Keras: Guardians of Hades Series Book 7

by Heaton, Felicity

  “With Hong Kong so unstable, there is a chance that closing Paris will make the remaining gates too powerful and too unpredictable.” Marek cast Keras a look that had his hackles rising.

  Because it questioned his strength.

  He could handle the power of the Tokyo gate. They could close every gate except that one and he would still be able to handle it. He narrowed his eyes at his brother, tired of everyone questioning him. The darkness hissed at him again, whispered words about Marek and a certain goddess.

  A goddess who always chose to visit his brother and not him.

  A goddess Keras shut out of his thoughts.

  He focused on the discussion, used it as a distraction to deny her and the weakness that infested him, one that had him wanting to think about her. He ignored the darkness that flowed in his blood, that murmured words of her and tempted him to recall her image, to remember days long past. He twisted the silver band on his thumb, spinning it with his index finger as he fought with himself.

  With that possessive side of his blood.

  Treacherous blood. Vile poison.

  He wanted to bleed it all out of him.

  Keras tamped down that need and focused once again on his brothers, trying to quell the darkness as his hand shifted back to his pocket. He focused on the pillbox. On the promise of relief it offered. He just had to make it through the next few minutes.

  He looked Ares straight in the eye. “Seal this gate.”

  He knew it was dangerous to close another one, but he wanted to drive the enemy to react. He needed to force their hand. He looked at the city again, at the otherworld.

  “We need to do something,” he murmured, lost in the screams that rent the hot smoky air and the vicious snarls of the daemons hunting the humans who had loosed those terrified cries.

  Lost in the beauty of destruction.

  Wanting to step into that world and feel the heat of the fires that licked over the buildings and devoured the trees, to bathe his hands in black daemon blood and feel the slide of it over his skin.

  “The enemy is out there,” he said, his voice distant in his ears. “Gathering strength. Recruiting more daemons into their ranks. We are giving them too much time.”

  Ares heaved a long sigh and sounded as reluctant as he looked when he said, “You’re right. We need to force their hand. But if I do this… I have a condition.”

  Keras dragged his green gaze away from the burning city of the otherworld and fixed it on his second in command.

  “I’m withdrawing from battle.” Ares held his hand up when both Marek and Daimon went to speak, silencing them. “I have to think about Megan.”

  His heavily pregnant bride.

  Keras wasn’t sure how he was meant to feel about her pregnancy, wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react. When she had first announced it, he had forced a reaction, because he hadn’t felt anything.

  Now, as he thought about her heavy with child and saw the love in Ares’s eyes, the depth of his need to take a step back from the battle to be with her, Keras felt something.

  An itch to reach into his pocket, slip a pill from the box and swallow it.

  A hunger for the quiet and the cold, the numbness that was a comfort to him.

  He forced himself to remain still and deny that compelling need.

  Forced himself to see in Ares’s eyes that he meant it. His brother, who had always adored fighting above anything else, wanted to be benched.

  The world truly was ending.

  “Very well, but if we need you, you will have to fight.” Keras kept his tone even, devoid of emotion as he held his brother’s gaze, ensuring that Ares knew he meant every word.

  Ares nodded. “If it really comes to it, I’ll fight. But if it’s shit like tonight, I need to prioritise Megan.”

  Keras was fine with that, as long as both of them understood what was at stake and that when the time came, Ares needed to be in the thick of things with the rest of them. He wouldn’t sideline his best warrior just because the Carrier female was pregnant.

  Ares held his hand out to Daimon.

  Daimon levelled a black look on Keras as he drew his coat back and slipped a small throwing knife free of the holster that sat snug against his ribs over his navy turtleneck. He slapped it down into Ares’s hand. “Still think this is a bad idea.”

  A light entered Ares’s eyes as he looked at Daimon, one that warned Keras that Ares thought it was a bad idea too.

  The lengths Ares was willing to go to in order to be taken off the field had curiosity rising to the fore.

  Just how far would Ares go to protect Megan and his unborn child?

  Would he turn on his own brothers?

  Join the enemy?

  Keras immediately discounted those thoughts, shutting them down. Ares was loyal, fiercely so. He would never turn on his family, on the Underworld. He served it as faithfully as Keras did.

  A bright blaze of violet light dampened his vision and he squinted off to his right, at the hovering orb that twisted a few feet off the ground. It rose higher into the air and began to expand, chasing back the night as it formed a disc.

  The centre of the gate.

  It reached five feet across and then ten. This was the only gate that stood vertical. The light of it obscured the panoramic view of Paris, dampening even the bright beam of the Eiffel Tower as it pulsed, a wave of power emanating from it that buffeted him. A band emerged from the central disc, shimmering with rainbow light as it grew. Glyphs appeared around it, symbols that shone brightly as another ring appeared from the centre. Similar markings filled that ring as it twisted in the opposite direction to the first, lazily rotating clockwise around the disc.

  The power lacing the air grew, hummed in his bones as the gate formed, almost a dozen rings spreading outwards before it stabilised.

  Keras looked to Daimon and Marek. “Be on your guard.”

  They both nodded and he turned his back to the gate, his sharp senses stretching outwards, into the shadows that surrounded the terrace.

  Seeking daemons.

  Ares muttered something behind him and the scent of his brother’s blood laced the night air, rising above the fetid stench of spilled daemon blood.

  Keras kept his focus on the world around them, hunting for signs of daemons as Ares worked to close the gate, using a combination of his blood and wards, a sort of spell contained in a glyph, to seal it.

  When the power the gate emitted grew stronger rather than weaker, Keras looked over his shoulder at Ares where he stood with his arm outstretched. One ring of the gate rotated through his wrist, slowly turning red as it passed through his brother’s arm without harming him.

  “Starting to see why you kids passed out when doing this,” Ares grumbled, his tone warm and the humour in it out of place.

  “Not really envying you for once.” Daimon glanced back at Ares. “Holler if you need an assist though.”

  “Nah, I got this.” Ares squeezed his fist and more blood dripped from the cut on his wrist.

  How much blood would it take to give Ares the control he needed over the gate in order to seal it?

  Daimon had spilled a lot to close the New York gate, and had been out cold for close to five days as a result of sealing it.

  The Paris gate was older and had been more powerful before they had started sealing the gates, condensing the power that ran between them down to only three.

  Sweat beaded on Ares’s brow and turned to steam as he gritted his teeth, the heat that danced around him rising as his brother called on more of his strength. The air warmed, the subtle scent of fire beginning to fill it.

  “Watch your power.” Keras didn’t want to end up singed because Ares had pushed too hard and had lost control of his power over fire as a result.

  He would heal, but Ares would feel terrible about it, would be a constant thorn in his side for at least a few weeks, apologising all the time. He needed Ares strong and confident, his usual brash self, not moping because h
is power had gotten the better of him.

  “Trying,” Ares said, strain in his voice.

  Keras turned his focus to the world again, stretching his senses out far and wide to scan for daemons. Behind him, Ares grumbled something, and the smell of his blood grew thicker in the air. The power the gate emitted began to fade, signalling that his brother was finally managing to seal it.

  And still no daemons.

  Keras’s hand dropped to his pocket, the urge to take a pill growing stronger now that he felt sure that no more daemons were coming. He needed the release. He tamped down that urge, denying it once again.

  Behind him, Ares muttered something to Marek, and Keras sensed Marek move. He glanced over his shoulder at them, checking them both. Ares was on his knees now, his arms shaking as he tried to hold them out in front of him. Blood dripped from the wounds on his wrist, spilling in thick rivulets onto the shimmering rings of the gate.

  The power of the gate dulled further, fading more swiftly now.

  “He good?” Daimon asked.

  Marek nodded. Ares grunted and sagged further, leaning forward.

  The rainbow coloured rings of the gate began to shrink, the first of them disappearing into the central disc. Keras watched it as it closed, his senses still fixed on the world around them so no daemons could sneak up on them.

  As the final ring of the gate shrank into the central disc, the sense of power it emitted disappeared completely, as if the gate wasn’t there. The violet disc contracted too, and then winked out of existence in a bright violent flash.

  Ares sank onto his side, hitting the pavement. Daimon rushed to him and dropped to his knees beside him.

  Marek checked Ares over and then looked up at Keras. “He’s out cold.”

  “It was to be expected.” Keras looked down at his brother where he lay sprawled on the pavement. “We should get him home.”

  Because Keras was itching for a pill and needed his brothers away from him, occupied so he could be alone.

  Marek dutifully stooped and picked Ares up off the ground and stepped with him, teleporting him back to Tokyo.

  Daimon lingered.

  “I’ll clear up this mess.” Keras kept his gaze away from Daimon, scanning the dead daemons for any sign of life, the itch to fight still burning in his veins, colliding with the urge to take a pill.

  Daimon still lingered.

  When Keras looked at him, it was clear his brother wasn’t convinced, suspected something. Keras brushed that off as paranoia. He wanted a pill and was worried he wouldn’t get it, that was all this feeling was. Daimon probably didn’t want to go because he didn’t want to leave him alone, vulnerable to attack.

  “Go.” Keras waved Daimon away and unleashed his shadows, sending the black tendrils spreading outwards to devour the remains of the daemons. “I have this. Cassandra will be worried about you.”

  The mention of the female was all it took to have Daimon stepping, giving Keras the peace he badly needed.

  He was finally alone.

  He slipped his hand into the pocket of his black trousers, pulled out the small stone pillbox, and slid the lid open with his thumb.

  He plucked one of the tiny onyx pills from the box and placed it on his tongue, and swallowed.

  Anticipation curled through him, almost as sweet as the high he knew was coming.

  His eyes slid shut as he waited for the endless silence and emptiness he craved.

  In a matter of seconds, cold spread through him, obliterating his feelings, stealing him away from the world. He savoured the cool rush of numbness, the slow fade of his pain. He was so used to feeling it now that it was welcoming, soothing in its own right, a promise that everything would be fine in only a few short minutes.

  Keras sank to his knees in the middle of the terrace, aware of what his pills were doing to him and of what he was doing.

  Abusing them to take away his emotional torment. Hiding within the silent euphoria that they created. It was wrong of him, but he couldn’t stop. Not now. On some level, he knew that he was addicted, knew that this would only end with more pain. One day, someone was going to discover what his pills did to him and how far he had fallen.

  But for now, it was so easy just to roll with it. So much easier than trying to stop or facing his pain.

  The chilling numbness sank deeper into his bones, stealing away the last shred of his emotions, freeing him from them.

  But not from the gnawing hunger in his gut, a craving for violence, an itch he couldn’t scratch no matter how many daemons he killed, or how many times he danced close to death.

  That persistent itch, that constant need, rode him harder and harder each day.

  Keras stared at the city, and then the few remaining dead daemons as his shadows swirled around them.

  The fight tonight hadn’t satisfied him as it normally would have, but he was too lost in oblivion to muster the hunger to hunt and kill more daemons. The pills began to dampen that need too, and the part of him that wanted to fight wasn’t pleased.

  He sat there in the middle of the terrace, hazy and calm, trying to shed his desire to kill and wanting to just accept the peace flowing over him.

  He raised his hands and stared at them, at the black blood that was drying against his skin like tattered gloves. Patches of white skin shone through, stark against the darkness. His hand slipped out of focus as he sought the quiet warmth within, but it evaded him, that persistent itch for violence plaguing him.

  He stood on a snarl.

  Tried to muster his fury so it wouldn’t be just empty killing if he went out to hunt more daemons.

  Tried and failed.

  He pulled the pillbox from his pocket again and stared at it, a war erupting inside him.

  He wanted another pill, but was deeply aware he couldn’t do it. As much as he craved the oblivion, the release from his hunger for violence and his emotions, it would be too risky. There was a chance he might be needed tonight. If his brothers needed him and something happened to them because he had let the oblivion of the drug claim him and was unable to help, he would never forgive himself.

  Not only that, but there was a chance that if his brothers did need him and he responded, that they would see what the pills really did to him.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  He shoved the pillbox back in his pocket and stepped, savouring the cool darkness that embraced him as he passed through a link to the Underworld. When he landed in the bedroom of his townhouse in Paris, he strode forwards with purpose, shedding his clothes along the way.

  Keras slid the door of the shower cubicle open, reached in and turned the handle on the water. The cold spray hit his arms, swift to warm. He slid the glass door closed and stripped off the last of his clothes, stepping out of his black trunks and kicking them aside. When he was sure the water would be warm enough, he stepped into the shower, easing the door closed behind him.

  He washed methodically from head to toe, erasing all daemon blood from his skin, eradicating all evidence of tonight’s fight.

  Except for a few scratches he had managed to pick up.

  Keras stared at them as he ran his fingers over them, tracing the grooves in his flesh. In a matter of hours, they would be gone, not even a scar left behind. His gaze strayed to the silver band around his left thumb.

  Pain tried to surface in his heart. The pills kept it at bay, but barely.

  The temptation to take a second one was strong, had another fierce battle erupting inside him. He couldn’t do it, no matter how much he wanted it, no matter how much he needed it.

  Keras switched the water off and stepped out of the shower, grabbed a black towel and dried himself. He paused in front of the mirror above the vanity unit, stared at his reflection as he rubbed a towel over his black hair. His green eyes were dull, his pupils dilated. He stared into them, recalling what he had seen in the daemon’s mind tonight.

  Meadow.

  He was sure she was the one who had sent the
daemons to the gate.

  The enemy were on the verge of making a move at last. Hopefully, closing the Paris gate would prompt them to attack, giving him the battle he craved.

  Keras turned away from the mirror and strode into his bedroom. He discarded his towel and grabbed a pair of underwear from his drawers and slipped them on, following them with a fresh shirt and a new pair of slacks.

  He moved through his bedroom to the living room, and through it to the kitchen. The white cabinets gleamed in the light as he switched it on, the black marble countertops reflecting it too. He rounded the kitchen island and opened a cupboard above the sink, took out a glass and moved to the end of the island nearest the sash windows.

  He paused there, set the glass down and stared at it a moment before opening the cupboard at that end of the island. He grabbed the only thing it contained—a bottle he had procured when Valen had come close to levelling a bar in Rome. Curiosity had driven him to purchase it, but he had never found the courage to do more than that.

  He unscrewed the cap, his mind whirling with a thousand thoughts, all of which he tried to ignore as he tipped the bottle. His hands shook so badly that he spilled some of the clear liquid on the black counter, but enough hit the glass. He set the bottle down.

  Stared at the glass.

  He wasn’t sure what would happen if he drank the alcohol, but he wanted to feel something again. Only killing satisfied him and he wanted to feel the pleasure when he bloodied his hands. He wanted to hunt. To slaughter daemons.

  He couldn’t do that with the effect of the pill in his system, dampening his feelings, stealing them away.

  After he had satisfied his itch for violence, he was more than happy to slip back into oblivion again but right now he needed to feel something. He had been too hasty in taking the pill. He should have tracked down more daemons to satisfy his lust for battle, not sought to shut it down so quickly.

  Keras lifted the drink, watched the clear liquid swirling around the glass.

  The sensible part of him raced through all the possible outcomes of imbibing it. There was a danger he could lose control as Valen had.

  If he lost control, he could decimate the mortal world.