Bloodlust (9 page)

The goliath beside her stepped forward. "Are we not going now?"

Ivy nodded. "We are."

He held out his hand toward her, his meaty palm up. "We must not lose track of each other once inside."

Surely the rope from her belt could do the same. Nevertheless, she tried to smile easily as she touched his hand. Firm. Warm. Not altogether unpleasant. She'd read stories of holding hands and kissing and more. Never understood the appeal. Still did not, for that matter, but perhaps she did not disdain it quite as much as she had previously.

His eyes were upon her, so she nodded again, but before the fog could descend and veil them, she pulled back on his hand. "Is there anyone inside who will wish ill of you?"

"Can anyone living answer that in the negative?"

He had a point. She persisted, "Who has gone before you?"

"Shall we waste time discussing or shall I guide us through?"

Only her self control allowed her to not yank her hand free, loathing their connection, and tried to remember that she would not answer those same questions had he posed them to her. "Lead on, oh guide. That we shall see the sun again soon is my great hope."

Only one of us.

Lukor squeezed her hand, and a sudden tightness in her chest grew. This farce between them surely would result in one of their deaths.

The warmth of the fading sun's rays did not reach them once the mist surrounded them. A bitter coldness far greater than that during the winter months descended upon them. To have gathered more clothes beforehand would have done nothing to increase their warmth, or so Ivy had been told from other barbarians who had made the venture previously. The Spirit Realm did not long suffer the presence of the living.

'Twas impossible to see anything but the solid fog before them. Ivy could not even see the hemline of her skirt. She stumbled along beside Lukor, the goliath's movements smooth and un-jerky, the antithesis of hers.

"How can you see anything?" she mumbled, infuriated with herself for her lack of grace and being forced to rely on another for aid.

"I'm part-eagle."

His chuckling enraged her further. "You plan to lead me to the worst spirit within this entire place, don't you?"

He paused for a second, and she plowed into his backside. She felt as if a veil barred her vision. Although she could feel his body, she could not see him.

"You cannot see at all?"

At least his condescending tone had disappeared. "All I see is gray."

"Interesting."

She hated her ignorance even more than her lack of sight. "Tell me." Belatedly, she added, "If you so wish."

Again he laughed. Most times, as now, she could not tell if he was laughing at her, but she suspected that to be the case. "None of the souls have want to see you, so you cannot see them."

Rotating her neck, Ivy glanced around and saw nothing. "You see souls?"

"Yes."

He answered without hesitation but not too quickly, so she supposed he spoke the truth.

"What do they look like?" Her curiosity forbade her stilling her tongue.

"Like souls."

This time, she recognized his teasing tone and playfully suggested, "So they look like you did when I attacked you."

"Brave and valiant? Prepared to strike a killing blow?"

"You never came close."

"I drew blood, not you."

"Come closer," she murmured. "I'll draw blood. With my teeth."

With a swift tug, he pulled her to him. "Do not threaten me."

The lengths of their bodies touched, but his body heat warmed her precious little. The Realm was far too cold for her to feel anything less than cool.

"What if I like it when you're angry?" Ivy whispered.

In the mass of gray, all she could see was his green eyes, the copper specks sparkling in the dimness surrounding them. She did like him best when he displayed his temper. He reminded her of a barbarian then. Perhaps she missed her people more than she suspected. Or, mayhap, she did not disdain her companion quite as much as before. Thus far, he had not led her astray.

However, his best chance to do just that lay here, within the Realm, where she was blind and helpless.

The hand not holding his pressed against his firm chest, but she did not force him away. Instead she reached up to touch the skin of his neck. Warmer than she expected. Softer too. She had thought his skin might feel different than hers since she was a barbarian and he a goliath, but it felt no different. Other than their skin tones, the differences between them were becoming harder to distinguish. Especially since the goliaths seemed to be as emotionally led as barbarians were cursed to be.

Ivy returned her hand to his chest. His heart pounded, swift and strong, almost arrogant.

"Are you going to bite me?" His chest rumbled beneath her hand.

"Only if you ask me to."

A faint noise sounded, too soft for Ivy to detect the source, and the spell over them dissolved as Lukor stepped back and glanced over his shoulder.

Some of the fog cleared, and Ivy glanced around to see partially formed shapes nearby. When she turned back to Lukor, she realized she touched his hand no longer.

He was gone.

A moment of panic threatened to overwhelm Ivy. Panic was one emotion she had only felt once before — after receiving word of her mother's death. Closing her eyes, she forced the emotion down, beating it into submission, converting and subverting it into energy. Upon opening her eyes, she could see the forms as people. Barbarians, goliaths, human, elves, dwarves, even a few trolls. Why they chose now to reveal themselves to her, Ivy didn't know, but all thought fled when one barbarian stepped forward.

Her mother.

Ivy swallowed several times, although it did nothing to alleviate her dry mouth. The ghostly apparition of her mother stole her breath away, and pressure mounted within her chest.

"My daughter. You have finally come to visit me." The white form of her mother through the gray mist tilted her head to the side. "Although that is not the purpose of your trek through the Realm, is it?"

Unable to respond vocally, Ivy shook her head.

"Still unclaimed, I see." Her mother lifted a transparent arm to point at Ivy's barren wrist.

Unlike humans, barbarians did not exchange rings on their wedding day. Barbarians, instead, bequeathed each other metal bracelets they entwined by sheer force. The more elaborate the design, the greater the layers, the stronger the love was said to be. Most bracelets were rather simple and plain. Ivy was not the sole barbarian to ignore the softer emotions, like love and devotion.

"I did not come here to be lectured." Ivy stared at the swirling skirt of her armored dress. A wind descended throughout the mist, increasing the chill in the air.

Her mother's form wavered, perhaps in response to the gust. "Have you even thought of your future at all, child?"

Ivy bristled at her mother's sharp, condescending tone. Even though her body was in spirit form, her voice was every bit as stern and harsh as when she had still breathed. "Of course I have."

"Your future. Who shall rule after you? Do you want the barbarians to resort to civil war like those useless humans?"

The barbarian-princess marched around her mother, but seemingly without moving, the former barbaroness blocked her path.

"What of Pierce? Vane? Or even Lance?"

Ivy grinned savagely. "All dead."

Her mother was not deterred. "Katar? Helm? Glaive? Steel would make a strong barbaron. Too strong. A poor choice."

The barbarian-princess glanced over her shoulder.

"Looking for someone?"

Yes, actually, but Ivy would die and join her mother here in this place of eternal unrest before revealing who she could not find. Had this been Lukor's plan all along?

No matter. It would be a difficult task to venture forth from the Spirit Realm without her guide, but perhaps her mother could lend her aid.

"Or mayhap any of the guards," her mother continued. "All loyal barbarians. Anyone would make a fine replacement for your father once the time comes."

"Do you so wish for me to be barbaroness? Father would have to die first."

"I do know that. Of course I do." Her mother averted her cold red eyes.

The notion that her mother wished for her husband to join her in this awful place crossed Ivy's mind, but she dismissed it. Her mother had showed no signs of love to her father, or her daughter. None, that is, under she found a troll spy lingering near their grounds. She had followed the troll to a trap. Killed every last troll but paid the ultimate price in the battle that had been her last.

To die in battle was every barbarian's dream.

Which made Ivy question for a moment why her mother had not passed on. Perhaps this truly was all there was after life.

"None of the guards have captured your heart?"

The teasing tone in her mother's voice startled Ivy. "None."

Perhaps no one ever would. But she did have to marry and produce an heir, and soon. With war coming, who knew how much longer her father would still breathe?

As soon as the coldness of the mist surrounded him, Lukor drank in every inch of the Spirit Realm. One soul he longed to see, but although he saw souls of every race, age, and creed, he saw not the one he sought.

In fact, 'twas she who found him first.

Her soft voice teased him. Lukor took a step forward, into the Realm. Belatedly, he realized he had dropped the barbarian's hand. He did not care. Nothing else mattered.

"Lucia," he called out, still not able to locate her.

"Lukor," she repeated, her voice stronger this time, louder. Before she had merely whispered his name, so faintly he feared he'd imagined it.

The goliath whipped around to see his sister standing before him. To see her like this was not much better than the last time he saw her: bloodied, face down, hacked nearly into pieces. Such savagery could only have been accomplished by a barbarian. Indeed, a scrap of their clothing with that blasted silvery purple hilt upon it had been clenched in her hand.

Her light green even lighter than Lukor’s but her dark green far darker, only two inches shorter than he was, Lucia held out her hand to him, her eyes bright and her smile wide. "How I have missed you."

He tried to touch her hand but felt only ice where her hand should be. "I have... missed you as well."

Her smile lessened. "What is it, my brother?"

His tongue felt awkward within his mouth and refused to cooperate. Words failed him. He had so much to tell her, but where to start?

"Do not frown. It makes you look so much older."

Lukor's laugh died swiftly. Lucia would never age another day. At eighteen, she'd been murdered long before her timeline should've expired.

"Twenty-two now," she continued. "I'm so proud of you."

Proud? What had he done to make her proud?

"You always looked out for me." She reached out as if to hug him.

He stepped back even though she couldn't touch him. "If I had, you would not be in here."

"Oh, is that why you're so grumpy? Come now, it isn't your fault I ran off."

"I should have gone with you."