Martyr

by A. R. Kahler

  “I had hoped,” he said, hopping off the dais and taking a limping step toward him, “that you would arrive in time to see that.” He snickered and his whole body convulsed. The air around him shivered red.

  “She fought well, my sister. So very well. But you know what they say—revenge is best served cold.”

  Tenn took a half-step back. The roar in his head faltered, his heart thudding in his chest. With every step closer, the air around Tenn grew both colder and hotter, sending sweat and chills down his skin. He was weaponless, exhausted.

  He would die.

  “She’s not dead, of course. I couldn’t do that. What would they say? Tomás, Tomás, youngest brother, what have you done? Hah!” He did a little jump, and Tenn actually started. “I saved the rest for you, little Hunter. I saved you the best part.”

  Tenn looked past Tomás briefly, to where Leanna lay frozen on the ground. How was she still alive? Could the Kin even be killed?

  “Ah, he wonders now.” Tomás’s voice was singsong. Demented. He cocked his head to the side and paused a few feet away. Tenn’s heart raged with fear and revulsion and desire. The damn incubus was still toying with him. “He wonders why. Why why why me? Why must I be the one who kills the beast? And how? When I couldn’t save sweet Jarrett.”

  Tenn grit his teeth.

  “Don’t say his name,” he hissed. Water surged within him. He shook his head, forced down the images of his lover’s face.

  “Why? He’s dead. Dead dead dead! Just like my sister will be. Just like the rest of them.” He chuckled again, another spasm that seemed to shake Tomás to his bones. When he composed himself, he looked at Tenn with a satisfied flatness in his eyes, his lip quirked in the smallest sneer.

  “Thou art the reaper,” he said grimly, “and the world shall bleed at thy hands.”

  “I’m sick of playing your games,” Tenn hissed.

  “But we’ve just started to play,” Tomás said. His grin widened.

  The next moment, he was on Tenn, forcing him to the ground and pinning his arms to his sides. The ground was cold and wet beneath him, but Tenn’s skin burned at Tomás’s touch. The Howl’s face was just inches from his own, only a few, delectable inches. Tenn gritted his teeth and looked to the side, to where Leanna was sprawled on the ground much like he was. In spite of the heat roaring off the incubus, the ground around them cracked with cold.

  “Now he sees,” Tomás said, half to himself. “Now he sees my power. Now they all will see my power!”

  “You’re insane,” Tenn said.

  “Those who hear not the music,” Tomás replied. As another roar filled the sky, he chuckled, sitting back on Tenn’s chest to look to the heavens. Somewhere out there, Tenn heard the unmistakable sound of tornadoes. At least Dreya had made it to her brother safely.

  “If you’re going to kill me, just do it,” Tenn said. He forced himself to look Tomás in the face, forced down the whirl of emotions that the damned incubus stirred in his chest. Oh, how he wanted to rip the man apart, just as much as he wanted to rip off his clothes and make him scream in other ways. Tenn’s heart hurt as Tomás’s empty Sphere tugged.

  “Kill you?” Tomás said. His head tilted to the other side. “Why would I kill the man who will rule beside me as king?” His words were smooth, remarkably sane in spite of the madness in his glowing copper eyes. He reached down and gently placed his hand against Tenn’s jaw. The movement was so intimate Tenn wanted to vomit.

  “We will be gods,” Tomás said. “Can’t you see? Consider this the day of your ascension.”

  Then, before Tenn could grasp what he was saying, Tomás bent down and kissed him.

  The Howl’s lips were cinnamon and fire, the bite of brimstone and ice. It sent chills through Tenn’s skin, traced waves of blinding heat down his spine. He wanted to resist. Wanted to hate the monster that had torn his whole world apart. He wanted to. Every cell of him wanted to fight, to avenge Jarrett’s name.

  But under the magic of the incubus, he felt his resolve give way. Every pulse was a roar in his veins, every second a floating eternity. His back arched against his will, his whole body desiring to be closer, to lose itself in an embrace that tore everything else away. The world around them faded, everything distilled to their lips, to Tomás’s burning hand on his face. The world was red and black and frosted like Hell, and Tenn melted. The fear. The anger. The desire for revenge. All of it burned to ash.

  When Tomás pulled up, he smiled down at Tenn with a smoldering light in his eyes. Tenn’s head swam. His lips tingled. Tomás stood in one smooth motion and reached down, helped Tenn to his feet. Tenn didn’t resist. He floated in a world of static and heat. The ground beneath his feet was light as clouds. He let Tomás guide him over to where Leanna rested on her bed of ice. Her dark hair stuck to the ground, frosted around her head like dead veins. There was a hole in her ribcage, but it didn’t bleed. It didn’t repulse him. Her dull eyes flickered. They were skimmed over, cloudy, but they fixed on Tenn and widened.

  “Do it,” Tomás whispered, his lips brushing promises against Tenn’s ear. Tenn’s heart soared. “Her broken Sphere is the only thing keeping her alive. Rip it out.”

  Tenn knelt at Leanna’s side, Tomás’s hands on his shoulders. Leanna tried to open her mouth, but her lips were frosted shut. Her skin was dusted with white.

  He could feel her twisted Sphere. Air still hungered in her throat, still tried to steal the breath from his lungs. He reached down in a haze. Her flesh was colder than ice beneath his grip, but he barely felt it, not with Tomás so near. The incubus burned like a sun, and Tenn floated in the waves.

  Leanna didn’t scream when Tenn dug his fingers into her throat. She couldn’t.

  Her flesh gave way as easily as burnt paper, crisping and collapsing. He jerked his hands, and her throat caved in on itself as ash. Leanna’s eyes fluttered wide. Then they rolled back in her head, and her body paled as ivory as the whites of her eyes.

  “You have done well, my prince,” Tomás whispered into his ear. He felt the man sink beside him, wrapping his arms around Tenn’s chest and stomach, holding him tight to the inferno. Tenn burned in bliss. “One down. Four to go.”

  The monster kissed the back of Tenn’s neck, made fire swell across his skin. Tenn shivered with sudden cold. His eyes shut on their own accord.

  He felt his heart panic as Tomás drained his heat with the press of his lips. But it was mild, distant. None of it mattered, not so long as Tomás was there. Then his heart slowed. Stopped.

  Before he could wonder if it would ever beat again, the world went dark and numb.

  43

  Darkness everywhere.

  His ears filled with screams, with people calling his name. Pain, so distant. The constant jumble of motion.

  He spun through it all, blind, blissful, floating in a torrent of fire that wracked his body with cold. But he didn’t mind. He barely noticed.

  Because in that void, Tomás was ever at his side. And together, they ruled the nothingness as kings.

  44

  Agony ripped through him the moment he opened his eyes. It was a pain that went deeper than the fire in his bones and the gut-deep scream that made him feel his flesh was being ripped apart. The pain was also a memory, the memory of giving in to Tomás, of letting the Howl win.

  That memory crashed against him along with the waking world, so sure and instant he saw Tomás nuzzled against him, heard the after-trace of his words echo in his ear: my prince, my prince, my prince.

  What have I done?

  “You’re alive,” came a voice. It bled through the pain, forced the room into focus. Tenn found himself reclined in what felt like a dentist’s chair. Old hurricane lamps cast a fluttering yellow light over the otherwise shadow-filled room. Only one shape stood out in the dark, glowing and white like an angel.

  “Dreya,” Tenn said. His voice was harsh. It felt like using another person’s throat.

  Dreya stepped forward. She wasn’t
in the white coat and dirty jeans from when he’d last seen her. No, she was wearing a dress.

  “I must be dreaming,” he muttered. He let his head fall back into the chair and shut his eyes. “Dreya doesn’t wear dresses.”

  “Fool,” she said, the twist of a grin lingering in her voice. He felt her hand against his temple. The touch was light as a feather and cool, but it was solid.

  “Where are we?” Tenn asked. “What happened?” He squeezed the arms of the chair. His body hurt like hell, but he knew there was no magic that could heal it. There were memories fighting against the pain, memories beneath the knowledge of what he had done. Memories he had no intention of realizing.

  “We are safe,” she said. Tenn laughed. Safe. Right. “As for what happened…”

  Something rustled in the corner of the room, the sound of fabric and footsteps. Tenn looked over.

  The man who emerged from the shadows looked like he was Tenn’s age; he was battle-scarred, with short brown hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a light beard. He wore khaki pants and a pale Henley.

  “We intervened,” the guy said. He held out a gloved hand. Tenn looked between him and Dreya, his gaze wary. He wasn’t sure he like the word intervened. “I’m Baird,” the guy continued. His hand still hovered in the air. “I’m the commander of this guild.”

  “A guild,” Tenn said. He squeezed his eyes shut. The light was getting to be too much.

  “Yeah,” Baird said. “A few days east of Leanna’s compound.”

  Tenn couldn’t do this right now. He knew he should question Baird about where they were and what they were doing so close to Leanna’s lair and how the guy had saved them in the first place. But he couldn’t. All he could do was stare at the black of his closed eyelids and try to shove the screaming down. Leanna’s throat, crumbling under his fingertips. Tomás’s smile. And Jarrett, Jarrett…slumped against the wall as his last breath faded. Oh gods, what have I done?

  “He needs his sleep,” Dreya said. “We must let him rest.”

  “Of course,” Baird said.

  “I will be right outside,” Dreya whispered in his ear. There was a shuffle of footsteps, and the open and close of a door. Tenn floated in the silence, weighted down only by the chains wrapped around his heart.

  He had killed Matthias without a thought. He had killed Leanna with his bare hands. He should have felt vindicated. He should have felt a weight lift off of his shoulders because he had done what he had set out to do. He’d gotten revenge. And the runes.

  But he had lost Jarrett. He had killed his own love. And none of the other things, none of the revenge or bloodshed meant anything, not anymore. Because none of it would bring his lover back.

  He was no better than the monsters he was sworn to hunt.

  Tears slid down his face, hot and furious. His body shook. But he fought it off. Crying wouldn’t help anyone.

  But what now? They were in a guild somewhere. Tomás was still running amok. And he himself was still being played. He knew that. He knew it was just beginning. Unbidden, the words of the Prophet scratched themselves down his spine. The Dark Lady will own you. And when she does, she will burn the world with your hands.

  Pain squeezed his chest.

  He wanted it over.

  Somehow.

  He just wanted it to be over.

  “Why are you crying?”

  His eyes snapped open. It wasn’t a voice he recognized.

  He sat up and looked over. There, right beside the chair, was a child. A girl dressed in purple rags. A girl with eyes the color of the moon.

  Tenn didn’t answer her question. “Who are you?” he asked instead. She shivered, though the room was almost uncomfortably warm.

  “They’re talking again,” the Voice said. She looked down to her grubby hands. Her words sent chills racing across his skin. “They’re saying your name.”

  “Who?”

  “They say you’re killing us,” she continued, ignoring the question. “They say you’re helping him.”

  “I don’t know what you’re—”

  She looked him dead in the eye, cutting him off.

  “He will destroy us all,” she said. “Unless you stop him.”

  Tenn took a deep breath. And then, he pictured the tracking rune he had burned into Tomás’s heart. The signal was faint and growing farther away by the moment. It shamed him to admit how relieved he felt.

  “He’s long gone,” he said. “He’s not coming back.”

  The girl shook her head.

  “Not the incubus,” she said. “There is someone else.”

  “Who? Another Kin?”

  “No.”

  She reached out and put a tiny hand on his wrist. Her touch felt like static and oil, the grease of something unbearably tarnished. Lights flashed across his vision, and he was back. Back in the cave with the flickering light. Back with the words of the Ancients ringing in his ear.

  And back with the image he had managed to forget. The boy with the black hair and rings in his lip. The boy whose copper eyes glittered like constellations. The boy who somehow felt like a mirror.

  “He is your other half,” the Ancients whispered. And it wasn’t just the Ancients. It was the little girl at his side in the lamp-lit room, her fingers digging into his skin. The statement filled him with anger, with denial. He’d just lost his other half. He’d just lost Jarrett. There was no one else…

  “You must find him. Save him,” she said. Her words burned as bright as his indignation. “Before you damn us all.”

  Acknowledgments

  This book has been in some stage of production since I was fourteen.

  At this very moment, that is half my life ago.

  What began as a story told around the lunchroom table soon branched out in a dozen different directions—late-night cosplays, comedies about a fuzzy blue minion and his necromancer boss, high-fantasy epics, and eventually, the oh-so-very-different book you hold in your hands. Fourteen years of development and input. Fourteen years of people to thank.

  So here is the very abbreviated list. I am probably forgetting many.

  First, to Laurie McLean, for being the greatest ally I could ask for. This was the book that brought her into my life, and I’m so grateful for it. She and everyone at Foreword Literary have been my saviors.

  To Patricia Riley, for taking the chance and being the first to turn my dreams of being a published author into a reality. And, of course, to everyone at Spencer Hill Press for turning this story into a work of art. Your enthusiasm has meant the world.

  To Asja Parrish, for her unwavering enthusiasm and editing prowess.

  To my family, for their support and excitement throughout the entire process. It’s been a long road.

  To my friends over the years and continents who have read and loved and helped this tale grow. To Beatrice Schares, for the support and beautiful fan art. To Will St. Clair Taylor, for constantly inspiring me with zany ideas. To Delilah Dawson and Julie Kagawa for being plain amazing. And to Adam and Julie, for making Glasgow a second home.

  To Danielle Dreger and Danny Marks, for welcoming me to the Seattle writing community.

  To my amazing cover designer, Hafsah at IceyDesigns, for integrating all my crazy input and creating such beauty.

  To everyone who told me the world was ready for fantasy stories with gay protagonists. Thank you for giving me footing. And to everyone who said the time wasn’t right. Thank you for giving me something to overcome.

  And finally to you, my friend and reader, for coming along on this journey. You’re the real reason I’m writing.

  About the Author

  Alex is many things, but first and foremost, he’s a Sagittarius. This means he generally has a hundred projects on his plate. He also doesn’t sit still. Ever.

  Born in Iowa and educated across the States, he’s taught aerial fabric in Amsterdam, gotten madly lost in the Scottish wilderness, drummed with Norse shamans, and received his masters in Creative Writi
ng from Glasgow University. And that’s just within the last few years.

  Kahler’s published works include The Immortal Circus trilogy and the upcoming Ravenborn series. He also wrote Love is in the Air as Alex R. Kahler.

  When he’s not writing or exploring or climbing in the rafters, he’s probably drinking coffee. And seeing as he currently resides in Seattle, there’s coffee aplenty.

  Follow his travels at www.arkahler.com or find him on Twitter @ARKahler.