Inferno of Darkness (Order of the Blade #8) (5 page)

"No." Her voice was clear, its raw intensity like a shot to his gut. It wasn't simply feminine, it was powerful and strong, rich with sensuality. "Walk away."

"It's been calling to me." He took a step closer, and felt a sudden burst of wind slam against his chest, as if she'd shoved the air at him as a warning. Could she manipulate air? He'd never heard of that. "The sword wants me to retrieve it."

"Do not touch it." As the words filled the air, a faint mist began to glisten in the location he was watching, like millions of dew droplets in the first rays of morning light.

Adrenaline and anticipation roared through him, and he was riveted by the rainbow-colored prisms as they glittered and sparkled, becoming less transparent. Then he saw her face beginning to take shape. An incredible, vibrant turquoise began to glow as it slid into the shape of her nose, a delicate slope of pure femininity. Smooth cheeks of perfection, the sensual curve of her jaw, parted lips. Her hair began to appear, tumbling down around her in violet and turquoise cascades of thick curls. And then, her eyes. Dante stood, transfixed, as her eyes appeared, vibrant blue-violet pools flanked with long, thick lashes, watching him intently.

Her body began to manifest. Long, delicate arms, a mystical dress clinging to her body, showing small breasts of surreal temptation, hips that bled into lean legs, bare feet that seemed to fade right into the grassy tufts by her toes.

"What are you?" he asked, his voice gruffer than he'd intended.

"I don't exist here." There was a sudden shimmer, as if a thousand prisms had shifted position, and then she was standing before him, fully corporeal, with flesh as human as his. Her cascade of colors shifted into a rich, decadent shower of brown curls, and an endless temptation of flesh so pale it looked as though it had never seen the sun. But her eyes were the same, a vibrant, iridescent symphony of violet, rich blue, and enchantment.

She was beauty. This was the first moment in his life that he truly understood what the word meant. Not simply her appearance, but her entire aura. It was pulsing and shimmering, rich with sensations that seemed to reach inside him and shatter the darkness that clung to every cell in his body.

Stunned, he limped toward her, compelled by the need to touch her, to see if she was real. She lifted her chin regally as he neared. She did not retreat, but her muscles tensed, and a ripple of fear echoed through the air.

He stopped a mere foot from her and raised his hand. Gently, almost afraid that he would shatter the mirage, he brushed his fingers ever so lightly over the ends of her curls. Silken strands glided through his fingers, the softest sensation he'd ever experienced. She closed her eyes and went utterly still, as if drinking in his touch with every ounce of her being.

"You
do
exist here," he said softly, forcing himself to drop his hand, trying to shield himself against the depth of his urge to slide his hand down her arm, to feel the warmth of her skin against his. Again, he looked down at his protective markings and saw they were still blazing as black as they had the first time he'd finally succeeded in manifesting them. This wasn't a
sheva
compulsion. It couldn't be. So what was it? He had one goal, one mission, and limited time to do it, and yet he felt like he wanted nothing more than to be in her presence and to touch her. To kiss her. To possess her.

She opened her eyes, and he saw that they had darkened to deeper blue-violet, though they still had the glittery sparkles in them. "You are worthy," she said softly. "I can feel your strength, your capability. The sword has chosen well. Too well," she added, the regret obvious in her voice.

Dante had no idea what the hell was going on, not with the sword that had been summoning him, not with this woman who had manifested from a glittery mist, and not with his burning desire for her. Weapons, he understood. All this? No, but he was going to figure it out, and fast. "My name is Dante Sinclair, Calydon warrior." He did not say he was the unwilling leader of the famous Order of the Blade. He did not add that he was the only one left of his kind. He did not explain that he was the only warrior still alive who could possibly save the earth from rogues, and that he was dying, fast. "Who are you?"

"Dante Sinclair," she repeated, sending warmth spiraling through him as she said his name. She made it sound poetic, like a great gift offered to the very earth upon which they stood. She gave a low curtsy. "My name is Elisha, daughter of the            Queen of Darkness. Soon to be consort to the master Adrian."

Dante went cold at her words. "Consort?" That one word had chased every other bit of information she'd offered out of his mind. "What does that mean?" Shit. He knew what that meant. But he needed to know what
she
meant by it, by her future.

She rose to her feet, and something flickered in her eyes, something he couldn't decipher, but she definitely had reacted to his fury about her becoming some bastard's consort.

She raised her hand and brushed her fingers over his cheek. "Your anger at my words is beautiful." Her touch was like silk, the whisper of a new dawn across his skin. Without speaking, he laid his hand over hers, pressing her palm to his face. Her hand was cool, her touch drifting through his body like the cleansing rain of a raging summer storm. He'd never felt relief like she was giving him. The world had never paused long enough for him to breathe air so fresh or touch something so soft and pure. He had never seen it. Never felt it. Never even considered it.

All he knew about purity and innocence was from watching it be destroyed by his father and the rest of the Order. And yet, here, this woman...it was like a soothing balm had been laid over his soul, easing the torment of over a hundred years.

Her gaze went to his. "You have freedom here, in the earth realm. I can sense it about you. Your heart—" She laid her other hand on his chest, moving even closer to him. "—it beats differently than mine. I can feel its freedom. It's like the purest magic, born of innocence and honor." A sense of awe appeared on her face, and Dante felt his world begin to close in on him as he tumbled into her spell.

Unbidden, his hand slid to the back of her neck. He needed to touch her. To kiss her. To claim her. To make her his.

Her eyes widened, and she froze, going utterly still. "No," she whispered. "This cannot be."

"Just like how you don't exist in the earth realm?" He bent his head, his lips hovering a breath from hers. He had to kiss her. He had to know she was real. He had to know that something as pure and beautiful as Elisha actually existed...and that he could be a part of it. "Because you
do
exist. And this
can
be, because it's happening right now."

"No!" A gust of wind suddenly slammed into his chest and thrust him backwards. He landed ten feet away, on his ass, a pawn in the grasp of her power.

Damn. That was impressive. A woman who could defend herself against the poison of the Order? Perhaps
she
was the answer he sought, not the sword...but even as he thought it, there was a fresh surge of compulsion from the sword, still relentlessly calling to him.

With a groan that he didn't mean to let slip, he vaulted back to his feet, unsettled that he'd let his need for her dictate his actions. Had he really just considered seducing her when his last hope for saving innocents before he died lay hidden behind her, only a half-day's run from the carnage that Louis had caused? Shit. He was weak, too weak to bear the mark of the leader of the Order.

Cold, steely focus was required to discharge the duties of the Order, not a man so weak that his desperate need for a woman could interfere with his duty. He lowered his head, studying her more carefully. The power of a woman. Not just
a
woman.
This
woman. Never had he been tempted like this before. What the hell was she? A princess? What in the hell was going on? "Who is the Queen of Darkness? And what realm are you from, if you're not from the earth realm?"

Elisha was facing him, her hands dangling loosely by her sides, her gaze blazing. "You must leave," she said urgently. "You must."

There was no chance of that. "Where is the sword from, Elisha?" He began to walk toward her again, fighting to keep from favoring his bad leg, but this time, it wasn't about seduction. It was about his mission, his job, his calling. "How is it calling me?"

"No." Once again, she sent air at him, pushing him backwards, but this time he was ready.

He simply braced himself and shoved forward, cutting through the invisible wall.

Her face tightened with fear. "Halt!" she commanded, with the imperious force of the royalty she'd claimed to be.

He stopped. "Tell me why." She was soon going to be some man's consort? Really?
Shit.
Why was he thinking about
that
when he was facing down an enemy? He schooled his thoughts away from seduction, desire, and temptation, and faced the princess. "Tell me what's going on."

Dante was far more than she'd even imagined. His dark eyes were intense, staring at her as if he would not hesitate to pry every last bit of information out of her that he wanted. But his hands...she couldn't stop thinking about what it had felt like to have his fingers in her hair. It had been so gentle, so incredibly enticing. He hadn't hurt her, and he hadn't even tried. The man was covered in blood. His clothes were tattered. Deep wounds were already healing in his flesh. His foot was mangled and blackened, contaminated with the terrible dark aura of the nether-realm. His short, dark hair made him look young, but his eyes carried many years of pain and hardship, and his well-muscled body was chiseled with the stress of a physical life.

Although she was no longer touching him, she could still feel the prickle of whiskers beneath her palm. She would never forget the warmth of his skin, or the way his hand had pressed onto hers. She had never experienced anything like it. There had been so much humanity and gentleness in his touch. It had been so beautiful to experience physical contact that hadn't been initiated for a dark purpose, but had occurred simply because it felt good. Was that how it was on earth? Or just with Dante?

As he stared at her, waiting for her answers, a slow sinking feeling of dread formed in the pit of her belly. He would ruin her, if she gave him a chance. He would ruin everything, here and now, and when she returned.

She had to make him understand and get him to leave. Now. Fast. Before he could shift the tide in the wrong direction. "My mother is the Queen of Darkness," she began.

"I know. You said that." Dante looked past her, toward the sword, which was hidden at the bottom of a clear pool. "I'm going to check on the sword while we talk." He strode right toward her, and she stepped aside as he passed, knowing that she had to give him the illusion of his own power. Dante would not yield if pushed. She had to make him understand and choose the right path. Force was only for the last, desperate moment. "Who is the Queen of Darkness?" he asked.

"The queen's darkness is a realm on the far side of the nether-realm," she said, hurrying to catch up as he walked. His gait was uneven, and she suspected his foot was as painful as it appeared.

He looked at her sharply. "The nether-realm is where demons are spawned. Calydons were created from a stream tainted by the nether-realm. It's the underworld. There's nothing past it."

"There is. It's—" She hesitated, having no words to describe the horror of what it was. "It's more than the nether-realm."

Dante paused, looking over at her. His eyes narrowed, and she saw a sudden alertness in them. "What do you mean, 'more?'"

For a moment, the need to explain burned inside her, a desire to show him what life was like for her, to show him the ugliness that lay fermenting inside her, but suddenly, she couldn't bear to do it. She wanted him to keep looking at her as he first had, as if she were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, not the tainted ugliness she really was. No one had ever looked at her the way he just had, and she didn't want to let that go. Not yet. "My mother is thousands of years old," she said instead. "She wants more than the queen's realm to rule. She wants the earth."

Dante was facing her now. "And?"

"There's a veil between the queen's realm and the rest of existence. The magical filament was put in place thousands of years ago by the earth's protectors. They could not destroy my mother, but they could contain her. She has spent the last thousand years having this sword crafted, the sword that has been calling you. It's been forged in the shadows of the queen's darkness, fed with the blood of the greatest beasts, and cursed with black magic so powerful that only two beings can harness it."

Dante's eyebrows went up. "And why is it calling me?"

"Because it was sent to this world to find a warrior strong enough to wield it." She met his gaze. "If you touch it, it will own you. You'll be compelled to take it into the mountain and sever the curtain that binds the queen's darkness. Her world will spill into this one, and all hope will be lost." Elisha took a step forward. "You cannot touch it, Dante. If you do, you'll destroy all life."

His face was inscrutable as he studied her, and she had no idea if he believed her. The sword's call was getting stronger. Was he strong enough to resist it? "Dante—"

"I want to see it." Then, before she could stop him, he turned away and sprinted toward the hidden pool, the one that would be visible only to those that the sword had chosen. She raced after him, her feet landing soundlessly on the rough ground as she ran.

Dante reached the pool and went down on one knee, his dark eyes riveted on the surface of the pool. Elisha knelt beside him, following his intense stare. The sword lay at the bottom. It was a smoky black, undulating as if it were alive. The blade was long and curved, with a triple spike on the tip for piercing the veil. The handle was plain, not a jewel to be seen, yet it seemed to dance and sing with a beauty beyond words. Elisha glanced at Dante, unsure what image the sword would reveal to him. "Do you see it?"