NECROSIS (Nerys Newblood Book 2)

by Lucy Smoke

  I continue to stare. “What?”

  He chuckles once more, rubbing the back of his head. It’s so plain without his crown attached. He is just like anyone else. “I asked what brought you here? You’re dead too, right?”

  “You know you’re dead?”

  He nods, his hand dropping away as he turns to look at the water. “Yes, I feel I’ve been dead for a while now. Sometimes it feels as though I’ve been here for a day, other times it feels as if it’s been years.” He turns back to me. “Perhaps you could tell me. Do you recognize me? My name is—”

  “I know who you are,” I stop him. “King Matric of Euron.” I don’t stop the utter rage that fills my tone, the anger that boils in my throat. I don’t fear him here. In death, we are no more than spirits in the wind. In death, he and I are equal.

  His eyes sharpen, and he straightens his spine. “I take it I’ve done you some sort of wrong,” he guesses. “In life, I mean.”

  “You could say that,” I say. “You could say that you’ve done me several wrongs. You hunted me like an animal. You took my best friend and you tortured him. I’m here because of you, because of what you left in the world.” His son. God, I hope Obi and the guys can kill him. “So yes, you could say you’ve done me some sort of wrong!”

  As I speak, the words rise louder and higher, crashing against the silence of the air between us. I end in a scream, pent-up anger, frustration, and fear pouring out of me. When the last words leave my mouth, quiet stretches between us. I stare up at a man that’s no longer a man, but a soul stuck on the cusp between our old world and a new one, and I wait.

  “The daimon,” he says. His eyes droop and the very sky—a sky that had been perfectly blue moments before—dims to gray. It matches my mood. “A girl at that. You’re so young. I didn’t expect you to be so young.”

  “Too young to be hunted like a monster,” I snap.

  His head bows slowly before moving up and down. “Yes, too young to be hunted like a monster.” His head slowly lifts once more, but he doesn’t look at me this time. Instead, he turns toward the surf, watching as the waves crash several inches from our feet, never reaching farther up and never touching us. “I don’t know what to say,” he begins. “I don’t know what to say except I’m sorry. So sorry, child, for everything I’ve done.”

  “Why did you hate me so much?” I ask. Tears fill my eyes and I fight them. “What did I ever do to deserve that?”

  “Nothing,” Matric says quietly. “You didn’t do anything. It was me—my decisions, my mistakes, my...love for my child.”

  “What?” It clicks in my head. It all makes sense. What Edwin is. What Obi and Madam Armaita had told me. The King knew the entire time.

  “My son—Edwin...” He pauses, glancing at me as I move to face the water. “Do you know that he killed me? My own son.”

  I nod. “I know.”

  “He’s not like others, my son. He’s special, has been ever since he was born. His mother...well, there wasn’t a woman like her in the kingdom. Not a soul like her in the whole world. She was special too. I didn’t understand, though, what she was until it was too late. I didn’t understand until I was standing there holding my son, my little Edwin, in my arms as a newborn and she told me.”

  He waves his hands out at the ocean and the barren beach. “This,” he says, “is merely a realm of the afterlife. But Death, Death is a creature that moves beyond it. She can change her form, be man, woman, child, or animal. And for a while, Death was my wife, my queen. She bore me a son, a child of Death, and when she was sure I loved him enough, she left me.”

  Matric turns away, tears brimming in his eyes, streaking his cheeks. His words choke in his throat as he speaks. I’ve already figured out the story he’s about to tell me, but I let him tell it anyway. Like one final purge for him.

  “In an instant, my whole life changed. My queen, my wife, the mother of my child was gone and though I knew she wasn’t even human, I mourned her. There’s no searching for Death in the old world. There’s only finding it, and I couldn’t find it until Edwin was raised. Only when I was raising him did I realize there would be no finding my wife again. I had to dedicate everything to one or the other and Edwin needed me.”

  Matric is quiet for several moments, his throat moving as he holds back words and tears and pain. When he speaks again, his volume is so low, it’s barely a whisper. “That’s what it does, apparently. It comes to our world, finds someone to love it, and then it seduces them and gives them the world before taking it away all in the same breath.”

  “It?” I move closer, listening.

  “Death,” he says. “It’s neither man nor woman, it’s a God without gender and without remorse. Even when it was gone, leaving me alone with a child, I knew I’d regret all that I would do to keep my son safe. It had warned me before it left, told me all of the creatures known to kill a child of death and it told me that the next daimon would come from my kingdom. The next daimon would come for my child because that’s what you’re supposed to do. Lead in an era of prosperity and hope and greatness. You couldn’t do that with a child of Death living in our world.

  "I knew Edwin would be different; I could see it in his eyes as a child, see the detachment there. When he killed his first animal, I swore up and down to him it had been an accident. I told myself that’s what it was. He couldn’t control his powers. I hid it and went on the hunt, fearing that once the daimon was awakened with their spirit guide, they’d seek him out and destroy him. I needed to make sure he would be safe. He was my son, blood of my blood. Flesh of my flesh. And it was all for nothing.”

  Matric looks at me with such pain and sorrow built behind his deep-set eyes that I can’t speak a word. It all makes sense now, though. My hate—built over so long—falls away as if it had been held in my heart by nothing more than soft pliable snow, easily washed away. I almost wish that this man—this father—had been given a son worthy of him. Instead of a manipulation, a monster without emotion.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, eyes beseeching me as the tears overflow, running down his face, “for everything I’ve done to you, and put you through. I am deeply sorry.”

  A new, unfamiliar voice speaks, stopping me from replying. “As the rain falls, it washes away our darkness.”

  Both of our heads turn towards the voice. From the waves, a woman emerges with long ropes of dark wiry hair secured back by a band of silver. She wears a long silvery white robe, the same color as our own clothing. But hers is different, there are markings sewn throughout the fabric—an old language that looks familiar. It reminds me of something…I don’t have time to figure out, though, whatever it is. I have a feeling about this woman though, a feeling that she’s here for a reason, and that reason has to be us.

  “Is it time?” I ask.

  “It’s time for one of you to come with me,” she says turning her eyes to King Matric. “Your Highness?” She lifts her palm out for him to take.

  “No, let her go first,” he says, stepping back.

  “It’s not her time,” the woman says. He looks at me and I smile.

  “Go ahead,” I say. “I think she’s right.”

  I know she’s right because I can hear someone else’s voice calling me. A deep familiar timbre etched with concern and love. There are several voices calling, each different than the last, yet all of them have a place in my heart.

  “Will I see you again?” he asks.

  “I don’t know,” I answer him honestly. “Maybe someday.”

  “There is only the one,” the woman says. “I only come for each soul once.”

  “Go,” I urge. “I’ll be okay.”

  “I don’t expect your forgiveness,” he says. His eyes pierce my chest like a dagger, tearing through muscle and bone, reaching deep to where my heart lies. “I say this with the complete understanding that you could—and likely will—reject me, but I am sorry. I am sorry for the pain I have caused you, sorry for the fear you must have felt
, sorry for it all.”

  I swallow reflexively, salt on my tongue, and wait. I wait for an excuse, an explanation. I know there is one—I suspect the reason—but I’m surprised when he doesn’t attempt to justify his actions in life towards me. He merely stands there, a broken man—a broken father—about to be whisked away to his eternal place.

  Reality is so much harder than fiction. In reality, people are not always evil. Their souls are not linear. Their lives are intertwined with others and their reasons...their choices are often ones you can see yourself making. All of my anger dissipates, down to the last vestiges that remain.

  No one is a villain in their own story. I was a victim in mine—a victim of King Matric. But as I stand here and stare at his back, I realize—his villain was me. He feared me and drove himself to his own actions out of love for his son. But his son…how will I be able to watch Obidian kill Edwin now that I know what his father did for him?

  The waves grow louder as the woman pulls him away. Her facial expression doesn't change as she turns back the way she came, taking him along with her. They make it several feet away, until their figures are almost completely eclipsed by the waves. Just before he steps beyond the waves with her, though, I call him back.

  "I know you said you didn't expect forgiveness!" I yell out. He pivots, the side of his face visible in the distance. "But I do!" I call. "I do forgive you."

  A long deep roar echoes across the skies, drowning out his response, but his lips move, his mouth forming words—I can't hear them, but I can read them.

  Thank you, he says just as the waves crash back together, swallowing him and the woman up, raging in a torpedoed whirlwind before calming once more.

  When he looked back at me, in his eyes, I could see the King he had always been beneath his fear and his twisted love. It heals a broken piece of me deep down seeing that man, hearing his apology. Wherever he ends up, I hope it's somewhere good. For me, quality is determined by the good intentions, not always by the choices we make when we are blinded by love or fear. Though he was once my enemy, I find that when I let go of all the rage I held towards him—it doesn't matter anymore. Enemy. Friend. Stranger. Loved one. To break is to be human. I'm just sorry that he died trying to protect someone that didn't deserve it. Because I know, although Matric's intentions were good, his son's are not. Matric may not have been the evil I made him out to be, but that doesn't necessarily mean the same for Edwin.

  The sky darkens and rain begins to fall.

  The roar from before sounds again, and I turn towards it. Winds whip across my face, slapping my cheeks. It grabs the fabric of my dress and tugs it sharply to the side until it's plastered against me. Above me, the winds only churn harder, faster as a black dot appears over the crest of the clouds. Dark wings flap up and down and a smile forms against my lips.

  I look down and note that my fingers are fading. My whole hand, in fact, is translucent. It pricks and tingles, racing up the rest of my arms the nearer the dragon comes. It's roar loud and violent.

  "Nerys!"

  "Wake up!”

  “Can you hear us, Princess?”

  The guys are calling me. My guys are calling me. I look up as I turn away from the ocean and across the beach I see a dark figure flying beneath the thunderous clouds, moving at an incredible speed. The dragon draws closer, wings beating against the wind and kicking up sand and droplets of ocean water.

  Coal black eyes the shade of the darkest fire beckon me forward. Sand erupts around me as the dragon lands, it's long, leathery wings spread out. Dark eyes meet mine. They're familiar—though I've never seen them in the physical realm before. His large snout swipes to the side as his jaws unhinge.

  "I told you I would come," Obidian's deep, fiery rumble is like sweet music to my ears.

  "I'm glad you did," I say, moving towards him. My feet are faded, translucent just like my arms. How I'm able to walk, I'll never know—perhaps magic, perhaps something more. What I do know is that my time here has come to an end.

  "They wait for you," Obidian says, and I know he means the guys.

  They will be angry, panicked, overwhelmed. I don't know how they've found my physical body in the cave, but I'm glad the first thing I'll see when I wake up is them. I lift my gaze to Obidian. "Then let's not keep them waiting," I say.

  He dips his head. "I will see you in a little while, Nerys. The dark one has reached the sanctuary. I am coming for you, your body will need my heat for a faster recovery."

  "Will I still have my powers?" I ask.

  The echoing caverns of his eyes somehow manage to crinkle at the corners, his scales tightening in an almost human gesture. "You have always had them, Nerys. You had them long before me, and you will have them long after me. You only have to reach for it."

  His scales are warm under my fingertips, as I smooth one hand down his frame. The heat beneath them is ready to be released at any moment. I don't have a chance to reply before I'm catapulted back to the real world, my chest screaming for relief, my skin burning with ice, and my lips numbed as someone above me attempts to warm my cold body.

  “Don’t you fucking leave me,” I hear.

  I feel something deep within me stirring to life, a burning heat. It eclipses my senses, almost overwhelming in its intensity. Just when I think it might ravage through my mind and send me spiraling back towards Necrosis, it sinks further—igniting something in my bones, my nerve endings, every single piece of me. I can feel the brilliance of the light several moments later when I open my eyes and see snow falling all around me, landing on the edges of my lashes. The dark sky swirls as if it realizes something has happened, a change has occurred. Not only within the physical realm, as somewhere in the distance a dragon’s roar echoes over the clouds, but within me.

  A flame has been set ablaze.

  Want more?

  Check out Lucy Smoke’s Heart of Tartarus, available now on Kindle Unlimited!

  Heart of Tartarus

  Chapter 1: Guns & Messengers

  Tartarus, city of criminals, usually smells like a combination of garbage, smoke, and desperation. Tonight, though, after another lightning storm, the sky city’s walkways and steel buildings are left soaked with an after mist of the rain. A sugary-sweet scent filters up from below the hovering, cranking, machines that keep Tartarus and its half a million residents afloat. It’s the scent of the farming villages with old Earth soil mined from the destitute planet even farther below. The crops grown there, like cane sugar, are sweet and so vastly different from the city. Usually, I would have had to stand at the very top of my pod complex building just to catch a whiff of the clean smells on the wind.

  I crack my neck before darting across the alley, the low beams of hovering vehicles cutting through the smog as the drivers honk me out of the way. One barely misses clipping me on the side. No one cares about pedestrians here on this lonely criminal sky city. Inside Lionheart’s, raunchy jokes and the stench of sewage workers fills the room. The owner, Richie, mans the bar, his sharp eyes watching the drunken crowd.

  I perch myself at a barstool, tapping my short nails against the touch screen metal bar top. It doesn’t allow access to order until I scan a card or an implant chip over the screen, but I’m not here for a good time. Nor am I stupid enough to believe the government when they say implant chips are the way of the future. So, for now, the screen simply glitters with a dark swirling background as I wait impatiently for Richie to recognize and acknowledge my presence. I people-watch on my stool, every so often checking the scanner on my wrist that alerts me to enforcer aircrafts in the nearby vicinity. I’m not on the arrest list at the moment, but it’s a habit that I’ve developed over the last five years—ever since I ran away from a place that was never really a home to begin with.

  “Oi!” I smother a smile as Richie spots me and the dangling metal wing charm hooked in the lobe of my right ear that proclaims my status as a messenger. He starts to wave one meaty fist in my direction, drawing the gazes of several
patrons. “Don’t ya go sittin’ at my bar,” he snaps, barreling towards me. “I ain’t servin’ ya. Not only is ya underage, but this a man’s place.”

  I give up on not smiling and let a grin slip through. “I’ve got a message for you,” I reply coolly.

  Richie stops a few feet away from me, his gaze turning calculating and wary. Most of my clients’ recipients don’t give a shit what I have to say unless they’re expecting me. Richie isn’t and he’s no different. A messenger at their door doesn’t usually mean good news, but I get paid a living wage and I don’t have to sell my body or marry some fat, bulbous sewage worker or crime underling—both of which like to use their fists on those that warm their beds a little too much. I wait to see what Richie will do next.

  “Who’s it from?” Before he even finishes his demand, I’m already shaking my head.

  “You know that’s not how it works,” I say, holding my hand out. “Fee first, then message.”

  His dark eyes squint at me in irritation. I raise an eyebrow as his gaze narrows.

  “I ain’t pay’n ya if I don’t know what this is about,” he decides with a firm nod.

  I blink and then put my hand down with a sigh. “Alright then.” I hop off the bar stool and make my way to the front door, waving a hand over my shoulder. “I’ll tell Jolene you send your regards.” I smirk as I round a particularly raucous group near the front windows.

  “Now, hold up there!” Richie hollers, stopping me as I reach the tavern’s entrance. I turn back and wait for him to make up his mind. He grumbles and rummages around under the counter for a moment before his fist slams a handful of bills and coins that make up my messenger receiving fee onto the bar top. “‘Eres ya damn fee. Now, tell me what my damn child got ‘erself into this time.”

  I walk slowly back to the bar and pick up the money, counting it quickly before I answer. His face watches me, growing redder by the second. Customers call for beers and liquor. He holds them all off with a glare until I’m finished.