Haunted by the King of Death (17 page)

Four maddening days since his younger brother had destroyed all of his plans to save Isla mere seconds after he had formed them.

Night had asked where he intended to go.

Grave hadn’t been able to give him an answer.

He didn’t know where Isla lived, where to begin looking for her. It had taken him wasted hours at Bastian’s mansion to decide to scout the demon castle in the Devil’s domain, and then he had wasted days reaching it only to discover it lay in ruin. The only sign of life in the area had been him and Snow.

When he had suffered another attack, his hands fading as they descended the mountain on which the black fortress stood, Snow had taken command.

Since then, his cousin had been more than insistent that they find a phantom mage to fix his problem before he weakened further, and Grave could hardly argue with him when he made a valid point. He needed to be strong if they were going to find the demon and stop him.

But the longer he traversed the lands of Hell in search of a phantom mage, the deeper the ache within his heart grew, and now he could think of nothing other than Isla. She haunted his every waking and sleeping second, filling his mind with thoughts of her, and clouding his heart with emotions that he could no longer contain nor deny.

Gods.

His gloved fingers were on the pendant beneath his black combat shirt before he was even aware of what he was doing, tracing the pattern of the silver Celtic knot, and his thoughts turned to Isla again, going from light to dark as they ran the course they always did.

Something had happened to her. Something terrible.

His breaths came faster, shifting the strip of black cloth that covered the bottom half of his face, and his heart accelerated as panic sank its claws into him.

He clutched the pendant and focused on the mark on his back, and it warmed and tingles spread along the lines of it, so he could see it easily in his mind. His heart settled as the connection to her opened, the familiar sensation comforting him for once.

She was alive, out there somewhere. His bond to her told him that much. It gave him hope.

Hope that he kept to himself, together with his need to see her again and discover what had happened to her.

Snow’s steady gaze landed on him as they trekked across another featureless black valley, heading towards an imposing spire that rose from the centre of it to tower almost one hundred metres high. Grave kept his eyes on that castle, refusing to look at his cousin, afraid that if he did Snow would see the fear in his heart, and everything else he hid there.

Saving himself wasn’t the real reason he had hunted down three phantom mages so far.

If he had been mistaken and she was free of the demon, Isla would be looking for one too.

He was trying to find her.

Needed to find her.

Gods, he needed to see her again, needed to reassure the darker part of himself that she was fine. He hadn’t felt any pain from her since that day, but it wasn’t enough to reassure him that she was well. He had to see it with his own eyes in order to make his wretched softer side believe it.

He felt Snow’s gaze leave him and mentally breathed a sigh of relief.

He wasn’t sure Snow would understand if he allowed him to see beyond the walls, but then he wasn’t sure his cousin wouldn’t understand either. Snow had been through countless ordeals, had suffered tremendously in his years, and seemed stronger for it. Grave still didn’t feel like putting himself out there, risking everything to share something with his cousin that was private.

If Snow didn’t understand, if he said something wrong in response to discovering that Grave still harboured love for Isla, despite the things she had done to him and everything he had told Snow about hating her, then Grave wouldn’t be able to stop himself from attacking his cousin.

His bloodlust was a deadly beast liable to rage if anyone said a word against Isla, more than ever now that he hadn’t fed in days and his dark thoughts of her being in danger kept it constantly close to the surface, on the verge of emerging and seizing control of him. He had given up trying to subdue it, because it was impossible when the warrior in him knew he would need it if he found her and she was in trouble.

He would need it in order to save her.

“Hopefully this one will be home.” Snow’s hushed voice broke the silence, muffled by the cloth over his face, drawing him back to the black world around them as they hunkered down behind an outcrop of rocks just a few hundred metres from the eastern side of the tower.

Grave nodded as he shifted the angle of the blade hanging at his waist to make it more comfortable and grasped a boulder, peering over it to scout the high black wall that encircled the base of the tower. No sign of guards. Or a gate. He would have assumed it was on the western side he couldn’t see from this vantage point, one that was close to a forest of gnarled bare black trees, but there was a path worn into the dark earth that led to the wall on this side.

Maybe there was a gate or something he couldn’t see from this distance, even with his heightened sight.

Maybe someone had shored up the entrance and the castle was empty.

Grave’s heart did a strange kick in his chest at that thought, a brief surge of adrenaline rushing into his blood, shaking his hope but not enough that he lost hold of it.

This one had to be alive.

He was growing weaker, running out of time. If the demon chose to attack his family now, he wouldn’t be strong enough to protect them.

He wouldn’t be strong enough to protect her.

He glared at the castle, willing a mage to live in it still. He was Grave’s last hope.

The previous two mages they had tracked across Hell had been dead ends, literally, and it had left him with only this one to pursue. He scanned the dark grey sky, heart beating steadily against his chest despite the trickle of fear that began to run through his blood, a sensation he had been fighting from the moment they had neared the valley.

Snow leaned against the boulder beside him and he glanced at his cousin. Blue eyes shifted to him, the only thing visible between the black face mask and skull cap. Their clothing was a necessary precaution.

Not because of the phantom mage.

It was the fallen angels he was worried about.

They were the reason he and Snow were now dressed head to toe in black, as much of them covered as possible so they could slip into the valley unnoticed. The last thing he wanted to do was alert a fallen angel to their presence. He was no match for them in his current condition, and he wasn’t sure even his cousin could take one down. Any passing fallen angel would view them as easy prey.

An easy meal.

The plan was to get into the castle, and back out, without being spotted.

Although, he hadn’t seen any fallen in the vicinity since they had arrived. There had been one in the distance then, beyond the tower, lazily circling something on the western side of the valley. It had disappeared from view a moment later and he hadn’t seen it since. He didn’t like not knowing where it had gone. If he had seen it fly into another valley, or teleport, he would have felt more at ease, and more in control.

Darkness bubbled just below the surface of his skin, a black hunger for violence that he struggled with as he scouted the tower, fighting to keep it under his control. His stomach rumbled, loud enough that Snow looked at him.

He glared at his cousin, warning him not to say anything.

They had agreed they would feed once they had followed this lead to its conclusion, and that was still the plan. It wasn’t as if there was anything to feed on in this godsforsaken valley anyway.

A scent swept past him, carried on a warm breeze that rolled across the valley.

One that made his gut clench and heart ache.

Isla.

He scoured the lands for her, gaze tracking fast over everything, half of him sure he was imagining her.

His eyes darted back to the edge of the forest.

She stood out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of black, her blue leathers and white hair making it easy for him to see her even though there was at least six hundred metres between them and very little light in the valley.

“Fuck,” he muttered and Snow frowned at him. Grave pointed her out to his cousin. He knew the moment Snow had spotted her, because his cousin threw him a confused look. He sighed. “My mate.”

Snow jerked his chin towards the castle. “She will get herself killed.”

Grave’s eyes shot there and widened as they landed on a pack of three Hell beasts patrolling the perimeter of the wall, huge black hairless animals that were taller than he was, a cross between a bull and a big cat, complete with obsidian horns.

How the fuck hadn’t he scented them before?

He didn’t hesitate.

He kicked off, crossing the black lands with all the preternatural speed he could muster in his weakened state, little more than a blur in the darkness. Isla zoomed towards him, his single point of focus.

She stepped out from the cover of the forest.

Grave slammed into her and dragged her back into the gnarled black excuse for trees. She was still for a moment and then she began thrashing against him, kicking at his legs as he pinned her back against his chest and clawing at his arms. His skin chilled where she touched him, the warmth draining from it and leaving him ice cold, and his muscles stiffened as he tried to keep hold of her.

“Let me go,” she snarled in the demon tongue and he covered her mouth with his hand, his heart slamming against his chest as he focused to sharpen his hearing, afraid that the Hell beasts would have heard her.

Foolish female.

A hot sting shot through his palm and he grunted.

Isla stilled as warmth bloomed where she had bitten him.

“Grave.”

His hand muffled her, but not enough that the sound of his name whispered in her voice didn’t reach his ears and sink into his blood, heating him from the inside.

Blood that she had tasted, and recognised as his.

She settled against him, her back against his chest and her head on his shoulder, seemed to lean into him as she went limp in his arms.

She shoved out of them before he could hold her closer and whirled on him, her eyes glowing blue in the low light. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Grave couldn’t answer. He could only stare into her eyes as tears began to fill them.

“Leave me alone. Just go away.” Her voice faltered, losing its strength and growing increasingly quiet as her fight visibly left her.

She sank to her knees on the black ground and tears left glittering trails down her cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” Snow said from beside him and she seemed surprised when she lifted her head and looked at him, as if she had only just realised Grave wasn’t alone. His cousin pulled the black scarf covering the bottom half of his face down and pushed his black skullcap back, so tufts of his white hair sprang free.

Isla blinked slowly, her eyes going wide as she gazed up at Snow.

The darkness that had been riding Grave for the past four days pushed for freedom and he slid his cousin a look meant to order him to back off, but Snow played a dangerous game by refusing to look at him, by keeping his eyes on Isla.

On his mate.

He tore his own hat and scarf away and took a step towards his cousin, unable to contain the black need to drive Snow away from her by force and make it clear that he wasn’t to look at her like that—as if he cared about her.

She was his.

He grasped the hilt of his blade.

Isla shook her head and swallowed hard.

The pain that had gone through him in Bastian’s mansion returned, arresting his steps as it blazed inside him like cold fire, burning away all of his anger towards his cousin and dragging every drop of his focus back to Isla.

She wrapped her arms around herself, pale fingers digging into her bare arms, and lowered her head. Her white ponytail fell forwards and for the first time he noticed the braids that hung from her temples, and the crystals at their ends. Blue. Red. For her?

For him?

Her lips peeled back off her teeth and her white eyebrows furrowed as she squeezed her eyes shut, and the pain that beat within his heart and across the mark on his back grew stronger, stealing his breath.

He was only feeling an echo of what she experienced. How fierce was her pain? What had happened to her to make her suffer so greatly?

He couldn’t bear it when more tears came, running freely down her ashen cheeks.

He crouched in front of her and reached for her shoulders, but hesitated and drew his hands back a few inches as his courage faltered, fear of what would happen if he gave in to his need to comfort her making him wary.

A sob broke free of her lips.

He placed his hands on her arms, uncaring about what might happen to him. She was hurting, and that was all that mattered.

Her hand came up fast and he grunted as it slammed into his chest, knocking him away from her and onto his backside. She scrambled backwards across the loose earth, until her back hit the rough trunk of one of the trees, and glared at him.

Denied him.

He picked himself up off the dirt and brushed his fatigues down, cursing himself in his head as his hands shook. Fool. He shouldn’t have tried to comfort her. He should have known she would reject him. Hurt him.

Grave looked at her and every drop of anger he had managed to muster evaporated again as he saw her backed against the tree, a wild look in her tear-filled blue eyes. His beautiful Isla. He needed to comfort her. A stupid need, but one that was both powerful and commanding, and impossible to deny even when he knew she would only lash out at him and he would provoke her phantom powers into manifesting again.

She stopped him in his tracks when he advanced a step towards her, willing to risk her wrath.

“It is your fault,” she whispered, the pain in her voice turning it dark and malicious, warning him to keep his distance from her. His senses issued a warning of their own, telling him that she meant to attack even when she looked so frail, a broken little thing as she shook and began to curl into a ball. “You are the reason I lost…”