Dark Devotion: Dark Series 3

by Lauren Dawes

  “Scream if this hurts, won’t you?”

  He was on the verge of connecting the negative battery cable when someone burst through the door at the top of the stairs and started to descend. For half a second, Aubrey hoped it was Taer – that she had figured out where he was – but that hope was crushed when a male voice said, “They’re here.”

  Loki pulled back, turning his attention to the man standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Where?”

  “In the courtyard.”

  Loki’s smile was maliciously triumphant. “It sounds as if your little Mare is here with all the cavalry.”

  Aubrey would have fought against the chains – as hopeless as it was – if he’d had the energy, but he was physically drained. He’d lost too much blood. His body had endured too much. Regeneration was possible, but without the proper rest and recovery, which he was severely deficient in, there was very little chance he would make a full and complete recovery.

  “What do you want me to do?” the other god asked Loki.

  “I want you to finally prove your worth,” Loki said. “I want you to redeem yourself.”

  The guy nodded and climbed the stairs once more. Loki turned back to Aubrey and smiled, disconnecting the battery cables. “I think I’ve thought of something else that will make you scream even louder.”

  Chapter 24

  Mav had barely been standing in the courtyard for more than a few seconds when the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Someone was waiting for them. Rhys appeared beside her a moment later and she glanced in his direction, seeing his body stiffen and his nostrils flare.

  “Near the south side of the house,” Rhys said in a low voice, his eyes flashing gold. “Sonofabitch. It’s the same guy who attacked me with his brother.”

  He pulled out a dagger from his thigh holster and stalked toward the front of the house. A moment later there was a grunt and Rhys was thrown backwards. His dagger skittered across the cobblestones, coming to rest against the brick wall. He was back on his feet in an instant, a growl bubbling from his throat.

  Freki stepped from the shadows then, his brows drawn low and his mouth pressed into a hard line. In his hand, he held a knife, his deadly focus on Rhys. “You’ll bleed for killing my brother.”

  “And you’ll bleed for me,” Rhys replied, his eyes darting down to Freki’s weapon. He pumped his hands into fists at his sides. “Just like Loki will bleed for Galen.”

  Mav watched on, wondering how Rhys would fair without a weapon of his own, looking for a signal from Rhys that he needed help. The pair started to circle one another, each waiting for the other to make the first move. It was Freki who finally attacked, driving the blade in the direction of Rhys’s stomach. Rhys wrapped his hand around Freki’s wrist to stop him, but Freki simply switched hands and plunged the steel into Rhys’s back twice. Rhys roared in pain and retreated. Blood soaked through his shirt immediately, spreading too quickly.

  Mav drew her sword, preparing to end it. She took a step forward, but stopped when Rhys turned his head to look at her. His eyes were yellow and she lowered her arm. His wolf was probably in control right now, and she had no idea what it would do if she approached with another weapon. She touched her tattoo, recalling the sword.

  Rhys’s attention went back to Freki. He bared his teeth at the god and advanced once more. Freki thrust his knife toward Rhys, only this time Rhys managed to intercept the strike, pushing it away. Then he planted his other hand on Freki’s face, shoving him back. Freki stumbled, but recovered quickly.

  Rhys glanced at Mav once more, their eyes meeting before his gaze darted to the dagger he had lost. Mav nodded in understanding and faded to the other side of the courtyard to scoop up the weapon.

  Clearly growing frustrated, the god charged at Rhys yet again, stabbing wildly. Throwing his arm across Freki’s chest, Rhys fisted his shirt and held him off, maneuvering his body to the opposite side of Freki – away from his weapon hand. There was a scuffle as Freki tried to make the blade sink home and as Rhys avoided the slashes. Rhys motioned to Mav for his dagger then. She threw it to him.

  Reaching around Freki’s body, Rhys thrust the blade into the god’s midsection. Mav could smell the blood immediately. Freki howled in pain as Rhys fell to his knees and ran the blade across Freki’s Achilles tendon. Freki dropped like a stone. Rhys grabbed the back of the god’s shirt and dragged him into the middle of the courtyard, throwing his body down hard. Immobile, Rhys loomed over Freki’s supine form. The god remained defiant, but Mav could see his aura had changed from confident to doubtful.

  “What are you going to do to him?” she asked.

  Rhys’s head wrenched around. Mav stared into his wolf’s eyes for a long minute before he started to stalk toward her; Mav’s pulse raced. Fearful for the first time, she watched and waited to see what Rhys would do next. Was his wolf in complete control, or did Rhys still have a finger on the steering wheel?

  When he was only a foot away from her, he raised his hand. Mav was ready to reach for her sword if she needed to, but when his nostrils flared slightly, his expression changed and he lowered his arm down to his side again. With his intense gaze still locked on her, she watched the golden hue in his eyes start to bleed away.

  “Are you good?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Never felt better, actually. Do you have a dagger?”

  She pulled the sister blade to her sword from inside her jacket and handed it to him. He looked it over appreciatively before walking back to Freki. The god had been trying to drag himself away, but Mav knew for a fact that there was too much adrenaline in his system – that he was too hurt – to fade.

  Planting his foot on Freki’s chest, Rhys stopped him. Freki’s eyes widened and he looked to Mav.

  He begged, “Don’t let him do this.”

  “I can’t control his actions.”

  Moving with speed, Rhys drove Mav’s dagger through Freki’s left shoulder, pinning him in place. Freki’s scream had not even finished echoing around the yard when Rhys did the same with his dagger, plunging it through the god’s other shoulder.

  Standing over Freki, who was staked out like a frog in a high school science class, Rhys pulled open the pinned god’s shirt. Checking him for more weapons, Rhys pulled a butterfly knife from his ankle. He flipped it open, studying it.

  Freki licked his lips. “Please. I was just following orders.”

  “And now you’re just collateral damage,” Mav said.

  Rhys raised his hand over his head and drove the four and a half inch blade through Freki’s sternum and started hacking his way down to his belly button. Freki screamed for the first few seconds then fell silent. Rhys worked quickly, breaking the ribcage and pulling out all the internal organs, removing them with skilled hands. He laid them beside the body where pools of blood quickly filled the grooves between the stones.

  When Rhys stood up, Mav thought she would see his wolf peering out through his eyes, but she didn’t; he was in complete control of himself.

  “We need to find Loki,” he said.

  She summoned her sword and moved to the front door. She would have faded inside if she thought the element of surprise was on their side, but Loki clearly knew they were there if he’d sent Freki out first. She wrapped her fingers around the round, brass doorknob and twisted it sharply to the right. The locking mechanism broke with a sharp snap and the door swung open. Her fingers flexed around the handle of her sword briefly before she stepped inside. Rhys followed at her back, moving silently. Mav’s eyes skirted around the large reception rooms to the left and right of the entranceway.

  She turned her attention to the set of stairs leading up to the second level of the house, listening hard. Touching Rhys on the shoulder, she pointed first to him then at the roof.

  “I’ll look around down here,” she informed him in a low voice.

  Rhys started up the stairs, his bloody back disappearing around a corner at the top of the landing. Mav
walked silently through both reception rooms before exploring the rooms at the back of the house. Her booted feet hit the black and white tiles of the kitchen, where she found flecks of fresh blood on the floor. Turning her attention to the basement door, she reached out and touched the handle. With a sharp exhale, she twisted the brass knob.

  The door swung inwards and she stepped away as the overwhelming smell of blood drifted out. Mav waited for her senses to come back online before starting down the stairs. A few steps in and she heard the sound of chains clinking, but she pushed on. The first thing she saw as she stepped onto the concrete floor was someone sitting on a chair in the center of the room; they were surrounded by blood, but she forced herself to take in everything – to see everything. At the back of the room was a workbench with tools scattered all over its surface. The opposite wall was bare, but there were some nails and boards in the walls where something had once been stored.

  Taking a step forward, she got a better look at the male in the chair. Her lips pressed together into a hard line as she recognized who it was – the light elf who had visited Taer at the club. Walking behind him, she found his arms were bound with chains that were covered in the runes to prevent fading. When her gaze fell on the void where his hand used to be, everything slowly started to make sense.

  This was why Taer had been so upset – Loki must have sent her the elf’s hand. But why would Loki use him? What purpose did he serve? She touched her tattoo and her sword disappeared. Taking out her cell phone, she punched out a text and pocketed the device. She watched the elf’s chest carefully, waiting for the rise and fall. He was still alive – for now – and she had to get him out of here.

  Searching the workbench, she found a pair of bolt cutters buried under some other tools. Pulling them free, she lined up the blades on the chain. As she brought the handles together to cut through one of the links, her shoulders tightened. Moving just her eyes, she looked around the basement once more.

  And realized she wasn’t alone.

  Pulling back, she stood up to her full height. Her head jerked around as movement in her periphery caught her attention. She watched as someone emerged from the shadows under the stairs.

  Loki.

  Mav’s senses sharpened with the instantaneous adrenaline dump. She hadn’t seen the Trickster since before his imprisonment under the earth. His appearance hadn’t really changed other than being a little thinner than before. But there was one thing that was very different – the crazed look in his eyes.

  “If you’re in the house, Freki obviously failed – not that I’m surprised.”

  She flexed her hand around the bolt cutters down by her side. He took a step toward the workbench, and Mav moved her body subtly to keep him in her line of sight.

  “I was hoping that Taer would be the one to come, but you will do just fine. You’ll serve your purpose just like all the other Valkyries who have come before you.”

  It seemed like a lifetime, but it was only five weeks ago that Loki had murdered nearly half of Odin’s Valkyries – Mav’s sisters in arms. The scars were still fresh. The pain was still real. Her fingers cinched tightly around the handle of the bolt cutters. The muscles in her arms contracted without thought as she lifted the weight of the tool and hurled it in Loki’s direction. Loki moved at the same time, his action quickly followed by a sharp and immediate pain through Mav’s left forearm.

  She ground her teeth together and looked down to find her wrist impaled by a dagger. Her worst fears were confirmed when she attempted to flex the fingers; she had absolutely no movement in her hand. The tendons had been severed. Loki started to laugh, drawing her attention. He had another dagger in his hand, and he let her see it briefly before launching it in her direction.

  Pain shot through her shoulder, traveling into her chest and down to her fingertips. The second blade had penetrated through the muscle and had hit bone. With gritted teeth, she mentally fought back the pain, fought back the fear, and concentrated on fading away. It was a long shot, but she managed to rematerialize in the kitchen; she was simply suffering too heavily from the effects of shock to go any farther. Exhaustion hit her immediately and she slumped against the counter at her back. There was an island bench between her and the door now, and above it was a suspended pot rack filled with copper pots and skillets in varying sizes.

  A few tense seconds passed. The wounds to her wrist and shoulder were throbbing in time with her heart. Blood gushed from them both and her vision started to fuzz out at the edges. Then her eyes latched onto the outline that formed in the air on the other side of the island as Loki materialized.

  Awkwardly grasping the dagger in her shoulder with her only functioning hand, she removed it. Mav remained silent, breathing heavily through the pain. She felt more blood run down her arm, back and chest, her tank top doing little to soak it up. Steeling herself again, she did the same with the knife in her wrist. She couldn’t help but scream this time as she pulled out the blade. With sweat breaking out on her brow, she summoned her sword. Fighting with it now would take its toll on her though; she was running at fifty percent capacity with the injuries she was carrying.

  Even though it used her flagging strength, Mav faded closer to Loki, simultaneously swinging her sword in the hopes that the blade would hit its target as she rematerialized. The Trickster was obviously anticipating this though and moved closer to the island bench. Maverick lunged forward, her black sword swinging in a deadly arc through the air. Loki snatched a large skillet from the pot rack in an attempt to deflect her attack. She knocked the cookware aside and thrust again.

  Loki took down another pot and another and another as Mav knocked them all free from his hands. With all the noise they were making, she expected Rhys to come running in any minute. Gods, she hoped that he would. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep this up.

  Loki backed away, increasing the gap between them. In an effort to conserve her energy, she let him. She watched him carefully. Loki started smiling at her, raising his hand and wiggling his fingers at her. Mav frowned; she couldn’t understand what he was trying to show her except for his bloody hands. He brought the digits to his mouth and slid them inside. As she watched, Loki’s face and body began to change.

  The entire transformation happened slowly – subtly – but there was no doubt who she was now looking at. It was as if she was staring into a mirror, except this new version of herself didn’t have a sword tattoo on her neck.

  “Gods,” she whispered. Her brain was having a difficult time putting together the information. With gritted teeth, she held her sword in front of her again. The pain was like a high-voltage shock through her veins, leaving her weak and shaking. With a hoarse cry, she ran at Loki once more. With quick, sure movements, he swept up two pots from the ground and stopped her advance. With the blade of her sword sandwiched between the copper-bottomed cookware, the god yanked back.

  Mav’s grip tightened around the handle, but she was exhausted. The sword slipped through her fingers, leaving her to watch her weapon fly through the air and land on the other side of the room with a loud clang.

  Loki moved swiftly, tackling Mav to the ground. His advantage didn’t last. Mav used the last of her strength to flip the god over. But Loki wasn’t giving up easily. With his hands curled into fists, he started striking her in the face. She tried to return the favor, but the pain from her shoulder soon eclipsed her desire to inflict as much damage she could.

  Without warning, she was jolted off Loki. Mav’s ears started ringing and her lungs emptied of breath as she tried to pinpoint the cause of the searing pain in her stomach. She touched just to the left of her navel, her fingers coming back bloody. She looked up to find Loki smoothly climbing to his feet. Seeing the smirk on Loki’s – her – face as he took a step closer made her blood run cold. Her gaze dropped down his body, noticing the gun in his hand.

  “You know, I didn’t think it would be this easy,” Loki said. Holstering the weapon behind his back,
he walked to where her sword was lying a few feet away. Despite the pain, Mav smiled. Nobody could touch it but her – not even Odin had that ability. But without hesitation, the Trickster easily picked up the sword.

  Mav’s eyes widened, and her heart started hammering beneath her ribs. “That’s not possible,” she whispered.

  He studied the weapon then looked at her. “I can assure you it is possible. I have taken your blood into my body. I am you in every way, which means that my hand can touch your sword – can wield your sword. I don’t even need your cloak to kill you now. All I need is this.”

  Mav’s eyes darted down to the black steel of her sword. She had longed for death for a long time after Soren and her father died. There was a time when she’d wanted to turn her own blade on herself and just end it all …

  But she never could. Bryn had given her a second chance at life, and she’d sworn she’d spend it protecting the Valkyrie who’d saved her in more ways than one.

  Mav wasn’t ready for Loki when he swung the blade at her, but despite this, she dodged the blow, slowly rolling across the floor and dragging her body away with her less injured arm. With each movement, pain rocketed through her. She was getting light-headed from the blood loss, but she knew that even a tiny scratch from her sword could kill her instantly. She got to her feet with the help of a cabinet handle and lurched for the kitchen doorway. She staggered through it, only partially aware that Loki had started to laugh. In the dining room, her foot got caught on the Oriental rug beneath the table and she stumbled. Loki was on her in an instant. He rolled her over onto her back and brought the tip of her black sword to her throat.

  She was going to die and she had only two thoughts. The first was how relieved she was that she was being killed in battle.