Unleashed (8 page)

Dawson was the first to step through the portal out of the vortex and into the waning light of a late October afternoon. The area was empty, the blue sky a welcome change after the caverns of Lemuria.

Ginny took a deep breath of the clean desert air. No sulfuric stench of demon here, no sense of danger, but Markus had sounded absolutely terrified.

Alert and moving quickly, she followed the others—this amazing band of demonslayers—along the well-marked trail. It led to a shortcut that ran cross-country for a short distance before eventually dropping them into the back side of Dawson’s property.

It would be night soon. The perfect time to hunt demons.

* * *

Visibly trembling, Isra clutched the hilt of her crystal sword and stared at the shimmering blade. “Why, Taron? I heard her voice, but . . .” Slowly raising her head, Isra stared at him. “I’ve done nothing to deserve her praise. How can this be?”

The other women in the training room gathered close as Isra’s sword shimmered, diamond bright and pulsing with life.

Once again the blade flashed and the sentience within spoke. The voice was soft and melodic, definitely female. “You will call me FrostFire, Isra. My name will forever be a reminder of the cold that once encased your heart. I speak because I wish to, because it is time. You had more personal demons to overcome than most, Isra, once a Forgotten One. You turned away from evil. You saved Nica’s life. You have fought your own demons to become a stronger, better woman. You’ve done this, not for personal glory but for Lemuria. We will make a formidable team, you and I.”

The glow faded, the blade was once again merely faceted crystal. Isra raised her head and stared at Taron, not as a man she wanted to bed, but as a friend, one who might understand what had just happened. All sense of her earlier flirtation was gone. Tears coursed down her cheeks, but she didn’t say a word. Her rapt expression spoke volumes.

Isra’s silence was not unexpected. Taron figured if his gods-be-damned sword ever condescended to speak to him, he’d not know what to say, either.

He bowed low to Isra, a heartfelt show of respect.

Respect tainted by his own unfathomable jealousy—a foolish and unwelcome response he quickly buried. “Your sword is correct, Isra. You will make a formidable team. Congratulations to you, and to FrostFire. May your partnership be long and successful.”

She nodded, but her attention shifted quickly from Taron to the crystal sword clutched in her hand. Taron turned and walked away as Isra’s sisters gathered around her . . . walked away, clasping his own mute weapon in his right hand.

The proof of a warrior’s value was in the sentience of his blade. Isra, who’d partnered with a crystal sword for mere days, had already been validated as a warrior, while he, a Lemurian aristocrat who’d carried crystal for millennia, who’d wielded his blade in battle, had not heard a word from his weapon.

If he’d proven himself, his sword would have spoken by now. Would have at least acknowledged him as a demon fighter. What did he lack? What did he need to do? He’d fought demonkind, and fought them bravely, yet obviously it wasn’t enough.

Even if he had wanted to romance a woman—and he knew he could choose any of the Forgotten Ones with the odds of a successful outcome—he didn’t feel worthy.

His sword had been the one chosen to replicate the crystal blades which now armed those same women, he’d killed demons in battle, had stood bravely against powerful odds.

Still, it had not been enough.

No matter what he did, it was never enough.

He knew he should not be so beholden to anyone or anything for affirmation of his own value, but the truth hurt. He needed to know his blade found him worthy, that he’d earned the respect of the sentience within his crystal sword.

There was no one else. He was a man without family. His parents were long gone. Alton had been the closest thing to a brother he’d ever known.

Now, Alton had Ginny and a sword that spoke to him. Taron was truly alone for the first time in his life.

Head down, heart heavy, he walked slowly back to his quarters, much too aware of the disconsolate sound of his footsteps as he headed down the long tunnel. His shadow, the dark shape of a powerful warrior bearing a sword, mocked him.

The melodramatic thoughts in his head mocked him even more. Why did this bother him so? Why couldn’t he just let it go and get on with his life?
Fool,
he thought.
You act the fool.

Yet once inside his apartment, he set the sword down on the low table in front of his couch, sat back in the comfortable chair, and stared with unabashed bitterness at the blade.

So much had occurred over the past month, and through it all, he’d expected the sentience in his crystal sword finally to make itself known. He’d felt as if he paused on the precipice of history when he and Alton made the decision to free the demonslayers from their cell. He’d risked death, and yet he still believed the choice they’d made that night to defy the Council of Nine’s edict would bring about change.

Change for the better of his world and his people. And, in many ways, it had, even though the demon king still lived.

Artigos the Just, a leader they’d long thought dead, had been freed from captivity and now governed Lemuria with his son beside him. The new Council of Nine—one untainted by demonic possession—would be seated in a couple of days. This would be the first council including both women and common folk since the great move to this dimension in the depths of Mount Shasta. The women, those brave Forgotten Ones, were no longer slaves. Now Paladins, they had become honored guardians of Lemuria, ready to usher in a renewed age of strong women warriors.

So many amazing changes in such a short time—unheard of in a world that was slow to embrace change of any kind. But where was Taron of Libernus’s place in the new order? What role would he be called upon to play?

If he were called to play any future role at all.

He stared at the sword, running through all that had occurred since that moment just four weeks ago when he and Alton had first spied what they thought were normal humans sitting forlornly in their Lemurian prison cell. Dax and Eddy had looked absolutely pathetic, and the silly dog hadn’t been much better.

And Willow. Dear, beautiful little Willow. Unexpected tears stung his eyes when he thought of her. He’d been fascinated with the sprite from the very first moment he saw her. Not even as tall as his smallest finger, she’d stood there in the palm of his hand and actually flirted with him.

The others hadn’t noticed, thank the gods, or he’d still be getting teased, but the little flirt had spoken mind to mind with him and every word had been loaded with teasing innuendo. It should have sounded ridiculous, coming from such a tiny creature, but there’d been something special about the sprite. Something that tugged at his soul and made him smile even now, though inexplicably, his heart was breaking.

How could he grieve so for a creature he hardly knew, one that could never be more to him than a friend? Still, the thought of that perfect little body being eaten by the demon king as the tiny sprite bravely battled evil made Taron’s failings even more painfully obvious.

Ginny said Willow was handling it well. Just one more change among many—new life for Willow, new leader for Lemuria, new way of life for a people who preferred to debate a subject to death rather than deal with it.

Taron wished he was as good at dealing with change as Willow appeared to be, but there were just so many changes, so much to do . . . it made his head spin.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the sofa. Consciously, he slowed his breathing, eased the taut muscles in his shoulders and hoped the knot in his gut would finally settle.

Nine hells, but what a long month this had been . . . and yet, it felt as if all that was familiar had been upended in the blink of an eye . . . which was quite close to reality for a man with a near immortal span of years. What was one month in thousands of months? One year in millennia? He drifted, falling deeper and deeper into a sea of calm, relishing the sense of utter relaxation, if only for a moment.

A thought flitted through his mind, that it was probably not the smartest thing, to steal this time for himself . . . sort of like inviting chaos or tempting the gods.

As if merely giving freedom to that thought had opened a door, a brilliant blast of light flashed brightly across his closed lids.

Nine hells . . .
Blinking, Taron opened his eyes. Shut them tightly, opened them again and stared.

The entire room glowed. His crystal sword flashed again—blue fire almost blinded him. He blinked and jerked away from the shimmering light, then slowly leaned forward. Heart racing, he gazed, transfixed by the glowing blade. There was a sense of portent about the moment, a feeling that power gathered.

Tempting the gods, indeed!

Chills ran along his arms. He rubbed them, barely aware of the act, at least until a voice filled the room. A man’s voice, speaking with strength and conviction.

His gods-be-damned crystal blade was actually speaking.

“Nine hells and then some . . .” Taron swallowed back another curse as the voice rang out.

“Taron of Libernus? Prepare. The final battle draws nigh. It is time.”

Holy shit, as Ginny would say . . . time for what?

He took a deep breath. “I’m listening. What should I do?”

“Go now to Evergreen. Posthaste. Time is short.”

The glow faded. The blade went silent.

Evergreen? It wants me to go to Earth’s dimension?

He thought of Alton’s brief message, received a short time ago. His friend was probably there now, slipping into Earth’s dimension as if it was no big deal. He’d done it often enough over the past few weeks as one of the soldiers on the front lines of the battle against demonkind.

But not Taron. His work had all been here, in Lemuria.

Until now.
Time is short.
How short? And why?

Still in shock, Taron ran his fingers over the faceted surface. The crystal felt cool to his touch, though it pulsed with a new sense of life.

His fingers trembled as he stroked the blade. His throat felt tight. He gazed at the crystal he’d carried for thousands of years, lost in wonder.

He couldn’t wait to tell Alton, but his friend was already out of reach, already in Earth’s dimension. Well, if Taron followed his blade’s orders, he’d be seeing Alton soon. He couldn’t wait to tell him his sword had . . . “Nine hells and then some.”

Taron burst into laughter. Shoulders shaking, he laughed like a veritable madman, until the tears ran down his cheeks and he knew he looked and sounded like an idiot.

Finally he got himself under control. Wiping his eyes, he stared ruefully at the silent sword. “The least you could have done after all these years,” he said, “was tell me your name.”

About the Author

Kate Douglas is the lead author of Kensington Publishing’s Aphrodisia imprint and the author of the popular erotic paranormal romance series
Wolf Tales
, as well as the Zebra series
DemonSlayers
. She is currently working on her newest Aphrodisia series,
Dream Catchers
, as well as her online serial,
Demon Lovers
. Kate and her husband of almost forty years have two adult children and five grandchildren. They live in the beautiful mountains of Lake County, California, north of the Napa Valley wine country.