Drake of Tanith (Chosen Soul) (20 page)

Darken chuckled softly. “Always the pessimist, aren’t you, Drake.”

“Realist,” Drake shot back, his teeth grinding, his heart hammering.

“Defeatist,” came another voice, deep and powerful. But it came too fast, too sudden, and Drake wasn’t able to move in time. The blow hurt; for an instant, he felt the impact as a blinding pain that struck in the same place he’d been struck before. And then there was nothing.

“It’s something I’ve never been able to stomach in you, son.”

*****

Raven heard the impact of the attack and felt Drake’s body go limp around her. His strong arms slid down the length of her body until he was face-down in the mists. The Witherlands were closing in on them and everything was falling apart, but Raven’s thoughts clarified and pin-pointed the moment Tanith collapsed.

“Drake!” The word left her lips and she was kneeling beside him before she could comprehend what she was doing.

However, the presence now closing in at her back stiffened her spine. She couldn’t ignore it. The voice that had spoken still echoed in her ear drums. She knew the owner of that voice. She knew it so well, she was afraid to look up – to glance back. Instead, she forced herself to lean over Drake’s still form and ignore the two pairs of boots that move toward her, caging her in on either side.

Blood trickled from the base of Drake’s head to the fog-shrouded ground beneath him. His ebony waves were wet with the thick liquid… Raven raised her hand, her fingers poised over the wound. Shouldn’t it be healing?

And then the presence behind her came very close and lowered himself to one knee. Raven heard the rustle of his clothing directly at her back, and she closed her eyes. His power washed over her as he moved in; it was as if he were surrounded by a permanent bubble of pleasure, persuasion and promises. She didn’t stand a chance against him.

“He’ll live,” he said, the voice coming so close.

Raven’s stomach clenched, her nipples hardened against the inside of her shirt, and she barely suppressed a moan. Her skin harbored a chill as she shivered under his obvious attack. He wasn’t holding back. And why would he?

“But will I?” she managed to ask. She was impressed with herself and frankly amazed that she’d managed a single word, much less two. But they were weakly spoken. A whisper, a tremble – nothing more. Drake’s “twin” was now forgotten; Asmodeus had her undivided attention.

He chuckled behind her, the sound awakening parts of her body that should have gone stone cold. And suddenly she hated him.

“You’re the woman my son loves,” Asmodeus said. “You’re going to be his queen. Tell me, Raven,” he whispered, leaning in to send rivulets of his influence rolling over her. Raven bit her lip hard. “Why would I kill such a soul?”

Her teeth broke the skin, drawing blood.

“Especially when it’s kept in a vessel such as this one?” Asmodeus added as his hand came around her. She felt his touch at her lip like a brand, and she recoiled. But she had nowhere to go but back.

And back was where
he
was.

He leaned over her as she settled into him. She had no choice. She was melting, and he was hard and unyielding. He felt good. He was horrible. He was wonderful. “Such a vessel, with such a sweet, sweet taste.”

Raven opened her eyes and looked up. She could no longer fight him. Asmodeus smiled as he licked the blood from his fingertip. She watched in breathless, heated fascination as he closed his own impossibly powerful eyes and seemed to slip into some sort of pleasure.

That was my blood
, she thought numbly.
My blood is doing this to him.

Asmodeus exhaled a rather shaky breath then, and lowered his head. Raven felt irrevocably torn. She was mesmerized by him, by his beauty, his charisma, his absolute power. And she hated that he had all of these things. She hated that he was holding her in his arms. Most of all, though she was fascinated with the effect it had over him, she hated that he was tasting her blood - when she had yet to give it to the man she loved. She had yet to give it to his son, whom he had just knocked unconscious and who was now bleeding beside them.

When the Lord of the Nines once more opened his eyes, they were glowing with the infamous fires of Hell. “Oh, little one,” he whispered. “You are a saving grace. A pleasure in so many ways.” He smiled, showing her the same perfect, wicked fangs that Drake sometimes wore. “Your mind is tireless, spinning with guilt and love and hatred. It’s refreshing.” And then he shook his head. “And your blood tastes like salvation.” His expression became serious, spearing Raven as no weapon could. “No one will be killing you, Raven Grey.”

Raven’s heart sank. For some reason, it was the worst thing he could have told her.

Chapter Nineteen

When Drake awoke, it was to find himself staring at a pair of brown leather boots. He blinked and jumped to his feet. If he’d been human, the motion would have knocked him out again, but he wasn’t human. And neither was the man watching him.

“After this, Tanith, I’ll consider my debt paid.”

“You let them take her,” Drake accused, tenderly rubbing the back of his neck. A blow dealt by anyone other than his father would no longer hurt. But Asmodeus had a way of punishing his son that no one else in any realm could match.

Magus took a deep breath, seemed to consider something for a moment, and then cocked his head to one side. The Witherlands' mists coiled around him and he ignored them. “I’m only a god, Tanith. My powers are limited.”

Drake would have laughed under different circumstances. He and Magus had a bit of a history, and he’d always appreciated the god’s easy-going manner. However, at the moment, anything easy-going was the last thing on Drake’s mind.

“Would love to catch up, Tanith, but you’ve got to run.”

Drake said nothing further. He knew what was coming. Magus raised his hand and white-hot power formed in his palm. The god of magic hesitated. “For what it’s worth, you gave it Hell, Tanith.” His expression was genuinely regretful.

Drake felt his chest hitch.

Then Magus waved his hand and the world melted around Drake. Within seconds, the gray of the Witherlands’ mists was tinted with red. He could hear crackling nearby, along with the hollow, echoing sound of raging, burning wrongness. The air took on the scent of smoke and the claustrophobic choke of ash. He could feel it smudging his skin even before Magus’s power slipped from his form and the world solidified once more.

Drake felt the parched ground beneath his boots and heard the rocks crack to dust as he slowly turned in a circle to take in his surroundings. Half a mile away stood a fortress of towering, impenetrable obsidian and ruby. Around it and as far as the eye could see, Nisse stretched to the horizon, red, black and hopeless.

And if his father had his way, Drake would never see anything else again.

*****

The temple of Magus was magnificent. That went without saying. But in the early hours of dawn, as the sun’s rays struck the polished metal and stone of the highest of its tapered towers, a reflected glow enveloped the city, bathing it in a warm, yellow light. It was stunning. It was something Loki would have expected of Haledon, being that he was the sun god. But Magus had accomplished it instead. And not just Magus, but his acolytes, who’d built the temple with their own hands and their own spells.

Loki was learning a lot lately, not the least of which was that you could never take anything for granted when it came to the gods. Mortals would never have them figured out.

“Will they let us in?” Loki asked as they approached the temple’s massive front doors. They stood thirty feet high, if they stood five, and appeared to be constructed of a mixture of strange shimmering wood, polished metal, and complicated reliefs of carved stone. Gargoyles rested on the stone wall on either side of the door, and Loki could swear that the massive carved beasts were watching him.

“I don’t see why not,” said Grolsch. He lifted a massive paw to knock – but never got the chance. Instead, the doors began to swing open with a deep, reverberating groan. Loki watched them warily, his heart racing. He stood his ground, squared his shoulders, and glanced up at his large companion.

Grolsch looked over at him as well. The two nodded at one another, and when the doors were completely open and the dim interior of the building could be made out from the threshold, they turned back to peer inside.

Loki frowned. It looked wholly unimpressive, to be honest. From the doorway, he could make out a few shelves along one wall. They housed leather-backed books and knick-knacks such as human skulls and half-burned candles. Along one wall was a massive hearth, and within that hearth rested a cauldron. Something boiled within it, but Loki couldn’t tell what. The center of the large room was furnished with long wooden tables, and at these tables sat a few acolytes, their heads bent over big dusty tomes.

None of them looked up at the newcomers, despite the fact that the huge doors had opened of their own accord. Not one of them could be bothered to acknowledge the guests waiting on the doorstep of Magus’s temple.

Loki blew out a quick breath and shrugged. He and Grolsch stepped into the room together.

The moment they crossed the building’s threshold, their surroundings began to morph. It happened very fast; the bookshelves, the cauldron, the long tables – all of them warped and shimmered. Within seconds, it had all disappeared to be replaced with something entirely different.

“By the gods…” Grolsch muttered under his breath.

Loki had to agree with the sentiment. The door had shut behind them, and now he and the ork stood in a vast, glittering chamber with walls seemingly constructed of diamonds. It was at least the size of several taverns strung together, and twice as tall. Glowing lights hovered up high above their heads, illuminating the chamber with a warm, yellow glow. There were bookshelves here as well, but they were nothing like the drab wooden shelves Loki had viewed while standing on the doorstep of the temple. Instead, they formed columns throughout the incredible room, and these columns twisted and turned and even looped upside down, yet the books remained in place.

There were people moving about in the chamber, dressed in robes of white and light blue and gold. They glanced over at Loki and Grolsch with intelligent eyes, and then continued about their business. Strange bubble-like objects floated throughout the room, some of them following these robed acolytes as if they were air-borne pets.

Loki looked up – and up. There was no ceiling to the vast chamber. Instead, the endless blue-black of space beckoned and swirled. Stars twinkled brightly, and planets of pink and purple slowly turned.

“Would you gentlemen please follow me?”

Loki jumped a little and looked down. An attractive middle-aged woman had approached them and was now smiling up at them with calm serenity. Her blue eyes were clear and keen, and her long brown hair had been beautifully pleated to fall over her shoulders.

“Where are we going?” Grolsch asked.

Loki blinked. “I’m sorry,” he said, glancing back at his companion. “What my friend means to say is that we’ve come to speak with a priest of Magus… for private reasons.” He swallowed, stalling a bit as he realized he didn’t actually know why they were there or what they were going to do.

The woman smiled brilliantly, acceptingly. “Magus knows why you’re here,” she said calmly. “Please follow me.” She turned and began to walk away, her blue and white robes following perfectly behind.

Loki looked over at Grolsch. The ork seemed to shrug; his expression was rather lost. Loki decided that he needed to take matters into his own hands.

“Come on,” he said softly, “We’ve got nothing else to go on.”

They followed the priestess across the massive chamber, their eyes skirting to its many odd and wonderful traits as they went. A dragonfly buzzed past Loki’s head and he turned to watch it hover beside a bookcase nearby. Its carapace appeared constructed of stained glass, its wings of spun platinum. It flittered loudly for a second and took off once more, heading in another direction.

At various places in the chamber, cracks marred the iridescent surface of the opalesque walls, but in these cracks, flowers grew, their multi-colored petals lending the walls an air of the fantastical.

Neither Loki nor Grolsch spoke as they walked. There was too much to see. The image they’d taken in while still outside had clearly been an illusion. Loki wondered at its purpose. He wondered about
everything
.

Finally, as they neared a second set of giant stone doors, Loki broke the silence. “What are those bubbles following people around?” he asked.

“They’re Bodii,” explained the priestess. “Creatures born of magic and air. Some of our acolytes keep them as animal companions.”

They reached the doors and the priestess turned to face them. “Through here,” she said, still wearing her serene smile. She touched the right door gently, and the massive entryway began to turn out, revealing a long hallway beyond.

The hallway was lit by the glow of hundreds, if not thousands of candles that hovered above them near a ceiling Loki could not quite make out. Each of the candles’ flames were a different color, sending the hallway into a rainbow relief. Loki looked down; the floor beneath their feet was transparent, and beneath that hard transparency stretched a fragment of space that mirrored the “ceiling” of the room they’d just left.

Loki nearly stumbled upon seeing the vast darkness. For a moment, it felt as though he were walking on air. But the floor felt solid enough to his boots, and the priestess before them continued to move without pause. Beside him, Grolsch glanced down and faltered for a second as well. But they gathered themselves commendably; Loki lifted his chin and forced one foot in front of the other.

There was a third door at the end of this long hall. However, this was a simple door, constructed of wood and devoid of decoration. As they approached it, Loki became increasingly unsettled. Despite the relative plainness of this door, the air was thicker with the feel of magic, and his skin prickled.