Disbelieving shock froze her. He’d managed to release the sword!
The moment Dante let go of the sword, the night screamed in fury, the smoke vanished, and the colors faded. He dropped to his hands and knees, his head bowed, his body shaking violently, his torso heaving as fierce breaths fought in his chest.
Elisha raced over to him, stunned by what had just happened. “You let go of it. You broke its hold on you.” She couldn’t believe it. She’d never seen anything like that happen before. Ever.
Slowly, Dante raised his head to look at her. His eyes were streaked with red, and there was blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “I must confess,” he said grimly, “that was a hell of a lot more difficult than I thought it was going to be.”
She almost smiled at the enormity of his understatement. “Did you think I was lying about the power of the sword?”
“No. I just thought you didn’t realize what a hero I am.” With a groan, Dante collapsed, and then rolled onto his back, his chest still heaving. “Turns out, the queen of darkness makes a better sword than I gave her credit for. Or, conversely, it turns out that I’m weaker than I imagined.”
“You’re not weak, Dante. For you to be able to release that sword after it had claimed you is incredible. You’re powerful beyond words.” Elisha sank down beside him, her body shaking with relief. How could he sound normal after that? “How did you release it?”
“I don’t know.” He draped one arm across his forehead. His flesh was burned and swirling with the power of the sword that was still inside him. “It all happened so fast I wasn’t ready for it.” He glanced at her. “The wind helped.”
She smiled. “Better than the Blade of Cormoranth.” Then her smile faded. “So, you’ll walk away now?” Even as she asked the words, regret filled her. She didn’t want him to depart. Not this powerful, incredible man who spoke of protecting innocents with such passion that she’d felt it in her own heart. Not this man who had somehow, incredibly, been able to break the sword’s hold on him. Not this man, whose mere nearness seemed to pulse deep inside her, to call her, to beckon to her. “You must walk away,” she added, forcing herself to say the words she had to say. “You must understand now how dangerous it is.”
Dante let out his breath. “I saw the destruction that it carries. I felt it. The sword is…” He looked at her. “It’s the worst suffering, the worst hell, the most brutal death that could ever be conceived of, a thousand times over, for an eternity. It’s ruthless destruction, at all cost, with no conscience or humanity. It’s worse than the Order.”
She nodded, surprised that he had been able to grasp the depths of the darkness that lived within the sword. “That’s my world.”
“Well,” Dante said quietly, “I can’t let it be this world. It can’t be turned loose.” He met her gaze. “No man can resist that.”
“No. I don’t know how you did.”
“You did it.”
She looked sharply at him. “What?”
“You did it. You kept the corruption at bay.” A faint smile touched his face, and he brushed his hand over the ends of her hair. “I kept hearing your voice,” he said softly, haltingly, as if he were articulating a truth even he didn’t quite grasp. “Through all the noise the sword was making, I kept hearing your voice, telling me to come back to you.”
She frowned, her heart pounding at the intimacy of his touch. “I didn’t say that.”
“You did. I heard you.” He met her gaze. “It was you,” he said quietly. “You were the purity and innocence I held onto to keep the darkness of the sword from taking me. Your wind helped me.” He brushed his finger over her lips. “The wind you create is like the kiss of your soul, and it freed me.”
Warmth began to spiral through her, like the hot kiss of desire. “I didn’t do anything—”
“You did.” He sat up then, with an ease she hadn’t expected, until she saw that his skin was already almost fully healed, that his body was recovering with surreal speed…except for his foot, which seemed even more deformed than it had been when he’d arrived such a short time ago. What had happened to him?
He reached for her, but she pulled back, scrambling out of his range as she leapt to her feet.
Dante stood at the same time, catching her arm before she could get out of his reach. She froze, unable to force herself to resist as he slowly, ever so slowly, drew her back toward him. “Every Calydon warrior has a sheva,” he said in a low, rough voice as his fingers slid up her arm. “The soul mate that he must bond with, but once they complete all five stages of the bond, destiny commands he will go rogue and destroy everything that matters to them both. The only way to stop him is for his sheva to kill him, and then herself. It is the way. It is the fate that has befallen every single member of the Order, except me. I am the last one standing, the last one who has not been destroyed by our destiny. The sheva destiny is unstoppable, an obsession that twists, destroys, and kills.”
She caught her breath as he pulled her against him, so their bodies were touching hip to chest. “I can’t be a sheva,” she said. “I’m not of this world. I can’t be bound.”
“I doubt that would stop it, but I have taken precautions anyway,” he said, locking one arm behind her lower back. “I spent months training until I could manifest the ancient protections to keep the sheva bond from being able to grip me. If you were my sheva, we could do every bonding stage a thousand times over, and it would do nothing.” His eyes were glittering, so dark and intense that she felt as though he could see right into her soul, as if he knew all the darkness the queen had cursed her with.
Fierce, unfamiliar longing seared through her, a need unlike anything she’d ever experienced, the same desire that he’d awoken in her since the first moment she’d sensed him. It was too dangerous, too strange, and too risky. “Let me go,” she whispered.
He didn’t soften his grip. Instead, he raised his free hand, sliding it through her hair in a touch so tantalizing that her belly started to tremble. “Since you cannot be my sheva,” he said, “I don’t need to fear the intensity of my response to you. I don’t need to fear how badly my very soul burns to make you mine. I’m not arrogant enough to think that I’m unstoppable, and I’m wise enough to understand when I have been given the gift of strength I do not have on my own, the ability to be a better man than I truly am…which is what you do for me.”
“No.” She swallowed, her heart thundering in her ears at the words that were so beautiful, that seemed to mirror exactly the way she was responding to him. “I do need to fear this connection between us,” she said. “I can’t be distracted from my purpose. I have to be able to kill you, not fantasize about your kisses and—”
“We have a common purpose.” He bent his head, trailing his lips ever so softly down her neck, sending ripples of intense desire through her. “My only mission is to protect this world and to secure its safety before I die. Your goal is to stop that sword from being used to sever the veil and destroy the earth.” He pulled back to look at her, his eyes blazing with intensity. “There is only one way to make that happen. I will destroy the sword so that no one can ever use it, and you will give me the strength to resist it. I do not fear you, Elisha. I embrace you.”
She shook her head, trying to keep her mind focused on what mattered, not on the feel of his body against hers. “No, no, no, that will never work. The only way to destroy the sword is to return it to its source. To do that, you have to sever the veil and plunge it into the inferno of darkness at the base of the veil. That will shut the veil again, but during the time it’s open, so much can escape, and the power of the sword is so strong that it will consume you the moment you use it for its intended purpose. Even you will not be able to withstand its force once you use it to sever the veil. There’s no way—”
“There is always a way,” he said, tightening his grip on the back of her hair. “You’re my power, Elisha. You’re my key. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but a w
arrior who ignores his greatest asset is a fool, and I am not a fool.” He gripped her tightly. “I must stop the slaughter. I must.”
A part of her, a deep wrenching part of her, cried at his words, at the certainty on his face that she was his salvation. “I’m the princess of darkness, Dante. I’m not your salvation. I can’t be. I’m your death. I’m your suffering. I’m your—”
He cut her off with a kiss of such relentless intensity that all the arguments, all her determination, all her certainty shattered into heart wrenching fragments, leaving her with nothing more than a raw, aching need for more. She craved the gentle, evocative caress of his hands, the decadent taste of his lips, and the deep sound of his voice. He made her yearn for all the beautiful things that she’d never been allowed to experience, that she’d never even known could be real.
It was almost overwhelming to be in his arms. His kiss was too tempting for her to resist. His embrace was too beautiful for her to rise above. All she wanted was to fall into the magic of his seduction and to lose herself in the sheer strength of his body and the honor of his soul. But she didn’t even know how to respond to it or how to accept it. She had no clue how to breathe it into her spirit to hold it close forever. She had no experience with kindness, with gentleness, or with the indescribable desire that ensnared her in its grasp with its merciless temptation.
As he deepened the kiss, Dante gently ran his hands down her arms, encircled her wrists, and then drew them around his neck. Surprised delight danced through her at the movement, and she slid her fingers into his hair, marveling at the softness of the strands. His hands were a wondrous seduction as they slid back down her hips, pulling her more tightly against his hardened cock. With a low growl, he angled his head, kissing her more deeply and ruthlessly, as if a rising urgency was driving him now.
His kisses were no longer controlled and precise. They were ragged and desperate, exactly how she felt. God, she needed more of him, so much more. She barely even understood the need driving her or the pressure building inside her. All she knew was that each touch, each kiss, and each caress that he offered stoked the fire more.
His hand gripped the flimsy material of her dress, and with one swift move, he tugged it up, baring her leg. He slid his palm over her thigh and lifted her leg onto his, easing his fingertips along her flesh, like the white-hot brands of fire that steamed so high over the valleys in her homeland.
She craved his touch with a fierceness she could barely comprehend. Never had she wanted to be kissed. Never had a man’s touch made her soul ache for more. Never had she grasped the seduction of touch, of kisses, of the scent of a man, or of the feel of taut muscles beneath her palms. Never, until now, until Dante’s body was against hers, until she could taste him in her mouth, until she had fallen under the power of his spell.
“Elisha,” he whispered, breaking the kiss to trail his mouth down her neck, a decadent temptation that made her shiver.
She gripped his shoulders, holding on as tightly as she could, terrified that the moment would end, that somehow, he would slip out of her grasp and she’d be flung back into her world and the life she faced every day—
“It’s moving.” Dante broke the kiss suddenly, staring past her. “It’s actually moving.”
She whirled around to see the sword undulating in the trunk of the tree as if it were trying to free itself. Dante looked down at his open hand and flexed it. There were imprints on his palm in the shape of the sword’s hilt, as if he were already holding it. “It’s strong,” he muttered. “Jesus, it’s strong.”
Elisha’s heart sank, and a sense of cold desolation chased away the warmth and beauty of his kisses as their reality returned. “The connection between you both was forged when you held it in your grasp. You can’t break it now. It won’t let you go.” She stared at him. “You can’t escape it, Dante. It’s too late.”
Dante looked at her, and a broad grin broke out on his face. “Well, then, I guess you’re just going to have to go with my plan, aren’t you? Let me take the sword, sever the veil, and then destroy the sword.”
She blinked. “No, I must kill you. I told you—”
“No.” Dante’s smile vanished so quickly that it was almost scary. He grasped her arm and pulled her close, his eyes blazing. “You might not be my sheva, Elisha, but you burn in my veins as if you were the fire that sustains me. I don’t have to fight it, because there’s no sheva destiny. My life is hell. It’s darkness. It’s death. Every day, I watch people die. People I care about, people who counted on me, people who once saved my life, I watch them all die. They fall to my blade or someone else’s. I hear the screams of the people I was supposed to save. Every minute of the day, I hear the roars of the warriors I couldn’t guide to salvation. Every time I close my eyes, I see them in the throes of death, by my hand. Every single breath I take, I feel the agony of those who died because I failed them, because the Order I was born to lead betrayed them.”
His pain attacked her like a great beast, clawing at her heart. “Dante, I’m so sorry—”
“I’m not.” His grip on her tightened. “Because those nightmares keep me going. They make me fight harder to find a way to turn this tide. I drink in their pain because that’s what keeps me protected from failing. I should have died from this poison long ago, but I could not allow it until I had finished my mission.” He held up his arm, showing her the markings on his flesh, the ancient runes of protection. “That’s why I was able to manifest these. I used the pain to make myself stronger than my destiny.”
Tears filled her eyes for the suffering that he lived by. It was the same as the suffering she saw every day, but in her world, it was celebrated as a beautiful thing, as a statement of all that was right in the world. She alone had shed tears for those who had died, and yet here was a man, this powerful, beautiful man, who felt the same sorrow she did. She took his arm and pressed her lips to the markings, knowing no other way to show him her respect and admiration, and to share with him how deeply she understood his suffering.
His eyes glittered as he took her hand, guiding it to his lips, where he pressed a kiss against the flat of her palm. “I embrace the pain,” he said, “but you are like this great gift of light cutting through the darkness. The memories and the suffering make me strong, but you, Elisha, you touch something inside me that makes me the man that I have never been able to be.” His dark eyes met hers. “You complete the circle. I don’t know how,” he whispered, almost absently. “It makes no sense that you awaken emotions in me, and that those emotions make me stronger…but that’s what’s happening.”
Warmth flooded her, a beauty so bright she felt like it would blind her…and she knew it would do exactly that, blinding her to what she had to do. “No, no,” she said, pulling her hand free. “Don’t say that. It doesn’t matter what’s between us. I must stop you—”
“No.” He put his hand over hers as she reached for the dagger. “Don’t you understand what I’m saying, Elisha? When a Calydon meets his sheva, he is consumed by an instinct so primal, so complete, that he will do anything to keep her safe. He could not harm her. He would not harm her. And he would never, ever allow harm to befall her.”
Her heart pounded at his words, but she shook her head, fighting not to fall into the magic of what he spoke. “I’m not your sheva, and I’m not in danger,” she said. “You’re the one in danger, because I have to kill you—”
“I can’t let you use that blade,” he said, encircling her wrist with a touch so delicate that she knew it was a lie. He would never let her pull away if she tried, despite his feather-light touch. “It will destroy you, and I, as the man who you have claimed, cannot allow that harm to befall you.”
She stared at him as his words sank in. “I haven’t claimed you—”
“You have. And I—” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “—claim you. Right here. Right now. As the woman who will guide me to the mission I was meant to lead.”
Then he kissed her
. Not just a kiss. A claiming.
Fear tore through her, terror of being trapped by a man to do his bidding, of being thrust into the future she’d been fighting to evade. But as his lips touched hers, there was also something else, something other than fear.
Peace. Desire. Lust. Need.
They were all the wrong things to feel. They were the emotions that made her too vulnerable. They were the temptations that would destroy her. She knew she had to break the connection, but even as she thought it, the light in her soul that had been dark for so long suddenly flared to life, awakened by his kiss, by his embrace, by all that he was.
Chapter Five
Dante could feel the sword summoning him.
He could hear the hum of its magic blistering in his head.
He could barely resist the burning of his palms as they craved the sword they had once touched.
But even stronger, even more powerful, even more compelling, was the taste of Elisha’s lips, the feel of her smooth flesh, and the incredible strength of her spirit. She was courage. She was bravery. And she was passion.
With a low growl, he swept his arm around her lower back, lifting her against him as he kissed her, burying himself in her presence. With each kiss, with each mingled breath, with each pulse of desire, the pull of the sword lessened, subjugated to his need for her. He didn’t understand how she was making him stronger. Passion led to corruption. Emotions led to betrayal. The only path to being the great protector was to be so cold, so focused, that nothing could tempt him aside. And yet, the opposite was happening with Elisha.
Her kisses were innocence layered with raw desire, a combination that ignited in him the need to both protect her and to awaken her sensuality pulsing tentatively just beneath the surface. “Elisha,” he whispered. “Give yourself over to me. Let us combine our power and rise together.”
Inferno of Darkness (Order of the Blade) Page 5