“You always were able to call my bluff,” Andrew chuckled.
“Just drop the sword. It’s over. You lost. You…”
Aaron’s next words were cut off as a blast rang through the cavern, reverberating over and over off the stone walls. Apparently, the werepanthers weren’t as good at scouting ahead as he’d heard. The one booby trap he’d had enough magic left to create had gone undetected, and from the sounds of it, had injured at least of few of the hunting party.
Using the distraction to his advantage, Andrew grabbed the ancient volume he’d been translating, the only possession he still had, and ran for the tunnel he’d found the night before. Even drawing on his enhanced speed, dragging his wounded leg proved slower than he had counted on. Aaron’s boots pounded in the dirt floor. Andrew could all but feel his brother’s breath on his neck. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The fight had come to him.
Tossing the book to the side, Andrew whirled around and lifted his katana just in time to block the thrust of Aaron’s broadsword. Pulling the silver knife from his belt, Andrew swiped back and forth, hoping to push back his brother’s attack.
During their years of separation, Andrew had forgotten how well his brother could handle a sword. Aaron’s blade was but a blur that Andrew had to work hard to avoid. The sting of a hit ran down his left arm, causing the silver blade to slip in his hand.
Stepping back, Andrew got one decent advance with a powerful thrust, but Aaron was simply too quick. Their blades clashed, filling the cavern with the sounds of their battle. Andrew could feel the others closing in but fought to keep his attention on his brother. The man he knew would deal the fatal blow.
Andrew backed off again, this time bumping against the wall…the end of the tunnel. There was nowhere left to go. He poured all his remaining strength into the fight, blocking one blow after another. Aaron was brutal and relentless. The look in his eyes was one of sheer determination.
Aaron thrust with his right hand, immediately following with a jab of a silver dagger Andrew hadn’t known his brother had. The blade struck true. Andrew groaned in pain. Warm blood wet his shirt and flowed onto his pants from what he felt was a gash about a foot long, but Andrew still refused to go down.
Swinging his katana like a wild man, Andrew advanced, but Aaron merely smirked and with extreme ease, met him blow for the blow. Every clash of their blades sent crippling pain through every cell of Andrew’s body. It was then he realized Aaron was toying with him, prolonging the fight.
Andrew tried to reach out with his dragon senses, but his pain and growing weakness left him unable to sense anything but the man before him. Again, Aaron advanced. This time slicing across the thigh of Andrew’s good leg, striking muscles, tendons, and vessels. He toppled to the floor. His vision blurred. But even on his knees, Andrew swung both his blades, praying to draw blood before his death.
His vision darkened at the edges. He saw a shadow at his right that hadn’t been there before, but chalked it up to another of his feverish delusions and continued to fight. Aaron’s boot on his chest forced him to the ground. Andrew let go of his blades. Heard the clang of metal against the cavern floor.
The darkness was closing in. His vision narrowed to a pinpoint. He was now seeing double. Andrew laughed, and even to his ears, it sounded maniacal. Aaron’s foot on his chest made every breath unbearable. He waited for his brother to say something…anything, but he only looked at him in disgust. A voice that sounded familiar, but so very far away, echoed through the chamber and Aaron nodded.
Andrew was only seeing shadows now. Unable to distinguish anything but shapes. More voices. More shadows.
It must be the Fates coming to take me to hell.
The rattle of chains bounced off the walls right before fire enveloped his wrists and ankles. Two sets of eyes–one cobalt, one amber–looked at him with disgust before his world faded to black.
The reaper is here and the son of a bitch brought silver.
She had no idea how many days it had been. Her captors rarely let her sleep anymore. Rarely left her alone. It was one torture after another, each more inventive than the last. Mara had come in alone several times, but Calysta had been too weak to speak. The young witch had shoved parchment after parchment in front of her blurry eyes screaming, “Is this the spell?” Over and over until the Grand Priestess thought she might lose her mind.
Only the knowledge that they would never get their hands on the incantation kept her alive. Their coven was well protected. She knew the protocols that dictated the lockdown and the addition of guards from other covens and the Council since her disappearance. Another layer of protection would have been added to all the artifacts. The bastards could kill her, but there was no way they would ever get a hold of Thanatos.
She heard the sound of footsteps. The huge iron door to her cell scratched against the stone floor, the smell of Old Spice and nasty magic assaulted her senses. She truly wished the man would at least use cologne that masked his pungent odor instead of adding to it.
He neared and she prepared for his questioning, or worse yet, another round of the iron knives. They seemed to be his favorite torture devices. Instead, the wizard walked around the stone slab that she felt she was growing to and began setting up an altar.
Calysta watched as a burlap bag containing the bones that she could only assume had been a child from their size and shape was dumped on the floor. He then set a cage with four huge rats beside them. Five black candles were placed at the points of a pentagram he had drawn with chalk made from Mandrake Root and Black Tang. They were smells she hated…evil and disgusting.
He built a fire and set up a large metal tripod. Sliding on gloves, he hooked a cast iron pot over the fire. The sizzle and smell of oil infused with Belladonna filled the room. He began to chant in Latin and he added Lobelia, Dandelion, and Mugwort to the pot.
And the fires shall burn
And the wheel of life shall turn
And the dead come back home on Samhain
And in the night sky
On the lunar light they fly
And the dead come back home on Samhain.
Balor I come to you on bended knee
I search for your servant Thanatos
I beseech you access into your realm
Balor, Demon King, please show favor on my request.
The idiot was summoning Balor to find Thanatos. Calysta could only imagine that the wizard or warlock or whatever he was thought that the legend was true. He actually believed that Thanatos would be able to recite the spell. She wanted to laugh but couldn’t work up the energy. Instead, she watched while he placed copper pots beside the five candles and filled them with water. At least the man knew his demons. Balor’s followers were the Fomori, the demons who live in the dark depths of the lakes and seas. Water is the only conduit to reach them and they are the only way to reach their boss.
The wizard continued to chant. Slimy black magic filled the room, making the air heavy. Calysta could feel it like snakes writhing all over her battered body. Placing a black stone basin on the floor, the wizard knelt beside it and opened the cage containing the rats. One by one, he slit their throats, letting the blood drain from their bodies into the container between his knees.
The blood bubbled and a grey mist rose from the pentagram. Calysta worked hard to draw her next breath. The wizard smiled and cackled like a loon. “The King is on the way, Priestess. Maybe you’ll tell him your secrets.”
It had been two days since the prisoner had been brought to the lair…two days of horrible nightmares. The mark on her wrist that had appeared after Anya had transformed burned until she thought she might cry. She’d tried to work up the courage to tell Siobhan what was happening, but the Healer had been so busy trying to keep the traitor alive so that he might stand before the Tribunal, she had decided to wait.
She knew it was Andrew, the one that had betrayed them all, that was screaming in her dreams. His pain was alive within her every time she closed her eyes. He had seen her, too. Called out to her. At first, he’d called her by what she now knew was his mother’s name, but then he’d realized that she was not Margarite O’Brien. In the few seconds that he was actually lucid before the fever took him again, he had asked her for help. Then told her she was beautiful.
Last night, after hours and hours of his constant murmuring and crying in her head, she gave up and started walking toward the cave where she knew he was sequestered. But just as she’d suspected, they had Guardsmen posted everywhere. No one but the few the Elders had approved was allowed in.
She’d taken the long way home. Ran into Sam and finally got to meet Charlie, Aaron’s mate. The beautiful lavender glow that shone around the pretty blonde doctor confirmed that she was a fairy.
As they walked away and resumed talking, she heard the ladies discussing Sydney. It seemed the sweet child’s abilities had strengthened and new ones had manifested since the traitor had entered the lair. She’d also heard that Kyra’s magic was much stronger and Anya’s dragon senses had magnified.
Finally making it home, she walked up the steps to her apartment, unlocked the door, and barely made it in before Andrew’s screams almost brought her to her knees. He was calling out to her.
“Teacht anseo, maite. Teacht, mo chroi”