by Karey Brown
“Did he just threaten you?” Emily whispered.
“Yes,” Dezenial whispered back.
Emily felt suddenly very, very shy.
Dezenial pulled her protectively closer, guiding her to stand before the man of cloth. The priest’s words droned and blurred. Finally, something she recognized, though it hit her much more strongly than chick flicks she’d dabbed her eyes in front of, a lifetime away from here. Dezenial, proud Lumynari prince over all Shadow Masters, spoke words from her world, promising to honor and protect through sickness and in health until his dying breath—though he added his love would carry over into the beyond. She repeated his sentiment. She thought they would kiss. He shocked her again by producing a silver band and placing it on the fourth finger of her left hand. Tears left glittery trails down her cheeks.
“Now, wife, you will take my oath.” Her new husband uttered words, translating them into English. Emily found herself swearing allegiance to him, and to the Lumynari. Dressed similar to the Grim Reaper, a faceless warrior presented a gold dagger, reminding her, even on this fantastic day, potential death surrounded her.
“Inzyr, escort the priest from the temple.”
“As you command, my liege.”
Emily found herself curious and apprehensive. The elderly clergy pat her shoulder on his way to being ushered out. Atmosphere shifted. Something huge was about to transpire.
God, don’t have them kill a goat.
“We don’t do that, Keer’dra.” Dezenial squeezed her hands, then let them go. “This time, I offer you a choice. My blood to course through you, binding you to me for eternity.” His head reared a bit. “I will have your blood as well, this time, coursing through me. I will never be able to find satisfaction, nor tolerate the sight of another. This I offer you. Soulmates. Do you accept?”
He wanted her forever. Beyond forever. Only her. Emotional, her throat tightened. She whispered her agreement to his offered gift. Relief flooded his eyes, though lasting only seconds, it revealed volumes to her. Her right wrist was grasped, the blade wielder tossing back his hood.
This was no Lumynari warrior standing before her!
Emily gawked. Dezenial shrugged free his tunic, and held out his own arm.
“Lady Emily, I complete the bond that has entwined you with my son for over four thousand years. This can only be performed by a god.” Hades leaned closer to Emily. “That would be me,” he whispered. “And with the blade of Zeus, forged in the fires of Mt. Olympus.”
“Hades?” she squeaked. “The real Hades?” Emily swayed. Hades’ grip tightened.
When Dezenial resumed speaking, Emily instinctively knew he no longer spoke Balkorian. Hearing the language touched something deep within her. She wanted to both laugh and cry, as if she’d finally come home after being lost for an immeasurable amount of time. Dezenial’s voice grew, a singsong timbre she’d yet to hear from him. Hypnotically, she stared into his gorgeous almond shaped azure eyes.
Hades delicately sliced across her palm.
She refused to cringe.
Her husband returned her trancelike stare, his voice escalating as his own palm received the same treatment. Scent of spice filled the room. Her mouth watered.
Weird.
Drums began, starting off softly, beating louder and louder, Dezenial’s chant matching their powerful tempo. Their palms were thrust together, raised above their heads, clamped by Hades’ tight grasp. Emily’s head fell back. Buzzing filled her ears. Dezenial’s head fell forward. A slight shake, he looked to her, his eyes crimson.
He silenced.
Fangs were longer, sharper and gleaming in the temple’s firelight. Drums beat wildly as man and wife stared at each other. Emily noted not a drop of blood coursed down their arms from the open wounds on their palms. Truly now, they flowed into the other.
“Now, Dezenial, you will complete the bond. She must accept who and what you truly are,” Hades commanded. His voice was as powerful as the drums.
“Dez?”
A hand clamped down hard on her shoulder. Why was her father immobilizing her?
“You now flow through him as he does you, daughter, but the taking is not complete,” Hades stated.
“There’s more?” she whispered, eyeing her new father-in-law. Smoky gray skin, a color similar to Dezenial’s, but the similarity—except for breadth of shoulders—stopped there. Where Dezenial had glowing white hair, Hades’ was blue black, though just as long. Her gaze snapped to her husband. “What are you hiding from me?”
Dezenial remained silent, watchful. Her pounding heart cadenced in his head. Would she deny him? Scream? Demand freedom?
Were they about to sacrifice her? Was that it? Panic rioted within. Her new husband abruptly raised his arm. Absurd thought before her death, for surely this was the part where he plunged the dagger into her heart, but shit-hell-damn, he was magnificent shirtless!
Drums ceased.
Emily sensed he was torn. Nervous. A Lumynari hesitant? Her fear increased tenfold.
“I am your life-mate.”
“As I am yours,” she muttered, eyeing his raised hand.
“Now, son,” Hades growled.
Inzyr’s hold tightened. Painfully. His body braced against her backside.
“Dez?”
No sound. No warning. Not even a twitch from his body.
Wings unfurled from his back.
Emily gasped. Subconsciously, she pressed back against her father. Wings. Featherless. Like a dragon. Gigantic. And still expanding. Flapping ever so elegantly. Flames rollicked where there should have been irises. This, she’d seen before. But not the flames at his feet.
Sixth sense screamed Run!
He had watched over her since birth.
Run!
He had loved her since before she breathed in this lifetime.
Escape!
Emily pat her father’s hand, and stepped from his clutch. Holding Dezenial’s stare—promising to later examine the fact that Hades had begun to float—she took one unwavering step closer to Dezenial. “Well, at least you don’t have horns.”
His grin caused her heart to skip. His fangs gleamed.
“I love you,” she said, caring little who heard such an intimate declaration. “You’re going to have to do a lot worse to scare me off . . . but, uh . . . can we so use you to scare the kids on Halloween night?”
Hades barked laughter.
“Come to me, Keer’dra. The ritual is not yet complete.”
“I get my own wings?”
“I like this girl,” Hades muttered.
“I take your soul.”
“Oh, well,” She widened her eyes at Hades. “Why didn’t you say so?”
His hand held out, she refused to hesitate. Immediately, his wings enfolded around her, his breath hot. Her body shuddered. Flames at his feet shifted to include her, his hold tightening around her waist. Their eyes locked and held, his hand coming up, cupping the back of her head and pulling back until her neck was tightly arched.
“Mine, Keer’dra. Mine,” he growled.
Fangs sank into delicate flesh. And though she winced at first, a myriad of delicious sensations coursed through her. She saw the first time she’d been his lover, in a life far removed from this age. A sensation of floating, a forest slowly blurred. Mist cleared and she observed his frantic search for her only to arrive in time to ease her passing into death. His pain profound, she watched as he traveled deep beyond Balkore. Three thousand years, she heard someone mutter. Inzyr? Dezenial again, as if she hovered over his shoulder. He held her at birth. She saw her mother, agony and joy marring her soft features. He was searching again. Frantic. Drakar’s name there, in his thoughts. His heart swelling when she’d toddled to him completely trusting. Throughout her life, she now saw him hidden in the shadows, protecting, and aching . . . aching with need, denying himself, her safety paramount. Tighter, she held him, feeling him drink of her, knowing she experienced what no living human had: her ancient sou
l singing, rejoicing, then sighing deeply, content to once again belong to her beloved.
* * * * *
Heavy skirt, and a shirt resembling more a corset than clothing appropriate for this cold underground city, made her snort. “Definitely picked out by male species.”
Inzyr was incredulous. “You object?”
Emily held up the pieces. “As soon as you two allow me to select my own clothes, jeans and sweaters are going to rule the day.”
Inzyr scoffed.
“Don’t tell me my mother wore these types of outfits?”
“It is how she conceived you.”
“Alrighty then.” Emily stormed off to her private chambers to change.
And obsessed in the full length mirror. Sexy. Imperial. The long skirt swished, light as breath against the tops of her feet. A long slit to her thigh allowed ease of movement. And an erotic view with each step of her leg. And what a leg! Since when do I have shapely thighs? Toned calves? All this walking has paid off. Take that, Julia Michaels! She ran a hand across her abdomen. There’s something to be said about weapons training. Her solitary complaint was the way the corset cupped her breasts and pushed them upwards. Only thing missing are a pair of Victoria’s Secret wings. Gah!
“If you are finished?”
She spun around. “I . . . I’m beautiful.” Heat warmed her neck and stained her face.
Dezenial crossed the room, stopping when his body sighed against hers. It was a domination thing she’d come to absolutely love. And be a little turned on by.
“You have always been.” He caressed her face. “Thank you, Keer’dra. I did not know if you would demand freedom . . . scream . . . or accept . . . me.”
“Your eyes, you . . .” her lips quivered, for, unashamedly, tears coursed down Dezenial’s dark face. “You truly thought I would bail?”
“I am Daemon.” He hesitated. “Yes,” he finally said. Her quizzical frown needed no words. “Still Lumynari, but . . . saving your life in the tunnels, I chose my father’s path. I’ve never allowed any to see me except under full duress of attack.” His voice lowered. “Not even when you were Zaiyne, did you know.” He grinned, dropping his hands. “I guess you bring out the worst in me.”
“What exactly is your father’s path compared to the one your mother obviously laid out for you?”
His sheepish grin was contagious.
“Do I wanna know?”
“Now, instead of the slayer of mortals, I am their protector.”
Emily gawked. With his index finger, Dezenial lifted her chin until her mouth closed.
“I love you,” she whispered, suddenly very serious. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed the traces of his tears.
“Jin kase bissa.” His closed fist touched where his heart lay, then rested upon hers. Deeply, they kissed, his hands caressing each side of her face. “I love you,” he translated, smiling tenderly, their foreheads resting together. “Regrettably, I must end this. Come. Your father has found something he wishes you to view.”
“Wait, am I going to uh, am I going to—“
“No,” laughing, he shook his head. “Do you desire to become Daemon?”
“You could let me finish a sentence versus reading my mind. As for that, it could have its advantages if I’m ever in the modern’s realm.”
“Oh, how?”
“Greggs Bakery. I could scare the bejesus out of them, then scoop up all their Yum-Yums and sausage rolls, and vanish.”
“Yum-Yums? There’s really such thing called—“
“Yes, and you won’t feel like such a fool asking for them once you’ve tasted their sticky sweetness. Get that look off your face. Not all sticky sweetness involves your anatomy, perv!”
He pulled her into the circle of his arms, chuckling and kissing the top of her head.
“Is your father still here?”
“No. Rarely, does he leave his domain.”
“I’m special.”
“Actually, to him, to us, yes, Keer’dra, you are. He has long relished the idea of having a daughter, and in this lifetime of yours, he is especially fond of your orneriness.”
Dezenial was duly whacked on his derriere. He squeezed hers in return, then sobered.
“Should I die, he will send a Daemon warrior to you. The warriors are never pathetic humans, Keer’dra, but always Hades’ elite. None will serve you more loyally. To those serving me, you are now their queen.”
“Die? How? Aren’t you a god? Why would I want a warrior? Hades is the god of death, right? Wait, wait, wait—queen? As in,” she curtsied. “Oh, hang on, you mean that madness Broc spoke of about everyone waiting for my return.” She waved her hand. “Absurd.”
“You will not be able to survive in the event I meet my demise, and yes, queen—most assuredly not of Quemori.”
“You’ve got that right, I most certainly will not survive if you . . .” she couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“Keer’dra, I am not speaking merely of broken hearts likened to your romance novels.”
“You know about my books?”
“You’ve inherited your father’s unnatural appetite for reading. Your books are . . . bizarre. I did like the sex parts. Until you fantasized that it was you as the pirate’s captive.”
Her hands slapped against her cheeks, a failed attempt to cover her blush. “Peeping Tom.”
“You are forbidden to read those books ever again.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I can see you are going to be a difficult wife.”
“Residing with Hades, I would have to be dead, right?”
“We are bonded. Soulmates. I drank of your soul. In the event that I die, and there are a few ways it can happen, Emily, your grief will not ease with time. It will manifest until you . . . my father will come for you. You will be cherished and protected by the Daemon warrior he sends until such time as your own journey commences.”
“Seems if I’m to be taken to Hades’ realm, I’d see you there, even if it’s your spirit.” Her gaze narrowed. “There’s a whole lot more you aren’t telling me.” She waved her hand. “I don’t want to discuss this anymore. You’re not going to die and that’s that.” She began to shake. “I don’t want talk about this.” Her chin trembled. “I don’t want—“
He swept her fiercely into his arms, cocooning her in his strength. “Shhh, Keer’dra. I am here for all time.” His hand cupped her head, holding her against the beating of his heart until its rhythm soothed her. He would not share with her what he and Inzyr had spoken of moments earlier. His eyes squeezed shut, blocking out images of his own death. An impossibility, but visions his father had broken sacred vows and shared with him. Life contained various roads. Unfortunately, not even he would see the fork in said road, and know which path lead away from his own downfall when such a time came.
For the first time in ten thousand years, Dezenial was shaken to his very core.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Tolling bells reverberated. To Emily, it sounded like far off thunder, warning of a mighty storm heading their way. “Those don’t sound like the usual hourly bells.”
“Market opens. Land-dwellers have been traded with. Merchants will now bring down their wares to offer for purchase and bartering.”
“You mean, a flea market?”
“What is this flea—ah. I see. In a sense, yes.”
“Can we go?” She wasn’t waiting for him, but was skipping out of her father’s chamber. Inzyr stood, his back to her, hands clasped behind him. For the first time, the black curtain was swept to one side of the massive loft. Emily stole up behind him.
Balkore, in its entirety, spread out before them.
“Holy crapfest!” She found herself looking down over a massive ancient city. A bustling city. Minus the cars. A bevy of movement, and a buzz of life teamed hard packed dirt roads, the occasional sparkle winking. On one of their treks to the dining hall, Inzyr had explained that most roads were inlaid with quartz. She couldn’t remember th
e reason for it now. She only remembered being jittery over the prospect of another fight being started for nothing more than her new status as wife to their prince. Private meals enabled the three of them to remain casual, versus high tension of being on guard. And, she pointed out to Dezenial, if her father was all he said he was, shouldn’t dinner offer a reprieve where he could let his hair down? After several jokes at Inzyr’s expense, and the vanity the assassin forever-possessed regarding his hair, Dezenial had relented and allowed them to take their meals here, in her father’s home. In private. Emily highly suspected the two males found it pleasing, though they grumbled until she glared, then exaggerated good manners and table conversation. Her mouth quirked, amused with a side of them she knew for certain no other had ever witnessed.
Down below, there existed a large central area where vendors were set up, brilliant colored tents behind them, acting as a store of sorts. It looked like bazaars from old Hollywood movies.
“Do they see us up here?”
“No,” he stated, glowering at something down below. This was the Inzyr she’d first met, not her father. She followed where his icy stare fixated. Hundreds were milling about. Some paused, browsing, while others strode purposefully down a street filled with nothing but carts boasting various foods. She wondered if this was how Zeus felt, looking down from Olympus. So weaved amongst one another, and most carrying market baskets, she had a difficult time discerning who was slave and who shopped for themselves.
Regardless, they sure are lucky to be down there. I bet there’s wonderful stuff. “We have to go. I have to shop. I bet there’s all kinds of—“
“No.” Inzyr’s stare had yet to waver. He reminded Emily of a cat watching a foolish bird, the winged creature too dumb to realize it hopped very close to its deadly enemy. If his ass begins wriggling before he pounces—
A snort behind her caused her to giggle.
Inzyr’s glare sobered her.
Until he looked away.
“Spies.”
Dezenial moved to stand beside the assassin. “Ah. It would seem my mother desires to infuriate me further.”