Perrin passed a warning look to the strumpet before he turned back toward Alard. “And the others? They’ve all been paid?”
“Aye.” Alard cleared his throat meaningfully. “Both sets. It’s all taken care of. You’ve nothing to fear at all. In a sennight, you’ll be Varice’s right hand in Kalderan’s place, and we’ll never have to answer to this”—he cut his eyes toward Kalder—“prick again.”
Cameron gasped as her mind showed her the truth behind their cryptic meanings.
They’d paid to have Muerig murdered and then the girl killed a day later so that no one would ever know the truth about Kalder’s being drugged.
While they’d assumed their mother would be outraged over their youngest brother’s murder, and that Kalder would be jailed or banished for it, Kalder’s death at her hands had come as a bonus round in their mad scheming that had rid them of two nuisances at once.
And it wasn’t until that moment that Cameron realized Kalder could see the truth she was learning, too.
Somehow these memories were playing through her mind and his, simultaneously. And she had no idea if it was due to her powers or his. Or why.
She only knew that it was affecting them both. Making them stronger and giving them unvarnished truths. More than that … it was feeding his fury and causing the fetid demon inside him to salivate and feed on something she couldn’t see.
Yet she could feel it with everything inside her.
Suddenly, he pulled away with a fierce, demanding growl that reverberated deep inside her soul. He was going for their throats.
“Nay, Kalder! Nay!” She grabbed his arm again, and forced him to look at her. To stay by her side and do no harm.
His breathing ragged, she saw the torment inside those mismatched eyes. The anguish that demanded their lives and blood to pay for the brutal pain they’d given him.
Worse? She saw his self-hatred.
The part of him that ached so deep that it didn’t appear anything could ever reach it. That it would ever heal or be whole.
It was then that she realized what she saw externally on his face and body was the manifestation of how he truly saw himself. That this twisted demon before her was the beast he envisioned whenever he looked in a mirror.
Not the beautiful man she knew and held close to her heart. A scarred, horrific demonic animal. Unworthy of love or sympathy. One to be hated by all and condemned as despicable.
Disposable.
And in that moment, her parents’ words came back to her with a vengeance.
Cupping his scarred face in her hands, she forced him to look into her eyes so that he would see her sincerity and the fact that she didn’t see what he did. That she saw past the pain and into the heart of the beast, to the soul of the man inside it.
“Look at me, Kalder,” she breathed. “And remember. Out of death, there is life. Out of devastation comes hope. Out of tragedy comes strength. Out of pain comes wisdom. Out of sorrow comes insight. You will never know how high you can soar until you’ve learned to fly with wings that were broken by enemies and re-forged by your own determination to succeed and let no one hold you down ever again. To show them all that their cruelty will not define you. That you will not live by their rules or dictates.”
Cameron swallowed and stroked the scar beneath his eye that ran deepest along his cheek. “You are your own master and they will never have power over you again.” Then she placed her hand over the scars at the corner of his lips. “Let nothing hold you back. Let nothing hem you in. You set your course and you fly to the heavens. A beautiful, imperfect creature, capable of love and trust, even after betrayal. Capable of mustering courage in the midst of utter terror. And capable of delivering mercy even after all you’ve ever been shown was cruelty. You will rise above the ashes of the future they attempted to burn to the ground, a stronger creature, steadfast and more determined than ever to see this through. For there is nothing more terrifying in this universe than the Soul Determinatus. For it will not be stopped and it will not be daunted. So go on and bring to me your worst if you must, and I will deliver unto you me very best. For you will not defeat me. Not now. Not ever. I will not allow you to.”
She watched as those scars began to fade beneath her fingertips.
All except for one that lingered faintly over his left cheekbone.
And his eyes remained their new dual colors as he blinked and focused on her face. She knew the moment he saw her. The pain receded from that gaze, and was replaced by a tenderness so deep and profound that it caused her own tears to well up and blur her vision.
“Breathe with me, Kalder. Just as you wouldn’t let me drown in the sea, I won’t let you drown in your pain.” She kissed his lips. “Whenever you need a nip, love. I’m right here, by your side.”
Kalder closed his eyes as her touch filled him with a calmness the likes of which he’d never known before. Their world was going crazy around them. He wanted to tear everything apart. To kill every person in this room and he swam in their blood and entrails.
Until she touched him.
She quelled the fury in his heart and made it quiet again. He’d never understand the magic inside her.
Yet he was grateful for it.
“I want me mada’s ring, Bron.” His voice was thick and grim. Steadfast and determined. And it held the promise of what he’d do to her if she refused him. “It belongs to me, and wasn’t yours to take.” He cradled Cameron’s hand in his and held it against his heart before he looked up and met Bron’s terrified gaze. “Be grateful that I only want what’s mine. That I don’t do to you what you’ve done to me, and exact on you the punishment you truly deserve for the crimes you’ve committed. Pray you, that I remain ever so merciful.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Nay. I don’t have to. I trust in the Fates to exact me vengeance upon you. In due course. As I know they will. And it’ll be far harsher than anything I could ever do. Besides, you have to live amongst your putrid, backbiting, self-serving selves. I can’t imagine any worse hell than that—which, considering the fact that I’ve been to hell and back, says it all.”
Curling her lip, Bron pried the ring from her finger then flung it at him. “Take it! I don’t want this piece of shite, anyway.”
Cameron caught the ring right as it would have struck Kalder’s cheek, and clutched it tight in her fist.
For a moment, she was tempted to throw it back at the evil wench. But she didn’t want to risk her keeping it. “You are a piece of work, you are. Glad I am to know there’s not a bit of you in me Kalder, whatsoever. All the better he is for it. For I can imagine no worse curse than bearing your genes in me bones.” She took his hand into hers and slid the ring onto his pinkie.
Kalder felt the strangest sensation go up his arm the moment Cameron’s fingers brushed against his flesh. He couldn’t explain it really. A peculiar flash of heat that instantly drained his fury. And with it, it brought a warmth in a place where he hadn’t realized he’d been cold.
For the first time in his life, he could see past tomorrow and into the future. He could see something he wanted.
Nay, he could see someone he wanted.…
And it terrified him to the very core of his being.
She’s born of Michael’s blood. A Necrodemian.
You’re a demon of the lowest region.
Heaven and hell.
Two extremes that could only meet and merge in a dark shadowy nether realm of madness where almost everyone lost their way.
Which said it all about their future.
It was insanity to even contemplate the thought of having something to do with a creature such as her. Ever. Her breed sent his back to hell every chance they got. Even after his redeemed themselves.
Yet he could think of nothing else.
Could imagine nothing save being with her. I’m not the siphon.
She was.
All his fury was gone now. Buried beneath a tranquility that came every time
The moonlight had cast shadows against the paleness of her features, making her skin glow like pearlescent cream. Her beauty had drawn him from the sea toward her. A succulent beacon he couldn’t resist. In spite of the damp chill he’d had from his late-night swim and her mannish clothes that had obliterated her curves, he’d hardened at the sight of her. At the sound of her soft, lilting accent.
He’d craved the syllables of his name on her lips.
Instead of a sweet greeting at their first meeting, Cameron had given him a startled shriek as she jumped away from him as if he were poisonous.
And yet, she’d faced her fear and refused to give in to it. That had been the moment she’d ensnared him. When their gazes had met on that dock in Port Royal and she’d stood her ground rather than flee.
That night she’d met his questions with questions of her own, and shown a true curiosity about him. There had been no judgment or hostility. No guile or subterfuge. No barbed words or prying for information that she could use against him or to better herself at his expense.
She had been …
Cameron.
Honest. Open. Caring. Curious.
Unassuming.
And that he would protect with every breath he drew, and every drop of blood that flowed inside his body.
No sooner had that thought gone through his head than he heard something he hadn’t heard in a long, long time. So long that at first, he thought he was imagining it.
It wasn’t until Perrin and Varice began scrambling their soldiers that he realized it wasn’t his imagination.
The ground beneath their feet buckled and surged, throwing them up toward the ceiling. Devyl grabbed his wife as Kalder lunged for Cameron.
Paden caught her first and hissed at him. “You’ve caused her enough harm!”
Kalder would argue with the moron about that, but this wasn’t the time or place.
William, Bart, and Rosie, along with Sancha and Belle, tried to stand and fight, but none of them could keep their footing as the floor fought against them.
“What is this ungodly madness?” Bart actually stabbed at the buckling floor with his sword. Never let it be said that man ever allowed his common sense get in the way of his violence.
Sick to his stomach, Kalder knew what caused the commotion, but he was praying with everything he had that he was wrong. Whatever doubts he might have had that he could be mistaken only lasted until he met Muerig’s gaze across the crowded room, where half their people were fleeing for shelter.
Nay, he wasn’t mistaken. At all.
Muerig was doing this. And he was gloating over it.
In fact, his brother sat at the banquet table with an unfounded serenity. The kind only two beings held.
Those relegated to death.
And those who’d orchestrated the requiem.
Kalder swallowed hard. “What have you done, Muery?”
Muerig took a slow, steady drink from his cup before he stood and smiled with a coldness that only added to the chill Kalder felt. “You would be proud of me, brother. I learned from you.”
Confused and angry, Kalder couldn’t fathom what he meant by that. “Learned what?”
“How to protect me own arse. First and foremost. Damn all the others, as they don’t matter, isn’t that right?”
Kalder was aghast. He’d never been the kind to throw others to the wolves. That crime was his family’s specialty. Not his. “What have you done?” he repeated in a harsher tone.
“Made the decision I knew you wouldn’t. Or rather one I wasn’t about to risk leaving in your miserable hands. Not after what happened the last time my life was at your disposal, and that was for a bitch whose name you hadn’t bothered to learn before you shagged her. You think I don’t know what you’d do to me now for a piece of arse you actually favor? As far as I’m concerned, that slag-bitch can have your whore, brother. Be damned if I’ll stand idly by and let Vine take me again! Whatever blood sacrifice Vine wants from you, she can have with my blessing!” After those words were spoken, Muerig rose up like a tidal wave, changing forms from his Myrcian body into something that resembled Chthamalus’s Barnakian race. Only he was much larger, much deadlier.
“Holy mother of God,” Rosie breathed as Simon said something a little more colorful while Kat, Valynda, Sancha, and Belle took up positions to attack.
But that wasn’t what really concerned Kalder. He saw what they were all missing.
The wall behind them that was buckling to the Malachai’s army …
The one that was about to trap them squarely between the two opposing forces and end all their lives, once and for all.
11
“Kalderan!”
Kalder jerked awake at the sound of his father’s furious tone that carried plainly down the length of their entire massive hall. His heart raced frantically for no apparent reason, and his body was covered with a clammy sweat. The fringes of a peculiar dream hung on in his mind, but he couldn’t quite remember it.
“Kal! Damn it, boy, where are you!”
Still not fully alert, he staggered from the bed and scrambled for his clothes. He had no idea what had his father in such a pique so early, but years of experience had taught him the best course of action was not to keep the beast waiting whenever he was in such a foul temper.
“Kalder?”
He stumbled at the sweet, lilting, melodic timbre of a woman’s voice.…
A voice so familiar and at the same time foreign. He hesitated in the hallway and turned around to look for her, yet all he saw were the reflections of his own youthful image in the shiny marbled walls.
The instant he became aware of himself, he cringed at the features that were far too similar to his father’s for his tastes.
’Course it could be worse. He could take after his hated mother.
Aye, I shouldn’t be complaining for the mercy of taking after me father. If I favored the harpy-bitch, I’d be cutting me own throat instead of shaving it each morn.
Renewing his run, Kalder finally skidded to a halt when he reached his father’s study. He opened the doors there to find the old barnacle sitting beside a huge beast of a demon lord. Well, perhaps not a real demon. Though Kalder wouldn’t have been surprised to find horns sprouting out of the dark man’s forehead. He had the look of an infernal beast, what with his black, braided hair and fierce demeanor. Not to mention his ruthless aura that said he’d gut anyone who so much as looked askance at him.
Aye, this was one who’d taken many lives in his day and wouldn’t shirk at taking more. And for no other reason than he felt like it. Best to stay to the corners of the room, and as far from striking range as he could while this warlord was in their lands. Even the soldiers with him were giving their master a wide berth, and casting nervous glances at their lord every time he so much as moved to scratch his nose.
“Where have you been?” His father glared at Kalder’s disheveled clothing.
Kalder tucked his tunic in and decided not to tell him he’d still been abed so late in the morning. His father detested such things and wouldn’t hesitate to backhand him even in the presence of guests.
Shrugging, he folded his arms over his chest and moved to stand off to the side while the warlord eyed him with an unnerving interest.
Ah, dear gods, don’t tell me, me father’s done bartered me like some doxy for this bastard’s favor.…
For a peace treaty, he wouldn’t put anything past his father. Especially not these days of unending war against the Roman bastards who’d been getting the best of their army for months now and decimating it.
“He’s a bit scrawny for me, is he not?”
Kalder’s eyes widened at an even worse thought. Ah, gah, Da, are you planning to feed me to the bugger?
Daven took a deep draught of his mead as he eyed Kalder, as if measuring his worth … and finding it lacking, as always. “Wiry … and ’tis necessary for what you’re asking. Trust me, Duel. There’s not a better one among my people for it. Besides, Kalderan knows his place. Holds his tongue. Forsooth, I barely know he’s about most days. He’s like a phantom shadow. Just what you requested, is it not?”
Duel snorted. “I still haven’t figured out why you’d loan me one of your sons to spy for me army, given the battle we’re facing.”
His father fell silent as a darkness descended behind his tired eyes. Kalder scowled at the expression he didn’t quite understand. “He’s not worth much. As you noted, he’s a scrawny bit of a Myrcian. And these are dark days. If we’re to remain independent and strong against our enemies, we need each other. Maybe you can find something salvageable in the little bastard and keep him alive long enough to do some good for us.”
Those words had stung Kalder a lot deeper than he’d wanted to acknowledge. He was used to insults. Used to his parents’ constant derision. Yet that had burned more than the usual digs they took.
And it’d left a bitter taste in his mouth. One that caused him to lash out in anger the moment Dón-Dueli of the Dumnonii came over to speak to him alone a few minutes later, after his father had left the room so that they could speak in private.
“Don’t need your pity!” Kalder snarled churlishly.
“Good, for I have none to offer a sullen child.”
Those words caught him off guard. But not nearly as much as the genuine kindness in Duel’s dark, deadly eyes. There was more to this unholy warlord than what Kalder had first surmised. And that cowed Kalder’s temperament more than any threat or intimidation ever could. And since kindness was the rare beast that he had no experience dealing with, it left him baffled, and ill equipped to counter. Indeed, he didn’t know what to say or how to behave before such a thing.
Dón-Dueli narrowed his gaze on him. “Take heed, good Kalder. I don’t need a petulant boy in my command. I need a soldier who can pull his weight and follow my orders. One I can rely on in war, and at peace. Give me loyalty and I will return it in full measure. Betray me and I will gut you slowly, so that your screams will echo through the heavens as a testament to all of my displeasure. And I will use your guts to tie my boots and warm my feet. Understood?”
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