The Dark World

by Cara Lynn Shultz

  “Instead, it killed my father. Of course, there were rumors that he got out, was in hiding—because it’s not enough for the Regents to kill my father, they have to destroy his integrity after he’s dead.”

  Logan stopped speaking after that last comment, but he was anything but quiet. His breathing was ragged, rough with emotion, and my hands twisted in my lap, desperate to comfort him in some way. I’d known whatever happened to his parents had to be bad—but I had no idea it was this heartbreakingly brutal.

  I hesitantly reached my hand out to him, and placed it over his heart, which beat rapidly under my palm. Logan covered my hand with his, but held it there, and when his breathing steadied, he continued speaking.

  “Rego isn’t my father. He isn’t nurturing and he sure isn’t the kind of guy who read me bedtime stories or bandaged my skinned knees. When I turned eight, I wanted that remote-control car. But by the time I turned nine, the only thing I wanted was revenge. And Rego helped me with that.”

  Logan was stone-faced as he spoke, his slightly damp cheeks the only evidence of his earlier emotion. He even dropped his hold on my hand, and I let my palm drop from his heart, my hand casually resting against his leg instead.

  “How did he help you?”

  “Rego started teaching me stuff immediately. We were on the run. Someone had just tried to kill us. I had to learn how to defend myself,” Logan explained with a matter-of-fact shrug. “I helped him, too. My particular genetic makeup made me very valuable for certain spells that the warlocks could use against the Regents. Whatever Rego wanted from me, he could have.”

  Logan reached behind his shoulder and slowly pulled out his sword, resting it flat across his knees.

  “Like I said, Regents are hard to kill. Regular warlock-forged steel can injure, sure, but you need a powerful weapon to conquer such a powerful creature. Something created with a part of the monster you’re trying to destroy.”

  Logan ran the tip of his finger down the smooth amethyst blade.

  “Every warlock who uses one of Rego’s weapons has something made with my blood,” Logan revealed.

  “Wait,” I snapped, reaching out and grabbing his wrist, causing Logan’s eyes to pop open in surprise.

  “What?” he asked.

  “So a few weeks ago, when you disappeared and said you were helping Rego make weapons, you were tired because he had been bleeding you?” My voice rose in pitch as I spoke, and Logan gingerly grabbed my hand, removing it from his wrist.

  “Um, you’re about to draw blood with your nails. Ow, Paige,” he said, and I jerked my wrist back, holding my hands up.

  “I’m so sorry!” I yelped, and Logan merely laughed as he put his sword away.

  “It’s nice to see that you still get angry when you feel like I’ve been wronged,” he remarked, rubbing his wrist. “Even if I’m on the wrong end of your temper.”

  “I said I was sorry! It’s just the thought of you as a little kid—and now—bleeding to make weapons...” I slammed my eyes shut, shuddering.

  “It’s okay,” Logan said, putting his hands on my shoulders and giving me a little squeeze. “Look, I wanted to help in any way I could. Back then, it was with weapons. My blood made Rego’s weapons lethal. And Regent blood added the nice little perk of stealing the demon’s powers when you kill them.”

  “So that’s why I absorbed Blaise’s fire power,” I realized. “Your blood.”

  “Yeah, it, um...” Logan paused, suddenly looking very uncomfortable. “It also makes me aware of the presence of any sword,” he added rapidly, the words running together.

  I stared at him suspiciously as he ducked his head.

  “Can you repeat that, please? And why do you look guilty?”

  “If I focus hard enough, I can pinpoint your location—because you’ve always got the sword.” He flinched, anticipating my response.

  As I realized the implications of what he was saying, my jaw dropped in horror, and Logan quickly put his hands up in defense.

  “Before you get mad, you have to understand that it’s an involuntary thing. It’s not like I asked for them to be homing devices. But the more blood used to make the sword, the more powerful the sword is...and the easier it is for me to find it. I wanted your sword to be really powerful, in case you ever needed to use it. Technically, you could argue that what I did was kind of a nice thing.” He gave me an angelic smile, and I just glared at him in response.

  “Yeah, it’s really nice that I’m essentially microchipped like a prized schnauzer.”

  “It’s not like that, I swear,” Logan insisted. “I understand why you’re pissed. It’s why I’m telling you now even though I knew you’d be mad. But it helped me find you when Aiden and Della had you. And I promise you, it’s not like there’s a blinking tracking light above your head or anything.”

  “Still, I should have known,” I maintained, indignant, and Logan nodded, giving me a sheepish look.

  “Are you sufficiently creeped out and pissed off yet?”

  “You know what? I am all pissed off,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him.

  “Sorry,” he mouthed, and I sighed heavily. At least he’s telling you everything now. And if it weren’t for that sword, you’d be hanging out in a demon dungeon somewhere.

  “I’m sure Dottie would love it if you ranted to her, all pissed off about me. Now that she knows what I am, she’s not my biggest fan.” His eyes looked up as he shook his head, and I wondered what Dottie had said to him after I left. “I can only imagine what she’s going to say to you about me,” he muttered.

  “Um, hello? You can see and hear her. Anything she says about you, you’re probably going to know about it.”

  I paused as I considered that statement. Logan could see and hear my best friend and Travis—but all the other demons seemed to chase them away.

  “How come you can see her and Travis, anyway? You’re a demon.”

  “Half-demon,” he replied automatically.

  “Yeah, but still, why don’t you chase her and Travis away like Blaise and Aiden do?”

  “Are you asking me to? Because I’d love to tell Travis to take a hike sometimes,” Logan said with a snarky grin, relishing the change in subject, and I poked him gently in the leg.

  “They’re trapped over there because a demon caused their lives to end prematurely. When a demon’s in the area, it sends them back to where they belong, so to speak.”

  “But you’re a demon.”

  “Half-demon,” he stressed, sounding exasperated. “I’m only half. I can see them because I have ties to that world, was conceived on that side—but I was born on this side. My energy is strictly Light World, baby.”

  I studied Logan’s face as he grinned rakishly at me. His energy was anything but dark, especially when that boyish grin made his eyes sparkle like that, underneath his disheveled mess of brown hair.

  He was nothing like Blaise or Aiden...Blaise with her glittering eyes and inhuman teeth, and Aiden with those huge wings and gray claws. Aiden, who was a relative. I inhaled sharply, studying Logan’s face for an indication that he was anything other than what he professed to be.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked warily as I spun my bracelet on my wrist. “You look...well, you look terrified right now, and your bracelet is going to start smoking, you’re spinning it so fast.”

  Logan reached his hand out and pressed his palm on top of my wrist, effectively stopping my nervous tick.

  “What do you really look like?” I asked in a whisper.

  He was silent for a moment.

  “Do you want me to show you?” His reply was just as quiet.

  I nodded, and Logan pushed himself off the sleeping bag, unzipping his hoodie as he stood. He shrugged out of it, and then pulled at the hem of his shirt.

  �
��What are you doing?” I asked, scrambling to my feet and covering my eyes with my hands. “I meant your demon form. Not, um, what I mentioned earlier. The whole human and half-demon compatibility thing, I mean. Oh, please don’t take your pants off, I am so not ready for that conversation tonight.”

  “Paige,” Logan called with a soft chuckle, and I peered out at his body from between my fingers. He was wearing his dark jeans—and a very self-indulgent grin.

  “I should have explained. I have wings. I didn’t want to rip my clothes.”

  “Wings?” I squeaked. Forget that, take your pants off instead.

  “Yeah, wings.”

  “Like Aiden?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

  “I’m nothing like him,” Logan vowed, his body tensing as he gripped his shirt tightly in his fist.

  “Okay. Do it,” I ordered weakly as I kept my eyes on the ground.

  A hushed fluttering sound drew my attention, and I looked up. Logan stood before me, his hands clenched into fists at his side, broad shoulders lifting slightly with his measured, steady breathing. While shirtless Logan was a very nice sight, it wasn’t what made me lose my breath: it was the black wings beating softly behind him, slowly enough that they made a faint sound but not quickly enough to take flight.

  Logan’s eyes—which had been closed—opened when he heard me gasp, and they anxiously searched my face for my reaction.

  I took a step closer, studying his eyes—the irises were now a crystal-clear violet, ringed with his familiar brown. But where Aiden’s were cold and frosty, Logan’s eyes held the same warmth I’d always found there.

  I rested my hand against his heart again, feeling it beat rapidly in his broad chest. Aiden’s skin had turned gray and corpselike, but Logan’s skin remained the same pale, peachy tone. His muscles were slightly more defined—the cut of his stomach a little sharper, his biceps more rounded—but not in an inhuman, exaggerated way. My hand slid to his shoulder, curving over the sculpted muscle as I slowly walked around to his back, to study the wings that he brought to a stop.

  I trailed one finger along the edge of his wing, feeling the smooth black bone beneath my skin, and Logan shivered.

  “Does that hurt?” I asked, my hand stilling.

  Logan shook his head, turning his face to the side to watch me over his shoulder as I stroked his wing, the smooth, glasslike texture contradicting its unfathomable strength.

  I let my fingers travel down, to the diaphanous black wing that felt like delicate silk, stretched tightly between the bones. I crossed behind Logan as I continued my exploration, letting my hand gently press against the center of his wings, at the swirled knot of black bone between his shoulder blades.

  You’re standing behind your boyfriend, exploring his wings.

  His wings.

  Your boyfriend has wings.

  My fingertips shook slightly, and I willed them to stop, trying to reconcile the Logan I knew with the one standing bare before me. Logan was otherworldly, in the literal sense of the word. But he also was a pizza snob who lived in hoodies and baseball caps.

  You’re either all in, or you’re out, Paige. When you face him again, you need to let him know one way or another. He deserves that.

  I pressed my hand on his back—home, human territory—and caressed the expanse of smooth, unblemished skin that, hours before, had been painfully injured. Logan’s agonized face, struggling with pain as he held me close, protecting me, flashed before my eyes, and I laid my palm against his shoulder, thankful that he was healed.

  I took my final steps as I finished circling his body, coming to face him again.

  Silently, we stood before each other, my eyes searching his and seeing nothing but love—and fear. Logan was standing naked before me, after all, in more ways than one.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, and Logan merely nodded his head in acknowledgment, his dark eyebrows pulling together with some unspoken question.

  “Do you hate me like this?” he finally asked, his voice rough.

  I shook my head, clasping my hands around his neck as I rested my head against his chest. I was all in. I wanted to heal what was there, now more than ever. Now that I knew the real him.

  “All of you is beautiful. But especially your heart,” I murmured, planting a soft kiss where it beat in his chest. They were words I would normally laugh at, or repeat in a mocking tone, making fun of anyone who would say something so cheesy and trite. But I couldn’t help it; the words were true—all of Logan was beautiful. And he did have a beautiful heart.

  As soon as my lips touched his skin, Logan’s arms circled around me, and we both relaxed more deeply into each other.

  “It’s yours, you know.” His voice sounded deep and low in his chest, rumbling against my cheek, and my pulse sped at his admission.

  “I hoped so,” I confessed as I snuggled into his embrace. They were the same, familiar arms, but at the same time, they felt different. They felt stronger.

  “Hoped so?” Logan repeated, and he tilted my chin up with two fingers, urging me to meet his eyes. “Paige, you have to know by now that I love you.” His eyes were brimming with emotion, a shy smile on his face as he brushed a lock of hair back behind my ear. “I started falling for you the first time I heard you speak, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop falling in love with you.”

  My heart, which had been keeping a speedy rhythm along with his, might have stopped at that statement. That wonderful, perfect statement, spoken in a voice that managed to be confident and tender at the same time, promising me his past, present and future all at once.

  “When everyone else says I love you, they make it sound like a punch line. You make it sound like a promise,” I said as Logan moved his hands down to my back, softly rubbing in circles.

  “It is.”

  “It is for me, too,” I said. Logan’s hands stilled on my back, and I lifted my eyes to meet his.

  “Really?” he asked, the beginnings of the brilliant smile on his face.

  I stretched up on my toes to kiss him, but Logan met me halfway. He leaned down to press his lips against mine, the words he’d just spoken repeated in breathy tones amid gentle touches.

  “Can I ask you one more thing?” I asked after we’d broken apart, punctuating my question with another, albeit brief, kiss—which earned a chuckle.

  “When you ask if you can ask a question, I know to brace myself. Those ones are the worst,” Logan reminded me, and I snorted.

  “Well, can I ask it or what?”

  “Can I put my shirt back on and, uh, my wings away?” Logan bargained, and I pretended to think it over.

  “Deal,” I said, keeping my eyes on him as I walked backward toward the sleeping bag. His wings fluttered lightly, appearing to shrink behind his back, where they disappeared into nothingness. He pulled on his shirt and joined me on the sleeping bag moments later, only this time Logan stretched out on his side, his head propped up by his hand. I mirrored his position as our hands intertwined between us.

  “So, your question?” he asked.

  Ah, yes. The one I’d wanted to ask for weeks.

  “What’s supposed to happen now? With us, I mean?” I braced myself for Logan to tell me how he’d eventually leave, but instead, he started laughing.

  “Are we having The Talk?” Logan emphasized the words, grinning at me playfully. “Oh, no, it’s the infamous Talk!”

  “Don’t make fun, we were supposed to have The Talk weeks ago.” I swatted at him, and he caught my hand, giving my fist a kiss before setting it back down.

  “Well, what do you want to happen?” he asked me. “I don’t think what’s supposed to happen really applies to us.”

  “It’s selfish, but...I don’t want you to leave.” Sorry, everyone Logan would have saved from demons. I wanted him to stay with me, so
sucks to be you.

  “Why is that selfish?” he asked, bewildered.

  “Well, Aiden’s not going to be a threat forever, so I know your time here has to come to an end at some point.” I frowned. “And besides, I can’t ask you to make that sacrifice.”

  “It’s not a sacrifice if I want to do it.”

  “You just told me about how you’ve wanted nothing but revenge since you were nine,” I reminded him. “I don’t know what the protocol is here, but I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t give up your lifelong mission for vengeance because your girlfriend is being extraclingy.”

  Logan ran his thumb over my hand before rolling onto his back, tugging me with him.

  “Come here.” He caught me as I fell onto his chest, his right arm curling around my waist, keeping me snug against his side.

  “You were too far away. This is better,” he said matter-of-factly, cushioning his head with his other arm. We lay like that for a moment until he spoke again.

  “What if I’ve already talked to Rego about this?” he asked quietly, and my head popped up to stare at him. His face was a perfectly composed, serene mask.

  “I’m leaving him. Them. All of it. They can fight their own war. I’m done.”

  “But—I thought you were—I thought revenge was what you wanted,” I stammered, shocked. “Your mom, she’s a prisoner.”

  Logan blinked his eyes slowly, exhaling a long breath.

  “Paige, both of my parents are dead.”

  He sounded so defeated as he said those words, and I wrapped my arms around Logan as far as they would go.

  “I’m sorry,” was all I could say.

  “I was about fifteen, and I was just exhausted. I was burned out—my life was nothing but kill, move on, kill, move on,” he said, his fingers idly running down my back as I rested my chin on his chest, facing him as he spoke. It would have been a sweet embrace, if not for the gruesome conversation topic.

  “We’d just moved to some new place, again, and I found this photo of me and my parents that I hadn’t even remembered in that old backpack. It was from my last birthday party. They really played up the part of human parents, you know? We looked normal. And I’d looked so happy with them, holding up that stupid toy car. I started to remember things—things I’d suppressed under a fog of revenge. I remembered how much they didn’t want me to be a part of this life, and here I was, some kid slaughtering demons. I was tired of being a killing machine and never hearing anything about how it was helping get my mom back.