Darkness Awakened (Primal Heat Trilogy #1) (Order of the Blade) (2 page)

His blade buried deep within, the disc finally stopped spinning. As it stilled, Quinn got his first look at the weapon that had just decimated an entire team of Calydon trainees in milliseconds.

He went ice cold at what he saw.

It was the six-pointed throwing star belonging to Elijah Ross, one of his Order of the Blade blood brothers, an immortal warrior who’d been by Quinn’s side for centuries. A man he considered one of his best friends.

No, it was impossible. Elijah would never go rogue.
Ever.

“What is it?” The sole trainee still standing moved swiftly into place behind Quinn to protect his back, his grip solid on his spear despite the carnage he’d just witnessed.

“Stay alert. I’m checking.” Quinn pulled his sword free of the throwing star and squatted so he could study it more carefully. As he did, a feeling of stunned disbelief settled over him. There was no mistaking the intricate designs etched on the points of the star. It was Elijah’s weapon.

Every Calydon weapon was unique, and Quinn had been through so many battles with Elijah that he could draw the damn thing in his sleep. “Son of a bitch,” he said softly, running his finger over the cold steel.

Elijah had stood beside Quinn facing death a thousand times over the last five hundred years. He’d entrust his life to Elijah without question, under any circumstance. Elijah was an Order brother responsible for protecting the world, at all costs…and now he’d murdered five Calydons?

No. Impossible. Quinn gripped his sword as dark denial roared through him. There was no possibility Elijah had gone rogue.
No chance.
He knew his blood brother too well to be fooled into thinking that was what had just happened. He’d made the mistake once of believing someone he cared about had gone rogue, and he would never do it again.

Now was his chance to do it right. Finally. The chance he’d been seeking for five hundred years.

But he also knew that a Calydon weapon could be wielded only by the warrior it had chosen. No one else could have thrown it—

A faint hum filled the air, and Quinn jerked his gaze up at the sound of Elijah’s second throwing star taking flight. He leapt to his feet as the final remaining trainee raised his own weapon, clearly sensing the same threat.

Quinn moved in tight beside the kid, searching the darkened woods for his best friend as he reached out with his mind to connect to him.
Elijah. Where are you?

He felt the faint flicker of response from Elijah’s mind, but it was distorted. Tainted. Wrong
.
His adrenaline spiked and Quinn turned sharply, trying to pinpoint where Elijah was.
Stand down, Elijah. Now.

Another surge of energy from Elijah touched Quinn’s mind, and this time it was violent and dark, filled with loathing. Quinn shoved the rookie behind him, snapping into assault mode as he pinpointed his teammate’s location.

Instinctively responding to the threat emanating so violently from Elijah, Quinn whipped back his arm to hurl his sword into the dark woods to take him out…but centuries-old truths made him pause. Elijah would never murder the trainees, and he was too controlled to go rogue. Something was off.

Quinn would not make the same mistake again of judging too soon. He didn’t throw his sword. He waited. He gave his blood brother the chance he hadn’t given his uncle so long ago.
Elijah. Talk to me—

The second throwing star slammed into the back of Quinn’s neck and he crumpled to the earth, his sword still clutched in his hand.

* * *

“What the hell happened here?” The familiar voice of Order member, Gideon Roarke, jerked Quinn back to consciousness.

Fighting through the fog still enveloping his brain, Quinn wrenched his eyes open, slitting his lids against the setting sun peeking through the dense foliage. Pain throbbed at his neck, and the furious roar of the nearby river jolted his memory of what had just happened.
Elijah.

He lunged to his feet, his sword exploding into his hand in a flash of black light. He spun around, blade ready—

On the ground was the body of the lone trainee who had survived the initial assault. The youth was on his back, eyes closed, as if he were taking an afternoon nap, but the stillness of his features left no doubt.
Dead.
Elijah had killed every single one of them.

Quinn whirled around, reaching out with his mind, searching for Elijah, for an indicator that would give away his location so Quinn would know where he was.

But there was no response. No flicker of life. Elijah was gone. The threat was over.

Quinn closed his eyes as sudden dizziness assaulted him and he stumbled, fighting for balance.

“What happened?” Gideon asked again, and this time, Quinn heard the muted fury in his voice.

Quinn jerked his gaze toward the Order blood brother who, along with Elijah, had been his closest friend for the last five hundred years. Gideon was wearing his customary jeans, black T-shirt and heavy boots, splashed with mud and smelling of sweat and anger. At the time the three of them had performed the blood ritual, they’d been rookies with the Order, and they’d needed each other to survive. In the five hundred years since, the bond of friendship had never weakened. He’d trusted them both with his life a hundred times.

Until now. Until Elijah had tried to murder him. Was Gideon next? His arms were flexed, his feet spread in a battle stance. The aggression pouring off him triggered a defensive response in Quinn.

He spun toward Gideon, moving so swiftly that he had the tip of his blade pressed against Gideon’s throat before the other Calydon could move. “Back off,” he growled.

Shit. Quinn’s head was spinning. The back of his neck hurt like he’d been upended by an axe. Darkness flickered at the edge of his vision, and Quinn fought for balance, forced his blade to stay steady, adrenaline racing at the sight of the man who might betray him next.

Gideon stilled. “Who killed the trainees?” His gaze flicked past Quinn to the ground behind him, and anger curled his lips.

“You tell me,” Quinn said softly, his grip tightening on the jeweled handle. He pressed his hand to the back of his neck where Elijah’s weapon had hit, and he winced in pain. Deep skull fracture. Severed spinal cord just barely healed. Well, that’d explain the weakness. Time to heal that shit and fast. He kept his sword up, maintaining the façade that he didn’t feel like hell and that a stiff breeze wouldn’t knock him on his ass.

Gideon’s blue gaze jerked back to Quinn, and understanding flashed across his face. “Quinn,” he said quietly. “I’m not responsible for this.”

“Then why are you here?” Quinn’s head was throbbing so intensely, he could barely focus on Gideon, but he fought to concentrate, to read the expression on Gideon’s face, to assess his feelings. He tried to touch his mind, but Gideon’s shields were up.

As blood brothers, it took a supreme and intentional effort to cut each other off from their thoughts, and Gideon was doing it right now. As was Elijah. Warning flooded Quinn and he readied himself for another attack, this time from Gideon.

Gideon met Quinn’s gaze with unflinching force. “I’m here because it’s my turn to take over the training,” he said. “I had nothing to do with this,” he repeated, his voice even and balanced, although the muscles in his neck were rigid.

“Your turn?” Quinn blinked at the explanation. Gideon had been scheduled to arrive three days after the attack. He’d been unconscious for
three days?
Son of a bitch. Elijah had nearly killed him.

Betrayal churned like bile, and Quinn was hit with such a wave of weakness that he almost went down to his knees. He ground his jaw, fighting for composure, for the appearance of strength.
Do not show weakness.
Not now. Not until he figured out who he could trust. “Neutralize yourself.”

Gideon’s blue eyes widened beneath his black skullcap. “You’re kidding.”

“Now, or you die.” The forest was spinning now, and Quinn flexed his quads, bracing himself against the dizziness.
He had to make sure it was safe before he collapsed. He had to disarm Gideon. The thought that Gideon might be rogue reviled him, matched only by his revulsion that Elijah might have killed everyone he was supposed to protect.

“You’re a real ass before you’ve had your coffee,” Gideon muttered as he held out his left arm, showing a black brand in the shape of a double-bladed throwing axe. “You really want me to disarm myself—”

“Now.” The forest was starting to spin more fiercely, and Quinn had to concentrate to keep from tilting over. Damn. He had new respect for the weapons of his kind. He’d never been hit like this. Kinda sucked, actually.

Gideon held out his arm and a metal throwing axe covered in intricate carvings exploded out of his forearm in a flash of black light and slammed into his palm.

For a moment, the two warriors stood immobile, eyes locked, weapons out. Quinn felt Gideon reach out to touch his mind, and Quinn immediately wove a barrier of protection, a shield strong enough to keep out even a warrior he was blood-bonded with.

“You don’t trust me.” Gideon observed.

“No. But don’t take it personally.”

Gideon’s eyes narrowed, and Quinn pressed the tip of the sword harder into his skin, until a trickle of blood slid down his teammate’s neck. He was ready for Gideon to attack. No Calydon could stand down from the open threat he was offering, and Gideon was as cold and heartless as any Order member in existence.

But to his surprise, Gideon raised his weapon to eye level, then opened his palm and let the weapon drop to the forest floor. He repeated the process with his other axe, which landed with a soft thud on the muddy ground beside the first one.

Neither man moved, waiting as both axes shimmered brightly. Gideon made no effort to pick them up, and after a moment, each blade disintegrated into the forest floor. By losing his weapons that way, it would be several minutes before Gideon could call forth another axe. He was defenseless, with the tip of Quinn’s sword embedded in his neck.

The statement of an innocent man.

“Now do you want to tell me what the hell’s going on?” Gideon’s voice was calm. His blue gaze was penetrating and unwavering as he softened the shields around his mind, allowing Quinn to feel his innocence, and his outrage over the deaths. “I don’t know what happened here, but I know I still trust you with my life. And you can still trust me with yours. Talk to me, Quinn.”

Quinn felt his friend’s innocence in the very core of his being.
Jesus.
With a sigh of exhaustion, Quinn lowered his sword, keeping a tight grip on it so it didn’t fall to the earth like Gideon’s had. Except under a few specific circumstances, a Calydon weapon not connected to its owner would disintegrate within moments, a safeguard that kept the weapons from being taken and used against them.

Gideon nodded his acceptance of the truce, not bothering to wipe the blood off his neck. “There are six dead trainees out here, with their heads nearly sliced off. What went down?”

The trainees.
Quinn braced himself on his sword, then turned to see how bad it was, now that he wasn’t worried about Elijah unleashing another metal Frisbee into his head. The bodies of his charges were strewn about, marked by Elijah’s weapon. The arm of one of the trainees was flayed open, but the others were intact.

He whistled softly. Quinn had seen carnage like this before, a trail of death left by a rogue Calydon. He’d even seen it done by warriors he’d considered friends before they’d gone rogue. It was nothing new, not by a long shot.

But never in his life would he have expected to witness this kind of destruction at the hands of Elijah. There had to be a reason. Scanning the area for clues, for excuses, for explanations, he slowly walked over and squatted next to the trainee with the damaged arm, lifting his flayed arm. “His weapon’s been stolen.”

“Look at your arm,” Gideon said.

At Gideon’s words, Quinn’s left forearm vibrated with sudden burning, as the fading adrenaline allowed the first sensations of pain to register. Quinn glanced down and saw his sleeve was sliced open, revealing a gaping wound in his forearm.

His left sword had been stolen as well.

That’s what this had been about? Harvesting weapons? But that made no sense. Even if the weapons were taken, they couldn’t be used in battle because they would work only for their chosen owner. What in the hell was going on?
Elijah.
He opened his mind, thrusting his mental energy ruthlessly out into world.
Talk to me!

There was nothing. Nothing from a blood brother that he should be able to sense from a thousand miles away.

“You died.” Gideon sounded shocked. “I felt it for a minute three days ago, but it was gone so fast I thought I’d misread it.” He rubbed the back of his hand over his brow. “Damn. I’m glad you’re immortal.”

“Immortality is never absolute. You know that.” Gideon was right, though. Apparently, Quinn
had
died from Elijah’s blow, however momentarily, because Calydon weapons could be taken only at the moment of death. Hell. He’d really died? That was enough to make a guy sit up and take notice. “First time I’ve ever died, I gotta admit.” If a Calydon weapon was stolen at the exact moment of death, they could be salvaged, because there was no owner for them to revert to after disintegration.

“I never thought anything could take you down.” Gideon ran his hand over his skullcap, and shook his head to clear it. “Hell, man. What was able to get a jump on you? Demon? Cahir?”

Quinn ground his teeth as he tugged the skin on his arm back together and wound his belt around it to hold it together long enough to heal. “It was Elijah.”

Gideon made a sharp grunt of disbelief. “Impossible. He’d never go rogue. We’d know it by now.”

Quinn tested his arm. Weak, hurt like hell, but functional. “I saw his throwing star.”

Gideon stared at him, frowning as he realized Quinn was serious. “You’re sure?”

“I saw it kill the trainees. It was his weapon.” They both knew that Calydon weapons would perform only for their owner, and their mate, of course, but none of them had mates. They wouldn’t be that stupid.

Quinn opened his mind to Gideon and replayed the scene from that night in his head, so Gideon could see what had happened.

Gideon was silent as he watched the scene unfold, but emotions were raging in his blue eyes. When it was over, Gideon braced his hands against a nearby tree and dropped his head between his arms, closing his eyes, fighting to exert the control that the Order members were so legendary for. No words needed to be said. They both understood the magnitude of what had happened.

Their trio was supposed to be eternal. None of them were supposed to go rogue, and they tracked each other carefully to make sure no one was close to crossing the line. Elijah had been nowhere near rogue, and they both knew it. If he had gone rogue, and it looked like he had, it would be their fault for not seeing it coming, and it would be their failure when Elijah had to be assassinated to protect the world from him.

“You think he met his
sheva?
Bonding with his soul mate would turn him rogue.” Gideon spoke the words as if it poisoned him to even think it.

“No chance. He’s too careful. And if he did meet his mate, he’d have let us know before he bonded with her.” Quinn met his teammate’s gaze. “Like we all would do.”

“There’s no other explanation for how he could go rogue so quickly,” Gideon said. “If he’s met and bonded with his
sheva
, he could be rogue already.”

Quinn’s adrenaline surged at the thought of Elijah meeting his
sheva.
God help them all if that was what had happened… No. That wasn’t it. Elijah would never bond. He would have told them before he got sucked in. It had to be something else. “I have no idea what’s going on,” Quinn said as he crouched beside the trainee with the missing weapon and studied the damage, “but I’m going to ask Elijah when I find him.” He gave Gideon a bitter smile. “Then I’m going to strangle the asshole for killing me.”

Gideon jerked his head up to stare at Quinn. “You’re going after him yourself? You’re not going to report this to Dante?”

Dante Sinclair was their leader. A tough son of a bitch, a warrior strong enough to control a race of immortal beings destined to live and die by violence. Dante had been Quinn’s mentor for five hundred years. Yeah, Quinn respected Dante and the mission he’d set forth for the Order, but he didn’t always agree with the big boss’s theories.

Especially when it came to rogues, and the unilateral edict to take them all out, instantly, no matter what the cost. Quinn had followed that edict one time too many, and his regret still haunted him. He would never give Dante the right to apply his arbitrary rule to Elijah’s fate, no matter how many centuries of evidence supported that decision.

He stood up. “If we report to Dante, he’ll pull you and me off the run and have someone else do it. Someone who won’t give Elijah a chance.”

“Hell.” Gideon let out his breath. “
We
can’t give him a chance. He slaughtered six people, seven if we count you. He’s rogue. You know we don’t come back once we cross over.”