Authors: Kate Douglas
Tags: #Romance, #Man-Woman Relationships, #Fiction, #General, #Paranormal, #Demonology, #Revenge, #Paranormal Romance Stories
Starfire (25 page)
Alton nodded. “We’ll deal with the portal. You and your men see what you can do against the demons who’ve invaded. If you see men you’re sure of, you might be able to turn their swords to crystal. Whatever it takes, we’ve got to win this one.”
“Godspeed.” Roland bowed his head in a subtle show of respect to Alton. Then he turned toward his men.
Balti, Ragus, and the other guards gathered before him. The big guard made eye contact with each one before turning back to Alton. “We go now, Chancellor, to fight demonkind. The gods’ strength to all of us.” He raised his sword high. “For Lemuria,” he shouted.
His men joined in. “For Lemuria.” Roland turned and winked at Alton, and then, running at full speed, he led his small band toward the distant cries coming from the direction of the great plaza.
Alton held Ginny’s hand, but he addressed Selyn. “Can you reach Artigos? Has he gotten to this level yet?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m still trying. I give them about ten more minutes. It’s not easy to move such a large group along those narrow passages.”
“When he arrives, tell him we’ve been invaded, that some of the Lemurian guards are actually possessed. At least six of them at this level. Taron, I want you to shut down the portal. Your blade will know how. Ginny and I will go after Maxl and Drago. If it means their deaths, so be it. We cannot allow demonkind to prevail.”
“Dawson!”
Selyn’s scream echoed off the tunnel walls as the six possessed Lemurian guards raced into the room with their black swords drawn. Alton didn’t have time to consider the meaning of the obsidian blades. He was too busy defending himself from their attack.
Ginny practically flew at the first of the men. Her blade clashed with his with the sound of breaking glass, and yet they remained whole. Sparks flew, and the stench of sulfur filled the small cavern.
Alton fought back an overwhelming need to rush to Ginny’s aid. She was a warrior, a powerful fighter, and it was six to five—they were outnumbered and outsized, battling six huge, trained guardsmen. He’d be lucky to survive his own battle.
Taron engaged two of the men, slashing and stabbing, using his crystal as if it were the sharpest of steel blades. There was no hesitation in the sword that Alton could see, no turning away from drawing blood, and Taron buried his blade deep in the belly of the smaller of the two men he battled.
He barely managed to twist away in time before the second was on him again, but Alton was fighting for his life and couldn’t see the final outcome.
He had to concentrate on his own footwork, his own fight. Had to trust that Ginny was able to hold her own, that Dawson and Selyn were capable of defending themselves. He heard Selyn scream, but he couldn’t look. Heard Dawson’s shout and then a curse, and Ginny’s cry of triumph.
His own opponent drove him hard, backing him against the cavern wall, and still Alton fought on, with neither of them gaining the upper hand. Anger drove Alton, that this creature should defile his world, should threaten the peace all Lemurians held dear. He lunged forward, driving with his blade, slashing through the blue robe of the guardsman, burying his blade in the man’s chest.
There was no hesitation this time. No sense that HellFire regretted taking a life or worried about a life force being used by the demons, and it dawned on Alton, as he felt the body fall from his blade, that these men were already dead.
That explained the black obsidian blades—he’d always thought a blade only turned black when its owner died. These men were already dead, their Lemurian souls long gone.
They were nothing more than avatars, animated by demonkind just as demons had animated the ceramic figurines on Earth.
Dawson had never, not in his wildest dreams, imagined that his training with a rapier in college would ever come in handy, but as he slashed and lunged and thrust with his ruby blade, he felt the moves coming back as if he’d never left his training in all the years since his studies at UC Davis.
He glanced at Selyn and had to force himself to look away. She was truly a warrior with her flashing eyes and her look of grim determination. She fought her opponent with grace and style, and it was obvious the man hadn’t expected a woman of such beauty to show so much skill.
Taron shouted, and Dawson saw one of the big Lemurian’s opponents go down. Demonic mist burst from the fallen guard, and Taron caught it with crystal. The second guard lunged forward, and Dawson lost them in his peripheral vision. Only Taron had faced two, and from what little he knew of the man, Dawson could already hear the tales he and Alton would be telling when this was over.
Dawson’s opponent was growing desperate, thrusting awkwardly now, breathing hard, and going for the kill with more force than skill. Dawson eluded the man’s blade as he spun on the balls of his feet and twisted away, first to the right, then to the left.
He suddenly realized he was actually grinning. He hadn’t had this much fun in years, and he wanted to shout with the joy of the battle, the knowledge that he fought beside a woman he loved, that he fought for a world that had been nothing more than myth and legend.
He, Dawson Buck, small town veterinarian, was fighting demons with a magical sword in another dimension. Damn. Aunt Fiona would love this!
He parried a strong blow and went in for the kill just as Taron’s final opponent went down. The huge guard Taron had fought was mortally wounded, but he managed a powerful kick as he fell, catching Dawson behind his left knee. The force of the blow buckled Dawson’s leg. It folded beneath him just as his opponent slashed wildly at his chest.
Dawson felt the burn of the obsidian blade as it pierced his side, heard the scrape of obsidian against bone, and felt a rush of anger from his sword, that any demon should have harmed the one who wielded this blade.
Vaguely, he heard Selyn’s scream and Alton’s curse, but pain engulfed him and weakness drove him to his knees. His sword leapt from his nerveless fingers and impaled itself in the one who’d stabbed him.
Dawson stared, fascinated as his amazing ruby blade just flew out of his hand, all on its own, and avenged his death. For that was what it was, he realized. His death.
He gazed into the growing darkness and saw his Aunt Fiona smile.
The warmth woke her. Or maybe it was merely the lack of the icy chill that seemed to follow demonkind, but Isra opened her eyes once again, aware she was definitely alive.
But for how long? And, for what purpose? She should have died when Drago threw her against the wall. She should have died when she was surrounded by the icy stink of demons—or, at least, she should have lost her soul.
But she lay there—soul intact—on the dusty floor of the cavern, warmed by the energy vortex and the swirling lights from portals leading to Abyss and other worlds. Earth, maybe, and possibly Atlantis? She’d heard of those places, though she’d never seen any of them.
Nine hells, she’d barely seen her own. An entire life lived on one level of what her mother always called the new Lemuria. Exiled by birth, not by choice. Could she actually claim Lemuria as her own? And if so, would Lemuria ever claim her?
Just what
did
she owe Lemuria?
did
she owe Lemuria?
Anything? Or nothing at all?
But demonkind is invading, led by one who appears to be stronger than the other demons—stronger and smarter.
She had information that could help Artigos the Just and his army of Forgotten Ones and guardsmen. If she really wanted to help them. But what of Drago? He was Lemurian, yet he was helping demonkind. It made no sense.
Then she recalled the light of evil in his eyes, the madness lurking there, and Isra knew she had no choice. Her mother had fought for Lemuria. She’d given her life for Lemuria. Isra would not disgrace her mother’s name.
Groaning with the effort of dragging herself to her feet, of planting her palms against the rough walls and finally standing only moderately upright, Isra glanced about, searching once more to see if there were demons here.
The vortex was empty, and she heard no sound. She was alone, utterly alone. But had she not been alone since her mother’s death? Her sisters had long avoided her.
Or, had she avoided them? Blinking slowly, regaining her focus on the stone walls, Isra gained new focus on herself.
She saw herself afresh, and the vision was not a good one.
Damn, she was such a bitch! Foul-tempered and angry all the time. No wonder the others avoided her. It wasn’t like she was the only Forgotten One slaving for the free folk. She and the others truly were sisters, if not of blood, then sisters through adversity, through hard labor and survival. She owed her sisters, if no one else. Owed them for putting up with her for so damned many years.
Even Selyn. She’d been so cruel to Selyn over the years, but only because Selyn was always hopeful things would get better. Isra had hated that sense of optimism that always seemed to color Selyn’s aura with light and love. Hated the fact the others looked up to Selyn.
It wasn’t Selyn’s fault she was an optimist. Isra almost laughed at that foolish thought. As if optimism were a fault, not a blessing. Maybe, just maybe, she could try a little bit of that attitude out on herself.
Strength flowed throughout her body, energizing her bruised arms and aching shoulder. Easing the pounding ache in her head, and steadying her legs as she stood just a fraction straighter, just a little bit taller. She clenched her hands into fists and then straightened her fingers, aware of a newfound sense of power she’d not known before.
Power, finally, to do something good, something positive. She had to warn them. Somehow, she had to join her sisters in this fight against demonkind.
With or without a blasted crystal sword.
A small ache squeezed her heart as she thought of the crystal she’d hoped to wield. She hadn’t deserved crystal. Not with that attitude that everyone owed her, that she had the right to take what she wanted, when she wanted. Someday, maybe, a crystal sword would be hers. Someday, should she prove herself worthy.
Isra shoved herself away from the wall, wobbling inelegantly for a moment before she regained her balance. Then, eyes focused on the portal that led to Lemuria, she stepped through the swirling light and into the tunnel beyond.
A flash of light brought her up short.
A blade lay in the pathway. Shimmering crystal, lying flat upon the ground. She stopped, transfixed by the glow that pulsed with life, that called to her. Then she glanced around, before and behind her, but there was no one else. Not another soul.
Holding her breath, Isra knelt beside the blade and slowly, cautiously, passed her hand over the shimmering crystal. Light flashed, and the damned thing practically leapt into her hand.
Her fingers tightened around the jeweled hilt, and the heft and balance were beyond perfect. For long moments she stared into the crystalline depths with the sense of somehow bonding to the entity existing within the blade. There were no words—not from the sword, and certainly not from her.
Standing again, she held the blade high, as if already sensing victory. More energy flowed into her body, along with a sense of wonder that finally, she had been found worthy of bearing crystal.
Swallowing back a sudden rush of tears, Isra took a deep and steadying breath. Then she grasped her sword and marched bravely through the shimmering veil of gold that had so terrified her mere hours ago.
Hadn’t she sworn to be forgotten no more? Her crystal sword was proof she was a woman of value, proof she would be well-remembered by her peers… . This fight against demonkind had suddenly become very personal. Very personal indeed.
Chapter Twenty
Selyn planted her feet. Once again she parried her opponent’s powerful thrust. Power rushed through her body, and she reveled in the sense of it, the knowledge that she and her blade were a single unit, fighting a foe who was larger and stronger, yet no more able—even with the added edge of demonic possession.
It was good. So damned good that she almost laughed at the bloodied guard before her. Grinning, she wondered what move to make that would irritate him even further before she vanquished him in battle.
She had no doubt she was going to win. She had right on her side. Right and Dawson Buck. She glanced his way, hoping to catch his eye as he fought not ten paces away.
And as she looked, everything slipped into slow motion.
Taron’s blade practically eviscerated his opponent. The guard went down, flailing wildly. His leg shot out, catching Dawson behind the knee. As Dawson fell, his own opponent thrust wildly, scoring a perfect hit that buried his black sword deep in Dawson’s left side.
He made not a sound. No, the scream Selyn heard was her own. “No! Dawson, no!” Screaming again, Selyn pivoted out of reach of her opponent’s strike. She grabbed the jeweled hilt of her sword in both hands and swung her blade, throwing every bit of the love she felt for her fallen man behind the powerful strike.
With sleek and sure intent, she easily beheaded the bastard she’d been fighting. Oblivious to the sounds of Taron taking out the demon she’d just freed, of Alton and Ginny finishing off the final guardsman, she ran to Dawson and knelt beside him. Carefully, she pulled the obsidian blade from the gaping wound in his side and tossed the damned thing away.
It shattered and turned to black dust, becoming nothing more than a stain upon the floor. Gently, Selyn took Dawson’s blade from his lax fingers and lay it on the ground next to her own. Ruby red beside diamond bright.
The obsidian blade had pierced him deeply just beneath his heart, a wound much too deep for anyone—human or Lemurian—to survive. Blood welled from the gash in spite of the pressure she forced against his side.
Ginny knelt beside her and ripped off her purple hoodie. “Use this,” she said, folding it into a thick pad. “Put more pressure on the wound. We’ve got to stop the bleeding.” She glanced at Alton. “Is there a healer you can call? Anyone?”
Selyn glanced hopefully at Alton, but he stood there with tears in his eyes and HellFire’s blood-soaked tip pointed at the ground, shaking his head. “No one. Not with the battle raging. There are probably many injured. Even if I could find one amid the chaos, a healer could not help him. I fear it’s a mortal injury, one that would end even a Lemurian’s life. Humans are so much more fragile than we.” He sighed, closed his eyes a moment, and then took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Selyn.” His voice broke as he knelt beside them. “So gods-be-damned sorry.”
With an almost preternatural calm, Selyn nodded. Alton was right. There was no point, no time, no way to save the man she loved. Already she knew it was too late. The flow of blood was slowing, not so much from the pressure she placed against his wound, but because his heart no longer beat, no longer forced blood through his arteries.
Screams and shouts from the great plaza echoed along the passageway, and it was obvious demons still poured into Lemuria. She heard a battle cry go up, and knew that Artigos the Just and his women warriors and armed wardens had arrived. She had no doubt the battle would be won. She had to believe they would win. There was no acceptable alternative.
But Dawson wouldn’t live to celebrate their victory. It was too late for him. She stared at the red stain coating her fingers and knew his blood no longer flowed. No breath escaped his slightly parted lips.
His eyes were closed. Those beautiful blue eyes. She’d never see them again, never feel the joy in their sparkle, the heat in his heavy-lidded gaze.
Never again. She brushed her fingers over the soft beard that covered his jaw, and thought of the way it felt against her breasts, her belly … her thighs.
Never again. Would he remember her, wherever his soul finally found rest? Did Lemurians and humans share the same afterlife? She had to believe they did.
She could accept nothing else.
Slowly, she traced the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips.
How odd,
she thought.
He has a smile on his face.
How odd,
she thought.
He has a smile on his face.
What had he been thinking at the moment his soul passed over? What did he see as he entered the afterlife? Old friends? Family? Would he wait for her there?
How long could one be expected to await an immortal?
How long must she wait, before choosing to make that final leap herself? She wanted to join him. She had to. There was nothing left for her here. Nothing at all.
“Ginny?” Alton rose to his feet, moving like a very old man. “Do you wish to stay with Selyn and Daws? Taron has to close the portal to Abyss and I have to fight. The battle rages, and every sword will be needed.”
Selyn raised her head, and her voice was strong and steady. She’d not wept for Dawson. Not yet. His loss wasn’t real at this point. Her grief was so far beyond imagining, she’d not truly reacted to his death, still could not accept an end to the man she loved. “Your sword will be needed as well, Ginny. I’ll stay with him. Please. Don’t waste this brave man’s death. He would not want that.”
Ginny nodded in agreement. Her face glistened with tears, but she carried about her a look of resolve that could not be ignored. “His death is not wasted, Selyn. Never think that. We’ll be back as soon as we can.” She brushed a thick lock of Dawson’s dark hair back from his face. “He’s a hero. He didn’t ask for this fight, but he’s never once turned away from it. Nor from us.” She leaned over and gently kissed his forehead.
“You’re a damned good man, Dawson Buck. A brave warrior and a true friend, and the only man I know who’d ever think of hunting demons with a vacuum cleaner.” She made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob, and brushed her arm across her eyes.
“We have to go.” Alton held out his hand. Ginny took it. Taron offered a brief salute, and then, within moments, Selyn was alone with Dawson, listening to the sounds of battle and the harsh rasp of her own ragged breath.
She clasped his hand and knew the warmth would quickly leave him, which made her want to hold him tighter, to wrap his body with hers and keep him warm.
To think she’d found love, only to lose it so quickly. Selyn ran her fingers through the thick, dark hair curling around his face and wasn’t quite sure how she should feel. Grief was too simple a word to describe the sense of loss, the emptiness and utter devastation that seemed to have taken over her mind, her body … her soul.
He was gone. There was nothing left for her. No reason to fight on, no desire to continue. She’d finally discovered love, barely tasted the joy to be had with a man who had seen her as someone other than a slave. He’d thought she was a woman of worth, of value.
Without him, did she still have value? It was impossible to know. She folded her legs and sat beside him, watching the still perfection of his face, remembering the way he’d kissed her and held her, the way he’d laughed with her. Dawson had taught her the joy to be had between a man and a woman in love.
At least she had that to hold on to. To help her remember.
“Take his blade and lay it across his chest, ruby crystal to living flesh.”
“What?” Selyn’s head whipped around. She searched for the source of that voice speaking so clearly in her ear. A flash of blue light caught her eye, and she glanced at her sword. It glowed, pulsing with life.
“Quickly, before life flees. Lay his sword across his chest. Now.”
With shaking hands, Selyn ripped Dawson’s shirt open. Buttons scattered and fabric tore as she parted the fabric over his bloodied chest. Then she quickly placed the ruby sword across his body, so that the blade rested over his heart.
The moment the blade touched Dawson, red fire flashed. Light poured from the ruby facets, filling the small cavern, enclosing Dawson in a crimson explosion of cold fire and brilliant, shimmering shafts of light. Selyn tried to watch, but the glow was blinding. She covered her streaming eyes with her arm and turned away.
Long moments later, the light dimmed. Selyn slowly turned around. Breathless, unbelieving, she looked into Dawson’s dark blue eyes. He blinked slowly, as if coming awake from a long and restful sleep.
When he finally focused on her face, it was as if she snapped out of a trance. “You live! Dawson, you live!”
Blinking, obviously confused, he struggled to sit up. Selyn didn’t take her eyes off his face, but she grabbed his sword from his chest, set it beside her own once again, and then wrapped her arms around him. “You were dead. I saw you die, but you’re alive!” The tears flowed now as she held him tightly, sobbing, kissing his throat, his lips, his perfectly healed body.
“I saw Aunt Fiona.” He frowned as if he tried to recall what had just passed. “She said it wasn’t my time, that I had to come back.” He glanced at his left side, and Selyn knew it was the place where the blade had slipped between his ribs, through his lungs. There was no mark. Nothing but smooth, healthy flesh and a smear of dried blood.
Holy shit! Where … ?
She’d never heard his thoughts before, yet suddenly they were as clear in her mind as if he’d spoken aloud. She almost laughed, listening to his thoughts as he glanced around.
Damn it all. Where’s my sword? Shit, I hope I didn’t break it.
Selyn shook her head, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn him loose.
No, my love,
she said, answering him telepathically.
It wasn’t your Aunt Fiona who sent you back, and your sword is here. Beside you. Your blade saved you. It’s right …
No, my love,
she said, answering him telepathically.
It wasn’t your Aunt Fiona who sent you back, and your sword is here. Beside you. Your blade saved you. It’s right …
He gazed at her in shock. “I hear you. In my head. But how?”
She kissed the shock right off his face. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Your blade saved your life. Maybe that changed things in you. I don’t know for sure, but you’re alive!”
She clasped her own sword and looked at it with wonder. “And mine spoke to me. She told me to place your sword across your chest, and I did. And you came back.”
Her blade glowed and pulsed with life. “I am called StarFire, Selyn of Elda’s line. We will do well together.”
“StarFire?” Selyn barely whispered the name, and yet she felt the connection, the sense that this blade was more than a mere weapon. Much more.
Dawson stared at the swords with a look of utter bemusement on his face. Selyn glanced at the floor beside him. A crystal blade glowed and shimmered just like hers. There was no trace of red within its crystalline facets, yet she knew immediately it was Dawson’s. “Here,” she said, pointing. “There’s your sword.”
He shook his head, obviously confused. “But it can’t be. My blade is red. Ruby red.” Even so, he reached for it, wrapped his fingers around the jeweled pommel, and lifted the weapon. “It feels right. I don’t understand. What happened?”
“I am DemonsDeath. I was not prepared to lose you, Dawson Buck. It was not your time to leave us.”
“Holy shit.” Clutching the blade, his head snapped up, and he stared at Selyn. “The damned thing really is alive. How?” he asked, addressing his blade. “I was dead, wasn’t I?”
The sword glowed and pulsed with life and light. “Very close. I sacrificed chromium, the element that gave me color, to bring life back to you. You have a greater purpose, Dawson Buck. It was necessary to recall your spirit. You will live long and fight many battles beside your woman.”
As if those words snapped him out of whatever dream he’d been trapped in, Dawson scrambled to his feet. He tossed aside his ripped shirt so that he stood there with his chest bare and his worn jeans riding low on his hips. Drying blood covered his side and soaked one leg of his pants, but he was whole and strong and ready to fight.
Selyn gazed up at him, loving him more than she’d ever imagined possible.
A series of cries rang along the passageway. The sound of warriors engaging in battle, of women screaming and demons wailing those eerie, terrifying banshee howls. Dawson grabbed Selyn’s hand. “None of this makes sense. Right now, I feel as if I must be dreaming, trapped in some alternate universe where nothing is as it seems, but damn it all, Selyn, as long as you’re with me, it’s all good.”
He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, kissing her hard and fast. When he ended the kiss, he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. His eyes absolutely glowed, and the smile on his face was one of pure joy.
“We’ll figure it out later,” he said. “But right now, we’ve got a war to win.”
Selyn linked her fingers in his. “I love you,” she said, and for some odd reason she felt like laughing.
“I love you, too. Now move!” He took off, tugging Selyn behind him. She stretched her legs and caught up, and together they raced along the passage, away from the empty prison cells, into the midst of hell.
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