Martyr

by A. R. Kahler

  “You betrayed my orders,” Jarrett whispered.

  “I know.”

  “You put our entire mission at risk.”

  “I know.”

  “If Cassandra ever found out, she’d have you skinned alive.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Tenn looked up. Jarrett’s eyes were soft, the tempest over, and his words were softer.

  “What?” Tenn asked.

  Jarrett moved from behind the desk. He was in dark, ripped jeans and a loose T-shirt, his coat folded over the chair and his sword by the window.

  “I shouldn’t have sent so few of you out there,” Jarrett said. “It was reckless.” He was closer now, only a few steps away. “I…”

  For one of the few times since Tenn had known him, Jarrett was speechless. Not a trait Air users usually exhibited.

  “I could have lost you,” Jarrett finally said. He reached out and touched Tenn’s face. His fingertips were warm and sent a current across Tenn’s skin.

  Tenn reached up and put his hand over Jarrett’s. They just stood there, staring into each other’s eyes. He could have fallen into that touch, let all the pain and bloodshed fade away into the static of Jarrett’s fingers, the warmth of his eyes. The screams in Tenn’s head never went away, but when Jarrett was nearby, they fell into a hush.

  “Michael’s dead,” Tenn whispered. It wasn’t what he meant to say, but Michael’s image weighed on his mind like a stone.

  Jarrett’s eyes tightened.

  “You did what you could,” he said. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

  Then Jarrett leaned in and kissed him.

  They pulled each other close, Tenn’s free hand lacing through Jarrett’s hair, both of Jarrett’s hands on Tenn’s face. The kiss made Tenn’s heart hammer, the embrace filled with more than love. In Jarrett’s lips, Tenn tasted need and fear and hope, the mix that permeated everything resembling a relationship in this new, fucked-up world. He pulled his boyfriend closer, and in that moment, he was grateful—grateful it hadn’t been his own body burned beneath the kravens, grateful he’d never been turned into a Howl, grateful for every bloody battle that kept him pushing forward. So long as he had this, life was worth living. If only his gratitude wasn’t laced with the guilt of what he’d done.

  He pulled away and rested his forehead against Jarrett’s. For the longest time, neither of them spoke. They just stood there, hands pressed to cheek or hair, holding on to the only thing that really made sense anymore. Everyone had lost hope after the Resurrection, but in Jarrett, Tenn had found a new reason to live, a new chance at finding peace or home—whatever he could afford, whatever he could take. So long as Tenn had that, he had a reason to keep fighting.

  “I’m putting you on first watch,” Jarrett finally said. His breath was quieting, but it was still heavy.

  “Okay,” Tenn replied. He wasn’t scheduled for guard duty, but if that was the worst punishment he got from this, he wouldn’t complain.

  “The twins think the attack will be soon, especially now that our location is compromised. I’ve tripled the guards in case.”

  Tenn squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to think about the coming battle, about the bloodshed waiting on the other side of sunrise. His fingers clenched tighter in Jarrett’s hair, snagging the ponytail loose.

  “What if the Prophets were wrong?” he asked.

  “They’re never wrong,” Jarrett replied. His words dripped regret. “If they were, we’d all be dead by now.”

  Tenn didn’t try to protest. Jarrett was right. The Prophets were never wrong. They just sucked at time frames—thus, the week-long wait in this empty rats’ nest.

  “I need to go divvy out the rotation,” Jarrett continued. He leaned forward and gave Tenn another quick kiss. “First watch,” he repeated. “That way I’m not sleeping alone tonight.”

  Tenn forced himself to smile, but he couldn’t help but feel his heart sink.

  He hated the night before battle. He never knew if, the next evening, he’d be going to bed alone.

  Or at all.

  3

  The rain was barely a drizzle that night. Tenn stood on the hotel roof, watching water pool and stream below. He was soaked all the way through and far past the point of caring. Dinner had been a somber affair. Nowadays, there wasn’t much in terms of funerary rites. People died too often to keep up. So Jarrett had stood in the old conference hall, cleared his throat, and announced to the half-dozen or so troop members in attendance that they’d lost one of their own that afternoon. He didn’t have to say anything about Tenn’s use of magic in the field; every Hunter was attuned to at least one Sphere, which meant every one of them had sensed someone using the power. It was the things Jarrett didn’t say that had the most impact—that because of all that, the battle would most likely be soon. And because of all that, a good number of those present would be dead by the next nightfall.

  The rest of the meal was in silence.

  Tenn turned at the sound of footsteps. Audrey, the other scout. The hotel offered the best view in town—quite literally—and without magic to guide their sight, they needed all the vantage they could get. There was a small, guttering torch on the ground, the only source of light in the darkness.

  “Anything?” she asked, though the answer was obvious. Like him, she was going stir-crazy waiting in silence. He shook his head. There was a look in Audrey’s eyes that told him she wasn’t just coming over to make idle chatter. Maybe the rumors of her and Michael had been true. That was the thing about dating in the field—romance happened, but no one talked about it. No one wanted to have to offer condolences after the inevitable loss. Even he and Jarrett kept their relationship under wraps.

  “What happened out there?” she asked after the seconds dripped by in the rain.

  He bit his lip. Shame made him crave silence, but he knew she deserved the truth.

  “Exactly what you’ve been told,” he said, his words a little more biting than he wanted. Shit. He didn’t want to hurt her, but she wasn’t a Water user. She didn’t know what it was like to have those last moments churning over and over again in her mind. “He died in battle.”

  She looked out to the field. “I know Michael. He wouldn’t have gone down like that. Not by kravens.”

  “There were hundreds,” he said. “And there were bloodlings, too.”

  “All the way out here?” she asked. “There haven’t been bloodlings in these wilds for years.”

  Tenn just shrugged. “Things change.”

  “I don’t like it,” she whispered. “The packs were never that big, not last year. They’re getting stronger.”

  “That’s what happens when we’re feeding their armies.”

  She cast him a glance. It had been the wrong thing to say. Insensitive. But she was hitting points he liked to ignore. Two years ago—a year after the Resurrection—Howls ran wild over all the U.S. Then, when their food supply dwindled, so had they. Lately, the opposite seemed to be true. He had no idea how the necromancers were getting more converts. It wasn’t something he liked to think about.

  “At least you took care of his body,” she said.

  He nodded. The alternative was something they tried to prevent at all costs.

  “Next thing you know,” she continued, “we’ll be finding breathless out here.”

  The very thought sent chills down his spine.

  There were five Spheres of magic—Earth, Water, Fire, Air, and Maya—and five types of corresponding Howls. The higher the Sphere, the deadlier and rarer the Howl. He’d only ever faced kravens and bloodlings. The rest were as good as fatal legend.

  “Well, I’m just winning at this conversation thing. Are you hungry at all?” she asked, clearly trying to change to a lighter subject. “I was going to run down and grab something from the storeroom. I think they still have Twinkies hidden somewhere down there.”

  “I’m good,” he replied.

  “Suit yourse
lf. I’ll be back in five.”

  She turned and walked over to the stairwell, disappearing behind the heavy metal door. Tenn turned back to his watch.

  It was impossible to see anything in the darkness, but he knew he was out here to sense more than see. Necromancers were mages turned to the Dark Lady, and there was a good chance they’d be using magic to lead whatever Howls were in their army. Most turned to the goddess of death for power, to be on the winning side, or because they were forced into servitude. Every Howl and necromancer was Her devotee. But like most religions, She was just a myth to scare kids at bedtime. It was those who took Her too seriously that had caused the Resurrection in the first place.

  Footsteps sloshed through the puddles behind him. He didn’t turn around. Audrey must have run down and back.

  “Beautiful night, isn’t it, Tenn?”

  It wasn’t Audrey. It wasn’t any voice he knew.

  He spun around, staff raised and ready.

  The man in front of him was a stranger. Despite the freezing rain, he wore faded jeans and a thin white shirt opened to his waist. The fabric clung to his body like a Harlequin cover model, accentuating his perfectly chiseled chest and stomach, his smooth olive skin. Chin-length black hair hung in loose waves and twined over his ears. Everything about the man screamed sex and desire and danger. Even his copper eyes glinted seduction. His smile highlighted the clean lines of his face, the perfect teeth and sharp canines. Tenn’s heart raced, but whether from fear or something else, he couldn’t be sure.

  “Who are you?” Tenn asked. He took a half-step back, then realized he was already near enough to the edge. Thunder rolled overhead, but he could barely hear it over the thunder in his own blood.

  The man cocked his head to the side, the smile never slipping, as though he were examining a plaything. Or a tasty appetizer.

  “My name? How civil.” He ran a hand through his hair, and even that movement seemed perfectly executed. “He asks not what, but who.”

  The blink of an eye and the man stood an inch before Tenn, his face so close their lips nearly touched. Copper irises filled Tenn’s vision. The man’s heat sent sweat dripping down his skin.

  “My name, young Tenn, is Tomás.” The man’s voice was a bedroom whisper, and it made Tenn’s heart beat with lust.

  For some reason, the name rang a bell Tenn didn’t want, a tone tolling destruction. The man was like a radiator; Tenn could see the waves of steam shimmering off him. In spite of this, shivers raked down Tenn’s skin. He knew he should push the man away, should use the staff lodged between them to force a retreat, but he couldn’t move. Tomás was still as stone and just as immovable. Worst—a part of him didn’t want to push Tomás away. A part of him wanted to pull the stranger closer.

  In that moment, in the far corners of his mind, something clicked, and Tenn knew precisely what he was facing and just how screwed he was.

  “Incubus,” Tenn hissed through clenched teeth.

  Tomás’s eyes narrowed. “What did you call me?” The words dripped venom.

  The copper eyes. The high heat. The perfect seduction. He was a Howl birthed from the Sphere of Fire, a demon craving human warmth. And like all incubi and succubi—their female counterparts—they preferred feeding through more lascivious acts.

  “You’re…an incubus.” Even before the words left his lips, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Tomás’s eyes sparked red.

  “Incubus?!” His composure cracked. Model became monster, and Tenn’s intrigue turned to fear. “You dare call me incubus? Monster? Demon?” Tomás grabbed a fistful of Tenn’s hair and yanked his head back. Where Tomás’s flesh touched his, Tenn’s skin turned to ice.

  “I am more than any incubus,” Tomás whispered. His lips just brushed the nape of Tenn’s neck, sending ice and flame across his skin. “And you would do well to remember this.” His breath burned like frostbite.

  He let go, and Tenn stumbled, nearly careening off the roof’s edge. When he steadied himself, Tomás was a step back, hands clasped behind him and an insidious smile slashed across his perfect face.

  “The army is coming,” he said. His words were deadly calm, a frightening juxtaposition to the rage that seemed to lurk within. “They will be here before dawn. You cannot stop them. If I were you—and I’m most assuredly glad I am not—I would be gone before they arrive.”

  Tenn tried to catch his breath. He hadn’t realized just how fast his heart was pounding, just how much he wanted to run. But whether he wanted to run away from or toward Tomás, he couldn’t tell. Fucking incubus. They were renowned for their ability to draw desire from their victims. He couldn’t believe he was falling for it.

  “Why are you telling me this?” he asked.

  Howls didn’t reason. They didn’t talk and tell you their names. Howls killed. The fact that Tomás didn’t follow any of these rules scared the shit out of Tenn.

  Again, Tomás’s head cocked to the side. The grin didn’t slip, and for a moment, he just stood there, considering, as rain dripped down his delectably disheveled hair. Tenn kept his focus on the man’s eyes; he couldn’t be trusted to let them wander anywhere else.

  His pulse doubled every time he considered it.

  “Because,” Tomás finally said. “My sister has an interest in you. And what she desires, I too shall keep an eye on.”

  Tenn opened his mouth to speak, but Tomás was there again, faster than lightning, faster than anything human. One hand gripped Tenn’s jaw. The other snaked behind his waist, pulling their hips close.

  “Run, little mouse,” Tomás whispered into his ear. “Run before the monsters get here. I want to make sure you’re alive long enough to play with.”

  Then he was gone.

  It took Tenn a moment to recover, to regain his bearings. He put a hand to his neck and felt the handprint burn ice-hot. It was only then, after staring into the space Tomás had occupied, that he realized what had put him so on edge. It wasn’t the fact the Tomás hadn’t killed him. It wasn’t his help or the promise they’d meet again.

  It was the fact that he had seen a flicker of light in Tomás’s throat just before he’d vanished. Pale blue, paler yellow. Tomás could use magic. No Howl could use magic; that was part of the whole undead package, unless… Shit.

  The name clicked into place.

  Tomás wasn’t just any Howl. He was one of the Kin, one of the six most powerful Howls in human history. The stories of his deeds—whole cities reduced to frozen corpses, harems of half-dead men and women kept on the brink of life for his own hungers—had bled through the fabric of humanity.

  And somehow, he knew Tenn’s name.

  4

  It was sometime past midnight. The troop was assembled; the orders had been given. High alert. Tenn was back on the roof of the hotel, and this time he had even more company.

  It was terrifying to think just how quickly Jarrett had taken the news of Tomás’s appearance in stride. Tenn had barely spoken the words before Jarrett was out the door, calling for the guards to ready the rest of the troop. Tenn had waited there, dumbfounded, watching the shadows of the study for any sign of movement. But Tomás hadn’t reappeared. He may as well have been a hallucination.

  Only, hallucinations didn’t leave bruises on your throat.

  Devon and Dreya stood farther back. The rain pounded down harder now, but the twins still wore their light jeans and thin cotton sweaters. Like Tenn, the cold and the rain never seemed to bother them. It was a perk of being attuned to Water, though it didn’t necessarily make up for the emotional backlash. You took what you could get.

  He’d been positioned up here out of necessity, though the thought still made him clench his teeth. With Michael gone, he was one of two Earth mages left, and the other had been out in the field since yesterday. Tenn was now their only healer. So there he was, safely above the battle with strict orders not to leave the roof or the twins’ watch unless it was to flee for safety. It made him want to scream. Half of the tro
op was positioned out in the field as a buffer, the other half was stationed here. He had no clue which chunk of land Jarrett had given himself to guard, and that made waiting worse. Especially because he knew he was responsible for catching the army’s attention.

  Neither of the twins spoke as they stood there, waiting. He hadn’t expected anything else, and he hadn’t tried to broach any subject. The silence was far from comfortable, but at least the twins weren’t accusing him of anything. Their stares had been bad enough.

  He stiffened when Dreya walked up next to him. For the longest time she stood by his shoulder, staring out at the abandoned town. She was almost a head shorter than him, though she always seemed much taller.

  “I hear you have encountered Tomás,” she said. Her voice was sharp, her words absolutely precise. Just like the rest of her.

  “Yes,” he said. He didn’t even bother asking her how she’d found out.

  In truth, Tomás was all he could think about—the glint in his eyes, the way his hands had felt when they gripped Tenn’s skin. Just the thought made his pulse race with fear and desire. He tried to keep Jarrett’s face firmly in mind, a ward against this new demon—blue eyes, blond hair, golden skin, the antithesis of Tomás’s dark, Mediterranean features. But somehow, his thoughts always returned to Tomás. Tomás, who seemed to stare at him more intently than anyone ever had before. He knew it was just the effects of the incubus’s charm, but it still made him feel like a traitor.

  “That is very odd,” she said.

  No shit, he wanted to say.

  “I know,” he said instead.

  “Do you not think it strange,” she asked, “that we have been brought all the way out here just to stop an army?”

  Tenn shrugged. The fact that they were having a true conversation unnerved him almost as much as Tomás’s presence. Everything was flipping on its head today.