By a Thread

by Nyna Queen

  Something crashed into the door and it flew off its hinges, hitting the stone floor with a loud ear-deafening smack. Several men burst into the room and the Duke’s bodyguards rushed forward to face them. No uniforms—no POs or guardaí, then. Which meant whoever was hunting for the kids was still on their tail. Shit! How was that even possible?

  “Uncle Darken!” Josy was backing away from the intruders, white as a sheet.

  “Go!” Darken barked. “To the portal. To the portal!”

  Shifting Alex as if she weighed next to nothing, he headed after them. To their right, the Duke freed his snake stick, revealing a thin blade and brandished it like a weapon. The emerald eyes glowed with green fire. All the sleek manner—gone, revealing the man behind the glamour: ruthless, vicious, and dangerous.

  When he noticed their turn to escape, he pointed the snake head at her. “You’ll have to pay for the damage, Sasha.”

  “Send me the bill!” Alex yelled over Darken’s shoulder. Good luck with that!

  The full dose of her venom should more than compensate him for any inconveniences caused by their appearance. And if not—ah, well, he could bear it.

  In front of them, Max and Josy sprinted for the glowing hole and vanished in the darkness behind it. The dark oval of the portal loomed before them. Alex clasped Darken’s neck tighter and they jumped into the impenetrable darkness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  A DOZEN men flooded the chamber just as they were about to jump through the portal hole and immediately made a beeline for the arch.

  Clutching Alex to his chest, Darken plunged into the darkness and tore forward, trusting his feet to find their way on the lumpy grass expanse that stretched before them, while his eyes still fought to adapt to the inky blackness.

  Not far in front of them, two moving shapes troubled the night: Maxwell and Josepha zigzagging like two chased bunnies.

  Shouts rang out behind them.

  Shifting his grip on the weight in his arm, he threw a glance back over his shoulder. The Duke’s men were doing their best to fight off the intruders, who were just trying to dodge and reach the portal which was already starting to close behind them—well, at least the Duke wasn’t backstabbing them that way.

  Still, at least six or seven of the men managed to jump through the shrinking hole, before it snapped shut, cutting the last one of them neatly in half like a falling disk-saw blade. His severed torso landed on the grass with a wet thud.

  His niece, who had been looking back as well, screamed and dropped down on all fours, retching audibly.

  Altering his course, Darken swerved toward her. “Keep running, darling!”

  Her head appeared between her shoulders, dark strands of hair hanging into her clammy forehead. But one look at their pursuers sent her scrambling back to her feet. Darken reached her side, propping her up and beside each other, they hastened forward.

  Matching Josy’s speed, Darken peered into the treacherous darkness beyond them, at the indication of hills peeling out of the night at the horizon like dark frozen waves.

  Come on, where are you?

  Men barked behind them. Heavy feet pummeled soft earth.

  Thud-thud-thud.

  The erratic beam of a flashlight whirled over the ground. Left. Right. Left. It caught them for a blistering second, throwing their shadows into long, twisted shapes in front of them. Ah, curse it!

  Darken squinted into the night. Where were they? They had to be here somewhere!

  A sliver of worry teased along his spine, as he wondered if he might have screwed up the last glyph in his haste to alter it. In that moment he spotted a tiny red light winking in and out of existence at the horizon. Another joined the first.

  The ward stones, finally!

  Something hurtled past them and hit the ground to their left with a soft hiss. Darken veered right on instinct. The night exploded in blinding light and a thunderclap punched his ears. A flash grenade. The bastards!

  Alex screamed and spasmed in his arms, almost causing him to drop her. He held onto her jerking body with difficulty, fighting for his balance, while trying to spot Josepha and Maxwell through the flurry of flashes impairing his vision.

  A shot hit the ground behind him, barely missing his foot, sending up a spray of earth. Someone bellowed something that was distorted by the persistent ring of the flash grenade’s aftershock in his ears. Red-hot anger surged through him and a familiar sensation burned the back of his hands. The night got a dangerous ruby sheen.

  No. Darken blinked his eyes against the impending crimson rage. Wards. They had to get to the wards.

  Increasing his speed, he hauled Josy along, but Max was falling back. Swearing under his breath Darken slowed and waited for him to catch up, but the boy simply couldn't keep the pace any longer, not with that leg.

  Damn it all to the bowels of hell!

  Darken scanned the perimeter again. Couldn’t see the red lights anymore. Were they in? Had they crossed the border? Didn’t matter. They couldn’t keep running.

  He spun, facing their pursuers. The enemy was advancing on them without closed formation like a goaded pack of gun dogs, barking and panting for blood. The closest was barely twenty yards behind.

  “Let me down!” Alex squirmed in his arms. “Damn you! Let me down, let me down!”

  With another silent curse, Darken set her down on her feet. She swayed precariously, but immediately two knives appeared in her hands. That was the spider he’d come to know—barely able to stand on her own two feet, but ready to fight to the last breath.

  There wasn’t much time to be impressed, though.

  “Stay back!” Darken growled, as he slid forward to meet the first attacker. The man rushed at them, swinging a spiked club, eyes glittering maliciously under the rim of his black skull cap.

  Darken’s sword moved into his hand at its own accord. He spun in a lightning arch, blade flashing, painting a diagonal line of red across the man’s chest. Blood sprayed, sprinkling him and evaporated where it touched his scorching skin.

  The man crashed to his knees, his eyes wide in surprise at the life gushing out of him in a scarlet stream. His body toppled face down on the grass. Darken felt the exact moment when his soul crossed the threshold into the domain of Death—his domain—and it was all he could do not to reap it where he stood.

  The scent of blood filled his nostrils and shuddered over his skin like a lover’s caress. Death wrapped her wispy arms around his neck, stroking him, arousing him toward a dangerous climax. He rose and swelled with a fierce need, the pressure in him mounting and cresting until nothing mattered but the souls glowing brightly in the darkness of his mind.

  Another attacker with a huge combat knife who’d been about to rush him, slowed at the sight of his dead pal and pulled a spellgun from his belt instead. Darken hesitated too, not sure if he would be able to resist from reaping his soul if he killed him now. And if he did …

  Just a sip. Just a tiny, tiny sip. You know you want it.

  Yes. He shuddered. He wanted it. Craved it with the same desperation a dying man in the desert craved a sip of water. But this was a dangerous sip to take, and if the blood-red currents dragged him under, there would be no distinguishing between friend or foe. Like a shark in a blood rage, he would kill and kill until there was no one left to kill, or he dropped from sheer exhaustion.

  His hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. He couldn’t lose himself, not with Maxwell and Josepha so close. Not at the risk of hurting them … or Alex.

  As if in slow motion he saw the mercenary raise his spellgun. His magic churned through his bloodstream, burning, raging, demanding to be satisfied.

  Kill! Kill, kill, KILL!

  The deadly fire filled him to the breaking point, burning into his fingertips where the fabric of his gloves started smoldering from the lighting energy. His head throbbed with the mounting pressure until he thought his skull would explode.

  Need to … kill.

  His v
ision blurred. Sweat broke on his forehead.

  No! Couldn’t … the children … Alex …

  Torn between the need to act and the horrifying knowledge of what would happen if he lost this fight, he hesitated a moment too long. The merc’s lips pulled back from his teeth. A spark of magic blossomed at the tip of the gun, growing, growing.

  Time spun back to its normal pace. Something whizzed past his cheek and suddenly the hilt of a dagger sprouted from the man’s left eye socket.

  The merc’s jaw dropped, he went limp and fell. The knife must have nicked the brain, too, for he was gone before Darken’s magic could even reach out to him.

  Darken wheeled around just in time to see Alex pulling out another knife. Even in her addled state that woman wasn’t to be underestimated. He shortly inclined his head at her, which she returned with a grim nod of her own.

  Out of the darkness, a shadow launched himself at Alex. There was no time to shout out a warning. She tried to parry, but the sheer weight of the merc’s body tripped what shaky balance she had, and Darken could only helplessly watch as she went down beneath him.

  They rolled around in the grass with vicious noises.

  Tossing a handful of sting powder at the rest of the incoming mercenaries, Darken dashed toward Alex in a lethal blur to rip the man off her. Before he had reached her, the thug rolled to the side, howling and clutching his belly. Beside him Alex sat up in the dirt, looking slightly dazed. She was doused with blood and gore. Only his? Or hers as well?

  From the corner of his eye, Darken saw a movement and whirled in the direction. One of the remaining mercenaries had come in from the left flank and stopped about thirty yards away. With a smug grin, he leveled a flash arrow crossbow at Alex’s exposed back. Magic licked at the weapon with flickering blue sparks as he charged it.

  NO! Without thinking, Darken tore off his left glove and thrust out his hand toward the man. Everything had a price!

  A lone wolf’s howl echoed through the night. It was an eerie, blood-curdling sound that had all the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Darken froze. Another howl joined the first and suddenly the night was full of a wild ravening battle hymn.

  This time Darken didn’t hesitate. He relinquished the grip on his sword, dropped to his knees and raised his hands over his head.

  They were hit by a storm born from dust and magic. It enveloped them with staggering force, drowning them in magic and thunder and he pressed his eyes shut against the bite of the dust grains as phantom winds whipped earth and sand into his face.

  “Don’t fight them!” he shouted, hoping to be heard above the uproar. “Don’t move. It will be okay. Just don’t fight them!” Whatever you do, Alex—please don’t fight them!

  The snap of a released flash arrow bolt ripped through his gut. Somewhere in front of him he thought he heard Alex scream.

  Great Mother, please no! His hands clenched into first, but he could do nothing but wait for the storm to pass. There were pops and screams beyond the wail of the conjured winds, while magic ripped and pulled at him with sharp invisible fingers.

  Then suddenly—silence.

  Darken opened his eyes. When the dust had settled enough to see, they were surrounded by a closed circle of hooded figures in dark gray cloaks, their faces completely hidden by wolf-shaped metal masks, except for a slit for the eyes. They stood completely motionless. Every third or fourth of them was holding a burning torch, whose flames created almost more shadows than they banished, flickering over their masks and biting ragged chunks of the darkness around them. The rest of them were pointing charged flash-pikes and spellguns at them.

  Several bodies littered the blood-soaked grass inside the circle, but with immense relief, Darken spotted Max and Josy clutching each other and glaring around fearfully. A little in front of them, Alex was perching on the ground, still looking a bit dazed but otherwise unharmed. Relief swept through him with such staggering force that it took him by surprise.

  Alex’s eyes darted along the row of masked men like that of a threatened cat, her body tight, upper lip curling back to reveal yet human teeth.

  At an inaudible command, the circle parted at the far end, just long and wide enough to let a tall man enter.

  Night’s Avatar if ever it had one: huge and dark, with skin like coal that fused him with the darkness around him, mocking the flames of the torches trying to capture his likes.

  His floor-length black leather coat swished softly as he moved, its seams brushing the tips of the grass blades. A tangle of long dreadlocks fell over his massive shoulders and, despite the dark, a pair of shaded sunglasses covered his eyes, reflecting the torch lights.

  The Custodian—in the flesh.

  “Now look what the cat dragged in,” the man drawled softly, as his hidden gaze traveled over the dead bodies. His voice was deep and resonant, the kind of voice that didn't need to be raised to be heard.

  He slowly moved forward, casually stepping on one of the men on the ground. Spine crushed under his heel. If the man had still been alive, now he definitely wasn’t.

  Not giving any indication that he had even noticed, the Custodian bent forward and studied another corpse to his feet with visible resentment.

  “I do not appreciate it at all when the peace in my domain is being disturbed in such a savage manner. There is no welcome for those who raise their weapons inside my boundaries, except for a deadly one. The question is”—his eyes rose from the corpse to fix on the living in front of him—“what about you?”

  Taking it as his cue, Darken rose to his feet—slowly, so as not to give any of the iron wolves a reason to consider him a threat that needed to be obliterated, causing him to slaughter the lot of them. Holding out his palms in front of him, he stepped out of the shadows into the shivering light cones.

  “I do apologize for bringing bloodshed into your domain,” he said with a small inclination of his head, “and I assure you that it is not our intention to bring anymore harm to you and yours than has already been done.”

  “Well, well, well.” Dark lips revealed a sharp flash of white teeth. “Darken Forfeit, what do you say? As always bringing chaos into my peaceful domain.” He cocked his head to the side. “To what do I owe the doubtful honor to receive one Death’s Servants under my roof?”

  Darken allowed himself a spare smile, slipping just a mere hint of warning into it. “Don’t play me for a fool, Blayde. We both know perfectly well that I am not here in my capacity as a member of the Order.”

  “No.” Blayde’s gaze flickered toward his niece and nephew. “No, I didn’t think so.”

  Putting his fingers together in front of his wide chest he bent his head until he almost looked over the rim of his sunglasses. “Which only spikes my curiosity. I suppose it must be a most intriguing story that brought you over my ward-boundary, and in the company of these”—his lips puckered with disgust as he indicated the dead bodies forming mounds in the grass—“ill-fated creatures.”

  “It is certainly one of the more interesting,” Darken agreed cautiously.

  “In that case, I hope you will indulge me.”

  “It is the least I can do after you came to our help. But it will have to wait.” Darken motioned at his companions, while he slowly moved forward until he was standing beside Alex who was still crouching on the ground, following the exchange through narrowed eyes.

  Blayde watched them through his sunglasses. “Indeed, it will.”

  Shifting his stance, Darken casually positioned himself between Blayde and the spider—a most precarious position, if this went the wrong way. This wasn’t over yet. Oh no. The children posed hardly a problem and he himself might be warily tolerated as an infrequent visitor, but Alex was a different story. She had yet to pass Blayde’s scrutiny, and this was the kind of scrutiny that couldn’t be passed by using a knife or a threat.

  When he had altered the course, the last on his mind had been the idea that bringing a shaper into the Pacified Zone migh
t be a fatal error. And if Blayde had any reservations against shapers …

  “This is Alexis Harper,” he supplied carefully, giving her an imploring glance, willing her, for once, to keep her loose tongue in check, not sure whose side he would choose if this turned, after all, into bloodshed.

  Blayde’s veiled gaze rested on Alex for an uncomfortably long moment, while Darken hoped dearly that the Custodian wouldn’t ask any inconvenient questions, because if he did, she would lie, and if she lied … well, old friendship hither or tither, there was a certain protocol to observe when entering the Pacified Zone and there were certain things that wouldn’t be tolerated. Lying was one of them. And Blayde had a certain way of knowing when he was lied to.

  To his utter surprise, Blayde stepped over and offered Alex his hand. With a skeptical side-glance at Darken, Alex took the offered hand and let the Custodian help her to her feet. Her mutilated sweater ripped across the shoulder with an audible snap.

  “Enchantée,” Blayde leaned forward and breathed a kiss on her fingertips, with all the gallantry of a gentleman going over the fact that she was sprinkled from head to toe with gore and blood. “It is rare that we welcome such exotic beauty in our domain.”

  Darken gritted his teeth. Laid on a bit thickly, don’t you think, Blayde?

  Alex stared at the Custodian with a baffled expression as if she wasn’t sure if this was part of a comedy play and someone would jump out of the bushes any moment calling “pranked!”

  “Uhm—” She reached up to hook a strand of blood-clotted hair behind her ear. The movement caused her tattered sweater—as well as the shirt beneath—to tear completely across her chest, revealing more than enough of her black bra for him to have a fair guess at her size.

  The spider actually blushed.

  That woman made absolutely no sense. She had no qualms about going toe-to-toe with a forfeit, but a bit of skin turned her all wild-shy.

  Before anyone could say anything, Blayde snapped his fingers and one of his iron wolves stepped forward and deposited his cloak in his hands, before blending back into the circle. Blayde unfurled it with a flick of his wrist and put it around Alex’s shoulders.