Grave of Words (Fall of Under Book 2)

by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

  She was too poor of an actress for that. He watched her turmoil play out on her face as obvious as the moons in the sky. She wanted him. She just didn’t want to want him.

  He could work with that.

  After he finished devouring the heart of the creature, he licked his fingers clean, savoring the flavor. He pulled a dagger from the air and hummed as he realized it was Ember’s. Or at least, a knife that had been given to her. It had a beautiful white handle. It was modest, humble, but sharp. He knew precisely who had given it to her.

  Lyon.

  Growling, he bared his fangs. She is mine! Jealousy crashed through him like a freight train, sudden and unexpected as if it had barreled through his living room. And it had just as much logical sense being there. Lyon was dedicated to his wife Kamira—he was not the kind to dabble. He had likely given her the knife as a gesture of kindness.

  But it was Rxa’s right to be kind to her. His right to shower her with gifts. His right to make her feel safe, protected, and cared for.

  He hurled the knife into the woods.

  I bet she’ll be sad if she doesn’t get it back.

  With a long sigh, he stood from the ground and walked after the blade. Picking it up from the leaves, he walked back to the corpse, muttering vague angry and disgruntled statements to himself. “Stupid vampire…stupid knife…stupid Ancients…stupid Under.”

  He knelt back at the body and began to slice off the meat he would turn to steaks when he returned. He didn’t want to shred it to pieces with his claws.

  He imagined what it would be like to have her beneath him, bent over at his mercy, gasping and moaning as he raked his nails over her skin—just hard enough to hurt and leave little raised pink trails. The vision instantly cheered him, and it made part of him heat and grow tight in anticipation.

  I bet she likes it rough. I bet she wants me to take her. Good. I’m in the mood for a tumble.

  Placing one of his palms to his cheek, he frowned. He could feel the scars, lifted and terrible. What kind of life did she lead, that she’s attracted to someone as disfigured and hideous as I am? If she had only known me before. She would’ve wept at my beauty, not at my ugliness.

  But it didn’t matter. He was what he was. Although he wasn’t so sure what he thought was worse—what he was, or what he wasn’t. It didn’t matter. He picked up the hunks of meat from the ground and walked back toward his house. He knew his face and chest were stained in blood. He didn’t much care. He didn’t suppose it would bother Ember much either. She was used to it.

  I wish I could give her a life that wasn’t this. Wasn’t full of death and blood. But it’s the only one I have to offer her. I’ll let her grow old and die at my side before I finish destroying this world. I suppose that’s something.

  Killing Aon and the others would trigger the press of the void. It would take time for the world to dissolve around them. Plenty of time for a mortal woman to comfortably live out her life. And he had plans to make her comfortable—once his war was over. Once everyone was dead. He’d spare a few of the other mortals from Gioll if he could, to keep her company.

  If they weren’t all dead already.

  Maybe he’d collect a few mortals from Earth the next time their worlds passed into alignment if they ever did again. Just a few people for her to talk to. People who weren’t only him. She seemed like the kind who might be bothered by that.

  He walked back into his lake home with a smile on his face, bloody as it was. He was still humming a cheerful tune as he imagined all the wonderful, terrible things he was going to do to Ember.

  Only if she liked it, of course.

  But he suspected she would.

  Slapping the giant slabs of meat down onto the counter, he began fishing through his drawers to find his paring knives. It wouldn’t precisely fit in his fridge as it was.

  “Where—oh. That’s where you were.”

  Rxa looked up and grinned. Ember was standing in the doorway, a towel in her hand, drying off her hair. She was damp. Her white and black hair hung around her face and shoulders in tantalizing tendrils.

  He wanted to fist the strands so that he might yank her head to him in a kiss. I can’t wait to kiss you…I’ve been saving it for when it will matter.

  He hadn’t kissed someone in so long. Thousands of years…no. More. Wait. Had he kissed anyone before? He couldn’t remember. He shook the melancholy thought from his mind. She would probably think him rightfully backward. He had shoved his hand down her pants and brought her to release, after all. Most people kissed first, then get a reach-around.

  Welcome to Under. Where fucking is cheap, and love isn’t. And we do a whole lot of fucking, trust me.

  He snickered.

  “What?” She blinked in confusion and looked down at the clothes she was wearing. They were all items he had found or summoned for her, and there was a small bloom of pride and happiness in his heart to see her wearing things he gave her. “What did I do?”

  “Nothing, nothing. Did you have a nice nap?”

  “I did. And I have to admit I took another bath. I’m not used to having hot water on demand.” She chuckled. “Looks like you…uh…need another one, now, too.”

  “Hm?” He looked down at his chest. He had thrown on an old linen shirt that had been stained faintly yellow by time. Now it was stained deep red from blood. “Oh. Don’t worry. It’s not mine. It’s from our dinner.” He flashed her another feral smile. He knew it was a bit sharper than he intended. He couldn’t help it. “I already snacked. I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t figure you’d want the squishy bits.”

  “I’ve had to eat ‘squishy bits’ before. But it isn’t my preference, no.” She made a face. “Did it suffer?”

  “No-pe.” He popped the second half of the word with another hum and began dicing up the meat into more grill-size friendly pieces. “It was one of the dreamer’s monsters. No point in making it feel more pain than needed. It wasn’t real. Just someone’s imagination at work.”

  “I guess.” She sat down at the counter across from him, watching him slice up the food.

  “You stayed.” He smiled at her tenderly.

  “If I ran, you’d find me.” His smile faded. She flinched, seeing his mood deflate. “Sorry. That was meaner than I meant it. I…” She paused. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. “You haven’t been cruel to me, Rxa. You’ve been oddly kind. I appreciate that greatly. I don’t understand it, but I appreciate it.”

  It was his turn to pause. “Do you want to know why?”

  She nodded.

  “I like you, Ember.”

  “You don’t. You just imprinted on me like a baby goose.” She smirked. “I was the first person you met after you woke up.”

  “No, I met plenty of people after I woke up. I just ate them all.” He did his best wolfish grin, flashing his fangs. As her cheeks went pale, he remembered she didn’t find that kind of thing funny at all. He grumbled and turned his attention to cutting up the steak. “You showed me compassion. A stranger. A creature who was bloody, and wounded, and probably dangerous. You knew I could kill you from the moment you saw me.”

  “Everything here can.”

  “And instead of hiding, you helped me. You shared your wine with me. You talked to me. Even when you knew who I was—what I was—when Lyon came to fetch you? I remember what you said to me. ‘You poor man.’ You felt for me.”

  “I don’t like seeing things suffer. And you…suffer a lot.”

  He smirked halfheartedly. “Thanks. I think.”

  “I don’t hate you, Rxa. I just wish you weren’t trying to murder the world. If you weren’t, I’d…”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  He glanced up at her and arched his eyebrow. “Come on. You can’t stop there.”

  “I can, I did, and I don’t intend to go any farther.” She slid from the stool to look idly around the room. “How do I get water in this place?”

  He laughed.
It was so easy to forget that she spent her life out in the wilds or in society that was barely more refined than the woods. He had shown her how to use the tub and the shower, but she was still clearly a bit of a fish out of, well, water. “There’s beverages in the fridge. Feel free to get whatever you like. There’s even beer.”

  “Cold beer?”

  “Cold beer.”

  With a quiet “huh,” she walked up to the fridge and tugged on the handle. She peered inside, and then touched a few objects thoughtfully. “Never seen one working before.”

  “Wait until I show you television. We don’t have much in the way of programming, but it’s pretty magical. The House of Words has reels of shows they’ve taken from Earth. I’m sure when—” He stopped. He was talking like he didn’t intend to burn the library to the ground with as many of them inside as he could.

  He had gotten ahead of himself. Excited to show her so many things, that he had forgotten that he was going to destroy them all.

  Sighing, he went back to the meat. “Can you grab me one, too?”

  “It was your turn to stop mid-sentence. What were you going to say?” She fished through the fridge and, correctly guessing what the brown glass bottles were, plucked two from the shelf and set them on the fridge. He watched in amusement as she used the countertop to pop the caps off.

  He’d never mastered that trick.

  Truth be told, he had never bothered to try.

  Why would he when he had servants and worshippers to do all that for him? He had never been one for beer, either. Too crass for him. He preferred wine or spirits. But his standards had changed.

  But not with her.

  He would have found her beautiful no matter the era she met him in. He would want her as a companion, even in his radiance.

  Perhaps not as much. Perhaps not as keenly. But he would.

  Or am I kidding myself…?

  “Rxa?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry. No. Nothing. I wasn’t saying anything. And neither were you unless you wanted to finish your sentence first.” He reached out for the bottle she offered him, uncaring for the blood staining his hand. She didn’t seem to mind much either. She was so used to gore.

  He took a heavy drink from the beer and let out a sigh of relief. He should have been slumming it more frequently. It tasted great.

  With a shrug, Ember sat back down and sipped her own beer. She was watching him thoughtfully. As if she were trying to unravel some kind of strange puzzle.

  “Something on my face?” He licked his lips.

  She chuckled and shook her head. “No more than usual. You’re a messy eater.”

  “Only recently.” Frowning, he took another swallow from the beer bottle and put it down, returning to his work. He was almost done. Then he’d crawl into his hot tub and not climb out until it was time to begin cooking. He had hours of work to do, if he wanted to prepare the meal he had planned in his head. “I’ve fallen so far.”

  “As long as you don’t plan on kissing me like that, I weirdly don’t mind. I’ve seen worse.”

  “Damn. There go my plans.” He snickered, but his mood faded quickly back to the sullen sadness that was pulling at him. Why would she want me? How can she want me?

  “Rxa, have you looked at yourself in the mirror yet?”

  “No. Why would I confirm what I already know?” He snarled, baring his teeth. He was done cutting up the steak, and it was good timing. He dug around for some parchment paper and, wrapping up the finished product, chucked it into the fridge, slamming the door shut a little harder than he intended. He could almost see himself in the reflective surface of the appliance door, and he turned away before he could glimpse anything more than smudges of color. “I don’t need to see my face to know what I’ve become.”

  “I…don’t think it’s as bad as you think it is.”

  He picked up his beer and chugged it, tossing the empty bottle in the trash. He glared out the window of the kitchen into the dark woods. “Not exactly making me feel better.”

  He jolted when her hand touched his, not having realized she had walked up to him. He was shocked that she wanted to touch his bloody skin, even if the gore was now mostly dried. She wove her fingers into his, and tugged his arm, silently urging to follow her.

  With a wavering, unsure sigh, he committed himself to the inevitable. I should get this over with.

  Resigning himself to his fate, he followed behind her, his mood darkening with each step. She led him to the first-floor bathroom. There was a large mirror on one wall, sitting in a frame that had once been delicately painted, but was now faded and flaking. He had restored his home’s functionality, but he had no desire to fix its appearance. Why should his home be restored to its former glory when he never would?

  My house doesn’t get to be prettier than me.

  She moved him to stand in front of the mirror, but he refused to look up. When she touched his shoulders, he twitched again. “Come on, Rxa.”

  “Don’t wanna.”

  She sighed, and he felt her forehead rest against his shoulder blade for a moment, missing the bandages that were still covering the spot where his wings once were. Where they should be. “Please?”

  Her voice was soft. She took his hand again and stood at his side.

  With a beleaguered and heavy sigh, he finally admitted he was being a child. He lifted his head and opened his eyes.

  And stared at himself.

  Eyes that had once been white were now a sickly shade of yellow. One looked as though it had healed incorrectly. The two halves of the orb where it had been slashed by Aon’s claw just barley out of alignment. Scars traced down his cheek, some razor sharp, some still raised and angry.

  Marks that had been pristine and white were sallow and yellow, matching the diseased tone of his eyes. He hated yellow. It’s the worst color.

  He did recognize himself.

  If barely.

  Ember smiled gently at his reflection. “See? It isn’t so bad. I think you’re—”

  Lifting his fist, he slammed it into the mirror, shattering it into a million pieces.

  21

  Ember leapt back from Rxa in shock. Shards of the mirror fell to the ground around him, a thousand tiny reflective slivers. The snarl that left him was inhuman as he grabbed the frame of the broken mirror and tore it from the wall, ripping it clean from its moorings and taking much of the plaster with it.

  She had forgotten how strong he was.

  She had forgotten how insane he was.

  Ducking reflexively as he threw the mirror across the room, he roared in rage, his fangs distended, as he caught sight of himself once more in the mirror over the sink. It met the same fate as the larger one. Fresh blood, blackish yellow in tone, oozed from cuts on his hands.

  “Rxa, I—”

  Her words broke off in a frightened yelp as he rounded toward her, rushing at her. She stumbled backward, nearly tripping over herself, as she fled to the hallway.

  But his focus wasn’t on her. His focus didn’t seem to be anywhere. His eyes were wide and wild. He charged down the hallway, intent on some goal. There was nothing she could do but follow him.

  “Rxa?”

  He didn’t answer her. She doubted he had even heard her. The deranged demigod made his way to the foyer of his home, and she watched as he jumped onto a table, sending the bits of moldering decorations crashing to the floor. He jumped from the table, higher than a person should be able to.

  One thing she never forgot was that he wasn’t human.

  The painting of his former self was his goal. The large, framed, beautiful piece of a resplendent winged creature, glowing in tones of white. He ripped the piece from the wall, crashing to the ground with it. Throwing it to the floor, he stood atop the canvas and knelt over the image.

  His chest was heaving. His breathing was short and fast. He placed his palm to the white-masked cheek of who he had once been. When he lifted his hand, blood smeared across the surface.
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br />   The sound that left him broke her heart. He wailed. It was both human…and inhuman. It was so full of grief and rage that tears rolled down her cheeks. It was the sound of pure tragedy. It turned into a roar of anger at the end, and he began to rip at the canvas with his claws, shredding the fabric.

  She let him go. There was nothing she could do to stop him. She could only watch, silently crying for him, as he destroyed what she knew he wished he had seen in the mirror.

  When the painting was nothing but tattered strips of ruined canvas, he doubled over and fell onto his side, curled into a ball.

  And he was weeping.

  She walked up to him slowly—carefully—not wanting to startle him. She knelt at his back and gently placed her hand on his arm. “Rxa…”

  Suddenly, she was moving. Before she could even make a sound, the world whipped around her. Pain bloomed across her back. He had picked her up and slammed her into the stairs. She could feel the edge of the treads digging into her back.

  He was over her. A hand twisted in her hair and yanked her head backward, pinning her down in an arch. He straddled her legs, his weight on the hand keeping her head still, and he hissed down at her, fangs bared.

  “How can you look at this—look at me—and pretend you can tolerate this face? You are a liar, little Ember. You are just like them!”

  “No—Rxa—”

  “Shut up!” he snarled. His nearly white hair fell around his face in long tendrils, brushing against her skin. “You’re playing me. Admit it! You’re manipulating me!”

  “I—I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She pushed on his chest, but he wouldn’t budge. His muscles were tense, and he might as well have been made of cement. “I’m not lying to you, I—”

  “I should kill you. Right here, right now. Eat that pretty flesh of yours.”

  She squeaked as he grabbed her shirt. He ripped it open in the front, the blue fabric surrendering quickly to his strength and his claws, leaving her in the bandages she used to bind her breasts. “Rxa, no, please, believe me, I—”

  Looking down at her body, he let out a low, bestial growl. It reverberated in his chest. Despite everything—despite his dark threats, it sent a shiver through her. Something about it triggered a primal part of her. Something that roared forward without warning.