by Jade Kerrion
Close the gap. He was trying. She had to meet him halfway.
Ashra inhaled deeply. “I will consider it.”
Jaden smiled. “Thank you.” He hesitated for a moment before tucking a stray lock of her silver hair behind her ear. “I don’t know what to expect from an icrathari anymore. You’re nothing like we’ve made you out to be.”
“How so?”
“Your council is like our human council. We spend more time trying to prove each other wrong than deciding on the right next step. We thought the vampires were your slaves—”
“They are.”
“Perhaps, but the vampires are also your partners. You consult with them; occasionally take their advice.”
“I try not to be obstinate on principle.”
Jaden chuckled. “The vampires respect you. I’m beginning to understand why. You wouldn’t ask them to do anything you wouldn’t do yourself.”
She closed her eyes and turned her face into his touch. No mistaking him for Rohkeus. His large hand was calloused, the hand of a warrior, but he caressed her cheek as if she were as fragile and delicate as the first bloom of spring.
“Jaden.” Her breath, a whispered prayer caught and held, unuttered, when his lips touched hers.
The kiss was scarcely more than the mingling of breath, but it offered hope where none had existed before.
Cloth rustled, Khiarra stirred, but the sounds scarcely registered until the child spoke in tones too deep to be her own. “To kill an icrathari, cut off its head to sever its life and stab its stomach to rend its soul.”
Alarm spiked the tempo of her heartbeat. Ashra tore away from Jaden and stared down at the child. Khiarra was still fast asleep, but the mature female voice issued from her mouth once again. “When I kill him, the city will fall.”
“Khiarra?” Jaden leaned over his sister, but Ashra pulled him away. She placed her hand on the child’s stomach and pushed deep. Her soul-sucking powers leeched into Khiarra, rushing past the consistent sights and sounds of a childhood spent within the shelter of the dome. Time rewound in a blaze of color and scents, before tumbling into the darkness of the womb.
As she had with Jaden, Ashra pushed deeper until the darkness gave way to shades of gray and ochre. Through the eyes of the soul that now inhabited Khiarra’s body, Ashra stared at the last thing it had seen before it was consumed in a blaze of unforgiving sunlight.
In the shadow cast by a human assassin, blood poured, a golden stream, from the pierced stomach of a black-winged headless corpse. Two feet away, his green eyes frozen wide in death, was Rohkeus’s severed head.
Chapter 14
“No!” Jaden caught Ashra’s hand before her talons could rip out Khiarra’s throat. He threw his arms around her slim body and pulled her back. She shook him off with little more than a shrug; he wrestled her back once again, placing himself between her and Khiarra. “What are you doing?”
“She killed you!”
“What?” He shook his head. “What are you talking about?”
Ashra’s golden eyes glittered with fury. Her voice shook with raw pain. “She killed you.”
He pulled her close. “Shhh, no, it’s all right,” he promised. He had to calm her before she focused her anger enough to unleash real damage. “I’m here. I’m not hurt.”
She yanked away. Her black wings beat down furiously, stirring the air into a vortex. Jaden closed his eyes and braced against the cruel bite of the wind. He reached for her, his grip tightening around her waist. “Ashra, stop, please. Don’t do this. Don’t drive me away.”
His words, or perhaps his voice, reached her. Her gaze locked on his. A semblance of rationality crept back into those exotic eyes. Her wings folded against her back, and the air stilled to a calm. “Roh—Jaden?”
At least she had caught the verbal slip that time. “Yes.” A wry half-smile curved Jaden’s lips.
Ashra looked past him at the still-sleeping child, and her eyes narrowed. Her slender body quivered in his arms, although he was certain it was from rage, not fear. “Siri lied.”
“Siri?”
“Siri tasted your sister and said that there was nothing extraordinary about her.” She shook off Jaden’s embrace and stalked out of Khiarra’s room. She strode to the table set against the wall and slammed her hand down on its electronic interface. “Siri?”
Siri’s voice, thin and distant, came through the communicator. “Yes, Ashra?”
“Come to my suite. Now.”
“What’s wrong?”
Ashra cut off the communicator and spun around to pace the breadth of the room.
Jaden quietly closed the door to Khiarra’s room, and for good measure, leaned against it. He was almost certain Ashra would not tear through him to get to his sister. “Ashra, what’s wrong?” he repeated Siri’s question.
“She killed Rohkeus.”
“What?”
“Her soul.” Ashra paused her restless pacing to glare at the closed door. Her small hands tensed into claws. Fingernails extended with a slow slither of bone against flesh and curved into talons. “She is the assassin who killed Rohkeus.”
Jaden’s brow furrowed. “No, that’s—” Impossible? Insane? He squeezed his eyes shut. Ashra. My sister. Must I choose between them? He opened his eyes and searched her face. “Are you sure?”
“The memories do not lie.”
But the memories were not his. Indignation or resentment against his sister did not stir in him, let alone anger or hate. Jaden held up his hands. “Ashra, it—”
“Was a thousand years ago?” She bared her fangs at him. “Do you think time lessens the pain? Do you think that because you are now here, the fact that I lost him is irrelevant?”
“No, I’m saying things are different now. We’re not doomed to repeat the past.”
“And we won’t, because she will die.”
“You can’t. She’s my sister.”
“She killed you.”
“In another lifetime, the person she used to be killed Rohkeus. It’s not the same thing. Don’t confuse me with Rohkeus, or my sister with the person she used to be.”
“I will not stand by and wait for her to hurt you.”
“She’s not going to hurt me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know my sister.” He pressed a hand to his forehead and covered his eyes. The darkness, however brief, allowed him to focus and step outside his emotions. The irony taunted him. He was most comfortable in the darkness he sought to end. He lowered his hand and looked at Ashra. “I’ll sort it out. Just give me time.”
“I don’t have time. The city’s defenses are crumbling, and a daeva army numbering in the thousands controls the Earth. I know that one of the icrathari is consorting with the daevas.” She ground her teeth. “And Siri…she lied to me.”
“About Khiarra, and you intend to confront her. Why?”
“Why?” Ashra echoed. “Why not?”
“Maybe she didn’t push deep enough. But if she did, and chose not to tell you, what else isn’t she telling you?”
Ashra threw Jaden a sharp glance. “You think she’s the one consorting with the daevas?”
“Unlike Tera, she’s curious and open-minded. If anyone would reach out to the daevas, it would be Siri.”
Ashra turned away from Jaden. She murmured, “And she would. She’s tired of the unrelenting burden of Aeternae Noctis.”
A soft bell chimed.
Ashra cast Jaden a look of caution and went to the door.
Siri stood outside the door, an expression of curiosity on her face. “Why did you send for me?”
Ashra’s face was expressionless, all traces of her anger absent. “I’ll be away from the tower for a few hours. You’ll be in charge while I’m gone.”
“And why couldn’t you tell me this over the communicator?”
“I’ll be with Jaden in the city.”
Siri’s smile widened into a knowing grin. “Ah, yes, it’s probably bes
t if Tera and Elsker don’t know of your romantic escapade. Have fun. I’ll cover for you as long as I can.” She spun around, and with a swish of a sassy hip and flare of her wings, she leapt into the shaft and soared up to the chamber.
Jaden inhaled deeply. The motion did little to slow his racing heart and spinning mind. Ashra had saved him, not once but three times. Perhaps she had come to care for him. Still, the key question remained unanswered: was the icrathari he had come to love in dreams real or merely a memory?
It would do Ashra and him good to leave the city, if only for an hour or two. If he could get her away from the other icrathari, vampires, and even Khiarra—away from the constant reminder of unpleasant duty—perhaps she would relax enough to offer him a glimpse of the icrathari she had once been, the icrathari who had transfixed him in dreams.
Ashra shut the door and turned to him. “About your sister—”
He shook his head and reached for her hand. “We’ll talk about her later. Since you’ve gone through all the trouble of lying to Siri, let’s actually go down to the city. I want to show you where I live.”
“I know where you live.” She tugged her hand free of his. The narrow-eyed look she shot him warned him not to push his luck.
But where would he be if he didn’t push his luck? What other advantage did he have as a fragile, mortal human surrounded by immortal vampires and icrathari? “You’ve never seen my home.” Jaden walked to the balcony and threw a glance down at the moat surrounding the tower. It was a wretchedly long fall. He calculated the odds of survival and then halved it. The number was pitifully small.
There was, however, no better way to test Ashra’s attachment to him. He tossed a grin over his shoulder. “Come on.”
Without another word, he swung his feet over the balcony.
Some part of his mind called him an idiot. The other part prepared to die. The wind screamed up at him. The inevitable impact loomed closer. He twisted in midair and positioned himself to dive into water. His likelihood of survival inched up a few percentage points, but remained in the single digits.
His first contact with the ice-cold water stunned him, less from the chill and more from the shocking realization that Ashra hadn’t saved him.
In that single frozen instant when he knew he would die, a sharp motion yanked him up and spun his stomach into heaving nausea. Bushes and branches slapped at his face, blurring his vision as he was dragged through the air.
He had enough of nearly dying in the process of falling from the sky; he never wanted to leave the ground ever again.
Moments later, Ashra dropped him, almost gently, into a sodden heap on the ground. His heart pounding, he dragged himself upright, stared down at his soaked clothes, and then glared at her. “You waited until the last possible second, didn’t you?”
She laughed. “Of course.” Her golden eyes traveled over his body and a slow, appreciative smile curved her lips. “You’re wet.”
“You don’t sound sorry.”
“I’m not. You’re crazy.” Laughter coiled in her voice, mocking her severe tone.
“You immortals take life far too seriously.” He reached for her hand and was gratified when she responded. She had deposited him in front of his house, a small hut tucked away in the dense forest that fringed the periphery of the dome. His home offered solitude, a place of quiet away from the busy fields and teeming city square. He led her into the two-room cabin, his footsteps thudding softly on the wooden floor.
He had only been away for less than a week, but his home had already taken on the quiet unease of an abandoned sanctuary. The stray flicker of regret caught him off guard. I no longer belong here. He lit an oil lamp; it filled the cabin with a soft orange glow. He turned back to face her. “Let me change into dry clothes before I show you around.”
“I know my way around the city,” Ashra said, her voice mild. She appeared content to wander through his cabin, occasionally stopping to pick up and examine one of the woodcarvings that decorated the small space.
For a moment, he watched her, an icrathari at ease in a human space. She possessed an angel’s face, a demon’s wings, the instincts of a predator, a mind bound by duty, and a heart that yearned for love. Her rare smiles summoned a matching reflex in him.
As if she sensed his focus, she threw a quizzical glance over her shoulder.
He flashed her a smile before turning away and entering his bedroom where he lit a candle. The dim glow cast a tiny pool of light, but it was enough to see by. He stripped off his wet clothes and toweled his hair and body dry before pulling on a fresh change of clothes.
He rejoined her in the cabin’s main room that served as the primary living space. The kitchen was tiny; the dining area even tinier, consisting of a table and two chairs tucked into a corner of the room. The rest of the small space was a workshop where he crafted furniture and carved wood sculptures from spare pieces of wood.
Ashra turned to face him, a carving of a deer in her hand. “I didn’t realize you were an artist.”
“I make furniture when I’m not fighting vampires and icrathari. A man has to make a living, after all. The carvings I create in my free time, and this one—” He turned away to retrieve something from the back of a cabinet. Carefully, he unwrapped the cloth to reveal a flawless wood sculpture carved from cypress. “This is for you.”
Ashra traced a trembling finger down the polished surface of the carving. It captured every delicate feature of her face, from the subtle upward tilt of her eyes and narrow nose, to the sharp slash of her cheekbones and the faint hint of a smile. Her hair was swept back from her face, as if caressed by the wind, and then frozen in time, the gentle waves of its silken length immortalized in pale cypress.
Jaden placed it in her hand. “I carved it from my dreams.”
“You did dream of me.”
“I thought carving it would reduce the relentless focus of my dreams; it didn’t work. In hindsight, it was probably better not to know that I was falling in love with an icrathari.”
Love.
The word shivered through her, a thrill of delight that danced along the length of her spine. She focused on his eyes—Rohkeus’s eyes—when she stepped into his arms. The illusion of returning into the embrace of her prince, however, shattered quickly when his calloused hands caressed her shoulders and back. His were the battle-worn hands of a warrior. They were strong and large and seemed to envelope her frame.
Yet he was gentle, an absurdity that both amused and enchanted her. She could have crushed his neck with as little effort as snapping a twig, but he handled her as if she were as fragile as glass. He slid the gown off her shoulders. She closed her eyes, shuddering when he leaned down and pressed a kiss against the scar on her stomach.
His lips shot waves of sensation through her. Her ancient senses, inured to the ordinary, came alive. A light breeze sweeping in through his open cottage windows brushed against her skin. When he lowered her to his bed, the coarse cotton of his sheets chafed her back and leather wings.
His back and chest were still swathed in bandages. Subtle pain lines furrowed on his brow with each movement. When he entered her, he did so with infinite care. The unfettered, animal-like passion she had always associated with humans was ruthlessly held in check. With an affectionate smile, she stroked his cheek. She had never realized before how sensual self-control could be.
“I want you,” she whispered. “Don’t hold back.”
His eyes, vivid green, locked on hers, glazed with desire—desire that transcended species, transcended time.
His mouth closed on hers, plundering—prince to concubine. He moved against her, claiming her body. She surrendered; it was all she could do. She had forgotten what it was like to be driven to the edge of madness, of need. He forced her to ride on the razor’s edge where pleasure so intense twisted into pain, before allowing her to fall with a scream of ecstasy.
She plunged down and then floated as weightless as a feather.
He ca
ught her. His embrace anchored her. He trailed kisses down her neck before forcing her senses into flight once more. She closed her eyes, her hands fisting into the bedsheets, as her body spiraled out of control.
Only Rohkeus could tear the reins of icy control from her, and simultaneously wrap her in the utter certainty that she was cherished and loved.
The second time she tumbled off the cliff, he followed her with a guttural groan of release.
For a long moment after, they lay on his bed, their limbs tangled. The only light came from a candle glowing by the bedside table. Outside, the eternal night lingered, unchanged.
Yet everything had changed—a minute yet titanic shift in her world.
I have just made love to a human.
Unlike the vampire lovers she had occasionally taken on in the past, he appeared content to linger. With gentle fingers, she combed through his dark hair.
His breath whispered, “I love you.”
His love had found her. How could she ever let him go?
Her fingernails extended, and she drew a sharp edge over her wrist. Droplets of golden blood trickled from the open wound. When she placed her wrist against his lips, he turned to her. He closed his eyes; his tongue laved upon her wrist. Within seconds, the thin lines of pain on his brow faded, and a soft sheen of relief eased over him.
Her blood, ancient and immortal, trickled down his throat, healing him, changing him.
“Transform,” she whispered. “And be with me forever.”
His eyes flashed open. He pulled away.
They stared at each other across the narrow expanse of the bed.
He broke the silence first. “I can’t.”
Ashra’s lips moved, but no sound emerged.
He shook his head. “I want to stay human.”
“But, Rohkeus—”
“I’m Jaden,” he said, his voice sharp. He pushed up from the bed. “I’m not the icrathari inventor-prince who died a thousand years ago. Perhaps there are fragments of Rohkeus in me, but I’m more than that. My life here and now is all that matters, as a human, as Dana’s son, as Khiarra’s brother.”