Forever in Darkness (novella) (Order of the Blade #4) (6 page)

Tears burned in his eyes.
"Dammit, Alice! Don't—"

Then she was gone. He felt it the
moment her soul left her body. The instant it happened, he was assaulted with
the most overwhelming darkness, with pure, raw evil as it dragged Alice's soul
from her body. Son of a bitch. There was no peace for her. She was going to
pure, dark hell, and he couldn’t stop it.

Ian roared with agony and hauled
her against him, crushing her body against his chest, trying to shield her soul
from the hell that was taking her, but she slid away from him, until there was
nothing left but the cold, clean air of the night and the body of the woman he
was meant to protect.

Despair overwhelmed Ian. The agony
of losing her again. The terror of knowing that she was facing something more
horrific than he could even imagine. The knowledge that he'd failed to save
her.

For the
third
time, he was
unable to protect her.

Or the second? Who had it been that
first time? Who was his soul mate?

Alice. It had to be Alice. But she didn't
carry his brand—

Anguish roared through Ian and he
surged to his feet, still holding Alice in his arms. He threw his head back,
bellowing his loss and his failure to the dark night. Inside his head began the
dark chant of the curse, tempting him toward that bottomless chasm from which
he would never emerge.

His weapons began to burn in his
arms, once again straining to be released. To be used against him.

"No!" He shouted his
denial, even as the doom began to circle him. He couldn’t die. He couldn’t
succumb. Alice needed him. She was coming back, and this time, he had to keep
her alive.

But still the darkness rose within
him, stripping away at his sanity, the agony of the loss burning too deep,
tearing away at his will. Fighting against the desperation, Ian staggered the
few yards across the grave to the headstone of his ancestor.

He fell to his knees on Augustus's
grave, still holding Alice desperately. He stared at the name engraved on the
stone, the one he'd visited religiously for so many centuries. No warrior had
been as great as Augustus, but the curse had still destroyed him. What chance
did Ian have if even Augustus had fallen?

But Augustus hadn't had Alice to
stay alive for.

With a force of will beyond what
he'd ever had to exert before, Ian set Alice on the dirt and released her. Her
fragile body was so pure and innocent in front of the headstone that marked the
life of such a deadly warrior. Ian braced his hands on his thighs, staring into
the face of the woman whose spirit was suffering some unimaginable hell
somewhere, because he hadn't managed to keep her alive. Because he hadn't been
able to bond with her.

The enormity of his failure fought
to consume him, and Ian's upper lip raised in a snarl of defiance. "Fuck
you," he said to the curse. "I have a job to do. This isn't
over."

Slowly, Ian reached for Alice's arm
and lifted it. He pressed his lips to the unmarred skin, then raised her hand
to the heavens. "I will not fail you," he promised. "I swear on
my ancestor's soul that I will stay alive, and I will find you when you come
back."

But even as he said it, despair loomed
up inside him, and he felt the raw power of the curse that had consumed the
strongest, most powerful warriors again and again and again. Men far stronger
than he.

He knew then, that he couldn't do
it on his own. Alice was the force to drive him to his grave, but she was also
the only thing strong enough to keep him out of it. With a sharp crack, Ian
called out his mace. He angled one of the blades across the hem of Alice's
shirt and then sliced a long strip off it.

Determination and focus pulsing
through him, Ian stretched the piece of fabric between his hands. The white
fabric was stained with blood from the wound that had killed her, a grim
reminder of what would happen if he succumbed to the curse and failed her again.

He couldn’t truly blood bond with
her while she was dead, but he was going to do it anyway. He would honor her
with the promise of a Calydon to his mate, and create a connection that would
hold them together until he could find her again.

Ian sliced the tip of the mace
across his forehead. The cut oozed with his lifeblood as he set the strip of
fabric across his forehead. He positioned the part with Alice's blood on his
wound and let their blood merge together. There was no magic, no hum of
connection the way there would have been in a true blood bond, but it didn't
matter. Their blood was mingled, and it was done.

As he tied the ends of the fabric
around his head, he gave her the promise that someday he would offer her for
real. In person. The ritual words of the blood bond between a Calydon and his
mate.
Mine to you. Yours to me. Bonded by blood, by spirit and by soul, we
are one. No distance too far, no enemy too powerful, no sacrifice too great. I
will always find you. I will always protect you. No matter what the cost. I am
yours as you are mine.

Rightness rippled through him, and
power flooded him.

Alice was in his soul now, and he
was keeping her there.

Ian took one last look at the woman
lying on the grave of his ancestor.
I will find you, Alice. I give you my word.

He touched the tips of his fingers to
the bloodstain on his headband, a salute to both the woman at his feet and the
grave that cradled her, and then he turned away, striding across the grass
toward his motorcycle.

This time, he would not look back.

This time, he was only looking
forward, to the woman he would find before it was too late.

This time, he would triumph.

And he would make her his.

*Ian's full-length
novel,
Darkness Arisen
, will be available late 2012*

(Order of the Blade, Book Five)

(dark & sexy paranormal romance, available late Summer 2012)

Even with his chest heaving from exertion, his weapons burning in his hands, steam rising from his bare torso from the humidity, and the very earth itself ruthlessly torn up from the battle, Kane Santiago wanted more.

He needed more. He needed to keep going until sheer, raw exhaustion clawed at him and dragged him ruthlessly into the sleep that wouldn’t come, until he was so drained that he couldn’t think any more.

Kane had been driving himself relentlessly for eleven days straight, but it hadn’t been enough to chase away the gaping void trying to consume him. It had been coming at him for months, this great pit of hell, stalking him at every moment, but now it felt like his entire soul had been sucked from his body and thrust into a bottomless void of blackness.

He didn’t know what was coming for him or how to stop it. He didn’t have answers. All he had was a scarred body that looked like an artist had used his flesh for a canvas and a knife for a paintbrush.

Kane’s skin looked like ancient designs had been traced into it, but no one on this God-forsaken earth could explain why he had them or what they meant. Kane’s memories of his life began five hundred years ago, the day Dante Sinclair, the Order of the Blade’s former leader, had hauled him out of the gutter. How old had he been that day? Thirty? A hundred? Two hundred? How had he ended up there, covered in body art of the most brutal kind?

He had no idea, but the story carved on his body and the enormity of the blackness overtaking him made it clear that there was shit he needed to know about his prior life, and he was running out of time to do it.

The air in the southern Oregon woods was thick with moisture, rich with the scent of earth saturated by the rain that was too cold for this time of year. Steam was rising off the warm moss, and thick fog was rolling in fast, sucked in by the dance of the heat and cold. The very air Kane was breathing was alive with vibrant energy, and yet all he could feel was the endless freefall of his very soul into the bottomless chasm of darkness.

“These guys were serious shit.” Caked with sweat and blood from the battle, Ryland Samuels crouched beside one of the two rogue Calydons they’d been hunting for the last six hours, deadly bastards that had put up a hell of a fight before Ryland and Kane had taken them down. Usually two-on-two battles were weighted so heavily in favor of the Order of the Blade that they lasted less than a second.

These two rogues had kept Ryland and Kane at max capacity for over two hours before the good guys had won, which was bizarre as hell because the rogues had been so underdeveloped physically that they couldn’t have been more than eighteen. No rookie should ever have been able to put up that kind of battle against elite warriors who had been saving the world for over five hundred years.

Ryland hooked his machete under one of their wrists and raised the dead warrior’s hand. “What’s with the manicure?”

Kane swung his head around to look. Ten-inch claws protruded from the tips of the Calydon’s fingers, still covered in Kane’s blood from when it had tried to cleave his heart out. “Maybe they came up from Hollywood. You know how these fancy Californians are all bailing up to Oregon nowadays. How the hell would I know what his deal is?”

Ryland narrowed his eyes at Kane’s aggression. “You seen it before?”

“No.” Kane shifted restlessly, unable to settle now that the battle was over. He was on edge, his instincts still ready for more action. He knew they needed to figure out what was up with the strangers who had invaded their territory, but he couldn’t focus. All his senses were on overload, telling him that something was deadly wrong. He scanned the woods, hunting for a clue, but came up with nothing.

Ryland dropped the kid’s wrist. “What’s your deal, Santiago?”

Kane whirled around to face his teammate, his adrenaline leaping at the tense undercurrent in Ryland’s voice. “What?”

Ryland flashed him a grin that didn’t reach his pitch-black eyes. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be on the edge of going rogue, not you. You planning to snap so you’re the next one who has to be cut down to save the world, instead of me?”

“I’m not going rogue.” Most Calydons went rogue only after bonding with their soul mates, but a rare few turned into mindless, killing machines on their own. Expectations were high that Ryland fell into that category, but Kane had his shit together. “I’m fine.”

Ryland rose to his feet, his well-muscled bulk innately aggressive, accented by his black jeans and t-shirt, shredded mercilessly from the fight. “Don’t lie to me, Santiago. There’s no room for that shit between us.”

The brands in Kane’s arms burned, and he fisted his flails, the spiked balls spinning on the ends of the steel chains. The clang of the metal balls cracking against each other jerked his attention to them, making him realize what he’d been about to do. Hell, he was ready to strike first against his own teammate? Kane swore and sheathed his weapons. They vanished into the air, returning to the brands on his arms that were an exact match for the weapons they housed. He held up his hands in surrender. “Stand down. I’m good.”

Ryland raised his brows, and he sheathed his own weapons, taking the temptation away from them both. “Shit, man. You’re off, big time.”

“I—” A sound caught Kane’s attention, and he turned sharply. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” Ryland went still, and the air hummed as both Calydons reached out into the night with their senses.

For a moment, Kane heard nothing but the skitter of rodents’ feet, the hoot of owls, and the crackling of the earth as it drank in the moisture from the night.

Then he heard it again.

A woman’s scream. Unending terror and pain. The roar of a spirit fighting desperately and hopelessly for its very survival.

The sound went straight to Kane’s core, ripping through his shields like a burning knife into his heart. His whole body vibrated in response, adrenaline raging with the need to find her. To protect her. To save her. Kane spun around wildly, almost desperately, trying to pinpoint the sound and determine where it was coming from. It was bouncing off the trees, echoing in the air, coming at him from all directions, like an assault of agony. “Fuck!”

“What?” Ryland strode up beside him. “I don’t hear anything.”

“How can you not hear that?” She screamed again, eviscerating every defense Kane had. He had to go. Had to find her. Had to save her and find out who she was.
She needed him.
Black light flashed above the brands on his arms, a loud crack rent the night, and then Kane’s weapons appeared in his hands, the glittering steel ready for battle.

“What is it?” Ryland called out his own machetes with a crack and a flash of black light. “I don’t hear anything. Tell me what you got.”

Kane shoved his teammate aside, his entire soul howling with the need to find the woman. “Where are you?” he bellowed, his voice echoing into the night.

No response. Just the ominous doom of silence.

Agony ripped through Kane, loss so severe he went down on his knees, gasping for breath. He braced his hands on the earth, his fingers digging into the moss, fighting against the crushing blackness, the loss, the shredding of his innermost core—

Help me.

His head snapped up at the desperate plea that suddenly invaded his mind. His entire being vibrated with rightness at the sound of her voice. He lurched to his feet as her anguish shredded his mental shields and consumed him.
I hear you.
He sent out his reassurance, his iron-strength, showing her the immense power he offered.

There was no relief from her. Just another stab of pain that knifed all the way to Kane’s gut.
Hurry. Please hurry.

Son of a bitch! Kane focused every fiber of his soul on her voice, and his entire existence zoomed in on those two words, on her voice, on her spirit, on her very being. Then he found his target. He knew where she was.
I’m coming.

Kane didn’t hesitate. He didn’t pause to question his motives or ascertain what he was heading into. He didn’t even take the time to grab his teammate and take Ryland with him. He just locked onto her location and dematerialized, using her desperation as his only guide as to where he needed to be.