Stephanie Rowe - Darkness Unleashed

  He nodded. "I'm always okay." He flicked a hand at the others. "You guys get some sleep. I'll take first watch."

  Thano and Zach nodded, and within minutes they were stretched out asleep, warriors who clearly knew how to grab every second of shut-eye that they could. But as they went to sleep, their role as chaperones ended, effectively leaving her alone with Ryland, the man who was part nether-world dragon, and part tempter.

  She didn't know which was scarier.

  * * *

  Ryland studied Catherine as she fed upon the fire. The flames danced upon her cheeks, casting orange and red reflections on her skin and swathing her eyes in dark shadows. As the flames darkened, drained of life, Ryland's skin prickled. With her blond hair tangled around her shoulders, the hooded look on her face, and the eerie glow of her hands as the flames bled into them, she looked every bit the destructor. Not an angel of death. More like the grim reaper.

  The weapons in his forearms burned, warning him of the threat she posed. At the same time, however, something inside him was edged with interest and intrigue. She practically bled power and darkness, a woman who seemed to mirror all that stalked him. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his bent knees, watching her intently as she engaged in what almost felt like a ritual feeding. "Why do you need to feed on light?"

  Her blue eyes flickered toward him. "My soul needs to summon power from external sources in order to survive," she said. "It feeds upon the light or energy of others. When I take a soul, it nourishes me. Light also feeds me, so if I can fill my soul with light, it helps stave off the need to feed on souls. The thing is that a person's soul is the essence of their life force. It's eternal life, so it's extremely powerful. Sunlight and fire aren't really a close second, you know? I can control it pretty well when I'm awake, but when I sleep, my defenses go down." She managed a smile. "So, don't let me sleep."

  He studied her, surprised by her explanation. How was it that an angel fed upon others? It made no sense. "What happens when you feed on a soul?"

  She bit her lip, and he felt a wash of guilt from her. "It becomes a part of me," she said. "That means it dies forever, since I'm death." She opened her mouth to say more, then shut it.

  Ryland moved closer to her, compelled by this troubled angel, needing to learn more about her. For hundreds of years, he'd survived on the memory of that angel, the ethereal being that Dante had recruited to save him, though Dante had never explained his connection to the angel.

  For the centuries since, Ryland had elevated angels to a goddess status. To actually be connecting with a true angel was almost beyond his comprehension. Catherine was nothing like what an angel should be. She was burdened with death, a murderer, and deprived of her own child. It made no sense, and he pulsed with the need to unravel the mystery, to reconcile this woman before him with how angels were supposed to be. "Tell me the rest," he said. "Tell me the things you don't want me to know."

  She glanced at him, and he saw incredible agony in her eyes. Burdens so great that her soul was being eaten away by their weight.

  He leaned over her and took a lock of her hair between his fingers, needing to reassure himself that she was real, that her hair was the soft, fragile reality of a vulnerable woman. Needing to touch her for his own sanity. "Tell me, Catherine. Tell me." He moved his hand so that his thumb brushed against her jaw. The feel of her skin against his was electrifying, a shock that made them both suck in their breath.

  He'd never stroked a woman's skin before. He'd never been so still in a moment that he could actually feel the heartbeat of time as it passed by, but right now, it seemed as if the very earth itself had stopped spinning, as if the wind had stopped moving, as if every one of his senses was attuned to the woman before him. He could hear her breathe. The tempting fragrance of new spring seemed to drift from her skin. The faint pulse of a dark threat seemed to emanate from her through the very earth itself. She was beauty and light, and at the same time, she was an ominous shadow hovering in deadly readiness.

  She was pure, elemental beauty and allure, everything that seemed to awaken his very soul.

  His angel closed her eyes, her dark lashes resting on her cheeks as if she were a precious innocent. She tilted her head into his touch, as compelled by their physical connection as he was. "Why do I want to trust you so badly?" she whispered.

  "Because you know I would protect you with my life," he said, leaning into her space until his lips were so close to hers that he could feel her breath on his mouth. "You're my guardian angel, but I'm your protector." He leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers.

  She gasped and jerked backward, a rejection that seemed to knife right across his gut. "No," she said. "Don't."

  Ryland ground his jaw, swearing at himself. What was he thinking? She was an angel. A guy didn't just go around kissing angels. "Sorry." He dropped his hand and pulled back—

  "No." This time, as she protested, she reached for his hand. When her fingers wrapped around his wrist, Ryland froze in shock. Her fingers were delicate and feminine, almost fragile in comparison to the thick bones in his wrist. Electricity seemed to sizzle through him as she guided his hand back to her face and pressed it to her cheek. "I need this," she whispered. "Just give it to me for a minute."

  Her skin was the softest thing he'd ever touched in his life. Was it like silk? The petal of a new rose? The down on a wolf pup? He didn't have anything to compare it to. He wasn't a touchy guy. He fought. He bled. He killed. He protected. He didn't touch.

  But as he sat there with his hand on Catherine's cheek, his thumb trailing over the incredibly delicate lines of her jaw, his senses were inundated with everything about her. Her scent, the sound of her voice, the way she seemed to inhale his presence, the warmth of her skin, the mesmerizing shade of her eyes. Everything about her seemed to leap into vivid technicolor so intense that it was almost overwhelming. "I don't understand this." He didn't. He couldn't. The entire experience was so far outside the realm of what he'd lived.

  "I don't either." She wrapped her hand around his wrist, as if she were trapping his hand against her face, as if she were as desperate as he to seize this moment and never let it end. "I don't trust you," she whispered. "I know that you'll betray me when the time is right. I know better than to let myself trust anything about you, but your touch feels like a blessing from heaven."

  "Betray you?" He could barely voice the words he was so shocked by what she'd said. "Betray you?"

  She opened her eyes, intense azure depths only inches from his. "Of course you will," she said. "But I know that, so I can protect myself."

  "Jesus, Catherine." He slid his hand behind her and cupped her neck as sudden outrage burned through him. "There is no chance on this fucking planet that I would ever betray you." He grabbed her bound hand and pressed it to his chest. "Can't you feel the truth of my words? Lying to make people feel good is a bunch of crap and a waste of time. I have no lies. I fucking mean every word I say." Then he swore again. What the hell was he doing, talking to her like that? "Shit, Catherine, I didn't mean to swear in front of you. You're above that crap." He swore again. "Shit. I didn't mean to do it again. I mean, shit!" He shut his mouth, disgusted by how uncouth he was.

  Her fingers dug into his chest, and she smiled, a smile that melted his fucking heart. "Ryland. I'm the angel of death. I'm not fragile, naive, or innocent. I know exactly how rough you are. I can taste the death that bleeds off you. I've seen the darkest side of humanity. I have no faith left in anything. You don't need to worry about swearing in front of me."

  "Fuck that." He grimaced, swearing silently to himself. When had he become such a foul-mouthed pig? "No, Catherine, you're wrong. You're an angel, and that won't change no matter how much darkness you've endured." He slid his fingers through her hair, still awed by the softness of the strands, and how unbelievable it felt to have her lean into his touch. "I'm going to clean up my language for you, I promise. But I'm going to warn you, I don't have any practice at that
kind of shi—stuff, so yeah. I am what I am."

  She laughed then, a magical sound that made his heart stutter. "How an immortal warrior steeped in death and birthed of the nether-realm can be cute, I don't know, but you just managed it."

  "Cute?" He stared at her. "You think I'm cute?" He didn't even understand that.

  "Yes, cute." Her smile faded into seriousness. "Ryland, you need to understand something. Although I'm an angel, I am not some mythical beauty with a pure and untainted soul, and you need to stop seeing me that way." She lightly clasped his chin. "See me as I truly am, Ryland. I need that."

  "I already do." He raised her hand and pressed her palm to his lips. "You're the one who doesn't see you the way you truly are."

  She stared at him, and suddenly her eyes filled with tears. "You are a beautiful man," she whispered.

  Ryland laughed softly. "Now, who's the one not seeing the truth of the person before them?"

  Catherine smiled again, and this time it was a smile of sadness and loss. "Oh, but I do see you." She tapped his chest. "You're a monster, Ryland. You're death. You're mindlessly loyal to Dante at the expense of all else. You don't have empathy for others, and you are bound by the creature you once were. I see it all."

  He grinned, relaxing. "Okay, you do see me. Good to know." For some reason, it was important to him that she know who he was and what he was capable of. "As we get closer to the nether-realm, my tattoo may start to fill in," he said. "We need to keep an eye on it. If it happens quickly, I might get caught up in it before I realize what's happening."

  Her face grew serious. "What do I do if that happens?"

  He thought back to the days long past, trying to remember the stages. He pulled open his shirt and looked down at the creature lying dormant on his chest. "See this band at its neck?" He pointed to what looked like a slave collar around the creature's neck. "That's the critical point. That's when they get control of me. If that starts to fill in, it's too late." He looked at her. "The only chance is death. You guys have to kill me."

  She stared at him. "What? No—"

  "Yes." He then pointed to the creature's front claws and back legs, to the thick cuffs around those appendages. "It's a five-point indenture," he said. "All five cuffs need to be triggered for them to have full control. Once two of them have filled in, I need to turn back, no matter where I am. By the third and fourth ones, they are gaining control over me. By the fifth—" He touched his own neck, needing to reassure himself that there was no collar there. "I become theirs." Darkness began to swirl through him, and tension radiated off him. "I won't become their slave again," he bit out. "I refuse." He rubbed his neck again, almost able to feel that collar around his neck, the one that had trapped him for so long. His throat became tight, his breath rasping in his throat. He coughed and scratched at his neck again—

  "It's okay, Ryland," Catherine said softly, laying her hand over his. "They don't have you. There's no collar there."

  Her touch seemed to strip the panic from him, and his hand stilled beneath hers. He didn't move, focusing all his attention onto the gentleness of her touch, stunned by how one simple gesture could take away the memories and bring him back. "How do you do it?"

  She raised her eyes to him, eyes full of empathy and sadness. "Do what?"

  "I don't know." He gestured to their intertwined hands, to the peace that she'd given him through their touch. "Whatever this is."

  "Comfort you?"

  "Is that what it is?"

  She smiled. "It's called kindness, Ryland. It's what some people in this world do for each other."

  "Well, it's good shit."

  She laughed, a merry twinkle in her eyes. "As I said, you're very cute." She leaned forward and kissed him lightly, a quick kiss that wasn't about sex and desire. It was playful and intimate, and it seemed to catapult through him like the wind on a mountaintop on a hot summer day.

  She paused and pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. "Cute men are dangerous."

  "Immortal warriors from the nether-realm are dangerous," he warned her.

  "Put them together, and a girl should run away screaming."

  Run away? Sudden tension leapt through Ryland, and he grabbed her wrist. "You're not leaving."

  Her eyebrows shot upward. "I'm tied to you. I can't go anywhere."

  "Oh, right." Swearing under his breath, Ryland released her. What the hell was wrong with him? What in the name of all that was good in this land had made him react like that at the idea of her bailing on him? Scowling, he shook his head. "I need you to find Dante," he said gruffly. "And to protect the Order."

  "I know you do." Something flickered in her eyes. Sadness? Vulnerability? Disappointment? He couldn't tell, and it was gone before he could decipher it. "And I need you to guide me to the nether-realm. We need each other right now."

  "Yeah." He shrugged his shoulders, trying to shake out the tension. "So, let's focus on that." He pointed behind her to the mountain range to the north. "It's a half-day hike in that direction."

  Catherine sucked in her breath. "We're that close?"

  He nodded. "We're just outside the borders of the nether-realm. By mid-morning, we'll be within the surface borders." And then...shit...shit was going to go down. "We'll have to move fast and try to get to the entrance before we're noticed."

  Catherine nodded. "Okay. I can move fast."

  He raised his brows. "I've been following you for three weeks. I know you can move fast."

  She smiled, and there was a hint of pride in her eyes.

  "If we follow the river, it will take us a little longer, but the water will protect us from most of the shit...I mean stuff...that guards the entrance." He had a sudden thought. "Can you shroud us the way you hid yourself from me?"

  "Only if there are spirits of the dead around."

  "We're going into the borderlands of the nether-realm. Almost everyone who ventures across those borders dies within an hour or two. There will be dead bodies the whole way in." As soon as he said the words, he regretted it. Discussing rotting flesh with an angel was not the way to treat her—

  But Catherine simply nodded, apparently unaffected by the crude topic. "Then, yes, I can hide us. It's not infallible if someone is specifically looking for us, but it will help."

  Ryland grinned at her response. He'd just announced that they were heading into a land that killed anyone who crossed over, and she'd actually looked pleased. "You're an angel," he said, not able to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

  She rolled her eyes at him in a decidedly human reaction. "I think we've established that pretty well by now, but if it makes you feel better to repeat the obvious, then yes, I'm an angel. Surprise, surprise."

  He didn't laugh. "So, how can you be like you are? How can an angel be comfortable hiking among the remains of the dead?" He was really struggling to reconcile the woman Catherine was, and the things she was making him feel and sense, with who she was supposed to be as an angel. It was so foreign to the world he'd lived in for so long. He wasn't used to a world where he didn't know all the answers, where he wasn't in control.

  She smiled then. "You, my dear man, need to modernize your opinion of angels." She leaned toward him, bracing her hands on her knees so that her jacket fell forward, showing her smooth collarbone and the deep V-neck of her shirt.

  Desire shot through him and he swore, shoving his hands in his pockets before he could grab her. "I will not treat you like an ordinary human."

  "For heaven's sake, Ryland, stop it! This isn't going to get us anywhere." Frustrated, she shoved at him, and he caught her wrists. Heat leapt through him at the skin-to-skin contact, raging lust that had no place being directed at an angel.

  He swore under his breath and tried to release her, but she moved closer, invading his space. No one ever dared encroach upon him, and the fact she was doing it should have pissed him off. But all it did was make the lust thicken in his veins. She wasn't afraid of him. Not at all. And he fucking loved it.

/>   "You need to understand several things about me," she said, leaning even further in, her eyes flashing with frustration as she shoved at his chest. "We're going into a war zone, and if you try to treat me like a delicate flower, we are all going to get killed. I'm an angel of death. I'm almost impossible to kill. I will do anything to save my daughter, and I've seen more horrific things than you can imagine. So, stop treating me like a porcelain doll! You need to realize that you have an asset on your hands, and see me as a woman, a warrior, not some freaking mist of white light. Got it?"

  Raw, hot fire of need arose to meet her ire. Her strength and boldness was intoxicating. He was riveted by the way she fought him, completely unafraid of all that he was. "Hell, Catherine, you better hope I don't stop seeing you as an angel. The fact you're an angel is the only thing that's keeping me from throwing you down, pinning you to the earth, and making love to you until my claim on you is burned so deeply into your soul that you can't even take a breath without feeling mine, until your heart can't beat unless it's in rhythm with mine, until your entire body screams for mine every second of every day for the rest of your life."