Drake of Tanith (Chosen Soul) (25 page)

Out of pure spite perhaps, the Dark Lord brought his knee up and landed it squarely in Drake’s stomach. Drake saw stars, but couldn’t double over; his father’s grip on his throat prevented any movement. Even breathing. “But it won’t be fun for her,” Asmodeus continued. “I have healing priests in my court for a reason.”

The world in that instant consisted of nothing but despair. Existence, in its purest form, was misery for Drake. In that moment, there was nothing else. And in that purity of thought and emotion, Drake saw inside of himself. It was as if he’d become hollow, and he floated within that misty shell, in that nothingness of echoes – and heard something snap.

Somewhere, some existential cord had come taut, pulled too tight, and suddenly given way. The rope was broken. The tie had come unbound.

Drake floated above himself, saw his form trapped in his father’s merciless grasp, and watched the change come over his own eyes. Their molten silver fractured, and the hellish flame that had been burning at their centers channeled out through lightning-like fissures in his metal gray irises.

Somewhere not far away, the crueler half of a torn being opened his own eyes, smiled, and closed them again a final time.

Drake’s soul wailed as its broken pieces were ruthlessly sucked together once more and baptized by the fire that melted them, molded them, and reformed them once and for all. A pulse of incredible power expanded from within him, swelling like nothing Drake had ever felt, and knocked his father backward.

As if pulled by the inexorable draw of dark fate, he came into himself again, at once fully aware, terribly whole, and gazed out through his own monstrously burning eyes in time to see the pulse of his power ripple over Nisse like a tidal wave.

Asmodeus didn’t hesitate to counter. He halted his retreat and came at Drake once more. Drake shoved off of the rock behind him, drew his sword from the scabbard at his back, and held the blade before him. It pierced his father’s chest, sliding deep and fast.

The world grew quiet and still, and all time stopped. Drake gazed into his father’s eyes. Then he twisted the blade. Asmodeus smiled, this time a strange, proud smile the likes of which Drake had never seen on his angelic face.

And then Drake withdrew his sword, the same ruby-hilted sword Asmodeus had given him when he was a mere twenty years old. It made a stark sound as it was removed from his father’s body. It was a
final
kind of sound, like the period at the end of a sentence, or an exhale after holding your breath.

Asmodeus took a step back. They were on the ground again; there was no sense to it, no reason for it, but there it was. Drake’s wings no longer beat the air; he had no wings. In the flash of a moment, he’d returned to his human form.

Before him, the king of Nisse looked down, saw the blood pouring out of his wound, and fell to his knees.

“That’s done, then,” he said softly. He seemed transfixed by the sight of the welling crimson. “You’ll make a fine king, Drake,” he said without looking up. “And Winter Raven was meant to be your queen.” Finally he looked up. Something passed between them, something intangible and all-encompassing and more important than anything else in the universe. And then, with a final, somewhat bewildered glance at his own wounded chest, Asmodeus exhaled.

His body began to blacken as if turning to obsidian. He held his hands out at his sides, palms-up, and closed his eyes. Inch by inch, his skin hardened and darkened until, at last, he was transformed and solid, immovable in the dust of Nisse. Drake waited, all of the gods seemed to be watching…. And then Asmodeus’s changed form burst into a cloud of ash.

And was caught up by the wind.

Drake stared at the place where his father had been. He stared for a very long time. Finally, he looked down at the sword in his hand, its blade coated with the blood of the former ruler of Abaddon. And then he took the blade between his thumb and forefinger and wiped off the blood before straightening and re-sheathing the ancient weapon in the scabbard at his back.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The battle was too fast and furious for Raven to follow. Drake and his father were a pair of black blurs in a landscape now screaming with red lightning, hot winds, and rumbling sands. The magic pouring forth from their struggling figures was stifling in its intensity. Waves of it would wash over her, only to take the breath from her lungs and send stars swimming before her eyes.

When the ground began buckling, Raven tripped and slid along the sandy surface. She considered taking flight, but fearing the wayward lightning that zigzagged through the atmosphere, she felt at a loss. She was also exhausted and unsure as to whether she could actually change forms again.

The dilemma was solved for her when two of Asmodeus’s guards appeared beside her, simply materializing out of the charged red air. They’d clearly been drawn in from someplace else – and the first thing they did upon assuming solid form was grab Raven by the arms and bat their massive wings to take her into the sky.

She closed her eyes as her booted feet left the ground and the blast of the lightning threatened ever closer. If it was going to strike her, she wasn’t going to watch.

The fight continued below; she could hear it. Asmodeus said things to Drake that Raven couldn’t decipher, and all of Nisse seemed to react to their struggle, rumbling and hissing and crashing all around them.

At one point, there was the briefest silence before a horrible wave of power rippled across the entire realm.

It felt like a shockwave across Raven’s body, stifling her consciousness until she nearly passed out. Even if she’d wanted to open her eyes then, she couldn’t have. She thought she was dying. She was being crushed and eaten and torn apart from the inside out, and the terror would never end. She was positive.

But somehow, it
did
end. The wave passed mercifully over her, and in the aftermath of its strength, the world grew quiet.

So quiet
.

The sudden, stark stillness surrounded her, nearly worse in its ability to terrify than the pulse of power that preceded it, and Raven heard nothing but the sound of her own ragged breathing. She waited several silent beats and found herself opening her eyes to see once more. The guards were still holding her, their grips ever tight, though the expressions on their faces made it clear that they did so now only on penalty of death.

Their eyes were not on her. Raven followed their gazes.

Several yards away, against the raised outcropping of a parched red rock, Drake held his sword before him. Upon it was Lord Asmodeus, ruler of the nine Hells of Abaddon, speared through the chest to mid-blade.

No.

The lightning had ceased. The rumbling had stopped. It seemed everyone in every realm was watching just then. Raven heard her heart hammering. She felt her eyes so painfully wide in her face, and knew that nothing she ever experienced again would be as monumentally important as what she was seeing in that moment.

Asmodeus moved back, and Drake withdrew his sword. It made a strange, horrible sound as it left the body of his father.

Time and space shifted. Raven was once more firm footed on the ground, and the guards beside her had gone as still as the rest of the world.

She watched in that terrible stillness as Asmodeus took a step back, looked down at his chest, and then fell to his knees.

“That’s done, then,” the king said softly. He seemed oddly bewildered by the sight of his own blood pooling and falling from the mortal wound in his abdomen. “You’ll make a fine king, Drake,” he said without looking up. “And Winter Raven was meant to be your queen.”

A thrum of something potent went through Raven.
No
. She looked to Drake, who had returned to his human form and now stood holding his dripping sword before the bent form of his father.

Finally, the wounded Dark Lord looked up. His eyes met Drake’s. Something silent passed from father to son. She could almost feel it.

And then, with a final, bemused glance at his royal, blood-drenched armor, Asmodeus exhaled and raised his arms at his sides. Raven watched in mute fascination as the king’s tall, strong body began to blacken as if turning to onyx or obsidian. Little by little, the stone ate up his skin, gradually darkening his entire frame until he was but a statue of black rock, kneeling in the red dirt of Nisse.

Several tense beats later, Asmodeus’s statue burst into a cloud of ash that was caught up and carried away by a hot breeze.

Raven watched it climb until it was out of sight. Then she looked back down at Drake. He stared at the place where his father had been. He seemed to be in a trance almost, he stared for so long. And then slowly, he looked down at his own sword. With eerie calm, he took the blade between his thumb and forefinger and wiped Asmodeus’s powerful blood away. Then he straightened and slipped the sword back into the sheath strapped to his back.

Raven was tired and drained, and she’d spent so long being driven by adrenaline, she felt dizzy. But when Drake turned toward her and the guards without looking up at her – when he began coming toward them with slow purpose, his head bent, his black hair curling from sweat and ash… Raven experienced a new wave of incredible unease.

There was a sensation coming from Drake. It wasn’t unlike the waves of power she’d always felt coming off of him, but it wasn’t exactly the same either. It was heavier somehow. Stronger.

Darker.

Oh Abaddon.

Drake slowly closed the distance between them, his gloved hands at his sides, his black armor-clad form never looking more ominous to Raven. When he finally stood less than a foot away, he stopped… and looked up to meet her gaze.

Raven’s heart sank. She licked her parched lips, felt her throat fight the dryness it had adopted, and said, “Is it Drake?” She paused. “Or Darken?” Her voice was so soft, so clearly choked with emotion.

Drake didn’t reply. Instead, he held her gaze with his for what felt like forever. She could read nothing behind those eyes whose irises bled with fire, and with each passing beat, she felt more and more lost.

Finally, Drake turned to regard the men who held her. “Release her,” he commanded calmly. His voice had not changed. She would know his voice anywhere. And damn the sound of it, because it allowed Raven to hope.

At once, the men let her go. Together, they each went to one knee, their heads bent low in respect. “We’re yours to command, my liege,” one of them said.

The guard’s carefully spoken words went through Raven with a verifying reverberation that scraped along her soul like fingernails. She hated what they meant.

Drake had killed the last king – and would now be taking his place.

He’d done it to save her, to protect her. Just as Darken and Asmodeus had planned, Drake had come here for
her
. She was the reason he had given up his freedom and would be remaining in Nisse indefinitely.

With that thought, Raven swallowed hard. Her stomach dropped like lead. Asmodeus had told his son that she was meant to be his queen. Would she be trapped here with him?

And if so… did she mind?

Her head spun, her heart throbbed, and through it all, she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. She didn’t want to. He was the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on, and at the moment, he was probably the most deadly.

He was also very, very close. She looked from his eyes to his lips, from behind which she knew his fangs could erupt with frightening speed. She looked at the strong curve of his neck, recalling Darken’s earlier temptation of her. Then she looked down at his black-gloved hands and remembered their strength. She took a shaky breath.

Drake watched the guards kneel, but didn’t respond to them. Instead, he slowly raised his gaze to level it on Raven, and she looked up into his eyes once more.

After a moment, he asked “Are you hurt, Raven?”

Raven had no idea. She was aching all over, but was fairly certain that she was doing it to herself. Otherwise, she was all but numb.

She shook her head.

She wanted to touch him. How much of the Drake she knew was left in that dark, ridiculously powerful six-foot-five frame?

The heir to Nisse regarded her with an all-knowing, molten metal gaze. His silver-red eyes flashed with a lightning bolt of warning just before he moved forward, grabbed the back of her head by her hair, and bent her back to claim her lips with his.

All thoughts were immediately blown from Raven’s mind like so many dried leaves scattered on an Autumn wind. Her hands flew to his leather-clad chest, her fingernails digging into the material of their own accord as she felt Drake’s other arm slide around her waist to pull her into him.

She could feel him enter her mind then… and she let him in.

As if he’d taken her by the hand to lead her through a door, Raven’s eyes closed on the real world and entered the one in her head. Stars spun, their sprinkle dust trails painting pictures across a midnight sky. A white flower budded, bloomed, and changed colors. The seasons turned, and a storm came and went, and a rainbow cast the atmosphere in an array of splendor.

She was flying, the wind in her hair, the taste of freedom on her tongue. She was eating chocolate, smelling lavender, holding a warm blanket to her naked skin. Naiads surfaced in the forest, pixies spun around an ancient oak, and somewhere a unicorn raised its head. She saw it then, its glowing body and bedazzled horn, and she saw the blood red ruby that winked at her in a magic light.

Music was playing; it was a song without words that beat in time with her heart. It brushed her soul with fingers of silk, caressing it with hope.

She ceased to be in that moment.

Drake of Tanith was in complete control, his kiss deep, fierce, and desperate. Without mercy, he opened her up to his magic, and the heat of his spirit branded her to her core. She melted under him, his inexorable fire infusing her mind and setting her body to blaze.

Raven,
his voice whispered. The softest whisper, the most tender word ever spoken. It was an oath, and it was a prayer.