Death Kissed (Nightworld: Court of Magic Book 1)

by J. N. Colon

  With a trembling breath, I descended into the shadows.

  I snatched an unlit torch from the wall. “Bring me flame. Bring me fire. Light this wick. Fill my desire.”

  The torch ignited and spilled a warm glow through the root-covered corridor. I took off, dirt and the electric tang of magic permeating the air.

  And something else.

  Death.

  My heart frantically slammed against my ribs. I wiped a dribble of sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. A figure moved in the shadows ahead, and a low rumble vibrated through the twisting maze.

  A pair of milky-white eyes came into focus moments before a figure lunged at me.

  Shit!

  I dropped the torch and swung the sword, but the reanimated corpse dodged the blade.

  The necromancer didn’t think ferals were enough of a problem? She had to go and wake up a few dead humans too.

  Another one lumbered out of the darkness, emaciated arms outstretched for my throat. Gray tissue hung off her skeletal frame, and hair sprouted out of her scalp in thin, dirty strands.

  This is just getting ridiculous.

  A purple energy ball formed in my palm, and I tossed it at the closest corpse, knocking her into the stone wall so hard her decaying skull easily crunched in.

  The male snapped his jaws while dirty nails clawed the air inches from my neck. I kicked him back and then raised the sword, lopping off his head. He fell onto me.

  Ick! Cold, rotten flesh and the stench of decay and death smacked my face. Could I please get out of this zombie apocalypse nightmare?

  I shoved the corpse off and darted down the corridor. Time was running out. Power already built in the air as a doorway was being accessed.

  Icy fear coated my veins. What if the grand witch stepped out of the portal right now? Maybe Helena knew her. Maybe they were working together to lure me back to Illyria.

  My footsteps faltered as my hand scraped the rough roots twisting along the limestone wall. If that were true, I’d be walking into a trap.

  Would I really risk being captured by my former coven to save a bunch of humans and nightworlders?

  Aiden’s sweet smile materialized in my mind, followed by his fearful expression as a feral attacked him. He wouldn’t stand a chance against those things—and then he’d become one.

  My spine pulled straight as I found the resolve that had urged me on at the beginning of the night.

  Yeah, I would doom myself to save our city.

  I dashed through the maze of limestone hallways, my legs pumping harder even though each step brought me closer to a possible disaster. The arches of the Conclave appeared, bathed in light from an opening portal.

  An invisible fist tightened around my heart as the fragrant air of Illyria, full of herbs and wildflowers, saturated the atmosphere.

  Here goes nothing.

  I emerged into the atrium housing the other realm doors, wind whipping my hair around. Helena stood in front of a swirling portal, the bottom of her jean-clad leg already disappearing through the doorway.

  My movements became instinctual—no thoughts other than stopping her from crossing into the witch world—and I launched forward, grabbing hold of her shoulder. As we tumbled to the cement, the leather satchel chock-full of mystical items, including the dagger of Astrix, slid across the room.

  “You stupid girl,” Helena hissed, kicking me off.

  I crashed into the stone wall, my vision blurring as I hit the ground. The sword tumbled from my grip.

  Helena rolled to her hands and knees, her wild mane flying as she searched for the bag. “You won’t win this. My powers are unmatched, and not just the necromancy.”

  I shook the dizziness off and crawled to my feet. Electric violet strands crackled over my fingertips. The power inside the Conclave tugged at my magic, pulling it forward without my command.

  “End the wakening spell and give me the knife,” I demanded. “I’ll let you keep Cyria’s bag of tricks.” The demon dagger was ten times more dangerous than anything that could be stuffed in that satchel.

  Her twisted, mocking laugh bounced against the limestone. “Why would I want to end the spell? It’s marvelous.” Helena’s arms opened wide. “Thanks to my powers, more ferals are being created as we speak. Before long, Nightworld will be swarming with them.”

  She’d wanted this all along.

  A scarlet haze wrapped around my thoughts, the necromancer the one source of focus in a crimson ocean. This cold, callous creature reveled in death and ruin. I wanted to save my soul, while she’d probably sacrificed hers to the darkness long ago.

  I lunged at Helena, knocking her down and pinning her to the ground. “Why do you want to destroy the city? Without humans, Nightworld will fall apart.”

  “Destruction is beautiful.” Her head tilted back, manic peals of laughter tearing from her mouth. “The gods of Chaos will be so pleased.”

  Helena was a witch gone mad—straight to the psych ward.

  Cold hands suddenly wrapped around my arms, hauling me up. My pulse skyrocketed as the two reanimated corpses holding me captive began dragging me to the swirling portal.

  Gods no!

  Sharp claws of panic sliced through my chest. My boots dug into the stone floor, but it did no good. The entrance to Illyria was close enough to spread electric tingles over my scalp.

  The moment I crossed the threshold, Ellexia would know. And she’d come for me.

  A few locks of hair slipped through the portal, disappearing in the glowing surface. I grabbed the wall, and every muscle strained to keep my body firmly planted on Earth.

  “Oh, sweetheart, just let go.” Helena wiped the dirt from her blouse. “There’s no stopping it now. You’re going through that door.”

  Like hell.

  Power spiked through my core, shooting charged bolts of magic down my arms. The corpses flew back, their fleshy bodies hitting the ground with a meaty smack. I yanked the sleeve of my jacket up and removed the makeshift bandage Caleb had wrapped around my wound.

  Fresh blood was smeared along my fingers, and I held them over the portal. “Close this door. Seal it shut. Don’t open for five minutes. Not for magic, blood, power, or luck.”

  A wave of power blasted through the Conclave, throwing both of us through the air. I struck the wall and tumbled to the ground. Violent pain ricocheted everywhere, doubling until my vision blackened. Bitter ash coated my tongue.

  Son. Of. A. Bitch.

  Screwing with the doors was not a smart idea, considering they contained ancient magic that had a mind all its own. That spell could have eviscerated me.

  Helena scrambled to her feet as the portal closed, the door solidifying to stone. “Well, you’ve got guts, girl.” She brushed the hair out of her face. “Honestly, I’m not surprised they’re still inside of you instead of splattered all over the Conclave.”

  “Oh yeah? Why is that?” I wiped a trickle of blood from my nose and stood on shaky legs.

  She tsked. “You, Thorn Rosalee, death raker and favorite of Grand Witch Ellexia Scarlett, can do many unusual things.”

  My blood crystallized to agonizing shards in my veins. I rested my hand on the wall to keep from collapsing. Helena knew who I was. Even if she ended the necromancy spell, how could I let her return to Illyria? She’d inform Ellexia of my whereabouts.

  I took several shallow breaths. “How long have you known?”

  A smirk hitched her scarlet lips. “Since the moment those demons dragged you and Lachlan’s offspring into the warehouse.” She scoured the floor for her bag. “I must say, I’m quite disappointed you’re working with fae. The grand witch would feel the same, betrayed even.”

  The corpses shuffled in my direction again, movements slow and milky eyes distant.

  My lips thinned. I’d had about enough of the damn zombies. Unfortunately, my sword lay on the other side of the Conclave beyond the evil witch blocking my path.

  “Why are we fighting?” The necrom
ancer inched toward the satchel. “We should be on the same side. Fae have humiliated witches and kicked us out of the city. They deserve some payback.”

  As the female corpse staggered close enough that her stench swam up my nostrils, I pressed my hand on her rotting arm, pulling on my death raker powers. Death had already consumed the creatures. My magic was doing nothing more than killing the link between her and the necromancer.

  Helena flinched as the connection severed, and the corpse dropped to the ground. “That wasn’t very nice.”

  “Sending your disgusting cadavers after me wasn’t very nice either.” I grabbed the other one, shivering at the cold, clammy gray flesh beneath my palm before cutting off the flow of magic from the necromancer.

  As the corpse tumbled from my grip, memories of all the terrible things Ellexia had me do came flooding back. It started with killing plants to exercise my powers, draining them until their green stalks turned dry and brittle. Then insects. Not even butterflies were safe from me. And then animals.

  A gag worked its way up my throat as I thought of the many rabbits I’d murdered.

  And then people.

  Ellexia had me torture other witches countless times. Some ended in death, and whether it was on purpose or I lost control, the grand witch didn’t mind. Maybe her intent had been to tarnish my goodness as much as possible.

  “I have no allegiance to Ellexia,” I ground out, my fists clenching by my sides. “I’d rather die than ever use one ounce of magic for her again.”

  Helena had managed to close the gap between her and the bag to mere inches. “Maybe your death will be soon at hand.”

  “If you don’t end the necromancy spell on the ferals, your death will be in the next few minutes.”

  Her humorless laugh bounced against the stone walls. “You have no weapon. You’ll have to kill me with your death raker powers, and I know what they do to you. I can sense the blackness slithering through your existence.” She moved her hand down her frame as a haughty smile twisted her lips. “I’m no ordinary creature. What do you think will happen when you kill someone like me?”

  I’d already shut down the doubts clawing at my resolve. I knew what I had to do. My sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain.

  “End the spell, Helena. Just end it, and you can walk out of here.”

  Violet began to eclipse her irises as magic crackled between her fingertips. “I will not end my spell.” She lifted her hand to shoot an energy orb at me.

  But I moved faster.

  The moment I laid my palm on her cheek, her pulsating ball of magic fizzled out. Helena’s eyes widened as black veins spiderwebbed across her pale skin. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even scream.

  The necromancer was trapped in my death grip.

  And I wasn’t letting go.

  Her memories crashed right through my mental wall of protection as if it had been made of gossamer wings. Death and chaos whirled more violent than a tornado—every ounce filled to the brim with sinister shadows.

  My stomach churned, acid oozing up my throat. Even when I wanted to break away, the death raker sought to relish each terrible deed the necromancer had committed.

  Anguished screams resonated through the Conclave, and it took a moment to realize they came from me. My soul was crying out from the damage tearing it apart. But if I released Helena too soon, her spell wouldn’t break.

  I had never done something as terrible and dangerous as draining a necromancer’s life. The price would be a hefty one, and my soul might not be the only thing sacrificed. There was a good chance Ellexia would feel this wicked deed. You couldn’t use this much magic without sending vibrations through that vast channel of power connecting every witch.

  When the last remnants of Helena’s life faded, delivering one more blow of darkness into me, I pried my hand away. The necromancer dropped to the ground, her vacant eyes staring up at the roots dangling from the ceiling.

  A wave of dizziness slammed into me, and I stumbled back, crashing to my knees. The pain barely registered through the heady rush, but this time, it was so full of misery, tears flooded down my cheeks.

  My hands slapped the floor as I fell forward. Ragged sobs bounced through the hollow stone room as my body shook like a leaf in a violent storm.

  Would this storm ever end?

  Helena had been right. She was no ordinary creature. Such vast, thick evil flooded my system that I choked on it. I was suffocating in the black hole the necromancer created, one full of nightmares and debilitating fears.

  After the tempest diminished to a grating drone, I crawled toward the leather satchel, my limbs quaking. I tore the zipper open and dug around for the dagger. When my fingers brushed over the hilt, a surge of power ignited in my core.

  The cursed weapon vibrated in my hand as I yanked it out. Crimson sparks popped through the onyx stone as if it wanted to do more damage.

  Not happening. The thing had done enough to last through the next century.

  I stashed it in my jacket pocket as another wave of shivers raced down my spine. My ragged breaths bordering on sobs echoed through the Conclave.

  The necromancer’s spell shattered with her death, and the ferals were destroyed. I’d even retrieved the dagger of Astrix so Cyria couldn’t create any more demon converts.

  All should be right in the world.

  Only, inside of me, a new disaster unfurled. Another layer of shadows coiled around my diminishing soul, ready and willing to suffocate every bit of goodness.

  By killing the necromancer, had I kick-started my own countdown to doomsday?

  Chapter 31

  My finger shook as I stabbed the button on the elevator panel for my floor at Shade, muttering a quick spell under my breath to hasten the journey upstairs. I had to stash the dagger of Astrix before Lachlan or his royal sentries spotted me.

  The Unseelie king could do infinite damage with this kind of power.

  A soothing melody played over the speakers, but it didn’t drown out the frantic thumping of my pulse. I leaned against the chilly railing and avoided my reflection in the gilded doors. Would a killer be staring back?

  No doubt about it.

  The leather satchel of mystical items weighed heavily on my shoulder. What the hell was in this thing?

  The doors slid open to my floor, revealing a tall, broad figure blocking the exit.

  Shit.

  “Thorn! You’re okay.” Jasper brushed copper curls from his face as he studied my haggard state. “Well, you’re alive.”

  The prince’s BFF had to be the one to see me, didn’t he?

  “I’m okay.” Lie. I stepped out of the elevator and around him, headed to my room.

  His meaty hand fastened around my arm to tug me back into the elevator. “Caleb and the king are gathering a group to search for you as we speak. You need to go to Lachlan’s office.”

  My lips thinned, but I didn’t fight him. Arguing with Jasper would only make me look suspicious.

  He jabbed the button for the top floor where Lachlan’s office and living quarters were located. “When the ferals just collapsed dead, we knew you’d gotten to the necromancer, but when you didn’t immediately return…” His broad shoulders lifted as he chewed on his bottom lip, hesitating. “Caleb was really worried.”

  A flush crawled into my cheeks thinking of what happened between the prince and me in the alley. That had been a mistake, a by-product of almost dying. He no doubt felt the same.

  The door dinged open, and I stumbled out as the lavish halls spun. Dizziness consumed my senses.

  Son of a bitch. Not now.

  “Whoa.” Jasper steadied me and then grabbed the bag off my shoulder, settling it on his. “What’s in here?”

  I took a deep breath and shook off the weakness until my vision cleared. “No idea.”

  The colossal fae remained close as we trekked toward Lachlan’s office, the knife pulsating in my pocket. I could only hope the Unseelie king couldn’t sense it.

&
nbsp; Jasper opened the door, and I trailed in after him, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans. Caleb’s head snapped up, his eyes widening at my haggard appearance.

  “Thorn.” He dropped his phone on his father’s desk with a loud clatter and marched forward, reaching out to embrace me.

  I froze in my tracks.

  Caleb halted as if he realized what he was doing and let his arms fall by his sides.

  Was he seriously about to hug me—in front of his father?

  The prince dragged his fingers through his hair and palmed the back of his neck. “I, uh, you’re okay.”

  So awkward.

  I shoved my hands behind my back so he couldn’t see their trembling. “Right as rain.” What did that stupid saying even mean?

  Gods, I needed sleep.

  He inched closer to study me. Could he see the black stain Helena’s kill left on my soul? “And the necromancer?”

  The witch’s vacant, lifeless stare flashed through my mind. “Dead.”

  A line developed between his brows. He opened his mouth to speak, but his father interrupted.

  “I’m thrilled to see you’re in one piece, Thorn.” The king stepped from behind his desk, gliding in our direction. “I have enough evidence to present to the council. The demons will be held accountable for these murders and their countless other violations. You have fulfilled your end of the blood oath, and your friend will never be harmed by me.”

  I motioned to the bag still hanging on Jasper’s shoulder. “I don’t know what’s in there, but the necromancer wanted it pretty badly.” Hopefully, this would distract Lachlan from the dagger.

  A charming smile curled his lips. “We’ll check it out. And thank you again, Thorn.”

  I nodded and spun around, trying not to sprint toward the door.

  “Uh, Thorn?” The king’s urbane voice had me halting in place. “I’d like the dagger, please.”

  Dread hemorrhaged through my veins, and I slowly peered over my shoulder, finding that smile a little more twisted than usual. “The dagger?”

  Lachlan clasped his hands in front of him. “I know you have it.”