Light Shadows (44 page)

We stop just before we round another corner just as we hear voices floating down the connecting hallway. Niko turns and gives us a signal, telling us that Dorian’s quarters are in that direction. The plan is to take Lars, Morgan and me to him to begin the healing process, then Niko and Alex will hastily head to the prison cells to free Cyrus. When I expressed my concern at there being only two of them, Alex looked at me with complete confidence, a smug smile on his lips.

“I’m a warrior, child—a trained assassin. The king’s guard may be tough, but not tough enough.”

Once the voices fade far enough that even my ears can’t detect them, we round the corner.

And run smack dab into a wall of black-draped muscle and sunglasses.

Vampires. At least eight of them.

It only takes half a second before we’re all crouched into defensive stances, illuminated hands primed to strike. Even Morgan has unsheathed the Polemos dagger, which will be even more effective on our present company, reducing them to ash with just prick of the blade.

The vampires are motionless, not even making a move to attack. They stand shoulder to shoulder, spanning the width of the hall, as if they are shielding something—or someone. When I hear a familiar chortle, I know exactly what they were concealing.

“Now is that anyway to welcome your host?” Stavros chides, as the vampires move in tandem to accommodate his advance. He’s dressed in a midnight blue, pinstripe suit, much like the one he wore when I first laid eyes on him in that grocery store aisle. I shudder at the thought of him consciously choosing this suit just for me, forcing that memory into my head.

The Dark king runs his gaze over our group, his face passive. However, his eyes are sharp and narrowed as he takes us in. I know what he’s thinking. He can’t believe the prophecy has come into fruition. We he looks back at his son, he makes a tsking sound and shakes his head, as if his son’s betrayal offends him.

“Let us convene in the throne room,” he says, turning his back. He’s a cocky fucker, thinking we won’t dare strike him.

“Let’s not,” Niko retorts. “Just give us Dorian and Cyrus, and no one gets hurt.”

Stavros stops to shoot Niko an amused look. “What you seek is in the throne room, boy. Come and get it, if you dare.” Then he disappears into the tall wall of vampire.

“Shit,” Niko curses, as we watch their retreating backs. Cold energy vibrates his entire frame, and his irises are nearly white. He doesn’t meet my horrified stare, but I know his whispered words are for me. “Turn back. Get to safety. If you don’t leave now, you won’t get another shot.”

“I’m not leaving you,” I reply in an equally hushed tone, shaking my head so he can feel the certainty in my words. “You’re not doing this alone. I won’t let you.”

“Goddamit, Gabs. For once, listen to me. Go now.
Please.
Take the others with you. This was a mistake. It was all a mistake.”

My life has never been the picture of good morality and virtue. I’ve made mistakes—plenty of them. But Niko was not one of them. I stand with him with purpose, with unwavering faith, willing to shoulder his burden as my own.

As if reading my thoughts, Alexander sidles up to Niko clapping a hand on his shoulder. “We stay together, brother. You will not bear this alone.” Both Morgan and Lars nod in unison, with no signs of reluctance.

“Ok,” Niko replies, his voice weak. Finally, those vacant, pale eyes meet mine, and they begin to churn with unnamed emotion. His expression crumples for just the flash of a second and his lips part, yet he bites them back.

I reach for his hand, sliding my palm against his in an act of apology, of forgiveness. Of love. “Ok.”

The throne room is everything the name suggests: ostentatious, excessive and unbelievably soulless. I imagine Dorian—
my
Dorian—dreading the space as he grew up, considering his aversion to all things flashy and wasteful. Or maybe he originally liked things like this, his tastes only changing as his view on humanity did.

Stavros sits upon a gaudy, golden throne, his dark suit looking rich and regal against the majestic backdrop. Delia sits beside him, her high back chair not as large, but equally grand. Her eyes fall on her son first, the pain reflected in them so clearly evident. She clutches the arm of her seat until her knuckles run white, yet says nothing, pressing those red, lush lips into a grim line. My mouth dries as I look at her, enraptured by all her beauty. Wondering how a woman so seemingly loving towards her sons can be married to someone so callous and cruel.

“You wound me, boy,” Stavros says after several minutes of boring his hateful stare into us. “My own flesh and blood—my son—betraying his family.
His race.
For what? An abomination? A living, breathing crime against our species? Not to mention a fugitive, a human bitch and a sniveling Light parasite?” He sucks his teeth in distaste before drawing his lips tight against a murderous sneer. “Bow to me. All of you! Bow to me and beg for forgiveness. Beg for mercy. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll make your death a quick one.”

“No.” The simple word vibrates Niko’s chest with the weight of a thousand fallen souls, reverberating through the entire room.

“Bow, you unworthy, traitorous speck of a man! I loathe that my blood runs through your veins. Your very existence is a plague to the Skotos name.”

Delia flinches before reaching out to gently touch her husband’s arm. Even she knows he’s gone too far. “Stavros…”

The Dark king recoils from her touch, shooting her a death glare that echoes with violence. Delia instantly shrinks back into her chair, fear rattling the heavy jewels around her throat.

“No,” Niko repeats, no inflection in his voice. There is sheer madness in Stavros’s eyes, yet the younger man remains impassive, a pillar of restraint. And while he does not need the show of support, I reach over and grasp his hand, showing him that he does not stand alone. He’ll never, ever be alone again.

Stavros barks out a mocking laugh, the sound harsher than his usual deep baritone. He sits up straight, leaning forward on the edge of his seat. “You think that you can challenge me? You think that hybrid slut can save you, boy? She is just as much of a disgrace as you are.”

I hear Alexander growl beside me, the promise of vengeance rolling off him in menacing waves. I reach over and clasp his hand before rage can make him take a step forward. On his other side, Morgan shifts, doing the same, her other hand still tightly grasping Lars. We stand before that Dark bastard, a united front. If we are slain today, it will be side by side, as one. As family.

Biting down my overwhelming sadness at the thought of my loved ones losing their lives, I hold my head high, meeting Stavros’s glare. “Enough of your threats. Give us what we came for, and we will consider letting you live.”

Again, the king snickers with amusement. “Let
me
live? And who the hell do you think will enforce that directive, you dim-witted bitch?”

There’s not a single shred of uncertainty in my voice. Not one. “I will.”

“As will I,” Niko adds, his voice rising above Stavros’s scornful mirth.

“And I,” Alexander states, his tone also slicing through the king’s disdain.

“Me too,” pipes Morgan.

On cue, Lars is right behind her. “Aye!”

“Is that all?” Stavros asks amusingly. “Five degenerate misfits? Ha!”

“Well, don’t forget us,” a familiar voice says from the shadows, approaching us where we stand. Resounding gasps and whispers echo around the room, and the look on Stavros’s face shifts from glee to pure fury.

Denny Nox steps into view, flanked by several dozen fallen children of all species, shapes and sizes. He flashes me a wink as I smile at him and the rousing crowd of castaways, gratitude pouring out of me by the gallon.

“Daneus Deleazó,” Stavros grits, obvious disdain dripping from what looks like gleaming white fangs. He’s livid, so much so that his darkness has emerged. He’s got a personal vendetta against the alluring sex god-turned-rocker.

Denny dips his head dramatically and sweeps a hand forward with a flourish. “My king,” he mocks. Then he lifts his head, shooting Delia Skotos a look so sultry that she gasps aloud, squirming in her seat. “My queen.”

Stavros takes one look at his wife’s panting chest and flushed cheeks, and sneers before backhanding the woman, nearly sending her flying out of her chair. Horrified shrieks and growls erupt all over the room and I squeeze Niko’s hand as tight as I can. He’s shaking with rage, and the mere power of his wrath causes the room to dip in temperature.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” Denny warns, his voice as cold as the now chilly room. His eyes stay fixed on the queen as her handmaidens rush to her side and help to usher her from the room. Something passes across his features…regret. And love.

“Oh? And why’s that? Because you brought your little friends with you?” Stavros stands to his feet, yet he’s smart enough to not advance past the safety of his guards. “Well, I’ve brought a few friends of my own.”

He snaps his fingers and rows of vampires and possessed humans file out, expressions blank. Soulless. After the last of his army lines up, which nearly breeches the capacity of the room, a silver-chained figure is brought out by a Warlock. At first, I don’t even recognize him, his face unrecognizable from beatings. He’s woozy, almost unable to stand, and it looks like one of his fangs has been torn from his mouth.

“What the hell have you done to him?” Niko roars, cringing at the sight of his cousin, Cyrus.

“Not nearly enough,” Stavros retorts. “And nothing close to what I plan to do to that degenerate whore beside you.”

“You’re dead,” Niko declares, the truth ringing crystal clear in his level voice. “You’re fucking dead.”

Stavros snorts before pinning his son with a malicious smirk. “You first.”

The Dark king disappears, yet his words vibrate the entire room, making everybody tremble with unspent rage. I know what that sound means. The end. This is the end.

The next seconds seem like a slow motion sequence rather than mere seconds as Lars whirls in front of us, his expression wild. “Now!” he screams.

Niko is already gone from beside me, and manifesting beside Cyrus, before disappearing with him in the next heartbeat. Stavros’s army springs into action, but not before Lars’s body begins to seize where he stands as his hands work to contain a rapidly growing, blinding ball of light. It’s like he’s holding the sun in his palms, the glowing orb casting radiant sunlight over the entire room. With a roar, he pushes it out into the advancing, offensive line. Screams ring out as the ball catches fire on all the opposing vampires. They writhe and wilt to the ground before reducing to nothing but piles of sickly ash. Still, the humans press forward, violence in their flat eyes, not realizing what they’re doing. More enemies join them, running into the throne room with arms raised in bloodlust.

We brace for impact as our line crashes into theirs in 5…4…3…2…

“Try to immobilize the humans!” Alex shouts over the thunder of battle. “Kill the rest!”

Instinct completely governs my body as I kick and punch and freeze our enemies with lightning speed. They’re coming at me in droves, all wanting to be the one to slay the Dark Light, and I’m taking them down faster than they can see. Magic sizzles in my veins as I slam into the chest of a human, freezing him where he stands. Behind him a Warlock tries to barrel into me, but he’s too slow, and electric hands reach from my fingertips and wrap around his neck, squeezing until he’s an unconscious heap on the floor.

“Get to Dorian!” Alex calls from over the fray, just as two more Dark Ones fall victim to his flawless skill. “Hurry! I’ll catch up!”

I flash to Morgan as she slices and dices, wielding the Polemos blade like a fucking surgeon. Lars is at her back, blasting mofos with fiery balls of light. “Come on!”

They know the plan, and Morgan turns to grip the Enchanter, holding on as we dissolve just a split second before a sword-wielding human nearly decapitates us. We manifest in the hallway, and break into a sprint away from the battle. Guilt twists in my gut, hating that I have to leave the fight and all my new brothers and sisters in arms, but we have to stick to the plan.

“Where is it?” Morgan asks, running beside me. We stop at two long corridors as I try to remember the map Niko drew for us. I’d only been to Dorian’s quarters once and every door looks the same. Shit. Did we get turned around in our escape?

I go left, praying that I’ve chosen the right path. “Down here!”

We race down a few yards, before the very walls around us shift and morph into something else. When we try to turn and double back, we’re trapped between doors at opposite ends. Holy fuck, it’s spelled. The goddamn hallways are spelled so we can’t find our way.

I try to blast them with an electric zap, but the walls just twist and distort before snapping back into place like a rubberized mirage. We have to choose a door, and the more time we spend trying to decide which one, the more time we waste in finding Dorian. Holding my breath, I choose the door at the very end. I suspect the destination would be the same no matter what entranceway we picked.

We’re in the infamous parlor, which has been completely restored since the last time I was here. But I don’t give two shits about the décor. Stavros is here. And right now, he has an unconscious Niko suspended in midair, completely immobilized. He’s badly beaten, but judging by Stavros’s ripped clothes and bloodied face, Niko put up a helluva fight. Below him is Cyrus, who is nothing more than a crumpled, bloody heap in the corner.
Oh no.

“Let him go!” I rage, throwing a wave of crackling magic at Stavros. He deflects it, wielding it back in my direction. Lars tackles Morgan to the ground and I tumble out of the way just before it takes us out.

“So lovely for you to join us, Gabriella.” The way he spits out my name makes it sound like a curse. He smiles, circling me like a predator, as I lower into a crouch. Lars tries to intervene, but Stavros immediately traps him and Morgan in an invisible cell. It’s just me and him. Just as he’s wanted it all along.