Shit, no. What was he thinking? There was no more Order. No more Order. He hated his father. He hated the Order. His own emotions burned too fucking deep, and he knew he would be corrupted just as the others had. He would not become that which he had finally destroyed.
The sword is your answer.
He narrowed his eyes, reaching out with his mind, to the voice he didn’t recognize. And what’s my question?
You know what it is.
Dante looked back at the carnage behind him, at Zach, who had collapsed again, lying inert in the shredded earth as his body struggled to repair itself before it was too late. He surveyed the bodies of so many innocents. His gaze fell upon Louis, who wasn’t old enough for his body to disappear immediately. Only extremely old Calydons vanished immediately. Even without the Order, rogues would continue to exist. Innocents would still die. The sheva bond would still drag warriors and their soul mates toward a horrific, violent end.
He knew what his question was. His question was how to stop the rogues and protect the innocents without allowing the absolute power of the Order to exist and corrupt. He wanted a way that would end it now. Is there a way?
The sword is your answer.
Dante had thought he would be done when Louis was dead. He’d thought his job was over. He’d been ready to let the poison finish its job. But was there one more thing he had to do? Gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg, against the taint of poison spreading through him, he nodded. One more task, and he had very little time to accomplish it. I’m on my way.
Beware of the female. She is not as she seems.
At the warning, sudden, intense energy flooded him. An awareness so sharp and sensual he literally froze in place, one foot suspended in the air mid-step. Was he talking about the woman Dante had sensed before?
Son of a bitch. Why was he reacting physically to the mere mention of her? Was she his sheva? He quickly looked down at his arms and saw that the black lightning bolt tattoos were still dark, circling his arms from wrist to shoulder. The protective runes he’d spent years developing were intact. If she were his sheva, she would not be able to penetrate them.
But he couldn’t stop the ripple of apprehension. If she were strong enough to make him respond even through his protections when she was so far away, what would happen when he got closer? He’d never tested the runes before, not to his knowledge.
For a moment, he ground his jaw, staring at the mountain. Was it worth the risk? The call was strong, burning through him, becoming more intense by the moment. But at the same time, he knew he was powerful. If he went rogue, there was no one left on this earth who could stop him now that the Order was gone. He could not afford the sheva bond, or the rogue it would turn him into. Rohan had sworn the runes would not fail him, but how did he know? The call of the sword was strong, but he was stronger than it was. He could resist it and walk away—
A sai plunged into the dirt at his feet, missing his toe by a breath. He looked up to see Zach blocking his path, favoring his injured leg, fire raging from him in all directions, like a virtual wall of flame. Somehow, against all logic, Zach had managed to stand up again. His body was trembling violently from the effort, but there he stood, fighting for what he wanted. “This can’t happen again,” Zach growled. “I’m going to stop it. Give me the mark.”
Zach’s stance was strong, his muscles flexed, but in his eyes and voice, Dante could feel the depths of the warrior’s grief for the losses he had suffered today. Resolution poured through him. The warrior was right. It couldn’t happen again. It had to end now. And if that sword was the answer, he was willing to risk the woman who guarded it, and the dark desires that swirled through him at the mere thought of her.
There was no time left to be careful.
The Order was over, and it was time for the last protection to be set in place before he died.
“No,” he told Zach. “But I will fix this.”
The young warrior’s eyes seemed to burn even brighter. “I want to go with you.”
“No. You’re not ready.” Another surge of urgency pushed at him, and Dante thought he caught the faint scent of the woman. Something delicate and light, almost ethereal. His damaged leg pulsed in pain, and he knew there was no more time.
It was now.
Without another word, or another thought, Dante channeled all his energy into his foot, erecting a protective shield around it, like an invisible cast. Gritting his teeth against the pain he knew would still come, he broke into a sprint, exploding through the barren lands, racing toward the sword and the woman who might give him everything he wanted…
…or might try to destroy it all.
***
He was coming.
Elisha hunched down behind the great rock, her fingers digging into the cold, rough surface of the boulder, her black dress floating in ethereal waves around her calves. For days she’d known he was nearing. She’d felt his presence at the same moment that the sword had located him. He was strong. Courageous. Haunted with dark energies of death, destruction, and terrible things that he’d lived and experienced.
His power was immense, thickening with each step he’d taken closer to them, until it had rolled through her all the way to her core, haunting her during sleep, during waking, during every moment. The last six hours, his energy had been horrifically violent, torn asunder by blood, carnage, death, and so much guilt and anguish that she’d barely been able to breathe. Only by submerging herself into the cold water of the nearby mountain stream had she been able to shield herself from the onslaught of his energy.
She was used to the feelings of darkness and death. She was numb to violence now. But the intensity of his emotions was too much, far beyond what she’d ever experienced. It was terrifying…but at the same time…she raised her face to the crisp air and inhaled deeply, letting his deep, masculine vibration fill her, tempt her, test her…and seduce her.
Seduce. A word that had filled her with revulsion for centuries. Lust was a concept that had tormented her so many nights. Desire was a lie that ate away at her soul. And yet, while she was surrounded by the encroaching energy of this unknown warrior, those words seemed to morph into something different. Thoughts of being touched in ways she’d never conceived of. Longings for things to be other than they had always been. An awareness of being a woman that didn’t make her cringe in fear.
No wonder the sword had chosen him.
And even more reason why she had to stop him.
Elisha looked down at the sharp dagger in her right hand. The blade was black, forged in the fires of the realm of the queen’s darkness. Smoke swirled through the blade, visible, yet untouchable, a poison that would destroy any creature, no matter where they were from. Regret filled her, and she tore her gaze away from it. She knew what would happen if she had to use it. Killing didn’t begin to describe what the dagger would do. It inflicted the very worst kind of death, a horrific, demon-filled demise that plunged the victim into an eternity of the very worst kind of hell. She had seen creatures cut down by it, and the screams of their suffering would never stop haunting her.
It was all she’d been able to take with her from the realm of the queen’s darkness, a tool she prayed fervently she would never use. But if she had to, she would. Some things were more important than mercy.
A stone rattled, and Elisha went still, fading her image until she was barely visible, holding herself on the thin edge between nothingness and reality. Her heart began to hammer in anticipation as the shadows lengthened. He was almost here. Almost here.
Longing coursed through her, an ardent, almost uncontrollable need to see him, to know this man she’d been sensing for so long. But even as she inched forward, she sent a whisper out into the air. “Turn back,” she said, blowing her words toward him, so that they slid in and out of the trees, riding the wave of the air current. “You do not want this sword.” Her whisper echoed again and again, the message finding its way along the airstream toward the man who
was approaching.
She felt a flicker in his energy, and she knew he’d heard her. And then, blown back at her, on the pathway that she’d created, came his response, a deep, male voice that reverberated through her like a dangerous symphony of strength and beauty. Yes, I do. And I’m coming to get it.
Chapter Three
He wanted her.
There was no way for Dante to deny his physical response to the whispered warning she had sent dancing along the breeze to him. He had no idea who she was, or what she looked like, but her voice was like the harmony of early morning, the whisper of new leaves brushing against the dew, the delicateness of flower blossoms coming to life. The energy of her words spun through him with restless temptation, prying him from his dark thoughts about Louis, the bloodbath he’d left behind, and the carnage that awaited innocents if he could not stop the slide.
In his world, craving a woman this intensely was a very, very dangerous thing.
He wanted to race toward her.
He wanted to rip aside the canopy of leaves shielding her from his sight.
He wanted to find her, to claim her, to consume her.
So, instead, he stopped and went completely still. He reached out with his preternatural senses, searching the landscape ahead. The mountain was ominously tall. Turbulent dark clouds coated the sky above him, but it wasn’t enough to block her presence. He caught the faint scent of woman, pure and delicate, and his gut clenched in response. But still, he didn’t move. Instead, he carefully located the pulsing energy of the sword she was guarding. She was between him and the sword, an obstacle that he had to pass in order to retrieve the weapon.
Testing her, he turned left, circling around behind her. As he moved, she shifted, keeping herself between him and the sword. Could she sense him? Was her awareness of him as intense as his awareness of her?
He looked down at the protective symbols on his arms and saw they were still blazing. As long as they were visible, the sheva bond could not affect him. No woman could be his soul mate. He was still safe from that fate…but if that was the case, why was he reacting to her so intensely? He had no time for women. He didn’t have the luxury to indulge in seduction. He was never distracted from what he had to do.
So, what the hell was going on with her?
He had no time to play games any longer. He needed that sword, and he needed it now, which meant he had to get past her. He was tempted to call out his spears, but he didn’t. Never would there come a day when he approached a woman armed. Ever.
So, instead, he straightened up, fisted his hands, and strode right through the undulating shadows toward her.
His feet were silent on the forest floor, and the leaves moved out of his way as he walked, responding to his silent request for passage, as they always did. Ahead of him, he could see that the trees thinned, and he knew he was approaching a clearing.
His weapons still burning in his arms, responding to the risk she presented, Dante stepped forward through the last of the foliage and into an open, exposed area.
He didn’t see her.
Disappointment surged through him as he quickly scanned the vicinity. Trees stood tall above him, their branches long and spindly, tangling into each other, weaving a canopy that protected this area from the rest of the world. Sparse grass clung to barren dirt. Ancient rocks lay battered, half-submerged in the weary ground. He could sense the suffering of this place, of the people who had once lived and died in this clearing. So much to tell him, and yet the one thing he wanted to see was hidden from him. He saw no sign of her, but her presence was strong, a vibrating energy of light and dark. “Show yourself,” he commanded.
No response. Not even another whispered reply on the wind.
Awareness still prickling on his neck, he walked further into the clearing, reaching out with his senses, searching for a ripple in the atmosphere that would reveal her location. Out into each direction he sent queries, and then he found her. A block in the transference of energy, a shield of sorts, in the northwest end of the clearing.
He turned toward it, his hands still flexing. Behind her, he could feel the sword’s energy calling to him, more intensely than ever before. The urge to respond to its summons was thundering through him, almost impossible to resist, but he refused to acknowledge it. This woman, this mysterious woman who was guarding it, this sensual temptation of danger…she was what he needed to deal with first.
He had learned many lessons from his bastard father, one of which was to never, ever underestimate the enemy.
He kept his gaze riveted on the swirl of feminine energy that he’d located. He couldn’t see her, but he knew she was there. “I am going to take the sword,” he said.
“No.” Her voice was clear, its raw intensity like a shot to his gut. It wasn’t simply feminine, it was powerful and strong, rich with sensuality. “Walk away.”
“It’s been calling to me.” He took a step closer, and felt a sudden burst of wind slam against his chest, as if she’d shoved the air at him as a warning. Could she manipulate air? He’d never heard of that. “The sword wants me to retrieve it.”
“Do not touch it.” As the words filled the air, a faint mist began to glisten in the location he was watching, like millions of dew droplets in the first rays of morning light.
Adrenaline and anticipation roared through him, and he was riveted by the rainbow-colored prisms as they glittered and sparkled, becoming less transparent. Then he saw her face beginning to take shape. An incredible, vibrant turquoise began to glow as it slid into the shape of her nose, a delicate slope of pure femininity. Smooth cheeks of perfection, the sensual curve of her jaw, parted lips. Her hair began to appear, tumbling down around her in violet and turquoise cascades of thick curls. And then, her eyes. Dante stood, transfixed, as her eyes appeared, vibrant blue-violet pools flanked with long, thick lashes, watching him intently.
Her body began to manifest. Long, delicate arms, a mystical dress clinging to her body, showing small breasts of surreal temptation, hips that bled into lean legs, bare feet that seemed to fade right into the grassy tufts by her toes.
“What are you?” he asked, his voice gruffer than he’d intended.
“I don’t exist here.” There was a sudden shimmer, as if a thousand prisms had shifted position, and then she was standing before him, fully corporeal, with flesh as human as his. Her cascade of colors shifted into a rich, decadent shower of brown curls, and an endless temptation of flesh so pale it looked as though it had never seen the sun. But her eyes were the same, a vibrant, iridescent symphony of violet, rich blue, and enchantment.
She was beauty. This was the first moment in his life that he truly understood what the word meant. Not simply her appearance, but her entire aura. It was pulsing and shimmering, rich with sensations that seemed to reach inside him and shatter the darkness that clung to every cell in his body.
Stunned, he limped toward her, compelled by the need to touch her, to see if she was real. She lifted her chin regally as he neared. She did not retreat, but her muscles tensed, and a ripple of fear echoed through the air.
He stopped a mere foot from her and raised his hand. Gently, almost afraid that he would shatter the mirage, he brushed his fingers ever so lightly over the ends of her curls. Silken strands glided through his fingers, the softest sensation he’d ever experienced. She closed her eyes and went utterly still, as if drinking in his touch with every ounce of her being.
“You do exist here,” he said softly, forcing himself to drop his hand, trying to shield himself against the depth of his urge to slide his hand down her arm, to feel the warmth of her skin against his. Again, he looked down at his protective markings and saw they were still blazing as black as they had the first time he’d finally succeeded in manifesting them. This wasn’t a sheva compulsion. It couldn’t be. So what was it? He had one goal, one mission, and limited time to do it, and yet he felt like he wanted nothing more than to be in her presence and to touch her. To kiss her. To posse
ss her.
She opened her eyes, and he saw that they had darkened to deeper blue-violet, though they still had the glittery sparkles in them. “You are worthy,” she said softly. “I can feel your strength, your capability. The sword has chosen well. Too well,” she added, the regret obvious in her voice.
Dante had no idea what the hell was going on, not with the sword that had been summoning him, not with this woman who had manifested from a glittery mist, and not with his burning desire for her. Weapons, he understood. All this? No, but he was going to figure it out, and fast. “My name is Dante Sinclair, Calydon warrior.” He did not say he was the unwilling leader of the famous Order of the Blade. He did not add that he was the only one left of his kind. He did not explain that he was the only warrior still alive who could possibly save the earth from rogues, and that he was dying, fast. “Who are you?”
“Dante Sinclair,” she repeated, sending warmth spiraling through him as she said his name. She made it sound poetic, like a great gift offered to the very earth upon which they stood. She gave a low curtsy. “My name is Elisha, daughter of the Queen of Darkness. Soon to be consort to the master Adrian.”
Dante went cold at her words. “Consort?” That one word had chased every other bit of information she’d offered out of his mind. “What does that mean?” Shit. He knew what that meant. But he needed to know what she meant by it, by her future.
She rose to her feet, and something flickered in her eyes, something he couldn’t decipher, but she definitely had reacted to his fury about her becoming some bastard’s consort.
She raised her hand and brushed her fingers over his cheek. “Your anger at my words is beautiful.” Her touch was like silk, the whisper of a new dawn across his skin. Without speaking, he laid his hand over hers, pressing her palm to his face. Her hand was cool, her touch drifting through his body like the cleansing rain of a raging summer storm. He’d never felt relief like she was giving him. The world had never paused long enough for him to breathe air so fresh or touch something so soft and pure. He had never seen it. Never felt it. Never even considered it.
Inferno of Darkness (Order of the Blade #8) Page 3