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Authors: Kate Douglas

BOOK: Crystalfire
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He and Ginny led Dax, Eddy, Daws, and Selyn through the door into the chancellor’s office. Dawson paused by the portal—the one that led directly to the small vortex at Red Rock Crossing.
“Let’s go to my place first,” he said. His home was close to the portal. “We can charge our cell phones while you use the landline to try and reach Markus. I’ll get in touch with my clinic, see if they’ve heard anything, but we might want to fan out, cover as much area as we can.”
Ginny nodded. “Works for me. Let’s go.”
They slipped through the portal and entered the vortex at Red Rock Crossing. The entire chamber reeked of sulfur, and Dax stopped everyone with a wave of his hand. “Look. The portal to Abyss. It’s open again.”
Ginny drew DarkFire. “I’ve got it.” Anxiety rippled across her shoulders as she pointed her sword at the pulsing gateway to hell. A beam of dark light shot from the end of her amethyst blade. Silently she willed DarkFire to hurry. In less than a minute, the small portal was once again sealed. Ginny slipped her sword into the scabbard and set a glamour over the blade.
The brilliant amethyst sword faded from sight.
Dawson was the first to step through the portal out of the vortex and into the waning light of a late October afternoon. The area was empty, the blue sky a welcome change after the caverns of Lemuria.
Ginny took a deep breath of the clean, desert air. No sulfuric stench of demon here, no sense of danger, but Markus had sounded absolutely terrified.
Alert and moving quickly, she followed the others—this amazing band of demonslayers—along the well-marked trail. It led to a shortcut that ran cross-country for a small distance before eventually dropping them into the back side of Dawson’s property.
It would be night soon. The perfect time to hunt demons.
 
 
Visibly trembling, Isra clutched the hilt of her crystal sword and stared at the shimmering blade. “Why, Taron? I heard her voice, but ...” Slowly raising her head, Isra stared at him. “I’ve done nothing to deserve her praise. How can this be?”
The other women in the training room gathered close as Isra’s sword shimmered, diamond bright, and pulsing with life.
Once again the blade flashed and the sentience within spoke. The voice was soft and melodic, definitely female. “You will call me FrostFire, Isra. My name will forever be a reminder of the cold that once encased your heart. I speak because I wish to, because it is time. You’ve had more personal demons to overcome than most, Isra, once a Forgotten One. You turned away from evil. You saved Nica’s life. You have fought your own demons to become a stronger, better woman. You’ve done this, not for personal glory but for Lemuria. We will make a formidable team, you and I.”
The glow faded, the blade was once again merely faceted crystal. Isra raised her head and stared at Taron, not as a man she wanted to bed, but as a friend, one who might understand what had just happened. All sense of her earlier flirtation was gone. Tears coursed down her cheeks, but she didn’t say a word. Her rapt expression spoke volumes.
Isra’s silence was not unexpected. Taron figured if his gods-be-damned sword ever condescended to speak to him, he’d not know what to say, either.
He bowed low to Isra, a heartfelt show of respect.
Respect tainted by his own unfathomable jealousy—a foolish and unwelcome response he quickly buried. “Your sword is correct, Isra. You will make a formidable team. Congratulations to you, and to FrostFire. May your partnership be long and successful.”
She nodded, but her attention shifted quickly from Taron to the crystal sword clutched in her hand. Taron turned and walked away as Isra’s sisters gathered around her ... walked away, clasping his own mute weapon in his right hand.
The proof of a warrior’s value was in the sentience of his blade. Isra, who’d partnered with a crystal sword for mere days, had already been validated as a warrior, while he, a Lemurian aristocrat who’d carried crystal for millennia, who’d wielded his blade in battle, had not heard a word from his weapon.
If he’d proven himself, his sword would have spoken by now. Would have at least acknowledged him as a demon fighter. What did he lack? What did he need to do? He’d fought demonkind, and fought them bravely, yet obviously it wasn’t enough.
Even if he had wanted to romance a woman—and he knew he could choose any of the Forgotten Ones with the odds of a successful outcome—he didn’t feel worthy.
His sword had been the one chosen to replicate the crystal blades which now armed those same women, he’d killed demons in battle, had stood bravely against powerful odds.
Still, it had not been enough.
No matter what he did, it was never enough.
He knew he should not be so beholden to anyone or anything for affirmation of his own value, but the truth hurt. He needed to know his blade found him worthy, that he’d earned the respect of the sentience within his crystal sword.
There was no one else. He was a man without a family. His parents were long gone. Alton had been the closest thing to a brother he’d ever known.
Now, Alton had Ginny and a sword that spoke to him. Taron was truly alone for the first time in his life.
Head down, heart heavy, he walked slowly back to his quarters, much too aware of the disconsolate sound of his footsteps as he headed down the long tunnel. His shadow, the dark shape of a powerful warrior bearing a sword, mocked him.
The melodramatic thoughts in his head mocked him even more. Why did this bother him so? Why couldn’t he just let it go and get on with his life?
Fool,
he thought.
You act the fool.
Yet once inside his apartment, he set the sword down on the low table in front of his couch, sat back in the comfortable chair, and stared with unabashed bitterness at the blade.
So much had occurred over the past month, and through it all, he’d expected the sentience in his crystal sword finally to make itself known. He’d felt as if he was paused on the precipice of history when he and Alton made the decision to free the demonslayers from their cell. He’d risked death, and yet he still believed the choice they’d made that night to defy the Council of Nine’s edict would bring about change.
Change for the better of his world and his people. And, in many ways, it had, even though the demon king still lived.
Artigos the Just, a leader they’d long thought dead, had been freed from captivity and now governed Lemuria with his son beside him. The new Council of Nine—one untainted by demonic possession—would be seated in a couple of days. This would be the first council including both women and common folk since the great move to this dimension in the depths of Mount Shasta. The women, those brave Forgotten Ones, were no longer slaves. Now Paladins, they had become honored guardians of Lemuria, ready to usher in a renewed age of strong women warriors.
So many amazing changes in such a short time—unheard of in a world that was slow to embrace change of any kind. But where was Taron of Libernus’s place in the new order? What role would he be called upon to play?
If he were called to play any future role at all.
He stared at the sword, running through all that had occurred since that moment just four weeks ago when he and Alton had first spied what they thought were normal humans sitting forlornly in their Lemurian prison cell. Dax and Eddy had looked absolutely pathetic, and the silly dog hadn’t been much better.
And Willow. Dear, beautiful little Willow. Unexpected tears stung his eyes when he thought of her. He’d been fascinated with the sprite from the very first moment he saw her. Not even as tall as his smallest finger, she’d stood there in the palm of his hand and actually flirted with him.
The others hadn’t noticed, thank the gods, or he’d still be getting teased, but the little flirt had spoken mind to mind with him and every word had been loaded with teasing innuendo. It should have sounded ridiculous, coming from such a tiny creature, but there’d been something special about the sprite. Something that tugged at his soul and made him smile even now, though inexplicably, his heart was breaking.
How could he grieve so for a creature he hardly knew, one that could never be more to him than a friend? Still, the thought of that perfect little body being eaten by the demon king as the tiny sprite bravely battled evil made Taron’s failings even more painfully obvious.
Ginny said Willow was handling it well. Just one more change among many—new life for Willow, new leader for Lemuria, new way of life for a people who preferred to debate a subject to death rather than deal with it.
Taron wished he was as good at dealing with change as Willow appeared to be, but there were just so many changes, so much to do ... it made his head spin.
He closed his eyes and leaned back against the sofa. Consciously, he slowed his breathing, eased the taut muscles in his shoulders, and hoped the knot in his gut would finally settle.
Nine hells, but what a long month this had been ... and yet, it felt as if all that was familiar had been upended in the blink of an eye ... which was quite close to reality for a man with a near-immortal span of years. What was one month in thousands of months? One year in millennia? He drifted, falling deeper and deeper into a sea of calm, relishing the sense of utter relaxation, if only for a moment.
A thought flittered through his mind, that it was probably not the smartest thing, to steal this time for himself ... sort of like inviting chaos or tempting the gods.
As if merely giving freedom to that thought had opened a door, a brilliant blast of light flashed brightly across his closed lids.
Nine hells ...
Blinking, Taron opened his eyes. Shut them tightly, opened them again and stared.
The entire room glowed. His crystal sword flashed again—blue fire almost blinded him. He blinked and jerked away from the shimmering light, then slowly leaned forward. Heart racing, he gazed, transfixed by the glowing blade. There was a sense of portent about the moment, a feeling that power gathered.
Tempting the gods, indeed!
Chills ran along his arms. He rubbed them, barely aware of the act, at least until a voice filled the room. A man’s voice, speaking with strength and conviction.
His gods-be-damned crystal blade was actually speaking.
“Nine hells and then some ...” Taron swallowed back another curse as the voice rang out.
“Taron of Libernus? Prepare. The final battle draws nigh. It is time.”
Holy shit, as Ginny would say ... time for what?
He took a deep breath. “I’m listening. What should I do?”
“Go now to Evergreen. Post haste. Time is short.”
The glow faded. The blade went silent.
Evergreen? It wants me to go to Earth’s dimension?
He thought of Alton’s brief message, received a short time ago. His friend was probably there now, slipping into Earth’s dimension as if it was no big deal. He’d done it often enough over the past few weeks as one of the soldiers on the front lines of the battle against demonkind.
But not Taron. His work had all been here, in Lemuria.
Until now.
Time is short.
How short? And why?
Still in shock, Taron ran his fingers over the faceted surface. The crystal felt cool to his touch, though it pulsed with a new sense of life.
His fingers trembled as he stroked the blade. His throat felt tight. He gazed at the crystal he’d carried for thousands of years, lost in wonder.
He couldn’t wait to tell Alton, but his friend was already out of reach, already in Earth’s dimension. Well, if Taron followed his blade’s orders, he’d be seeing Alton soon. He couldn’t wait to tell him his sword had ... “Nine hells and then some.”
Taron burst into laughter. Shoulders shaking, he laughed like a veritable madman, until the tears ran down his cheeks and he knew he looked and sounded like an idiot.
Finally he got himself under control. Wiping his eyes, he stared ruefully at the silent sword. “The least you could have done after all these years,” he said, “was tell me your name.”
Chapter 2
The demon stood alone in the foul miasma of Abyss, horned head tilted to one side, all four arms cocked, taloned hands planted firmly against his scaled body. Howls and shrieks and the cries of the damned filled the air.
Music,
he thought.
Just think of it as music.
But he remembered the glorious sound of harps, of voices rising in perfect harmony, a celestial choir filling air sweet with the scent of ...
no, damn it
. That was another life, another man, another world. This was his world and the cacophony that rattled his brain was merely background noise, much like the stench that permeated every nook and cranny of Abyss.
A stench he’d learned to appreciate. And he’d appreciate it a lot more once he got out of here, except someone had closed the blasted portal again. Cursing under his breath, he stared at the freshly melted rock in front of him. This portal had been open mere moments ago. Somehow the bastards had sealed it. Did they know he’d planned to use this one? Impossible, but it would have given him access directly from Abyss to the small portal leading to the Lemurian council chambers.
Growling, he slammed two of his fists against the melted rock. Shards of stone scattered, but the portal remained closed.
No matter.
He curled his fists and stared dispassionately at the dark green blood seeping from his knuckles.
Fascinating color, green. He wondered if he’d ever get used to bleeding such an obnoxious color. He glared at the melted stone as more dark blood dripped over darker scales and pooled at his clawed feet.
The portal can be reopened. All that matters now is that they die.
Kneel, fool.
He was on his knees before he’d fully registered the command. Like he had a choice?
The powerful voice in his head felt like splinters of glass driving into his brain.
All that matters, fool, is that you succeed. You have failed me three times. Do not fail me again.
Shit.
The last thing he wanted to do was draw the Dark Lord’s attention. He turned his head, swinging his horned skull slowly to gaze at the black tower of rock almost hidden in the foul vapors behind him. It rose, dark and forbidding over an even more forbidding landscape—the castle where the Lord of the Dark, the one who ruled Abyss, was said to reside.
He couldn’t know for certain. No one did. The ruler of this land was an enigma—secretive, entirely unknown to most who dwelled here—and yet there was no doubt in his mind that the creature—whomever and whatever he was—was powerful beyond belief.
More powerful even than the one who ruled over Eden, which was part of the reason he’d chosen this world. Or he would have, maybe ... if he’d had a choice.
Bowing his head, fighting the urge to curse the bastard even as he knelt before him, the demon acknowledged the other’s greater power.
I will not fail, my lord. Failure is not an option.
That’s a human saying, fool.
The link snapped closed.
My name is not Fool.
But he said that to himself, quietly, though he had no alternative to offer. At one time he’d had a name. He’d even had a family, long, long ago. Still, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember what his name had been, or who the people were who once had loved him.
He barely remembered his original home, his life in Eden, but that was by choice. When one lived in Abyss, it could be painful recalling life in Paradise. To remember was to wonder if he’d chosen the right course.
Wondering—
doubting
—had no place in his life. Not anymore.
Of course, he really hadn’t had much choice—not after the Edenites kicked him out. His own father had ... no. He would not go there again. He would not remember.
There was no room for second-guessing decisions already made, already acted upon. Slowly he rose, though he couldn’t stop himself from glancing over his shoulder once again. He had to be careful, but he could not give in to fear. Fear showed weakness, and weakness of any kind was fatal.
Besides, what was the point of remembering failure? He had a name, though it wasn’t one he was quite ready to share with the Dark Lord. It was a name his enemies had given him, the ones who fought his kind with sentient crystal—they had crowned him the demon king. He liked the sound of that. He would soon wear the title openly, as ruler over all of them—over Earth and Lemuria, Atlantis and Eden.
He turned away from the black tower. He would rule over Abyss as well. Let the bastard in that pile of rocks deal with him once he had the power. Once he had the life force of the one who had first owned this body, nothing could stop him.
Nothing.
He took a deep breath and filled his lungs with the sulfuric stench of Abyss, inhaling the heavy air with the appreciation of a connoisseur testing the bouquet of a fine wine. His eyes watered and his lungs burned.
He reveled in the pain.
This is your world, now. So get over it.
He focused on the dark stone that covered the portal, flexed the thick, ropey muscles of all his arms and held one huge fist in front of his face. Razor-sharp claws extended from the end of each finger, the tips every bit as lethal as the curved horns atop his head.
Damn but he loved this body, the pure functionality of demonform. He loved the powerful muscles and sharp claws, the scaled hide that was impervious to almost anything ... almost.
If only he could maintain it when he left this dimension, but that wasn’t going to happen—not as long as this body’s original inhabitant survived.
Dax, the one who called himself
demonslayer
, an ordinary looking man who had once been a demon—
this demon
—clung to enough of his original soul that he still had a link to this body. He, and he alone was the only one standing in the way of complete and utter power—of all glory—to the demon king.
Until he could fully absorb Dax’s life force and gather the final remnants of that which connected Dax to this body, he could only maintain a wraith’s form in other dimensions without an avatar. Oh, he could pull it off for a short while—given enough demon souls, it was amazing what a guy could do—but that was only temporary.
He wanted this body, all the power, permanently.
And he couldn’t have it until he had all of Dax ...
Growling softly, he focused once again on the sealed portal, but he couldn’t keep his mind from going back to the same damned thoughts. After a moment’s contemplation, he snarled, curling his lip over curved fangs. Damn those demonslayers and their crystal swords! If not for them, he’d be ruling Earth right now, but they’d been lucky. Too damned lucky.
How in hell’s name did they keep managing to save the one among them that he needed?
This time, he’d damned well better succeed. If he failed, he’d lose not only the battle for all worlds in all dimensions, he’d lose everything.
His life would be forfeit. Taken by the Dark Lord as payment for failure. This perfect demonic body and any hope of owning the role he’d already been assigned by those worthless humans and Lemurians, would end.
Demon king.
Damn. He really liked the sound of that. How could it be that only his enemies recognized the threat he posed to them and their worlds? Somehow, they knew he was the only one capable of ruling over Earth and Lemuria, maybe even Atlantis. And Eden. How he wanted to rule Eden.
His family had thrown him out. Discarded him like so much trash merely because he was smarter than the rest of them. Stronger. More powerful, more cunning—the perfect one to rule.
They would all be his, once this battle was won.
He glanced over his shoulder, gazing between the second set of thickly muscled arms that erupted from his powerful back in exactly the place where his wings would have grown—if things had been different. If he’d stayed in Eden.
If he’d been as disgustingly pure as the rest of those sniveling souls. The thought sickened him—or was that an unwelcome coil of fear in his belly? Fear that refused to leave when he glanced through the sulfuric mist that was the only atmosphere the creatures of Abyss would ever know, and stared toward the tower where the Lord of the Dark supposedly lived.
After a long moment’s contemplation, he turned his attention once again to the sealed portal. There were other gateways. Other doors that would take him out of Abyss.
This time, he needed a plan. He must focus.
Who among the demon hunters was the weakest? Which one could least withstand his power?
There was an older man, father to the woman, but again, it was more difficult to possess a sentient human form. He’d tried on more than one occasion, but the humans had fought him. The effort to overcome a human mind could be exhausting, should he run out of demonic souls to feed his powerful need.
But what about ... ?
An image of that foolish, curly-haired beast they all seemed to love so much popped into his mind. It made no sense—an animal had no value—but for whatever reason, each of the demonslayers deferred to the stupid creature. Taking on a brainless animal’s form was simple.
Once the demon hunters knew their beast was threatened, he would have them.
Most importantly, he would have the one he needed most of all. That fool Dax wouldn’t be able to ignore the cries of their stupid animal. The demon rubbed all four of his hands together. This was absolutely perfect.
He knew exactly how to make it cry.
With another quick glance at the dark tower, he moved swiftly toward a different section of the stone cliff. The Dark Lord could open these portals at any time, without any effort, but he seemed to enjoy throwing roadblocks before his minions.
Well, this
minion
was tired of such a subservient role. Almost tasting the power of the vortex, he gazed at the swirling mass of energy. This wasn’t the portal he’d planned to use, but it would suffice.
With nary a glance toward the one who still ruled Abyss, he slipped through the swirling gateway and entered the vortex. Here he was nothing more than mist, a black, sulfuric cloud, but it appeared that, unlike some of his previous excursions, this time, his mind remained clear, his ability to think and reason and plan was still sound.
He drifted toward the portal that led to Sedona. There were demons aplenty in that small town. Most of the ones he’d sent through the doorway to Mount Shasta had been destroyed, but he’d sensed no endings in Sedona. He should go there first, absorb more souls to power his own. Stir up a bit more death and destruction.
Open a few more portals.
The thought was no more considered than accomplished. He drifted a moment within the Bell Rock vortex. The smell of demonslayer was strong here. He followed the scent to a smaller portal, and, though he had no idea where this one went, he slipped through without hesitation.
There! He’d indirectly reached the small gateway that led straight into the Lemurian council. Interesting. When he’d first thought that was where he wanted to go, the portal had been closed. Now his plans had changed and the damned thing was open.
Fate? He had to wonder. Things happened for a reason, and already his mind was spinning—he smelled demonslayers here, as if they regularly used this gateway between Sedona and Lemuria.
He hadn’t realized it had become one of their regular escape routes.
And what would happen should that escape no longer exist? If he could laugh in this form, he would, though he didn’t need laughter to seal the portal. One less escape for the fools.
His mist form flashed in a burst of pure energy, all of it directed at the portal. Rock sizzled and melted and the gateway disappeared entirely. Feeling unaccountably pleased with himself, the demon returned to the main portal at Bell Rock. He was definitely on a roll. The sense of personal power pulsed within his mist form. Spreading across the chamber, he searched the energy vortex, found the main portal to Lemuria and blasted it shut.
The rock glowed and melted into a satisfying smooth, dark wall of stone. See them try and escape now! Reveling in the visceral thrill of omnipotence, he slipped through the portal that had first brought him here, and found himself back in the vortex that led to Mount Shasta.
The one closest to that stupid animal his enemies so loved.
Closing portals was infinitely easier than opening the damned things, but if everything worked out the way he intended, soon nothing would be beyond him. The Dark Lord could open portals with ease—so would he when he was demon king.
He drifted toward the gateway that would take him out of the vortex to the rocky flank of Mount Shasta. Before he could slip through, he paused with all his senses on alert. What caused that strange disturbance in the air? Curious, he slowly drifted toward the dark ceiling, scattered his mist to reduce the sense of demon, and hid himself among the stalactites.
A tall male armed with a crystal blade burst out of the main portal from Lemuria. Long arms, long legs, long, blood-red hair tied back in multiple braids hanging down his back. These damned Lemurians were all tall and beautifully built, though disgustingly interchangeable as far as he could tell.

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