Wings of Hope

by Pippa Dacosta

  WINGS OF HOPE

  THE VEIL SERIES PREQUEL

  PIPPA DACOSTA

  Contents

  Copyright

  Wings of Hope

  The Veil Series Reviews

  Also By Pippa DaCosta

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Copyright © 2014 by Pippa DaCosta

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Version 1.1

  www.pippadacosta.com

  WINGS OF HOPE

  THE BEGINNING OF THE END

  If you are coming to this prequel new to the series, or as an established fan, please take a moment to read the following:

  F oreword

  M use has tried to keep her past hidden. Her darker half is not something she shares often, and indeed, the full extent of her past remains a secret to those around her. It was only after you, dear reader, demanded more (sometime between books two and three), that this prequel took shape. Wings Of Hope certainly wasn’t easy to write. The Muse we meet in these pages is a very different beast from the Muse we meet fifteen years later in the first Veil Series novel Beyond The Veil. You may not like her. She is demon.

  If you ask her today, Muse will tell you she’s all about the future. One step in front of the other, always moving forward. Never looking back. But once in a while, she’ll take herself somewhere quiet. She’ll sit, close her eyes, and in that darkness, where her demon resides, she remembers a very different time, in a very different world, when she was a very different creature.

  A uthor’s note regarding names:

  Da’mean ~ Damien

  Ahkeel ~ Akil

  * * *

  M use:~

  I am demon. I am human. One is a beacon of light in the darkness, shining with potential, brimming with dreams. The other is cold, hungry, ruthless, and governed by instinct. I am both, but here in these pages, the demon prevails. In the beginning of this tale, you may find my words hard or empty. My words are me. You may wonder why I allowed these cruelties to happen, but you are outside the cage looking in. The view from inside is very different.

  “I had hope, and when it all boiled down to nothing, hope was all I had.” ~ Muse, Devil May Care, #2 The Veil Series

  “We are not so different, and yet we are worlds apart.” Ahkeel, Wings Of Hope

  * * *

  WINGS OF HOPE

  THE BEGINNING OF THE END

  The elemental approaching us was deadly. I didn’t need to lift my head and look at him to realize as much; the invisible weight of his ethereal touch encircled mine in a curious embrace. I’d learned not to flinch away from such explorative examinations. Should I react, Da’mean, my owner, would punish me for my weakness. Do not react. Do not flinch. Be still. Be unseen. I focused on becoming small, a part of the background, an insignificant nothing.

  Yet this elemental’s power throbbed the air, undeniable and suffocating. I bowed my shoulders and dipped my chin snug against my chest, bowing under the weight of his presence. He spoke in measured tones, his words no more or less than they needed to be. Da’mean’s spluttered snarls and mumbled growls seemed bestial in comparison. My owner conversed with actions, not words. But actions would not do here among the sights and sounds of trading day, when all my kin came together to haggle for goods. A water elemental nudged me from behind, jostling her way through the crowd. She gurgled a curse, spilled her liquescent gaze down my body, raised her lips in a snarl, and moved on. Others milled around, snarls and yips punctuating their speech as they bartered for goods or favors. As yet, no blood had been spilled, but it wouldn’t be trading day if a scuffle didn’t break out. Elementals often ended disagreements beneath the slice of their claws. Da’mean always brought me to trading day, as though reminding me where I came from and how easily I could be traded away.

  The visitor and my owner discussed such a trade. I might have listened more had the invisible flicker of the visitor’s element not crept beneath my skin. He should not touch me that way. I was Da’mean’s. I was owned. The powerful stranger’s encroaching touch was forbidden. It was my duty to reveal his actions to my owner. But even though I was not at fault, the punishment would be mine.

  I closed my eyes and withdrew inside myself, seeking the embrace of his unwelcome energy. They continued to converse, and yet despite the visitor’s apparent attention to my owner, his power wove through me, seeking, exploring. I chased its invasion, driving my own element after his. This was wrong. It was forbidden. My heart fluttered.

  “Give me your half-blood.”

  The words wrenched me to the surface and back into the moment. What had he said? I steadied my breathing, hoping my gasps hadn’t been noticed.

  “She is nothing.” Da’mean snorted, disgusted.

  “Three nights,” the visitor replied, his words spoken with unyielding conviction. Clearly, he was not accustomed to being refused.

  Da’mean snarled—not a rebuttal, but more an acknowledgement. “She will disappoint.”

  A growl bubbled beneath the visitor’s words. “Do you deny me?”

  I flicked my gaze up and, for the briefest of moments, found myself locked into the molten glare of an elemental like no other. Lava veins throbbed beneath his black-as-night skin. His wings towered behind him, held high as a sign of status. The weight of his element tripled as our gazes locked, as though he sought to smother me with his glare alone. I should have winced away. He had too much raw energy. I was a half-blood. It was not my place to look into the eyes of higher elementals. At the very least, Da’mean would be furious, and I’d pay by the quick slash of his claws, but I felt no fear looking into the visitor’s fire-splintered eyes. No, my racing heart and simmering element were an indication of something else entirely. I tasted the promise of a strange new sensation on my tongue. Hope?

  I flicked my gaze down, bowing my head as my owner swung his bulk around, clamped a heavy hand upon my shoulder, and forced me to my knees. “You kneel before the Prince of Greed, half-blood, or you will not live to see another sunbirth.”

  A prince? I had stared into the eyes of one of the Seven, perhaps even a First. A whimper shot from my lips. Hot terror flooded my veins. I fell forward, prostrate and repentant. If Da’mean didn’t kill me for my insolence, the prince surely would.

  * * *

  I counted the cobbles as they passed beneath my bare feet. Three-an’-one, three-an’-two, three-an’-four. When we reached seventy, the pain would begin. My skin quivered with dreadful forewarning. Da’mean stalked ahead. He breathed hard but not from exertion. Fury trembled through his storm-gray wings. Three-an’-eight, three-an’-nine, forty. The coming pain would leave me spent. I would live because it wouldn’t do for Da’mean’s half-blood whore to die. No. He had a reputation to uphold. He groomed his half-blood, molded her like clay, broke her, and rebuilt her, only to begin all over again. I was his muse. I inspired cruelty, hatred, disgust. Four-an’-five, four-an’-six. I could run. The sky above bled a crimson sundeath. If I should run, creatures far worse than my owner stalked the night. Scurrying, sharp-toothed, sickle-clawed lesser beasts would tear strips from my half-blood hide. Worse, there were princes. Five-an’-two, five-an’-three. Three nights, he’d said. The Prince of Greed. The weight of his power had robbed me of my wits. Just the sight of him had scored my eyes, as though I’d be damned if I looked away and damned if didn’t. Surely, I was dead anyway. My owner might as well kill me immediately. If he didn’t, the prince would. What else could he want me for? I was nothi
ng. A half-breed plaything. An abomination. Half elemental and half something not of this world, something pink and vulnerable, weak and riddled with fear, diseased with emotion. Three nights. The Prince would look upon me in disgusted fury. His gaze alone might kill me. Six-an’-six, six-an’-seven, six-an’-eight...

  Da’mean shoved open the door to our hut. He turned his brutish face to me. The hard lines of his jaw clamped rigid, and the proud angles of his face cut deeply, twisting his expression into a hideous visage of rage. His moist lips rolled back over vicious fangs, and his cold, soulless eyes pinned me beneath his gaze.

  Seventy.

  * * *

  It seemed important, during this brief meeting in the vacant feasting hall, that I not betray how icy terror clogged my veins. Yet, despite my best efforts, I could not temper the quakes rolling through my muscles. On my knees, bowed so low I could kiss the smooth stone floor, I clamped my wings tightly closed and pulled them snug against my back. I was a small thing. Not worthy–not worthy. Da’mean’s words from the previous day struck me again, the memory of his affection still a vivid phantom in my head. Rapidly healing wounds stained my body. Not worthy of a prince, half-blood. You are mine. My muse. Go to him a’morrow in the hall. He will see you for a worthless thing and witness his error.

  I curled my claws into my palms. My fire throbbed in my veins, tracing jagged lines beneath my skin. Would he kill me now and not waste time with the three nights he’d asked for? Da’mean waited outside the hall, but my owner could not protect me, nor would he try.

  “Your fear is palpable.” The Prince of Greed’s coarse voice, rich with innate authority, rumbled through the air. My instincts jerked, trying to yank me to my feet, urging me to flee. I stole a glance. He stood by the open doorway, wings unfurled. The cool breeze kissed their expanse, fanning his element higher. He blazed with so much power; would I still see him with my eyes closed?

  “Do you possess a name, half-blood?”

  I swallowed. My owner calls me his muse. The words refused to come. They fluttered about my head like sprites in the dark. I reached, but they flitted away, afraid.

  A resonating chuckle rippled the air. The sounds he made touched me the way his hands might. “You quiver before Mammon, Prince of Greed.” I bowed my head. “Summon your human, half-blood. I will see your other half.”

  This would be how it began and ended. They all wanted to see her, my disfigured other half with her gangly limbs and ridiculously pliable flesh. At least, should he strike me, incensed at the sight of her, it would be over. Not worthy.

  “Do you deny me?” A warning rumbled through his words.

  I flinched and hunkered down. Summon me, and be done with it, my inner voice scolded. But the thought of having her pitiful mind in mine, her tinkling words and maddening cacophony of emotions all vying for attention at once, prevented me from releasing my control. Most days, as purely elemental, I didn’t feel much of anything beyond instinct. But for her, I reserved disgust.

  The air shifted sideways. Elemental energy surged. I lifted my head, eyes-widening, as Mammon’s magnificent body rippled and shimmered. Morbid fascination rooted me to the ground while I watched his flesh peel apart, turn itself inside out, and swallow itself whole again, until I found myself staring at a honey-skinned thing. I blinked, lips parting in a silent intake of breath. Mammon had gone. In his place stood something like my other half, only harder, leaner, wrapped in cords of honed muscle and clearly male.

  “Would you prefer to look upon me like this?” His voice in this new form had liquesced into luscious rhythmic sounds. The tease of his words wrapped around me, wove through my surprise, and undid my fear. He moved forward, sinewy muscles flexing. A mane of dark hair spilled satin-smooth to his shoulders. I should have found his form revolting. The thin flesh was weak, the nude body vulnerable. He should have reeked of frailty. But he wore the flesh perfectly, as though he’d somehow poured all of his elemental bulk into those broad shoulders and chiseled abdominal muscles. Powerful, lean thighs drove a confident, impossibly graceful stride. He moved like water—no, like fire: hungry, unrepentant, seductive.

  When he crouched down before me and draped his arms over his knees, angling his head to the side to admire me, I briefly lost my thoughts in his gaze. In this form, Mammon’s black eyes smoldered with splinters of fire. A tendril of his long, lustrous dark hair fell across one eye, but he made no move to sweep it aside. A strange madness came over me, a sudden desire to knot my claws in those tantalizing locks and pull the mane back from his face, revealing the savage design of his mesmerizing face. My fear had all but vanished, twisting into something foreign, something my disgusting other-half craved. I felt her reaching, desperate for…what? Her alien need ran deep. I likened it to the longing I sometimes felt when starved for days on end: not mere hunger, something visceral and soul-deep.

  He curled a finger beneath my chin—my scorching hot skin no more a hindrance than the air itself—and tipped my head up, silencing my thoughts.

  “You are not yet grown. But you, little half-blood, will be magnificent.” He smiled, and a sensation like gentle caresses licked down my spine. “And you will be mine.”

  * * *

  The chain bit into my flesh and tore free. I’d stopped feeling the lashings long ago. Anger burned in my gut and fizzled through my veins. I could no more stop my element from flaring than I could prevent myself breathing. Da’mean noticed the fire throbbing in my veins, growled, and the next lash sliced deeper. His body trembled. Sweat glistened on his rough skin. With each swing of the chain, his wings flexed, his back arched, and he spat out a gnarled growl. The lashings would end. All I needed to do was absorb each blow, let the pain flash burn through me, and it would be over. All things end.

  He clutched my head. Claws pierced my skin. I would not cry out. He liked to hear me beg and mew. He yanked my face close to his. His breath blasted my cheek, and his pungent bitter scent laced my nose and throat. “Did the Prince of Greed enjoy the taste of you at the feasting hall, my sweet Muse?”

  If I answered no, he’d beat me for disappointing a prince. If I said yes, he’d beat me for betraying him. I was his. Only his.

  You will be magnificent. And you will be mine.

  “Did he speak to you? Did you satisfy him? Did you ruck with him?” Da’mean tossed the chain aside and clamped his hand on my rear. The tips of his claws sunk deep into my flesh. With the hand still clamped on my scalp, he pulled me up off my feet and dangled me in the air before him. His flat, dull-eyed gaze roamed my face, slid down my chest, and rode over the plane of my navel. “Too thin. Too fragile.” He leered. “No meat. No prince would defile himself with you.”

  Hot blood dripped from my toes. I listened to it drip-dripping to focus on anything but the consuming presence of pain and degradation. It would end. It always ended.

  “Speak.” Spittle dashed my face. “What does he want with you?” His gaze burned with disgust.

  “Nothing,” I hissed. “He did nothing.”

  Da’mean studied me, his dull eyes seeking signs of deception. Then he laughed, and the sound of it scattered shivers across my superheated flesh. “Nothing? Nothing! He wants you for three nights. That was but a test—a taster—did you like it?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “There is only you, my Da’mean. Only you.”

  He marched forward, backing me against the gnarled bark of the hut wall. “Only me.” He dropped me to my feet and bowed his head in close. Clenching my teeth, I gulped back the acidic burn in my throat. There was no escaping him like this. My best hope was to let it happen. Any fight had long ago been beaten out of me.

  He sucked in a breath, hissing his element through his teeth. Air rushed from my lungs, punched up my throat, and whooshed out of me. A pounding throb numbed my head while the scent of him forced bile up my throat. Da’mean crowded me with his body, closing down around me, smothering my existence. “When he touches you, you think of m
e. When he speaks with you, you hear me. When he rucks you, you feel me.” He leaned in and drove his arousal against my flesh, hot and huge, too large for my half-blood body, but that had never stopped him. “You are mine, my muse.” His moist tongue flicked out, the two pronged tip swirling around the corner of my lips. He hissed as my heat scorched him. He liked it. Liked pain. Inflicting it, receiving it.

  I closed my eyes and battled suffocation. This will end. All things end. Perhaps this time, it would end for eternity.

  * * *

  The elementals in the feasting hall eyed me like they would a carcass, something disgusting, to be skirted around, avoided at all costs. Until they wanted something. Make her bleed; make her read. Da’mean tugged on the chain shackling my wrists and pulled me down atop the feasting table, arms in front of me. Pain burned in my shoulders, protesting the awkward angle, but my expression stayed frozen. I’d perfected the mask of indifference long ago. Somewhere between boredom and acceptance, I wore my mask like armor. My icy visage covered a lifetimes worth of degradation. I’d forgotten what it meant to care.

  “Greed has asked for her.” Da’mean’s laughter rolled around the crowd of elementals. Some sat at the table and tore into their meals, sharp teeth flashing yellow beneath the candlelight.

  “That?” A guttural voice asked. I didn’t bother to look. Instead, I focused on a knot in the wood of the table. “Revolting. Why does Greed want your pet, Da’mean. She possesses hidden skills, yes?”

  “She does.” He held out a hand. “Your blade?”

  Do not flinch.

  A slither of light skipped over me, reflected off a dagger as it was passed overhead. Da’mean struck lightning fast. He punched the blade through my upward tilted palm, pinning my hand to the table. Pain burned up my arm and battled my attempts to remain numb. Do not react. Do not flinch. Hold. Hold. Hot blood bubbled around the dagger protruding from my palm. Rivulets spilled over my cracked flesh and pooled on the tabletop. The elements rippling through the air stirred into motion as their masters caught the scent of half-blood. Chaos energy licked across my skin. My muscles twitched. Da’mean snarled.