Authors: Kate Douglas
Tags: #Romance, #Man-Woman Relationships, #Fiction, #General, #Paranormal, #Demonology, #Revenge, #Paranormal Romance Stories
Starfire (15 page)
Mari and Darius followed the others out of the room. Gaia paused at the door. “I’ll stay with him,” she said.
Mari took her hand. “Is he okay, Gaia? He sounded almost like a little kid.”
Gaia nodded. “I believe the demon has taken much of my husband’s spirit, but he is alive, and he remembers me. That’s all I can ask for. Go now. Sleep.” She sighed and glanced at her sleeping husband. “I have a feeling you’re going to need your rest, that things are about to move very quickly.”
Mari glanced at Darius. “I’m afraid you might be right. If you need anything, Gaia, I’ll be here a while longer. I’m going back to my own apartment in a bit, but my mother and father are just down the hall.” Then she and Darius left the room together, while Gaia returned to her husband’s side.
Mari’s mother waited in the living room. She handed the telephone to Mari. “It’s Eddy. She wants to know how he’s doing.”
“I’ll take it.” Mari grabbed the phone and tried to figure out how to explain exactly what had just happened. She still wasn’t entirely positive. The demon was gone, but what was left of the chancellor? That was not the ruler of an entire civilization sleeping on her mother’s daybed. Not anymore.
Alton ran his finger down the list one more time and sighed. “Six out of the nine—if you include my father—possessed by demonkind. I had no idea it was this serious.”
Ginny chewed on her bottom lip and stared at the names. She’d sat beside Alton the night before when he’d called the council members together, and DarkFire had confirmed her suspicions. “That gave them a clear majority when your father was chancellor. Six against three, and those three have no idea what they’re up against. Even with you now siding with the three who aren’t possessed, demons still have a simple majority.”
“I wonder why those three haven’t been taken over? What is it that protects some and not others?”
Ginny shook her head. “I’m not sure, though they all appear to be decent, honorable men. Maybe it’s the strength of a person’s character, his personal honor. Integrity? Who knows?”
Alton smiled sadly. “I have a feeling you’re right, though I hate to think that’s it. I would rather believe my father’s possession was more arbitrary, not that he was so weak that he allowed the possession to occur.”
Alton’s sword pulsed blue. “Someone comes. DarkFire has removed the lock on the portal. Be prepared.”
Ginny didn’t say a word. Instead, she slipped behind a curtain hiding a storage closet, where she had a limited view of the room, but wouldn’t be visible to anyone coming through the portal. She’d barely gotten out of sight when two men barged into the room without announcing themselves first as was the normal protocol.
She recognized Maxl and Drago, the same ones who had sent a third to snoop through the chancellor’s office. Obviously they weren’t all that big on proper procedure.
Alton stood up, towering over both men. “Maxl. Drago. What brings you here?”
Drago drew himself up to his full height, which, while above average by human standards, made for a rather small Lemurian. “As chosen representatives of the Council of Nine, we demand to know what you’ve done with Artigos. We have no proof he’s taken ill, no proof you haven’t kidnapped him, or even murdered him to usurp his position. Your mother is missing. Have you kidnapped her as well?”
Alton folded his arms across his chest and looked down his nose at both men. “And what did the two of you have in mind, searching for my mother? She has no part to play with the council. Where she is and what she does is no one’s business but her own.”
“Not if you’ve harmed her. She’s a good woman.” Maxl took a step closer, invading Alton’s space.
“That she is, Maxl. A very good woman, which is why she chose to be with my father while he is being treated.”
“Where?” Drago slapped his palm down on the desk beside Alton. “Where is Artigos and what kind of treatment? He was perfectly okay when we saw him last.”
“That’s right,” Maxl said. He was an even smaller man than Drago, but every bit as pompous. “We know you, Alton. You’ve been a bane to your father’s existence for as long as we can recall. There is no way he would turn his seat over to you and that impersonator who calls herself a Lemurian.”
Ginny sensed Alton’s anger—his very powerful struggle for control. There was steel in his voice when he answered. She wondered if Maxl and Drago had any idea just how furious Alton was—or how close they both were to ending up in a world of hurt.
“You will leave my woman out of any conversation, Maxl. Remember that if you wish to survive long enough to remain a member of the council.”
“Are you threatening me, Alton? Please, continue. Especially since I have a witness.”
Drago shook his head. “There’s no need, Maxl. Alton, you’ve refused to tell us where to find Chancellor Artigos, who is the rightful leader of the council. We have no choice but to call a vote when we next meet. There is a solid majority willing to vote you out of your position. We can’t remove you from the council without a two-thirds vote, but we can take you out of the chancellor’s seat.”
Ginny’d heard all she could take. Gritting her teeth, she stepped into the room. “I’d like to see you try it, Drago. Do you have any idea what’s going on here?” She got right in Drago’s face. “You and Maxl are possessed. You harbor demons in your black little hearts. Are you aware of that?”
DarkFire glowed in the scabbard and actually vibrated against Ginny’s back. She slipped the dark crystal free and held it firmly under Drago’s nose. The blade shimmered with its unusual dark light, and tiny purple sparks raced up and down the blade. Both Maxl and Drago moved back a pace.
Drago was the first to regain his composure. “Standing behind a woman, eh, Alton?”
Alton shook his head and grinned at Ginny. “No. Not at all. I stand beside Ginny in all things.” He whipped HellFire from his scabbard, but he merely held the weapon as if he were showing it off. “Interesting thing about a sentient sword. Not only does it speak with the voice of an ancient warrior, it has powers we’re only now beginning to fully understand.”
He turned the blade this way and that, flashing light off the facets in a mesmerizing, hypnotic pattern. Both Maxl and Drago stared unwillingly at the blade, as if their gazes were trapped in the flashing, dancing light.
Though, as aristocrats, the men must have had crystal swords of their own, Ginny figured they were probably stashed in a closet somewhere. They weren’t wearing them at the moment, and no way would crystal work for anyone possessed by demonkind. They certainly wouldn’t shimmer and sparkle the way HellFire did, but it was obvious to Ginny that Alton’s blade was showing off.
Finally, with what had to be a powerful act of will, Drago forced his attention away from the shimmering blade. He blinked owlishly a moment. Then he scowled and focused his anger on Alton. “What kind of powers? What do you speak of?”
Alton smiled. It was the kind of expression that sent chills along Ginny’s spine—and they weren’t the good kind.
“Well, for instance, HellFire and DarkFire work really well together. Take Maxl here. We discovered last night he was not alone in his body. He’s got a parasite living with him. An ugly, dangerous parasite.”
Maxl glanced from the crystal blade to Drago and then stared at Alton. “I don’t have any parasite in me. What are you talking about?”
“This.” Alton pointed HellFire at Maxl. Ginny did the same with DarkFire, and brilliant beams like laser fire shot from both swords. Blue-white light from Alton’s. Dark, dark purple from DarkFire.
The blast of light bathed Maxl in cold flame, and he stiffened, caught in the laser-bright power of the crystal. Drago backed away and shielded his eyes, coughing as the room filled with the stench of sulfur. After a full minute, Alton lowered his sword.
Ginny did the same. She glanced up and caught his shrug as he sheathed HellFire. Drago clutched his partner’s arm and steadied him. Then he cursed Alton. “What the nine hells was that all about?”
Alton folded his arms over his chest. “Do you recognize that stench, Drago? It’s the scent of demonkind. That’s the parasite Ginny was talking about. She was not making a joke when she said both you and Maxl are possessed by demons. So are your cohorts on the council. Have you invited the bastards in, or did they take you unawares? How does it feel, to know that you serve Abyss and demonkind, not Lemuria?”
“You lie, Alton. Everything you say is a lie. Your days are sorely numbered, Alton of No One. What right have you to attack a member of the council?” Looping an arm around the other man’s waist, Drago helped Maxl walk drunkenly away from Alton. Then the two of them passed through the portal.
Alton stared at the dark gateway. Then he whispered, “Every right, Drago. Every right as a proud Lemurian and heir to the chancellor’s seat. I will not let demonkind prevail.”
He sighed, put his arm around Ginny’s shoulders, and hugged her close. “We should have killed the demon. A little more power would have forced the creature out.”
Ginny shook her head. “If we’d removed the demon, it could have killed Maxl. Even if we wanted to, I don’t believe either of our swords would allow it.”
“You’re probably right. But damn it all, it would sure make our job a lot easier.” He leaned down and kissed her. “Or not.”
Ginny kissed him back. “We will win, Alton. Somehow. But you need to retain your position. How long can you hold off a vote?”
“A couple of days, max. Drago is right. They’ve got the numbers to boot me out of the chancellor’s office. I haven’t got a chance of pulling any of this off if I’m not the chancellor. What are we going to do, Ginny?”
“Hope like hell your grandfather is still alive, that Taron gets the swords to the Forgotten Ones, and that your father comes through his exorcism okay. Oh, and that the demon king doesn’t decide to make a reappearance.”
He chuckled and kissed her again. “That’s all? What the nine hells could possibly go wrong?”
Exactly.
Ginny stared at the portal and refused to let herself think of all the potential for failure, and how little chance of success they really had.
Ginny stared at the portal and refused to let herself think of all the potential for failure, and how little chance of success they really had.
Chapter Twelve
Two swords remained. One was pure, clear crystal. The other a deep, ruby red, just like the blade they’d delivered to Artigos the Just. Selyn sucked in a nervous breath and hoped like the nine hells that the red sword wasn’t hers. She wanted clear crystal. A sword exactly like the one her mother had carried.
Not one that frightened her. The red blade radiated power, a sense of force that had all the other women giving it a wide berth.
Its presence hadn’t kept any of the others from finding their true matches, though. Every one of her sisters—except Isra, who had yet to return to the room—had claimed crystal.
Every single one except for Selyn. None had responded to her. Not even the slightest glimmer. Now she stood beside the table with her hands clasped tightly against the small of her back. What if neither of these belonged to her? What if, among all the Forgotten Ones, she truly had been forgotten?
She glanced at Dawson. He stood beside her as he had throughout the long day, reeling from exhaustion just as she was, but celebrating every time a sword had gone to one of the women. The level of excitement within the gathering room had grown as, one by one, woman and blade bonded.
“Aren’t you going to see which one is yours?”
She slanted a glance at Dawson without turning away from the swords and whispered, “What if neither one is mine?”
He whispered his reply. “You’ll never know if you don’t take a chance.”
She heard the tired laughter in his voice. Turned and really looked at him. The intensity in his eyes, the soft smile on his lips made his dare so sweet she couldn’t ignore it. Taking a deep breath, Selyn cautiously reached out and passed her hand over the ruby blade. Thank the gods… . Nothing.
She exhaled, a long, slow release of tension. Then she closed her eyes and held her hand over the clear crystal. She heard Dawson chuckle and opened her eyes. The blade shimmered beneath her hand. She blinked. It pulsed and flashed to life with a brilliant blue glow that warmed her deep inside.
Trembling, speechless, Selyn shot another quick look at Dawson. His huge smile brought tears to her eyes. Disbelief warred with joy as she wrapped her hand around the silver hilt. The sense of connection was instantaneous—the perfect fit, the ideal weight and balance—proof this was truly her very own crystal sword. She lifted it from the table, lost entirely in the shimmering light that rippled along the faceted blade.
Without speaking, she turned to Dawson, holding her sword before her to show him the blade—the one that had chosen her. Dawson’s eyes sparkled, but why was he looking at her face?
Couldn’t he see that her crystal sword was more beautiful than anything she’d ever held? More precious than any gift she’d ever been given?
“You are so beautiful,” he said.
Selyn blinked. Didn’t he mean the sword? She frowned at him, and he laughed.
“You are. Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re going to lop my head off with your new sword.” He put his arms around her and kissed her, right there in the gathering room, in front of her sisters.
She lowered the sword, wrapped her free arm around his neck, and kissed him back. It was only going to be a short little kiss, just to celebrate a job well done, but his mouth moved slowly over hers, and Selyn made no attempt to pull away.
What was it about this man? She wanted to be closer to him. Wanted what came after kisses, though her idea of what that might be was pretty unclear. No matter. Kissing was wonderful.
“Is this one mine?”
Isra’s rude sneer jerked Selyn back to the present and out of Dawson’s loose embrace. She blinked, took a sharp breath, and held more firmly to her own blade. Shrugging, she said, “It’s the only one left, but you’d better check to make sure.”
Isra scowled and gave her a truly hateful look. Then she passed her hand over the blade. Nothing happened. “What’s it supposed to do?”
“It will glow for you, if you’re meant to carry it. I told you that already.”
“It does nothing.”
Selyn sighed. “I don’t know what to say, Isra.” She gestured toward the other women still gathered in the hall. Most had either gone off to their work or to the barracks where they were sleeping in preparation for the next shift, but the few who remained were all armed with crystal. “All of our sisters did exactly what you just did—they passed their hands over a particular blade, and it would glow. For some, it took many different blades before they found the right sword; for others, the first one glowed for them.”
“There are no others for me to try. I want mine.”
Dawson cleared his throat and gently nudged Selyn. She nodded slightly. He was more than welcome to explain what might have happened. Selyn had her suspicions—she had a feeling hers were the same as Dawson’s.
“Selyn told me you were burned when you tried to pick one up that wasn’t yours,” he said. “Possibly that action angered the spirit in whatever sword might have been meant for you. There are intelligent, thinking souls inhabiting each of these swords. Maybe, at a later time, if you show yourself worthy …”
Probably not the best thing to say. Selyn watched as Isra turned red, and she wasn’t at all surprised when the woman let fly with a few choice curses. Dawson didn’t back down, nor did he offer an apology. There was no reason to—not when he was probably right.
When he didn’t rise to her anger, Isra turned and stalked away. Selyn watched her go with mixed emotions. She knew what it felt like to see everyone else matched with a blade, but she’d been the target of Isra’s wrath often enough not to feel all that sorry for her.
She glanced at her own blade and wondered if it would have reacted to Isra if she’d been possessed, if it might have somehow communicated that information to her. There’d been no sign from her weapon that anything about the woman was at all dangerous or unusual.
“What of this sword?” Dawson glanced at the ruby blade still lying on the table. Then he looked around the hall where small groups of women were gathered.
Selyn followed his gaze. A few of them still worked with Taron as he led them in more intricate battle moves than he’d shown them earlier. Roland had also done some training, but then he’d had to return to the upper levels and his position in the Lemurian Guard.
It appeared the women were learning quickly. Already their form had improved, and their comfort with the crystal blades was obvious. Selyn remembered how it had felt to fight Birk with Artigos the Just’s crystal blade—it wasn’t even hers, and yet she’d known how to thrust, where to place her feet, how to fight. She’d loved the feeling the sword gave her. Loved the confidence she felt wielding crystal.
Dawson’s voice broke into her thoughts. She turned to face him. “I figured it was going to be hers,” he said, still looking at the ruby sword. “It’s so different from the others. I wonder who it’s meant for.”
The crimson blade pulsed with light. Dawson frowned and looked closer. “Did you see that?” He reached toward the pommel. The blade shimmered blood red and pulsed again, this time with a rhythmic beat like that of a living heart.
“Daws? Is it yours?”
He stared at the glimmering blade. “I don’t know why it would be. I’m not Lemurian.”
Selyn shook her head. “No, you’re not, but you’ve joined our battle. Maybe that’s all that matters. Pick it up.” She tilted her chin and grinned at him. “Aren’t you going to at least try?”
He jammed both hands in his pockets and stared first at the sword, then at Selyn. Then at the sword again. “Except for the silver pommel, it looks like the one you gave to Artigos. He’s royalty. How can it be mine?”
A few of the women had gathered around. “Did it glow for you?” Nica looked over another’s shoulder. “If it glowed, it’s yours. You have to take it.”
Selyn laughed out loud. “You’ll never know if you don’t take a chance,” she said, repeating what he’d said to her.
Frowning, Dawson shook his head and reached for the silver pommel. It slipped into his palm, and he slowly wrapped his fingers around the hilt. Selyn knew exactly what he was thinking, what he was feeling as he raised the sword and stared into the ruby facets. The look on his face was one of utter bemusement—and complete and total wonder.
The fact he’d not expected a crystal sword had to make this moment all that much sweeter. She watched him as he turned the blade this way and that, catching light off its many facets, getting a feel for the weight in his hand.
The small group of women were smiling right along with Selyn, and her pride in Dawson made her feel almost weak in the knees. He was not afraid to show his joy. Not afraid to let the emotions of this moment shine through on his handsome face and in the sparkle in his brilliant blue eyes.
He was unlike any man she’d ever known, and that knowledge both filled her with great joy and terrified her. For the first time in her long and empty years, she had something to lose, something that mattered, and it wasn’t just the crystal sword grasped so tightly in her hand.
There were no words to express Dawson’s feelings. None. Daws spun the sword beneath the light and watched the blood-red blade catch fire with each twist and turn of his wrist.
He sensed the life in it, felt it pulse from the blade to the hilt, up his arm, and into his body as if he and the weapon were a single entity. He’d been on the fencing team in college, but those thin rapiers were nothing like this beautiful blade.
“Daws! What the nine hells have you got there?” Taron broke away from the women he’d been working with and strode across the hall with a huge smile on his face.
Dawson held up the blade. “Can you believe it?”
Taron shook his head. “No. I can’t.” Frowning now, he stared at Dawson. “There were no ruby blades when I bundled the swords together. The only red one went to our gentleman friend.”
“It was here,” Dawson said. “There were two blades left. One clear and this one. The other glowed for Selyn, and this one flashed as soon as I held my hand above it.”
Taron stared for a long moment at the gleaming ruby. “There are many things going on I don’t understand. Too many.” He sheathed his own sword. “I keep thinking that if my blade would speak, it might fill me in on a few details, but it appears I’ll need to discover them on my own.”
He glanced around the gathering hall. More women had gone, and it was definitely quieter than it had been. “Look, will you two be all right? I have to return to the upper levels. I’ve not seen Alton since he deposed his father. I’m concerned about him and about Roland. Roland told me he’d be reporting to me once he returned to his quarters. It was just to let me know how things were progressing, but I’ve not heard from him. That’s got me worried. He always follows through.”
“Selyn and I will be fine.” Dawson glanced her way. She smiled and nodded in agreement. “We’re going to meet with Artigos and see how he’s doing with the guards,” he said. “The women know enough to train among themselves. There are quite a few who are skilled with leatherwork who have promised to create sheathes for all the swords. Two days max for them to finish the job, but maybe even by tomorrow. The women will need a way to carry their weapons if it comes to actual battle. The main thing is keeping talk of the swords quiet until we have the guards under our control.”
“The only one I’m worried about, Taron, is Isra,” Selyn said. “She tried to take a sword not meant for her, and her hand was badly singed. Then, when all the swords were given out, there wasn’t one left for her. She’s a bitter woman to begin with, though I can’t imagine her being spiteful enough to say anything to the guards.”
Taron folded his arms across his chest and stared at Selyn for a moment. “Is there any chance she’s possessed?”
Selyn shook her head. “I don’t believe so. My sword isn’t speaking yet, but I figured if it knew enough to glow for me, it would know if Isra harbored a demon. I asked it to check, and there was no response. I’m taking that as the blade’s answer.”
“Let’s hope you’re right.” He glanced at the women working against one wall, participating in mock battles with one another. “How soon can you be ready?”
Selyn nodded. “Tomorrow, maybe. Two days, definitely. We have to be. I doubt we can keep the swords a secret any longer.”
“I agree. By then, the women should be comfortable with their blades. Hopefully Birk and Artigos will have most—if not all the guards—free of demons. When I checked with Birk a few hours ago, he said they’d destroyed less than a dozen so far, and there’s still that contingent of guards that was pulled to the upper levels. Counting them, we have more than a dozen to go. Selyn, listen for me. I’ll report as soon as I’m able so you’ll know what’s happening above. Be ready to move.”
Dawson sighed. “You sound as if you think this group of women will miraculously transform into a trained army.”
Taron nodded. “I do. Watch them. They already move naturally with their blades, as if they’ve done this all their lives. These are daughters of powerful, battle-hardened warriors. And, even though they were conceived through violence, their fathers are wardens. All of them perfect physical specimens—strong men with the natural instincts to fight.”
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