Valen (Guardians of Hades Romance Series Book 2)

by Felicity Heaton

  But in a new way.

  The male they constructed from the scattered remnants her departure had left behind knew nothing of the light. He embraced the dark, the violence and the fury.

  The desperate need for vengeance.

  They had taken her from him.

  They had failed.

  The scarlet orbs grew smaller, seemed to burn brighter, gold streaks swirling around them now. The scattered pieces gathered faster, racing to finish their dark work.

  The god they constructed had no light, no love. Not a single drop left for this world or those in it.

  Because this world had taken everything from him.

  It had taken her.

  It had failed him.

  The green, black and fading gold dropped away and darkness swallowed it, leaving only the burning crimson and the harsh swift arcs of lightning that chased around them.

  They would pay.

  White burst into life around him, chasing back the darkness, but it wasn’t light. It wasn’t her.

  She was gone.

  He blinked slowly as he pivoted on his heel and everything came into focus.

  The white glistening marble columns that enclosed him in a circle. The dazzling green fields that surrounded it. The endless blue sky. All things she would never see again.

  The dais in front of him. The three females huddled there. The blood on his hands.

  Her blood.

  Soon it would be theirs.

  Because they had failed her.

  Darkness poured through him, oily and thick, consuming all of him and driving out the last of the light. There would be only darkness on this day.

  Only death.

  The youngest female crawled forwards, fear written in her blue eyes as she reached a hand out to him, the white robes she wore pooling around her, cinched with gold at her waist.

  Gold.

  He despised that colour now. It no longer had the lustre or brought the light he had once enjoyed.

  Now it was the colour of death.

  “Please,” she whispered, hoarse and broken. Weak.

  They never should have been allowed to protect her.

  Their favour meant nothing.

  He turned his gaze away from her and shut out her cries for mercy, her pathetic whimpers, and stared off into the distance, to the point where green fields met blue skies. She should have been somewhere like this. She should have been allowed to go to the blessed isles.

  She should have been allowed to live.

  “You decided your fate when you decided hers.” He flicked his hand towards Clotho and her scream rang in his ears, echoed around the mountain and sent deep pleasure rolling down his spine.

  The sharp tang of his power filled the air, charged it as he unleashed it all on her.

  A swift death.

  The other two wouldn’t be as lucky.

  His mercy had just run dry.

  Lachesis made the mistake of trying to escape.

  He was on her in a heartbeat, driving her into the ground and tearing at her with claws he didn’t recognise, mind pounding with a dark urge that controlled him, stole away any command of his body, refusing to release him until it was satisfied. Crimson splashed across white and gold, his vision turning hazy as he slashed at her flesh.

  She had to pay.

  Her struggle ceased and he canted his head and frowned down at her, confused. He shook her, growled as he realised she was dead, and turned to face the remaining fate.

  She stood in the middle of the temple, robes fluttering in the breeze that tousled her snow-white hair. Worn, creased hands folded gently in front of her, and her dim grey eyes held his, showing no fear.

  Only acceptance.

  “Valen,” she murmured, her voice thin and reedy. “It was not our doing.”

  He knew that.

  But someone had to pay.

  He rose to his feet and came to face her. Crimson rolled down the hard plates of his chest piece, soaking into the black leather and tainting the gold trim. The leather of his right vambrace creaked as he moved his arm and closed his fingers over the hilt of the sword hanging from his left hip. The sound of metal sliding against metal broke the silence as he drew the blade, felt the weight of it in his grip and it was the weight of his responsibility, a heavy burden to bear but one he would shoulder nonetheless.

  For her.

  His eyes stung, vision blurring again, and he blinked, frowned as twin streaks of heat formed on his cheeks and realised that it hadn’t been rage blinding him when he had sat with her lifeless body, or when he had killed Lachesis.

  It had been tears.

  He rubbed the back of his left hand across his face, not caring when the black leather plates that protected the back of it caught his nose and hurt, because nothing could eclipse the pain that now lived in his heart.

  Eternal.

  He flexed his fingers around the hilt of the sword, felt it vibrate with his power as it became part of him, and stormed towards the remaining fate.

  Atropos bowed her head and held her arms out to him.

  He roared, unleashing all the pain and fury inside him, stepped and appeared right in front of her.

  Her cloudy eyes widened. Her lips parted on a shocked gasp.

  Valen caught her as she slumped and gently laid her down in the middle of the temple, numbness rushing in to dull the fierce pain and his anger, leaving him hollow inside.

  “He will not allow this,” she whispered.

  He bowed his head, his golden hair sweeping forwards to brush his cheeks. The mark on the left side of his face and neck burned, as if warning him that the one she spoke of was already aware of what he had done.

  “I know,” he murmured. “But it had to be done.”

  Her breath left her on a sigh.

  Silence fell.

  He stood slowly, grimacing as his sword grated against bone and slid back through flesh, turning the air thick with the stench of blood.

  He stared down at the old fate where she lay, crimson pooling outwards from beneath her and blossoming on the front of her white robe. He carefully cleaned his blade and sheathed it, the dull feeling in his chest growing heavier as he gazed upon her.

  “It had to be done.” He turned away from her, pivoting slowly on his heel to face the opposite direction, his gaze falling on the mountains that rose in the distance to pierce the endless blue sky. “It has to be done.”

  Someone had to pay.

  The Moirai hadn’t been the only ones to fail her.

  The dark urge returned, a cold blast that stole the last of the heat from him, filling him with only ice and pain, and a terrible need for vengeance. It wasn’t sated.

  Wouldn’t be until it was done.

  He stalked forwards, his long strides gaining pace as he closed the distance between him and the mountain.

  It had to be done. Even when he knew it would only end in his death.

  The agony churning inside him, the pain and the fury, the despair, all reached boiling point as he left the temple behind and sprinted across the velvet green grass towards Mount Olympus. It was too much. It swallowed him, stole control and made him a slave to it, to the dark and terrible need, the all-consuming desire for revenge.

  On a violent bellow, he stepped into the darkness of the Underworld and out into the temple that topped the mountain, looking down on everything. Everyone.

  The temple of his uncle.

  Zeus.

  Valen glared at him where he stood in the centre of the temple’s grand hall, his thigh-length white robes crisp and perfect beneath his gold armour, while Valen’s own armour bore her blood and that of the Moirai, his skin stained crimson. While Valen struggled to breathe, was consumed by emotions that bombarded him, Zeus’s worn face was set in an expression that revealed no shred of feeling, his golden eyes emotionless as they watched him from beneath the delicate twisted band of his crown.

  How could the bastard be so calm?

  How could he stan
d there and do nothing?

  Valen clenched his hands into fists at his sides, squeezed them so tightly his arms shook as he wrestled for control, tried to claw back some sanity and drive back the darkness that pushed him to attack. His chest heaved with each hard breath he drew as he fought the pain that threatened to tear him apart.

  It was no use.

  That pain scattered the pieces of himself he had clawed back together and the lure of the darkness was too powerful to resist. Rage boiled in his veins, stoked by seeing his uncle unaffected by her death, so fierce now he felt he would burst if he didn’t let it out, didn’t let it consume him and control him.

  He needed it out.

  He unleashed a war-cry that echoed around the huge temple and threw his right hand forwards, launching a white-purple bolt of lightning at his uncle.

  Zeus easily deflected it with a casual sweep of his left hand, sending it shooting towards the row of thick white marble columns to Valen’s right.

  That only served to infuriate him even more.

  He shot another bolt and then another at Zeus, and again his uncle deflected them as if they were nothing. If he couldn’t land a distance attack, there was only one thing he could do. He blinked away the tears and ran at his uncle.

  Zeus’s golden eyes widened.

  Valen slammed his right shoulder into the bastard’s gut before he could move, grunted as the gold armour he wore over his short white robes sent fierce hot pain rolling down his arm and back, and gritted his teeth against it as he drove forwards. If Zeus was going to deflect everything he threw at him, he would just have to get close enough to him that he wouldn’t have time to defend himself.

  Zeus grunted as his back hit one of the towering marble columns and Valen roared as he pressed his hands to his uncle’s chest and unleashed everything he had. Lightning shot from his palms, spreading in sharp jagged tendrils across the gold plates of Zeus’s armour. The bastard finally reacted, throwing his head back and bellowing as lightning tore through him.

  He would make his uncle feel the same pain as he did, wouldn’t stop until he felt as battered and broken inside.

  Valen gritted his teeth and pressed harder against Zeus’s chest, unleashed more of his power, not relenting even when his head turned and limbs shook. If it took everything he had to make his uncle pay, then he would give it. He would keep giving it until it killed him.

  For her.

  Something firm pressed against his chest.

  He looked down, frowned at the sun-kissed skin of the familiar hand plastered against his breastplate.

  Screamed as he was sent flying backwards so fast the world was a blur, and then it erupted in pain. White-hot agony. Every inch of him blazed with it as he smashed through a column and hit the floor, sliding across it. The heavy top half of the column broke away from the ceiling and struck the marble floor, shaking it just as he came to a halt. He clenched his jaw against the pain pulsing through him like a wave of lightning strikes and fought to get it back under control so he could finish what he had started.

  When it had dulled to a more manageable level, he grunted and rolled onto his front, grimaced as he pressed his hands into the cold white marble floor and every part of him ached in protest, another thousand hot needles pricking his skin.

  He pushed through the pain and eased up onto his knees.

  Froze when he saw white leather boots in his vision, the elaborate gold plates affixed to them reflecting his face back at him.

  His eyes were black.

  His canines little more than fangs.

  He shook away the fear that gripped him and steeled himself.

  Even if the darkness consumed him entirely, he wouldn’t stop.

  He looked away from his reflection and sat back on his heels.

  Zeus towered over him, his golden eyes ablaze and narrowed on him, the soft waves of his dark brown hair curling around the nape of his neck and brushing his forehead, slipped from his delicate gold crown that formed a band around his head.

  “Will you stop?” His uncle’s deep voice boomed around the temple.

  Valen shook his head.

  He couldn’t, even when he knew his uncle would kill him, was too powerful for him to defeat. The pain was too much, burned too fiercely in his soul, blazing in his heart. It demanded retribution.

  It demanded blood.

  It demanded that others suffered as much as he was.

  “There has already been enough suffering… wrought by your own hands, Nephew.”

  “Get out of my head!” Valen sprang at him and slammed his right fist hard into his jaw, snapping his head to his right.

  Zeus shifted his right foot back to brace himself and that was the only reaction Valen got from the bastard.

  He didn’t understand how Zeus could be so calm. His niece was dead. Why didn’t it rake at him as fiercely as it killed Valen? Didn’t his uncle give a damn about her?

  Clearly not.

  Zeus had stood by and allowed her to die after all. He had let it happen. He had stood there and had done nothing.

  It was his fault too.

  Valen snarled, all the darkness of the Underworld pouring through him, bleeding from his hands and his skin, mingling with his lightning as it sparked from his fingers.

  He screamed and flew at his uncle, lost to the pain and the darkness, a slave to his need to satisfy them both. He lashed out with his right hand, catching Zeus with a whip made of pure lightning. It snapped and cracked as it struck Zeus’s chest, knocking him backwards. Zeus’s face darkened, his golden eyes flashing brightly as power sparked from his hands.

  Lightning to match Valen’s.

  Zeus drew his hand through the air and golden arcs of lightning struck all across the temple. Valen hurled himself forwards as one shot from the ceiling directly above him, rolled across the white marble and came onto his feet. He snarled and lashed out with his white-purple whip again, sparks flying from it as it cut through the golden bolts crashing down all around him. The blazing arc of his own power hit a sheer wall of crackling gold before it could strike Zeus down.

  Zeus flicked his right hand towards Valen.

  Valen stepped, dodging the attack, and appeared on the other side of the temple just as the golden bolt struck the wall where he had been and shards of marble exploded outwards, raining down in a misty haze of dust.

  He grinned and swept his left hand up in a fast arc. White-purple bolts of lightning shot up from the marble floor, growing larger as they neared Zeus, racing towards him in a wave. Zeus turned and sidestepped, and Valen growled as the attack rolled straight past him.

  That growl was short-lived.

  It became a roar of agony as a bright streak of gold struck him in his chest and sent him flying across the room again. The scent of singed leather filled his nostrils and he cried out again as fire seared his chest, the metal of his breastplate burning against his bare skin. He hit the wall hard, grunted and dropped to the floor, landing face first on the cool marble, breathing hard and crippled by pain as he desperately clawed at his chest piece, trying to get it off him. The scent of burning flesh joined that of the leather.

  He fumbled with the first clasp.

  Arched forwards and screamed in pain as another bolt seared him, striking hard from above and sending electricity pouring through his body.

  The tinny taste of blood flooded his mouth. The odour of it filled his nose.

  The lightning abated.

  Valen wheezed through burning lungs, shaking on his side on the floor, sparks of electricity skittering over his skin and snapping at his flesh as his body fought to purge the lightning strike.

  His ears rang, the sound oddly watery, and heat ran from his left ear, trickled and tickled and then dripped to the floor.

  That same liquid threatened to fill his battered lungs, crawled up his throat and past broken lips.

  Boots appeared in his hazy vision and he trembled as he tried to look up at their owner. He had to move. He had t
o finish this. He gritted his teeth and growled in despair as he found he couldn’t, his body refusing to respond to his command, disobeying the dark need that still poured through him and urged him to destroy.

  He managed to lift his eyes to his uncle’s face.

  There was no mercy in those golden eyes.

  No shred of pain.

  Zeus didn’t care if he died, just as he didn’t care that she was gone.

  Tears burned Valen’s eyes, hatred blazing in his veins, directed at himself now, stoked by the anger that flowed through him and screamed that he was weak.

  He had failed.

  He hadn’t been able to make those who had failed his sister pay their due. It was going to end here for him.

  It was going to end before he could see her safely home to the blessed isle where she belonged.

  Zeus raised his right fist and a golden bolt appeared in it, crackling and sizzling as he held it fast.

  It was going to end here.

  Now.

  “Zeus!” The female voice rang around the damaged temple, in Valen’s broken ears.

  A flicker of light appeared in the darkness within him.

  Small at first, nothing more than a pinprick in the inky black, but it grew as her voice reached his ears, and his heart, soothing them both.

  “I beseech you… do not take Valen from me too.”

  Zeus looked across at the female, a flicker of hurt finally showing in his eyes.

  “Forgive him,” she whispered and moved closer, near enough that Valen could feel her warmth and bathed in her light, and the desperate need to destroy gave way to a fierce need to see her.

  She stepped into view, hair the colour of blood tumbling in soft waves around pale slender shoulders, her skin drained of its usual colour, turned to snow. Dark circles shaded her normally luminous green eyes. Black framed her delicate body, as if she had been wrapped in darkness, the same darkness that burned inside him and fought back against the light.

  A stark contrast to the pale green and white robes she usually wore.

  The colour of mourning.

  Pain filled him again, fiercer than ever, and he ground his teeth and cried out, desperate to unleash it, desperate for his broken body to respond to his commands, to his burning need to avenge his sister.