her lover demonstrated his familiarity with her sister’s private sanctum.
Cavan avoided her gaze as he opened the door to the chamber to reveal exactly what he promised—about a dozen machetes and daggers, a spear, and one sword. Aislin gathered up as many
as she could carry, sliding three blades between layers of fabric at her waist, a makeshift sheath, and keeping a long dagger in one hand and her Scope in the other. She wasn’t exactly an expert at wielding knives and such, but she knew how to shove the pointy ends into oncoming monsters, and she figured that would be enough. Cavan had the sword, and Magda had the spear.
“We’ll have to fight our way down to the lake,” Aislin said. “Moros told your people to run there—they’ll be safe in the water.”
Magda nodded, though Aislin could tell by the look on the girl’s face that the horror of what was happening was just sinking in. Her world had been so small, focused on Cavan and her anxious jealousy of her sister, and now she was probably realizing the survival of her entire people was in question. To her credit, she gripped the spear with resolve.
Together, they ran through the palace toward the front, taking out at least ten Shades on the way. The things were everywhere, looking for prey, and Lucinae bodies lay scattered in their wake. As supernatural beings, they lived outside of fate—they couldn’t be Marked, but they could be killed. And once they were dead, they were gone forever. Seeing such beautiful, vibrant creatures destroyed so pitilessly made Aislin’s heart ache—but also race with apprehension. Would the Keepers hold Aislin and Moros responsible for the slaughter?
With new urgency, Aislin burst into the courtyard to find more devastation, Lucinae who hadn’t fled fast enough lying wounded or broken, all around. Magda cried out at the sight but kept moving forward, following as Aislin and Cavan charged toward the steps that led to the lake. The sounds of fighting and carnage were shrill as the bright moon shone down on the crystal waters below, and when Aislin reached the edge of the steps, she could see everything clearly.
Moros and a few Lucinae were fighting to keep at least thirty Shade-Kere away from the entrance to the hut containing Baheera and her lover. They were surrounded. Moros was destroying Shade after Shade, but they were so closely packed that he couldn’t keep them off him entirely. His arms were marred by claw marks and bruises, and his face was a mask of rage. Aislin perched on the edge of the steep steps, ready to leap, but Cavan grabbed her arm and led her to a shallower set of stairs. She couldn’t get to Moros fast enough, because even as she barreled toward him, the Shades kicked his legs out from under him, and he disappeared beneath the mob.