Dark Desire (2 page)

His dark eyes were watchful. “You don’t have to apologize. I get it.”

She wondered whether he did get it. Eir guessed Bryn hadn’t told him that Odin had personally ordered them to kill all Mares on sight while they were still in his service. The Valkyries had even gone on killing missions to known dark elf settlements to slaughter them all.

Bryn had been the most voracious in her drive to kill every single Mare in the Nine Worlds, all in her desire to please the All-Father.

How things had changed.

Eir lifted her eyes to his face once more. “Did you need me for something?”

Korvain reached up to scrub the back of his skull, and his bicep flexed and relaxed, reminding Eir that he was still dangerous. He was a tamed tiger right now, but he could unsheathe his claws at any time to protect what was his.

“Yeah. I was kind of hoping you’d speak to Taer about … about how she’s feeling. She won’t speak to me, and I know she’s bottling things up.” Eir nodded sympathetically. “She hasn’t even cried about Adrian’s death yet. Has she said anything to you about losing her brother?”

“No.” Eir paused, wondering whether she should tell him what had happened that morning, and every morning since the death of Taer’s brother.

“Do you know something, Eir?” Korvain pressed, reclaiming the small steps he’d taken away from her.

She blew out a breath, meeting his dark, intense gaze. “I had to wake her up this morning. She’s been having nightmares, but today’s one was unusually violent. She was in a cold sweat. Her vitals were all over the place, and I had to slow her heart rate down.”

“Gods,” Korvain muttered, his hand raking through his hair again. “I had a hunch about the dreams, and she didn’t correct me earlier.”

“After I stabilized her, I asked whether she wanted to talk about what she’d dreamed of. Her response was emphatic, and I didn’t want to push her.”

Korvain’s concern for the young Mare radiated from his body, his harsh face etched with lines from the corners of his eyes and mouth. “Fuck, what am I supposed to do?”

Eir placed a tentative hand on his forearm, letting her natural healing ability take over, taking away some of his pain. “If you want my opinion, I’d leave her be for a little longer. Adrian’s death is still a bleeding wound for her … she didn’t have the opportunity to see his body and say goodbye.” Eir paused to swallow past the sudden lump in her throat. “Give her a while longer to grieve.”

Her voice cracked over the last word. Korvain moved towards her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling Eir against his chest. She stiffened in his embrace for just a moment—both terrified and unwilling to fall apart in front of him—but as soon as he uttered, “I’m so sorry, Eir. I didn’t think,” the tears began to roll unashamedly down her cheeks.

She wasn’t sure how long he held her like that, but eventually he gently pushed her from his body, thumbing away a stray tear from her cheek. Eir took a moment to realize what a contradiction Korvain truly was. He was a Shadow Walker—one of the most feared assassins in all the Nine Worlds. He was death, yet, here he was, holding her, cradling her and supporting her while she fell apart. Bryn was incredibly lucky to have him in her life.

The apartment door opened and closed at that moment, making Eir take another step back and hastily swipe at the tears still clinging to her cheeks. She looked at Bryn as she stepped into the kitchen. “I should get ready,” she said. “I have to go to work soon.”

Taer had made sure to keep the smile plastered on her face as Korvain told her to get some sleep. Restful sleep just wasn’t on the cards for her. Not anymore. She’d come to that realization and accepted it. Besides, she had work to do, and all this waiting around was making her skin itch.

She watched Korvain disappear into the master bedroom he shared with Bryn, waiting until she heard the door click closed before she slipped inside the room she shared with Eir.

Moving quietly, Taer retrieved the Beretta 92 Steel she’d ‘acquired’ to replace the one she’d lost in the fire, checking it over. Pulling on the leather holster, she slid the weapon into place and threw a jacket over her sweats and tee, making sure the collar would cover up her scar.

The quiet determination she had been sitting on for the past few weeks was finally paying off. Her injuries had prevented her from going out and tracking down the Mare who had murdered her brother, but now she was healed. Now she would be able to follow the leads she’d come up with while she rebuilt her strength.

She could hear the shower running from behind the door to the master bedroom. Soundlessly, she slipped from the apartment and made her way down to the lower levels of the club, stepping out of the rear door and walking into a wall of icy air and the bitter perfume of car fumes and rotting garbage.

She walked towards the end of the alleyway that ran along the side of the club, emerging on the sidewalk. It had rained recently and the cement was slick from the recent downpour; puddles of water stood in the depressions of the bowed sideway, their surfaces shivering with the wind that seemed to blow straight through Taer.

Wrapping the jacket more tightly around her body, Taer walked away from the club, making sure she was a few blocks away before fading to one of the last known addresses of a Mare who was one of Darrion’s longest serving Walkers. She figured if anyone knew where the former guild master was, it would be him.

Stepping from the shadows of a dilapidated house, Taer looked up at the apartment building Nieven was rumored to live in. It looked as depressing as every other building on the street, and seemed a fitting home for that piece of shit.

She watched the place for a few minutes, her eyes darting over to the surrounding buildings every time there was the slightest hint of movement. The minutes seemed to drip by and yet nothing happened. It was quiet … perhaps too quiet.

Just as she was about to pull away, about to give up on Nieven as a possible lead and return to the club, a man walked up to the property—his walk a little too casual to be really casual.

“Nieven,” Taer spat under her breath, his name a curse on her lips. She took a step closer to her target, her gaze predatory as he walked up the stairs of the apartment building and disappeared inside. Taer let out a breath and faded to the top of the stairs, watching the front door close. Waiting a few more minutes, she ghosted inside the building, remembering some of the skills Korvain had taught her while she was recovering from her wounds.

She kept her footsteps light, following the Mare undetected. She sneered to herself. How in the hell had this fucker become a Mare when he couldn’t even tell when someone was following him? The cocksucker deserved to die for his ignorance, but not until Taer had pumped him for the information she needed.

Down the hallway and around a corner, Taer continued to follow him, her fingers touching the grip of her Beretta as she moved along the wall. Nieven took one last corner before his footsteps stopped.

Taer stayed hidden, listening carefully as his key slid into the lock, the teeth chattering along the tumbler like gunshots in the silence of the building. Keeping herself flat to the wall, she peered around the corner in time to see the Mare enter his apartment, the door slamming behind him. Taer walked towards the door, looking the doorway over. There were no runes to protect against fading. There was nothing extraordinary about the security measures either—just a deadbolt.

Nieven had become complacent—after only a few weeks. With Darrion gone, it appeared as if every member of his guild had lost their fear. Fading directly into the room would be too dangerous, but luckily she didn’t have to wait too long to figure out what she was going to do.

The dull rush of a shower running vibrated through the thin wooden door, telling her that Nieven was no longer in the room. Giving it a few more minutes, Taer faded directly into the apartment, just beyond the front door. Palming her weapon, she looked around the apartment, taking note of everything she could see.

The white walls were grubby with marks and nicotine stains. Not one stick of furniture was new, nor was it complete. Each piece had something broken, or something missing. Taer had to wonder why the Mare lived like he did. From what she understood, many Walkers made good money, and when they didn’t, they would work in the human world like …
he
had.

Shaking off her unwanted thoughts, Taer followed the sound of the water, navigating through the one and only bedroom to the bathroom door. It had been left slightly ajar, a sliver of dirty yellow light cutting across the dingy, olive green carpet. Taer’s feet straddled this light as she waited for the Golden Second.

She remembered Korvain’s lesson on that. She had been laid up in bed for about a week, alternating between healing sessions with Eir and long periods of rest, so her body would heal naturally. She’d gone stir-crazy just lying there.

“How much longer am I going to be here?” she asked Korvain as he sat on the chair he’d dragged into Eir’s room from the kitchen.

He indulged her with a rare smile. “As long as it takes. You need to heal.”

They were not the words she had wanted to hear. “We’re wasting time,” she said, shooting him a fierce look. To her dismay, he only laughed.

“You need to get strong enough to start weapons training with me, and I won’t start until you’re ready. And right now, you aren’t ready.”

“I’m ready,” she replied hotly. She was ready to get her revenge, and the more time they wasted, the more time Darrion had to get away. She couldn’t let him. She just couldn’t.

Korvain’s weary sigh cut through the room. “Tay, have you ever heard of something called the Golden Second?”

She stared at the Mare. “What’s that?”

Leaning back in his chair, Korvain studied her face. “It’s that perfect second when you’ve come face to face with your enemy, and they’ve realized that they didn’t even know you were there. It’s that split second where you have the upper hand, and that advantage is hard for them to take back.”

Taer hadn’t really understood what Korvain had meant when he’d spoken about the Golden Second, but she understood it now—standing there, waiting for Nieven to appear. He had no idea she was inside his inner sanctum. He had no idea that he would more than likely be dead by the end of the hour.

The shower cut off with a sharp squeal from the taps.

The drip of water.

The snap of a towel.

Taer raised her arms carefully, the Beretta trained on the spot where Nieven’s head would appear. The door opened, more light spilling into the room and onto Taer. Nieven had a towel wrapped around his hips and was running another one roughly through his hair.

Her lips twitched up into a sardonic grin when he finally noticed her and stopped abruptly. His eyes darted around the room—no doubt looking for a weapon—but Taer had already anticipated he would do this.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said quietly, and stepped toward him. She pressed the cold steel of the muzzle against his temple to drive her point home.

“Who are you?” he breathed, dropping the towel he had been using to scrub at his scalp.

“I want information,” she replied.

His pulse fluttered against his skin. “I don’t know where Darrion is,” he replied.

“Who said anything about Darrion?” Her voice was cold and even.

“You’re not the first to come looking for him. I’ll tell you what I told the last guy: I don’t know where Darrion is. He hasn’t contacted me.”

Against her better judgement, she pushed on. “
Who
asked you where Darrion was?”

The Walker shrugged, and Taer pressed the muzzle in tighter. Nieven winced and his breath caught in his throat. “I didn’t get his name.”

Had Korvain already pressed this guy? When? And why hadn’t he told her?
The muscle in Taer’s jaw flexed.

“Where’s Darrion?” she asked, moving her finger from the guard and onto the trigger. She had no problems with blowing this guy’s head wide open. Hell, it would probably improve the decor.

“I told you, I don’t know.” He tried to step away, but Taer moved with him. She would find the bastard one way or another. Nieven had the balls to stay tight-lipped for a few moments longer until Taer removed the gun from his head and pressed it against his crotch. The Mare yelped and attempted to step away, slamming against the wall beside the bathroom door.

His fear would prevent him from fading, and he damn well knew it. Taer repositioned her weapon, aiming right between his eyes, and cocked her head to the side. “His location. Now.”

“I already told you. I don’t know.”

Was he stalling, or would she be able to get more information from him? Or had his usefulness worn out? She met his defiant gaze, her lips flexing into the barest smile.

“Wrong answer.”

The sharp tang of gunpowder filled the room, the sound of the explosion ricocheting in Taer’s eardrums. Warm blood splattered her face and neck, her eyes closing against the spray. Nieven’s lifeless body sagged to the ground, the back of his head a mess leaking out all over the filthy carpets. Taer bent down, staring at the look of surprise on his face. Had he really thought she wouldn’t kill him?

It didn’t matter. Nieven had been disposable. There were plenty of other people out there who would have the information she sought. Taer stood up from her crouch, put the safety back on the Beretta and faded from the apartment.

Svartalfheim—893 AD

Darrion had been playing outside with his sister when he first heard the screams coming from down the road. Standing up from their game of runes, he shielded the sun from his eyes and squinted down into the valley that spread out beyond their house.

Dotted along the road were small houses made of stone and thatch, much like the house Darrion had been born into and grew up in. Suddenly, a flash of color caught his eye. He looked a little harder, squinting against the sun.

“What is it, Dar?” his little sister, Ara, asked. “Why are people screaming?”

Darrion looked down, taking in the smudge of dirt on her cheek. Ara had taken after their mother with her dark hair and eyes. She looked more like a Mare than he ever would. “I don’t know,” he replied, casting his eyes back out toward the road. A few houses were burning, their roofs having been set alight.

Further down the valley, more Mares were fleeing their houses now, looking hastily over their shoulders. Small children were being carried in the arms of their frightened parents, their screams of fear echoing between the vast mountains that hemmed in their village, traveling to Darrion’s ears and sending chills through his blood.

“Dar?” Ara asked again, pulling at the bottom of his tunic for him to pick her up. Scooping her into his arms, he held her close and watched as more slashes of color flashed around the settlement. Whoever they were, they were coming closer.

Ara began crying when she saw a rider on a horse cutting down one of the female dark elves running with her young child clutched tightly to her chest. There was that flash of color again … except it was more than one color.

Gold.

Scarlet.

Blue.

Black.

More colors than Darrion could count, but he knew in that moment who they were.

Valkyries.

The loud whinnying of a horse drew his attention. The eight legs of Sleipnir were clear to see, and astride that horse was Odin—the All-Father.

“No,” Darrion cried out softly. “No.” He had thought they’d be safe here. Clutching his sobbing sister closer to his chest, Darrion turned and ran towards home. Those horrible screams followed him until he drowned them out by slamming the wooden door behind him.

His mother looked up, startled, from her sewing. “Darrion, what is it?” The yarn in her lap fell to the floor as she stood up, the spool unraveling along the wooden floor. The fear in his eyes must have told her everything she needed to know, and she began wringing her hands together until her knuckles turned white. Darrion’s sister was wailing now, and his mother moved to take her.

“Hush, Ara.” She turned her dark eyes to Darrion. “What has happened?”

“They’re coming …
he’s
coming.”

A strangled cry broke from his mother’s lips, but she said nothing more, just held Ara closer.

“Where is Father?” he asked, moving toward the small window and looking out past the rough fabric covering the crude opening. He could see the first few dark elves who had fled the village making their way past their house now.

And still his mother said nothing. Darrion swung around, seeing that her wide eyes were fixed on the door. “Mother! Where is Father?” He’d raised his voice, shocking her out of her fear.

“He’s … he’s out tilling the fields.”

Cursing under his breath, Darrion knew he had no choice. He turned towards the door.

“What are you doing?” she asked frantically.

He met his mother’s eyes first, then his sister’s. “I’m going to fetch him home.”

Tears dripped down his mother’s face. “You can’t. They’ll kill you.”

“We’ll be sitting ducks here without him.” He could see that she knew he was right, but her natural instinct to protect her children was warring with her common sense.

“I’ll go instead,” she said. “I can fade to him and be back instantly.”

“No, Mamma!” Ara wailed, tightening her grip around their mother’s neck. Darrion knew this was the only way they could survive. He wouldn’t be old enough to fade for another fifty years … if he survived today’s attack, that was.

“Ara, come and stay with me. We’ll hide and wait for Mamma to come back … come on,” he coaxed, pulling her from their mother’s arms and into his. He raised his eyes to his mother. “Go. We’ll be fine.”

Darrion watched his mother fade from the room and then turned toward the hidey-hole that had been built into the wall when their house had been constructed. He pulled open the door and eased Ara inside.

A bloodcurdling scream just outside the door spun his head around. Ara began crying harder, and that was the last thing they needed—to draw attention to themselves.

“Hush, Ara. It’s all right. It was only the scream of a horse.” His words did nothing to ease the little girl and she cried even harder.

“What if it’s Ascal?” she heaved through her wracking sobs.

“Your horse is in the back field with mine. It was not Ascal.” That seemed to work. She stopped sobbing, looking up at him with tears tracking slowly down her face, streaking the mud in fine dark lines down her cheeks. “Now stay here. I’m going to keep an eye out for the Valkyries.”

Standing up, Darrion pushed the door to, but didn’t close it properly in case he needed to dive in. Walking quietly towards the window, he tried to block out the sounds of violence vibrating through the wood. Looking out, he saw his neighbors lying in pools of their own blood, their bodies left where they’d fallen on the road outside their fence.

“Darrion!” his father whispered in a harsh voice. The boy spun around, relief flooding him to see that both his father and mother were back. “Come away from there. Now.”

He did as he was told, creeping back towards his parents. Ara sprang from the hidden cavity, throwing herself at their father’s legs.

“Darrion, get inside the hidden room.”

Wasting no time, he did just that, sliding inside and moving over to make room for Ara, but before she could squeeze in beside him, there was the sound of splitting wood, and his father hissed at him to close the door and hide. Darrion didn’t want to hide away like a coward while his mother, father and sister faced the goddesses who had been hunting them down for hundreds of years.

The front door exploded in a rain of sharp wood, and the anguished tone of his father’s voice forced Darrion to close the door to his hiding place. With his heart pounding in his ears, he peered through the tiny space between the wooden slats and watched on in horror.

A Valkyrie stepped through what was left of the door. Her golden blade dripped with the blood of the dark elves she had slaughtered, and her hard, beautiful face was expressionless as she looked over his parents and sister as if they were nothing more than vermin.

“Please,” his mother begged. “Spare us.”

A sneer lifted the Valkyrie’s full lips and she stepped to the side as Odin walked in through the broken doorway, his one green eye surveying the room and all the people within it.

Ara screamed when she saw him, burrowing her face under their mother’s hair. Odin was the god their parents had told them about, the god who haunted their nightmares. His mother had said that if they were ever naughty, the All-Father would swoop down on his eight-legged horse and carry them away forever.

His father stepped in front of his mother and Ara, shielding them from the All-Father’s view.

The god laughed, the sound booming around the small room. “You think you can protect your women from me?” he taunted, still laughing.

“We only want a peaceful life. We only want to raise our child and teach her our ways.”

Odin’s expression darkened, the room darkening in turn. Darrion felt his scalp prickle with fear, and he recoiled from the small hidden door.

“Do you think we’d let you raise your spawn so she can hunt down and kill
my
people? Your entire species must be wiped from the face of the Nine Worlds.”

Darrion’s mother whimpered, shuffling away from the Valkyrie, who had just taken a step closer to them all.

“Please,” his father begged. “We won’t—” but his words died as the Valkyrie thrust her golden sword into his chest. His mother screamed uncontrollably. She dropped to her knees beside his father’s body, Ara falling from her arms and onto the floor beside her, sobbing.

Darrion’s fingers dug into the rough wood beneath his fingers; the splinters burrowed into his skin, but he hardly felt the sharp stab. The sound of sobbing was suddenly cut off as the same golden blade pierced the hearts of both his mother and sister.

Darrion clamped both hands over his mouth to stop the scream burning the back of his throat from breaking free. The blood of his family leaked out onto the floor, mingling to create one huge puddle—a deep, rich crimson, the same color as Darrion’s burgeoning rage.

As he watched on, he could feel the hatred writhing beneath his skin, an almost living thing in his blood that demanded he avenge the death of his parents and his sister.

Odin and his Valkyrie turned their backs and left the house as if what they had just done required not a single lingering glance.

Once their shadows were gone and the sound of their retreating footsteps was nothing more than a distant memory, Darrion removed his hands from his mouth and the harsh, rough sounds of his breathing filled his ears. He stayed hidden until night fell—until he could be sure that Odin and his Valkyries were really gone.

Eventually Darrion fell asleep, awaking only when hushed footsteps echoed on the cold, wooden floor. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he looked through the small crack in the hidden door and saw a man standing there, looking at the bodies of his family.

“Such a waste,” he said in a low voice and turned to leave. Darrion could sense he wasn’t one of the Aesir. Taking a risk, he pushed open the door, revealing his hiding place.

The man stopped abruptly, his shoulders tensing, but he didn’t turn around. Darrion scrambled to get to his feet, his muscles sore from being cramped up for so long. The man turned and Darrion got his first look at him.

With his long gray hair and a flowing gray beard, the almost luminescent green of his eyes looked out of place on his otherwise wizened old face. He was tall and lanky, barely a shred of muscle on him, but Darrion wasn’t about to underestimate the man.

The man kneeled, bringing himself down to Darrion’s eye level. “What’s your name, son?”

Darrion remained quiet.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help you. What’s your name?”

“Darrion,” he replied. What else did he have to lose? His parents and sister were dead. He was only a boy. What hope did he have of survival other than becoming a beggar?

The man smiled. “Darrion, my name is Njord. I am—”

“A Vanir,” Darrion gasped, taking a step back, eyes searching for something he could use as a weapon.

“Yes,” Njord replied softly—almost angrily. “But I’ve grown tired of Odin’s ridiculous war against the dark elves. He is killing them for no other reason than for fear that they will bring down his coveted world.”

The words were spoken with such venom that Darrion had no doubt that they were true.

“The Vanir are rising against Odin and the Aesir for their unfounded and prejudiced persecution of your people,” Njord said.

“What does that have to do with me?” Darrion asked, his voice a bare squeak. Fear was running through his body, turning his blood to ice. The Vanir were the gods who were in power before the Aesir. The two groups had always been civil, but it sounded as if things were about to change.

“You are valuable,” Njord said. “You just don’t know it yet.”

“What would you know of? You are a god of old—a magician. What would you know about our struggle? About revenge?”

“I know a lot more than you think,” Njord glowered, causing Darrion to shrink away. Taking a few steps towards the boy, the hard thump of his boots punctuated the seriousness of the words that followed. “I can teach you how to handle a knife, how to be at one with the weapon. I can teach you how to rule others, to be respected and feared at the same time. I can give you your revenge on Odin. Don’t you want that chance?”

Darrion was hardly listening to a word he’d been saying until the phrase “your revenge on Odin” caught his attention. Yes. That was what Darrion wanted—revenge. And the only way he would get it was if he was trained to kill …

And this man—this god—was willing to train him. Darrion stood a little straighter and looked Njord square in the eye.

“When do we start?”