Darkest Heart Read online

  My heart soared as he blinked out with a crackle of electricity and appeared inside the circle, wrapping his arms around a boy and girl, probably siblings. Then disappeared.

  “Let’s go, then, darling. Your man seems to have the right idea.”

  My man? No time to ponder Xander’s assumption. And whether he was right or wrong.

  With that, Xander snapped into a sift, then I followed. We both made it inside the circle without the guards noticing. The Twelvers caught sight of us and raised their efforts in gunfire, barraging the guards as well as the priests, who were forced to engage. Without even thinking, I latched on to a woman’s arm and the boy at her side, sifting with frantic speed through the Void. The boy screamed, which echoed over the moor as we snapped out near the rock facing where I’d met Dommiel for the first time. There were four humans shivering and wide-eyed. I removed my dagger and quickly cut the bonds of the woman.

  “Here.” I gave her the dagger. “Untie them. Calm them.”

  Tears streaking her face, she nodded in silence. I sifted back out directly into the circle and had to dodge the swing of a sword blade. Priests were waiting for us. Before he could lay hands on me, I sifted to the far part of the circle. He grinned at me and pulled two young women up onto their feet and into his arms before sifting out. We were racing against the priests to get as many of the captives as we could.

  I latched on to two little boys, perhaps five and seven, then disappeared again. When I reappeared onto Dartmoor, there were several more people. Xander and Dommiel were making quick work. But now the priests were waiting for us.

  I sifted back to the sedan, crouching where we’d had a good view of the circle of captives. There were less than twenty still there, waiting to see who would get to them first—their masters or their saviors. My gut burned with fire as three priests appeared and snatched six more.

  “Bastards,” I muttered under my breath, sifting to the center where the last few humans huddled in fear.

  “My oh my,” came a sinister voice behind me, the familiar malevolence rolling over me like liquid pain.

  I spun, unsheathing my long dagger at the same time. Though it would be difficult to penetrate the full metal armor he wore from head to toe. Like double chainmail, his long black hair slid in silky waves over the shining metal, wind-tossed like the perfect god or the most demonic prince, which is exactly what he was.

  His crimson eyes measured me with too much knowledge. Black spidery veins ran through his pale face, horribly beautiful despite the network of veins marking him for one of the demon prince twins who’d never ventured to earth until this Great War began.

  Sliding his tongue over his lips, his gaze dropped to my neck. I flinched at the automatic sting under my skin. He laughed, low and deep, knowing his essence, his poison, was doing its work. I didn’t know how long I had before the putrid substance would engulf my heart, then my soul, transforming me to his willing slave. But the fear of it was raw and desperate, chasing my sanity to the edge.

  A crackle, then Dommiel stood beside me, staring down Simian. He moved in front of me, his body partially blocking the heinous beast a few yards away. I heard Xander appear behind us, then disappear again, surely having taken two more captives with him. Glancing over my shoulder, one of Simian’s priests, black robe-like coat whipping in the wind, gathered up the last three and disappeared.

  “Let’s go, Dommiel,” I whispered, eager to be gone. To be far, far away.

  But it was too late. He’d already deduced there was some sort of history between myself and the demon prince. Dommiel always saw too much. The prince hadn’t uttered a word yet, but his smile said enough.

  “Tsk, tsk. It appears my angel has already chosen another demon consort.” His smile flattened, his blood-red eyes burned with cold rage. “A wanted traitor.”

  Dommiel said nothing, his Glock in one hand, knuckles white, his Bowie knife gripped in the other. I couldn’t see his face, but the trembling fury rolling off of him told me enough.

  “Let’s just go,” I said again.

  Waltzing from behind Simian came his twin, identical in fearsome appearance and dark beauty, their red-collared priests making a wide arc to surround us.

  “Oh, brother. Are you playing with her again?”

  “Dommiel, please,” I grated, refusing to sift away without him. The damn man wouldn’t move, wouldn’t even acknowledge me, his focus so intent on Simian and now his brother.

  Simian tilted his head in an eerie semblance of a serpent, his words clipped and harsh. “But I like playing with her. It’ll be more enjoyable when her new guard dog is stretched on my rack in Erebus.”

  I gasped. The very thought of Dommiel being tortured in the darkest pit of the underworld turned my blood to ice.

  “Dommiel.”

  “No, Anya.”

  Damn the man! He wouldn’t turn away. If anything, he readied himself, squaring into a fighting stance.

  Simian whispered something and a crack of electricity popped in the air near him, then a loathsome creature appeared. One that sucked the air right out of my lungs.

  “Bellock,” I whispered.

  A new fear rolled over me. My wings twitched and tightened against my back at the sight of the angel hunter. They were known for clipping their prey’s wings before they dragged them to some festering dungeon in hell.

  With midnight eyes, flat and soulless, he centered on Dommiel. Huge and muscular with ash-gray skin and black veins webbing down his neck and across bare arms, he huffed out a grunt, his breath puffing out in a white curl. He wore a chest-plate of armor, leaving his arms free, one wielding a wickedly sharp and curved scimitar. He was an otherworld barbarian, devoted to destruction and pain.

  Rather than tense, Dommiel seemed to relax, his shoulders rounding, though he kept a tight grip on his handgun at his side.

  The creature sidled forward, catlike and too graceful for such a beast. “Why am I not surprised?” His lifeless eyes didn’t seem to move, but I felt them on me. “Keeping company with angels now.” He circled his wrist, waving his scimitar in an arc. “Those would make some lovely trophies on my wall.”

  My wings.

  Dommiel chuckled, then aimed his Glock in a split-second move, firing off three rounds of ether ammo, green fire flaring bright. Bellock blocked all three with the flick of his blade. He was fast. And deadly. And coming closer.

  “I’ve been wondering where you’ve been hiding,” said Bellock.

  Simian, Rook, and their priests remained silent and watchful behind him.

  “Not hiding.” He holstered his gun and pulled out a twelve-inch blade, one side spiked with half-inch curved teeth. “Just more important things to do than deal with your ugly ass.”

  I backed away, giving them room for combat, for there was no avoiding that was exactly what Dommiel had in mind. Why I thought he’d run away, sift away, to safety when faced with the enemies who blackened his name and sought to chain his soul in hell, I don’t know. Still, fear skittered through my veins.

  Bellock swung first. Dommiel easily dodged, spun beneath his arm, and sliced with the jagged blade along the angel hunter’s ribs. Bellock growled, spinning and swinging horizontally. I gasped. Dommiel ducked and got another slice on the back of the hunter’s thigh, ripping through fabric to gray flesh.

  Bellock cried out in rage. Dommiel laughed, sauntering in a circle around his opponent as if this were a practice bout in the sparring yard. Not a fight till the death. He slashed his knife toward the ground, splattering a thin line of the hunter’s black blood on the pavement.

  “Seems you’re out of practice, Bellock. I expected more from a servant of the high princes.” His smile turned sharp, his voice dropping low. “Then again, slavery never did produce the best fighters.”

  An ominous growl from the gray creature, then they were a blur of movement, the clanging of their blades all I could make out as they lunged and sliced. Bellock was infamous for his deadly fighting skill, yet Do
mmiel kept pace with equal measure. He was an even match, somewhat of a surprise to me as I watched with a scream lodged in my throat, waiting to rip free.

  Simian caught my eye across the way, a subtle movement of his head as he watched me, not the fight. I gripped my dagger tighter. A stinging pain lanced from my neck to my chest, from where he’d grazed me with his fangs to where his essence lodged deeper.

  He grinned, knowing his essence was doing its work inside of me, slowly drawing me closer to him, to being his willing slave. Unconsciously, I shook my head. Then he chuckled in that sinister way Simian did, his canines sharp as always.

  “Ticktock, lovey,” he rasped, his gaze sweeping in a slow seductive glide down my body.

  The invisible caress felt like a snake sliding over my skin. Palpable fear pumped my heart rate faster as I remained locked on the thing that would be my master if we didn’t find Uriel in time. Realizing the clanging of blades had stopped, I swiveled back to Dommiel, who’d observed the exchange between Simian and I, his glare murderous. It was just enough distraction for Bellock. He raised his scimitar high, readying to swing down on Dommiel’s head.

  “No!” I screamed and sifted to him faster than I could think the command, wrapped him in both arms and sifted out before the hunter’s sword could cleave home.

  Dommiel didn’t resist, but even in the few seconds we flew through the Void, I could feel fury vibrating off him. Even so, all I could think was how wonderful he felt in my arms, the sweat and smell of him some kind of sweet seduction all its own. How had it come to this? How had I fallen so quickly for a corrupt being, a self-professed sinner who gloried in shunning my own deepest beliefs? Perhaps because he truly was a liar. He said he cared for no one but himself, yet he was the first to sift into that circle to save the captives.

  We flashed out onto the snow-covered hill of Dartmoor. I stumbled back when he tore out of my arms, his knife and gun still gripped fiercely in both hands.

  “What the fuck was that, Anya?”

  “I—I didn’t want you hurt. Bellock, he would’ve killed you.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”

  His sharpened fangs colored his speech with a primitive timbre. One that made me shiver, and not entirely out of fear. I swallowed hard, unwilling to tell him about Simian. He sheathed his gun and blade before coming toward me, but it didn’t diminish the primal panic he sparked in my belly.

  His metal hand gripped my shoulder, his flesh one wrapped my nape in a possessive hold, his mouth mere inches from mine as his voice grated so low I felt it more than heard him.

  “Tell. Me. Now.”

  “Captain Blackheart!”

  Both our heads swiveled to Xander standing among the women and children we’d saved, all eyes, full of fear, glued to us. Except Xander, who frowned in confusion and concern.

  “Not the right time or place.”

  “You’re scaring the children,” I whispered.

  Somehow, I knew that would break through the wall of fury he’d erected. Slowly, he dropped his hands from me, but the battle-hard fire in his dark ruby eye didn’t die. We’d be revisiting this again when we were alone, I was sure of it.

  And how could I resist confessing to him? He had such a hold on me. It was terrifying. But not as much as being owned by Simian. I also feared Dommiel’s reaction if he knew. Would he mistrust me, thinking the poison might put his own life in danger, should I go under Simian’s spell and turn him over? I was stronger than that. If I felt the black essence taking over my soul, then I’d tell him. He could kill me and be done with it.

  Until then, I couldn’t tell him the truth. I couldn’t watch as his gaze shifted from desire and admiration to suspicion and mistrust. I didn’t want to lose his allegiance. Or his affection.

  Not yet.

  Maybe not ever.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dommiel

  We’d delivered the women and children to Cooper at a high school in Chiswick, now one of the hideouts of the London Twelvers. I’d recognized Coffee Girl, one of Cooper’s soldiers as one of the captives. Something had compelled me to get her out of there. Get as many of them out as possible. Was it Anya’s influence? Her good deeds rubbing off on the likes of me? It felt uncomfortable. Irritating. But also right. And if that didn’t surprise the hell out of me.

  “This way,” said Xander, leading us out the parking lot behind the building.

  I’d sifted back to the alley outside my basement apartment and grabbed my satchel after our delivery of the captives. I hiked it higher now, feeling more solid with the weight of weapons and drakuls on my shoulder.

  Before we even hit the street, Xander turned and grabbed mine and Anya’s arms, sifting us to the white stoop of a posh flat in Chelsea. He unlocked the door, then took my arm again so I could cross the warded threshold.

  Once more, I felt a push and pull like I did when I entered the Longhena Library in San Maggiore. The sucking sensation on my chest eased as we made our way into Xander’s pristine pad. A wash of white marble, gray furniture, and clean lines. Without a backward glance, he strode toward the bar near the wall of windows overlooking the Thames. The moon had come out of the clouds, casting its cool light across the white marble floors.

  “The electricity comes and goes on this end. King Henry never could keep his realm operating properly.”

  “Is that why Simian and Rook are taking over?”

  I knew if those two fuckers were milling around London, that meant they had plans to take over.

  “King Henry is dead. Long live the kings.”

  “Fuck.”

  King Henry, I could handle. The twin princes were another level altogether. Sadistic and twisted to the nth degree.

  Xander picked up a bottle of whisky. “How about a drink?”

  “Yes,” I agreed, shooting yet another deadly look at Anya.

  A drink would simmer my nerves. But if she thought our conversation about Simian was over, she was out of luck.

  “No thank you,” she replied quietly, taking a position at the window and looked out at the Thames.

  “Now,” continued Xander, walking from around the bar and handing me a tumbler of whisky. “Tell me how you two happen to be together.”

  I took the glass he offered, draining it in one swallow. “Interesting story, that.”

  “I’m sure.” Nodding at my empty glass. “Another?”

  “No need to play host. I’ll get it.”

  A cryptic smile. He sipped from his glass, eyeing the silent Anya over the rim as I crossed to the bar.

  “We’re on a quest to find Uriel,” said Anya steadily. Softly.

  “Somehow, I knew that’s where you’d disappeared to.”

  Anya turned, keeping her position near the window, her wings tucked tightly to her back. “We’ve discovered that he’s being held in Russia by Vladek’s witch, Lisabette.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  Xander drained his glass and sauntered back to me at the bar, setting his glass down. I poured another for him.

  “I wish you both luck.” He eyed me curiously. “And why the hell are you on this little adventure?”

  Xander and I had bumped into one another in London on more than one occasion. He was tied deeply to the Twelvers, trying to help them against the encroaching demon hordes. I’d only been around in a mercenary capacity.

  Shrugging, I took another swallow from my glass, relishing the whisky, though it did nothing to smother the anger still riding me. I wanted to get Anya alone.

  “Genevieve called. A blood vow is bond.”

  “Ah. Smart, that Genevieve. You’ll likely be able to find Uriel faster than any of us.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  Xander’s gaze flicked from me to Anya, who seemed to find anything to look at but either of us.

  “I see.” His words carried far more weight than they should’ve, possibly sensing the tension riding between the two of us. “Do you need assistan
ce?”

  Anya’s attention snapped to him. Before she could answer in the affirmative, I shook my head.

  “The fewer on this mission, the better. We need to be as unnoticeable as possible where we’re going.”

  He gave a stiff nod, knocked back his glass, and set it on the marble-top coffee table. “Right. Well. It’s been a long, bloody day. I’m sure you two have other places to be. If you need to rest, I’ve got guest rooms down the hall.”

  Neither of us moved or said a word.

  Xander grinned. “Just”—he turned and pinned me with a knowing look—“be careful.” He paused, glancing between us. “This new world has us all living each day like tomorrow is our last. And it could be, but…every decision has its consequences.”

  He knew.

  I started to open my mouth—to say what, I don’t know.

  “But you’re grown-ups and can make your own decisions…and mistakes.”

  With a wave of his hand, he headed toward what must be the master off the other side of the living room. “Nevertheless, a nice warm bedroom is yours before you head off to the frozen wasteland.”

  He shut the door behind him.

  “Dommiel,” she said in almost a plea.

  “The bedroom.”

  I walked the length of the living room and ushered her with a hand at her back. She went easily enough, though I was expecting resistance. Down the hall, I urged her into the first bedroom and slammed the door shut.

  “Tell me about Simian.”

  She faced me, eyes wary. “There’s nothing to tell. I worked with Xander before I went in search of Uriel. And he was leading a horde one day.”

  I walked toward her. She backed away.

  “Right.” I corralled closer. Her back hit the wall, her wings flattening out, hands at her sides. “What else?”

  “I’d expelled one of his high priests back to the underworld. And he just…fixated on me.”

  I braced my hands on either side of her head, the only light the haze of moon glow from the constant cloudy night sky. “Oh, I got that loud and clear.” Aligning my body with hers, I gave her my weight, pressing closer. “We’re going to do something about that.”