Lights of Aurora (The Stone Legacy Series Book 3)

by Theresa Dalayne

  Contessa stood, staring down at her. “I have no use for your little stone, child. When I approached him with your lock of hair, he was all too eager to agree to the trade. Your hair and a spell to finalize his control over the stone, in exchange for the Popol Vuh.”

  Zanya clenched her jaw. Of course Contessa would use Zanya’s hair against her. But if Contessa lied to her once, then she could have lied about anything. “What about Jayden’s spirit?”

  Contessa cupped Zanya’s chin delicately with her fingers. Zanya wanted to slap her hand away, but figured it better not to. “I knew who that foolish boy was as soon as I laid eyes on him, and I anticipated him following you here.”

  “Jayden didn’t follow me. I followed him, in case you already forgot.”

  “I am not speaking of your fallen friend. I speak of the other—the dark one. I had no doubt he would exact revenge, which is no fault of mine, of course. The king can’t possibly hold me responsible for the death of his general by—” She paused in consideration. “Well, the rest isn’t important for now.” She stood and pivoted away.

  “Wait.” Zanya reached out for her, and her breath caught in her throat. She swallowed, trying to block out the pain. “Are you talking about Arwan? The one with dark hair?” She hadn’t seen him since they’d been submerged in the portal, and the reality of what may have happened to him nearly broke her. “He could be dead.”

  “You may have thanked me if that were the case.” Contessa picked the book up off the ground and trotted down the hundreds of narrow steps.

  The roots above them writhed as Contessa continued down the temple toward the miles of blood-soaked ground. If Zanya stayed where she was, she’d die. Well, maybe not. But not dying here was worse than dying in the middleworld. She’d have to make nicey-nice with Contessa before she vanished—along with any chance of returning home.

  Zanya ground her teeth and pushed to her feet, snatched up the loose pages from the book, and folded them in her pocket. She wobbled down the steps as fast as she could without losing her balance. It didn’t help that every movement hurt like hell. “Wait.” The temptress didn’t stop walking. “Contessa, please. You didn’t answer my question about Jayden. Where is he? Did you lie about Houn?”

  The witch didn’t reply.

  “You said you were in my debt, remember?” If Arwan were in the underworld, he would have found her by now. If he was still in the caves, she had to find him. “I just want Jayden’s soul, and I want to go home.” Desperation cracked her voice.

  Contessa paused on the final step of the temple. “Is that so?”

  Panting, Zanya nodded. “Please.” She swallowed. “Just help me get Jayden back and send me to the middleworld. I won’t ask you for anything else.”

  Contessa turned to face her, one side of her mouth curling into a grin. “Very well. I will get his soul from Houn and have it returned to his body.”

  Zanya couldn’t allow herself to feel any relief. She didn’t trust Contessa. Unfortunately, she didn’t have much of a choice.

  Contessa gestured behind Zanya. “I believe you two have met.”

  Zanya turned to see the bearer of souls gliding over the first layer of the underworld, which was now eerily silent.

  “He happens to owe me a favor. A few, in fact. And considering it’s been some time since I’ve indulged, this is the perfect opportunity to call on such a favor.” She locked her sights on Houn, and her bright green eyes grew black like onyx. The monster lurking just under her skin—the same glimpse of her ugly, damned soul Zanya had first seen on the streets of Moscow—flashed beneath her milky complexion.

  Houn glided to Contessa’s side and slowly removed the leather sack from his back. Contessa poised her hand over it. Houn pulled it open, and Contessa slowly reached inside.

  Her eyes fluttered shut as her fair skin darkened with shadows. The pouch glowed, and screams filled the dead realm. Zanya clasped her hands over her ears and dropped to her knees, grinding her teeth under the assault.

  The tree hadn’t spared any souls. No one was left to scream. Zanya’s gaze danced from the pouch to Contessa, who was somehow interacting with the trapped souls.

  Zanya’s lips parted and her stomach dropped.

  No. Not interacting. Consuming. Gorging.

  Zanya stood, still clasping her hands over her ears. Slowly, the screams faded. As each scream died, a distinct voice began to emerge.

  A man’s voice. A voice she recognized.

  Zanya gasped. “Jayden!”

  Contessa pulled her hand away from the empty carrier of souls and opened her eyes, now swirling with magic. “Stay back.” Her voice was angelic, as if tiny bells were tinkling around them.

  “What did you do to him?” Zanya shifted, balling her fists. “What did you do?”

  “I intend to keep my word, though I’m afraid, child, your woes have just begun.”

  With a slight gesture of Contessa’s hand, a root lunged from the earth above them and curled around Zanya’s waist. Barbs stuck into her skin, and it jerked her into the air. The sudden movement made her stomach roll, and she screamed. On instinct, Zanya clenched her eyes shut just as her back slammed into the soil, knocking the air out of her lungs before she was sucked into the earth above.

  ***

  Arwan

  Cold shocked Arwan’s body. He gasped in a scorching breath as he pried open his eyes. The dark cave did little to help him see, but from the humidity in the air and the sound of raindrops pattering on the ground outside, he knew he’d returned to the middleworld.

  There was no rain where he was from.

  With every movement his muscles weakened. A gust of wind ran over his naked body. It had been decades since the last time he changed, and he hadn’t been dressed when he returned to humanity back then, either.

  Thankfully there were extra clothes in the pack he’d left behind. His body trembled as he slipped on a pair of sweats and a cotton T-shirt, and though his fingers were like ice, the warm jungle air had begun to thaw them out.

  He’d fled the underworld after he’d torn Sarian apart, leaving Zanya behind. He had to find her. If anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself.

  His gut wrenched when he recalled the way she’d backed away from him in the caves. What she must have thought. The horrors that must have reeled through her mind. They would all be justified. He was a monster.

  Arwan extended his hands and examined the lines tracing his palms. His life would never be the same. She had seen his true form. Worse, he’d killed Sarian right in front of her—as a beast. He still tasted the blood. Saliva pooled under his tongue, and he fisted his hands. He was no better than the world he came from or the monsters that lived in it.

  Perhaps death would have been more merciful.

  The echo of Zanya’s moan made him jump. He peered out of the cave’s entrance to see her lying on the ground outside. Arwan scrambled to his feet and stumbled toward her, using the cave’s stone walls as support. He pushed hair out of his face and staggered out of the cave, then dropped to the ground beside her.

  The heavy rain drenched him in seconds. The soil had been dry for so long, it wouldn’t absorb the water. The downpour sat on top of the ground, collecting pools and puddles in the places where it had nowhere to run.

  Zanya lay on her stomach with her eyes closed and hair splayed over her face and neck. He gently brushed strands away from her cheek with the tips of his trembling fingers. “Zanya.” Her name scraped out of his throat.

  Her back rose and fell with shallow breaths. She was alive, and in the middleworld she would heal from her injuries. He grabbed her shoulder and rolled her over. Her fingers uncurled, and her stone slipped from her hand.

  Zanya moaned and clenched her ribs. Her lips pressed tightly together while her fingers curled around her shirt, soaked in blood. He pulled it up to reveal a deep wound in her side, and watched, waiting for it to heal. But it only continued to bleed.

  His turned his atte
ntion to the stone. It wasn’t lit up or churning with colors. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think it was just a regular river pebble. He grabbed the stone and a volt of energy threw him back to the ground.

  Warm rain fell over him while he stared up at the sky. His inner beast rooted deeper inside of him like a blot of ink staining his soul. Arwan turned his head and stretched his fingers to touch Zanya’s hand. This could be the last time he touched her.

  A deep growl caught his attention, and he looked to see the speckled paws of a jaguar pad past him. Arwan tilted his head and met the animal’s yellow eyes peering down at him.

  “Foolish boy,” spat an old woman’s voice. The sound of hasty footsteps on wet ground grew louder until a woman with wrinkled skin and graying black hair loomed over him, blocking the big cat from his sight. With her hands perched on her hips, she seemed angry rather than concerned.

  He furrowed his brows as his vision blurred. “Tia Drina?” He tried to focus, unsure if she was a hallucination from all he’d been through. Drina lived in Belize. They were nearly twelve hours away by bus from her village near Renato’s home.

  The woman held a stick in her hand and waved it in his face as she scowled. “I will build a fire, t’en beat you.”

  He exhaled, and his muscles relaxed against the cool, drenched earth. Without a doubt, it was Drina.

  The crackling of the fire woke Arwan. The rain had stopped, leaving a humid, musky scent in the air. Tia Drina crouched on the soil beneath the jungle canopy, grinding herbs with a pestle and mortar. The frail woman’s shoulders hunched as she toiled over the mixture, and a bead of sweat collected on her brow. She wiped it away with the back of her hand.”

  The warmth from the fire radiated across his skin. Zanya lay asleep on the other side of the flames. He observed her silhouette and listened to her steady breathing until he was satisfied she was all right. His senses seemed to be even more heightened now. He didn’t have to strain to listen to the rhythmic thud of her heart.

  He turned back to Drina. “How did you get here?” His voice was still raspy, though it was better than before. Most likely thanks to one of Drina’s herbal treatments laced with magic.

  “When Cualli calls, t’ere is no room to refuse.” She huffed and pushed a lock of hair away from her face. “Even for an old woman.”

  “Cualli? She’s here?”

  Drina glanced at him, though it was more like a glare. “You are too eager. And foolish.” She pounded the tool faster and with more power. “Nearly get yourself killed. And her.” She gestured to Zanya with a nod. “You forget what is important and chase after revenge. Like a blind, scared animal.”

  Her words cut into him.

  She paused and exhaled. “Did you get what you wanted?”

  He had lost everything to gain so little. He’d always believed killing Sarian would bring back his humanity. Instead it had torn him further away.

  He didn’t remember choosing to change. The beast clawed out of him with such strength, he was stripped of any right to make a decision. He strained to remember his time as a beast, but the memories were fogged and unclear. One thing stood out: the deep, carnal need to tear through the man responsible for leading his mother to her death. His father might have killed her, but Sarian was the cause. As a beast, that desire had overpowered him.

  Drina returned to pounding the herbs. “No matter. Is too late to t’ink on it. Important now is t’e guardian. She is hurt. It took strong magic—more t’an I was ready to make—but the link between her and her stone is alive. As is she. But it will still take time for her to heal.” Panting, she stopped grinding the herbs, and her wrinkled hand trembled. “But she is ill. Not healing.” Drina poured a steaming mixture over the herbs, then crushed it into a thick paste. Her rickety bones creaked as she stood.

  Arwan nearly reached out to help her, but the old woman was too prideful for that. She would have swatted him away, or worse.

  Drina hobbled to his side, scooped a clump of the mixture onto her fingers, and smeared it across his chest and over the gash on his cheek. It smelled horrible, but he didn’t dare pull away. “Cuts will heal faster wit’ salve.” Drina turned, pressed the back of her hand against Zanya’s forehead, and frowned.

  Arwan grunted as he forced himself to his feet. He walked to Drina’s side and crouched beside her. All of the color was drained from Zanya’s cheeks. How could he have let this happen?

  Drina’s lips were still puckered, and the tension in her shoulders made it obvious she was unsettled.

  “Will she be all right?”

  Drina applied a new coat of salve over the wound in Zanya’s side. “Yes, I t’ink so. But t’ere was dark magic used here. It weakened her powers. Somet’ing was used t’at belongs to her. Somet’ing personal.”

  Arwan dropped his head. He still blamed himself for not seeing it sooner. “Her hair. Contessa took it in Moscow when we went to her for help to find Sarian.” He clenched his jaw. “I never should have let her give it to that witch, but it was what Contessa wanted in exchange.”

  “Yes. Hair would be very good for a spell.” She twisted a cloth full of water over a terra-cotta pot and gently patted it over Zanya’s forehead.

  A heavy silence filled the air.

  She dropped the cloth back into the bowl and continued to mix the salve unnecessarily. It was clear Drina was holding something back. She glanced up at him every chance she had, probably hoping he wouldn’t notice.

  He pretended not to. Drina was a rough woman. She had been alive far longer than her natural lifecycle would have allowed. If not for the blessings set over her by the village elders and the favor of the gods, she would have been gone and in the earth years ago. Still, all of her wisdom hadn’t helped her in having a soft tongue.

  So he would allow her to pound the herbs in silence.

  The crackling of the fire mixed with the familiar jungle sounds soothed him. Arwan had spent so much time in the bush, it was like a second home. He drew in a deep breath, exhaled, and centered his mind while he examined Zanya’s face, peaceful and content as she slept near the flames.

  Life hadn’t always been this complicated. There was a time when things were simple. A time he didn’t know where he came from or what he really was. He hadn’t always sensed the beast within him. It only began to claw its way out when he came of age, and the solstice first conjured it to life. So many changes had occurred at the same time. He filled out that year and became stronger. His mother hadn’t been alive to see how many changes had occurred at the same time. He became stronger and adopted martial arts as a hobby—to keep the effects of his dark side under control. The sport gave him something to focus on and something to do with his days other than pacing his room or running over the paths between villages.

  A grin tugged at his lips.

  As a boy, he was not above making mischief. Perhaps the fates had planned for him to join the other boys that day in throwing rocks at Drina’s hut. She was, after all, a high priestess—a person the villagers both admired and feared.

  Back then she had been much more nimble and quick on her feet. When she’d charged out of her hut, waving her fist in the air, the other boys ran. She locked eyes with Arwan, and her expression of anger melted away. He still recalled how her fist slowly relaxed and her arm dropped to her side. She recognized him, knew who he was, and loved him in spite of that.

  “Cualli told me what happened.” Drina’s voice tore him out of his thoughts. “She called for me, knowing you would need someone.” She set the stone bowl on the ground beside her. Her hands were stained dark brown from the mixture, much like the henna used to mark new Maya brides before they were given away. She traced the rim of the bowl with her wrinkled fingers. “Your love for t’e guardian has made you to do bold t’ings. Be brave. Face fears you have hidden away for many years.”

  He couldn’t meet Drina’s gaze out of his own humiliation.

  “But you have loved selflessly.”

  She
provided him little comfort. Nothing he could do would prove he was not a beast in his heart, where men built their destiny and chose who they would become.

  Now he saw the knowledge in Renato’s words. You choose who you are, and the choice is yours alone.

  He finally met Drina’s warm gaze. “She does not know, Arwan.”

  “What?”

  “She woke while you were sleeping, and her first words were of you. She was worried. T’ought you were dead. Cried when she saw you.”

  He took Zanya’s hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. Her skin was warm, and although she was asleep, her fingers curled and held his hand in return.

  “Should I tell her?” He hoped for Drina’s guidance. Instead she grabbed the bowl and returned to mixing the herbs.

  To tell Zanya the truth would sever any chance of her seeing him the same way again. But not telling her could have the same consequences. She had already been hurt, and he swore he would not compromise her heart a second time.

  Chapter Ten

  Zanya

  The whisper of soft voices woke Zanya from her sleep. She immediately groped for her stone in her pocket. Curling her fingers around its smooth surface, she exhaled, clinging to it with everything she had.

  She smiled when the stone’s tether tugged at her. It had missed her.

  Plumes of smoke rose from the fire pit beside her. It must have been burning all night, but now the morning sun provided warmth and light. She sat up and looked at Arwan, who was speaking to an older woman just yards away.