Blackstorm (Nightwraith Book 2)

by Gaja J. Kos

  Alin strode over and swooped me off the ground, pressing a quick, but fierce kiss to my lips. “I look forward to spending the ages figuring out ways to make you yelp like that.”

  “Don’t get cute.” I scowled, but gained merely a blinding grin in return.

  Gods, last night had unlocked something in him—something I fully intended to explore the instant we were in the clear.

  But while the thought filled me with warmth, it was also enough to slap me right back to reality.

  He nodded, undoubtedly noticing my change of mood, and brushed his lips over the knuckles of my hand in a gentle caress. “I’ll leave you two to talk. I’ll be in the throne room, as you like to call it, if you need me.” His eyes flickered over to Liva. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

  She nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll be around more as soon as Faery is stable. I think you and Cian would get along great.” She motioned to the blades strapped to Alin’s muscular thighs. “Right off the bat, I can see that you share at least one common love.”

  I chuckled, the sound lost in the hearty laugh that rumbled from Alin’s chest. “I’ll hold you to your word.”

  I watched him walk away, then motioned Lana to come sit next to me on the couch. She readjusted the Sword of Ala resting across her back, the motion so fluid, so natural, as if the blade were a part of her.

  Which, when I thought about it, wasn’t all that far from the truth.

  My fingers found hers and I gave her a light squeeze. “I want you to promise me—promise me—that you’ll do only what I ask, then leave.” A frown line appeared down the center of her forehead. “I swear, Liv, I’ll make you take a blood oath if I see as much as a hint of that stubbornness of yours.”

  “The same stubbornness that makes you bench someone who could fight?”

  “Precisely.” I smiled, though it probably didn’t reach my eyes. “Go to your lair or Faery, just don’t stay here. Please.”

  It was obvious she didn’t like it one bit, but Liva dipped her chin nonetheless. “You have my word.”

  It worked. Liva’s wards truly worked.

  Pobrežje Cemetery was devoid of any signs of life, precisely as I wanted. However, the all-encompassing silence failed to make me feel any better. How could it, when I knew what still lay ahead…?

  I blew out a breath and gazed at the long lines of tombstones.

  Death, old and new, greeted me, its presence like a familiar, ethereal wind that rolled across my heated skin. It called to me as much as I to it, the whispers almost comforting. Natural.

  Alin stood on my left, perfectly silent as he watched the cemetery, scanning for unsuspecting passersby or threats. But there would be none of the former here, not with Liva’s power at work. And the latter—well, the latter waited for me at my bar. A rendezvous that would smack me in the face all too soon.

  Lost in thought—or was it brooding?—I hadn’t noticed Alin move. But his hand was now in mine, his fingers trailing the side of my face so lovingly, I couldn’t resist leaning into the touch.

  “You can do this, Lana. I know you can.”

  I looked up into the depths of his eyes, at the utter conviction pooling in the emerald color, and nodded. Time for stalling was long gone. I had one shot of maybe coming out of this alive without destroying the town and the people I loved. And thinking of spending the ages to come in Alin’s embrace lifted the shadows of what I needed to do to a tolerable ache.

  My conscience didn’t have to like it—I knew I would carry the guilt with me for as long as I lived. But at least I would live.

  And so would everybody else.

  I squeezed his hand and lifted on my toes to give him a kiss, then strode forward. When I stopped at the first line of tombstones, I looked over my shoulder to find my mate staring at me with love. With pride. With belief. I watched him shift into particle form, then faced the cemetery once more, my necromancy a burning, living mass of energy coiling inside my core.

  With steady breaths and a will that could not be broken, I let it spill out of me in rolling, crashing waves, taking what the soil so gratefully offered.

  Maribor’s center was a ghost town. Not literally, since there weren’t any specters walking the streets; but it was empty. Completely, utterly empty.

  I would be surprised if Alexander hadn’t figured out I was up to something, but getting civilians out was more important than the fear of tipping him off. The strength my sister possessed to be able to construct a ward with enough repelling power to push out such a staggering number of people was almost frightening.

  Then again, I figured the same could be said for me.

  Because as I walked across town towards The Night Hag, I didn’t do so alone. An army of zombies trailed behind me, an ocean of reanimated flesh, moving with effortless grace.

  I’d raised an entire cemetery.

  I called to every grave that didn’t harbor cremated remains—even the ones where the corpses were nothing but a few pieces of age-worn bones. They all gave up their residents. To me.

  In all my life, I’d never animated more than thirty or so zombies at a time, yet this seething mass of flesh behind me didn’t feel anything like those attempts. They were individuals, yes, but even more than that, they were a whole. My necromancy controlled them without any additional effort from me, and in every regard, the zombies were like soldiers, attuned to my commands whether I said them aloud or not.

  We progressed through the town at a steady pace—a death march, lethal and focused, with the pulse of finality rippling off us in waves. It didn’t take us all that long to spill down the street where my bar was located, its dark exterior reminding me of the life I’d left behind.

  But there was no room for regret, not even the tendrils of melancholy for so many things lost.

  Alexander was standing in the middle of the street, a sea of zombies spilling out behind him.

  My own reanimated army stopped when I did, leaving an empty, bleak stretch of concrete between us and the enemy. I inclined my head at Alexander.

  “So this is your answer?” His voice spilled through the dusk.

  We both knew it wasn’t marriage, the joining of two necromancers to take over the world, that the display of my power signified.

  It was war.

  Chapter 23

  I was probably breaking some sort of unwritten battle rule, but I really couldn’t care less. I flung my magic at Alexander before he had a chance to suck in a single breath.

  It was a solitary vine of pure, undiluted energy, the most potent blend of my Kolduny and demonic power I could muster, and it soared through the air like a blade, aiming for the bastard’s neck. Not a killing blow. I wasn’t so delusional as to believe he would go down that easily, but a shot to level the playing field.

  Alexander was still shielded, wrapped in that sturdy ethereal cocoon that annoyed me to no end. But there was a great difference today.

  Without the long cloak concealing his form, I spotted the offending amulet immediately. As well as the vial dangling on the chain next to it.

  A lock of Alin’s hair, ensconced in glass.

  The thread of power I’d let loose was needle thin, shaped to maximize the force of impact. There were no second chances for getting this right, and I was hoping I hadn’t misjudged my own capabilities.

  Or underestimated his.

  But, warlock blood or not, he didn’t see the attack coming. The magic speared his shield, going through it like a bullet, and crashed right into the clear vial. Flames licked at the glass, a combination of demon fire and the element-controlling abilities of the Kolduny. A blend meant to destroy. Alexander jerked as glass melted under the combined strength, his hand instinctively reaching for his neck, but the embers had already leaped onto the lock of hair, undulating around it until nothing remained.

  Even from where I stood, the fury riding Alexander’s thin features was evident. I’d hindered his means of using black magic on Alin. The only downside was that I ha
dn’t mangled his shield nearly enough.

  Just a part of the amulet was scorched. Enough to limit the strength of protection, but not break it completely. Still, it was better than nothing. It at least gave me a chance.

  “You bitch,” Alexander hissed, the zombies behind him shifting like a turbulent sea. Then, without warning, he surged forward.

  His army shot out from behind him. Some were armed—thankfully knives, not guns—but not all of them. However, that didn’t make the seething, muscular mass of reanimated military-grade corpses any less daunting.

  My heart leaped into my throat, but I unsheathed my dagger and gave my zombies the command to charge. They rushed forward, and I balanced myself on the balls of my feet, waiting for Alexander to come.

  Not moving and getting the fuck out of his way was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do in my life. But somehow, I held my ground, my own personal ward of protection shimmering around me in a translucent blaze.

  One moment, the distance between me and him felt almost insurmountable, the next, he was already in front of me. I twisted to the side, evading the mean, slender knife he produced from behind his back, then spun around and slashed at him with my magic-laced dagger. I missed by an inch, and received a vicious, punishing blow to the shoulder for my failure.

  The sound of torn flesh and broken limbs echoed all around me as I scrambled back and sent a pulse of power shooting for Alexander. It bounced off his shield, but provided the brief distraction I’d hoped for. I sprinted to the side, coming up behind him, but the bastard was fast. The slice that should have pushed deep into his spine managed only to damage the shield before he dropped into a roll and out of my reach.

  I swore, and flipped the dagger around to an extended grip. It was the position I was least comfortable with and hadn’t practiced nearly enough, but given Alexander’s swift, nimble movements, I needed the benefit of the additional reach.

  I charged him before he could charge me, ducking beneath one slash and two consecutive blows as I closed in on his body. As the last one swooshed just over my head, I brought my arm up from beneath, guiding the dagger toward his stomach.

  Protective magic parted as the blade swung up like a hook, and a straight, long line appeared on his clothes.

  The promise of my death swirled in his pale eyes as blood began to well from the wound, only he didn’t get the chance to act on his promise. Because as he moved towards me, a bolt of energy rammed into him from behind, making him lose his footing.

  Surrounded by a select group of my zombies was Alin, his face a mask of cold, iron determination that called for Alexander’s death. Twin blades gleamed in his hands, his power shooting down the metal in furious, fiery tongues.

  He circled around the necromancer, and I mirrored his movements, at times lashing out with my magic when he paused, at others simply amplifying his attack. Alexander’s cocoon of protection was thinning under the weight of our energies, but sadly not fast enough.

  Especially when we had another problem on our hands.

  The bastard might have said we were equal in power, but that had been a lie.

  An ugly, ugly lie.

  With horror pooling in the pit of my stomach, I watched as he pieced together one of the fallen zombies fighting for his side. He pieced it together.

  For a second, I forgot to fight. I forgot about everything but the chilling realization that Alexander didn’t need to beat us in hand-to-hand combat. He only needed to keep us occupied for long enough so his zombies would tear mine apart. Because while my necromancy could knit together smaller wounds and move severed limbs, even a single digit if it came to it, I wasn’t nearly strong enough to attach said pieces back to the corpse.

  Fuck.

  Furious and terrified, I flipped the blade again and attacked Alexander from behind. He lashed out with a foot, catching my hip as I moved just a fragment of a second too late, then lunged at Alin. He sidestepped Alexander’s advance, then came at him with his twin blades as I cut in from the side.

  My reality changed into a blur of steel and magic, and still, it wasn’t enough.

  While Alexander’s shield was letting some of our attacks through, those were nothing but minor scrapes and burns. Nothing that could hinder the full extent of his necromancy. Shit.

  I looked at Alin and saw the answer in his eyes.

  He knew as well as I did that if I didn’t push my zombies harder, we would end up on the losing side.

  Reluctantly, I took a metaphysical step inside my body, dividing my attention between my necromancy and the fight I was still involved with physically. I shuffled the zombies around, transforming into a general that sectioned her men and moved them around like figures on a board.

  Alin picked up on my intentions, and wherever I left a gap around one of Alexander’s zombies in our vicinity, we fried him with demon fire until the flesh was nothing but ash and cinder.

  Not even the strongest necromancer could rectify destruction like that.

  But our going was slow, and my army was still losing its numbers. The street was sleek with heaps of flesh, the limbs scattered across the sidewalk making the reanimated ones from both sides stagger and stumble. Sadly, mine more often than Alexander’s.

  Through my zombies’ eyes, I saw Alin’s men press in from the outskirts. The majority of them were locked in hand-to-hand combat, while a few—Ilya the most forceful, yet almost clinically cold of them all—mowed down the corpses with rapid-firing weapons. But from where I stood, trapped in the very heart of it all, they seemed to be miles away, with the ocean of zombies between us creating an insurmountable distance.

  Bad. It was bad.

  I called some of the zombies from the fight to take my position as I slithered closer to Alin. Maybe together, we could send a wall of needle-sharp energy to pierce the shield.

  Maybe.

  If not, we just might find ourselves out of luck. Not that we exactly had it in abundance now…

  Alexander looked at us with venom dripping from the blue of his eyes, his gaze shifting from me to Alin, then back again. A faint tingle of magic disrupted the field of my energy, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Only that it was coming from the murderous bastard.

  Just as I pushed harder, a smile touched Alexander’s lips, and the next thing I knew, I was ducking behind the dagger aimed straight at my chest.

  It was then that I heard it. A click.

  Time seemed to move in slow motion as I watched Alexander aim a small handgun at Alin—as I realized it wasn’t an ordinary weapon, but one of the rare ones able of carrying magic-plated ammo.

  The kind that sliced through protection wards like a knife through butter.

  My breath caught in my throat, and I could have sworn I saw the bullet explode from the barrel, its presence filling the air like the growing weight of a storm.

  I sprang from my position on the ground, throwing myself in the midst of an impossible race.

  But it was one I won.

  Because the bullet didn’t slam into Alin’s heart.

  It slammed into mine.

  Chapter 24

  The world was a haze. A dance of light and shadows, pooling around the edges of a bloody stage on which two figures fought. One was lean as a whip, a sliver of darkness that ebbed and flowed behind a translucent sheen; the other a whirlwind of fire. Pure. Undiluted fire.

  But not like the one that burned in my chest.

  Ethereal, pale wisps of skeletal hands cocooned me, a voice whispering that I should close my eyes, let it protect me from the pain. But my gaze refused to leave the battling figures.

  Important. It was important that I saw who would prevail.

  Only I couldn’t remember why.

  All I knew was that my very soul seemed to ache each time the whip of darkness coiled around the fire, hoping to snuff it out. My eyelids fluttered. I wanted to swat away the skeletal hands, to scream until the voice would leave me alone.

  But there was no fight
in me left.

  A roar shattered the cooing lullaby.

  “NO!”

  I forced my eyelids open. Forced myself to look.

  I must have failed and fallen into a dream instead, because the fire wasn’t a fire any longer. It was a blue blaze that irradiated the misty reality, that drowned out the screams of fury, of pain—even the soft rustling of skeletal hands.

  The entire world was an endless blue, capped with breathtaking white like snow-touched mountains. Serene. Beautiful.

  I hoped this was my eternity. Hoped I was lucky enough to find my rest in the embrace of such divinity, where darkness could reach me no more.

  It was then that a man emerged from the blaze, his hair a fiery wave on the backdrop of slowly subsiding power. I smiled.

  My fire.

  My soulmate.

  My love.

  The skeletal hands scattered where Alin’s fingers touched my skin, but the warmth of his body seemed distant. As if I were falling through realms, while he remained the center of all existence. An unmovable point that was my compass. My anchor.

  But one I was losing.

  I wanted to tell him that it was all right. Wanted him to know that my fate was one I accepted, even if I wished we had had more time. For us. For our children. For spending the ages side by side, whole. Happy.

  But simply knowing I had found him—it was enough. More than I had ever hoped to experience in my life.

  Alin’s voice bathed my skin, the words urgent, yet unrecognizable. Even the presence of his power as it tried to entwine with mine seemed as if it were hidden behind a curtain of rain, drowned in its merciless but beautiful rapping.

  I could sense his despair. His fury. The very fiber of my existence wanted to reach out and comfort him, but I was slipping away.

  And this time, the skeletal hands wouldn’t let me go.

  Light.

  Light and warmth and a sense of love so fierce I would have cried if I could engulf every atom of my being.