Assassin: Fall of the Golden Valefar (A Paranormal Romance—Book #6 in the Demon Kissed Series) (12 page)

Natalia didn’t stop kissing when Eric released her throat. Instead
she deepened the kiss, acting like she’d die if she stopped. Her fingers
tangled in Eric’s hair, pulling it hard. He tasted better than she imagined,
and she wanted more. The way his body felt, all hard muscles and firm, she
wanted him. Natalia could feel his hands on her, and she wanted them there,
craving more. There was no longer any regard for protecting her identity from
him. Her nature overtook her, and she gave into it.

Eric’s body was responding to the darkness within him,
wanting her, wanting to feel her fear him. When Natalia splayed her fingers
across his chest, he pressed her back into the wall, forcing her legs apart. He
waited for her to beg him to stop, but she didn’t. Her body slid against him, as
if she wanted his hands on her, in her. Eric couldn’t clear his head. The lust
was too thick, too hot. She didn’t beg him to leave her alone. She craved him,
wanting more. He had to stop this. He knew he would hurt her, but he couldn’t
control himself. There was no love left within him. He took what he wanted and
destroyed what he took.

With every ounce of strength he had, Eric pulled away from
her, gasping for air like he couldn’t breathe. Natalia watched him from hooded
eyes, swollen lips parted as if she were going to speak. Her hand was draped over
Eric’s shoulder, nails biting into his neck.

Eric was still aroused, pushed past the point of sanity. His
golden eyes were wide, “You could fight me off, push me away. Why didn’t you?”

Her voice was seduction, slowly stroking every inch of his
body as she spoke, “I told you, already. We’re more alike, you and I.” Her pink
lips were parted, her chest rising as she breathed.

Eric didn’t believe her. It didn’t matter that her
appearance at Carina’s should have affirmed that statement—he rejected it. There
was no way she was like him. Eric craved pain, blood, and sex. He wanted all
three from her, but knew he could never be with her like that. It was something
he craved, something he wanted badly, so badly that he was no longer thinking.
Taking her at her word, Eric extracted a piece of brimstone from his pocket.

Natalia watched Eric’s fingers unfold and reveal a black
rock in the center of his hand. The edges were worn to points like spearhead. He
touched it slowly to Natalia’s arm, pressing the razor-sharp stone against her
smooth tanned skin. It was what she wanted him to do at Carina’s, but he
wouldn’t. Natalia watched him as he pierced her with the stone, cutting her. Her
body tensed as she felt him do it. It was what she wanted, but it wasn’t part
of the plan. This was a distraction, but she needed it. He didn’t realize what
he was doing to her, how this made her more of a monster than she already was,
but it was too delicious to refuse.

Natalia savored every second of stinging pain and heat. Lips
parted, Eric was breathing hard, watching her. Moving slowly he dragged the
stone down her soft flesh, forming a long red steak as it cut into her.

The girl finally screamed.

She screamed as the stone
tore
 
open
her skin. She screamed as Eric ran
his tongue along her flesh, kissing the trail of blood on her arm. It was
almost perfect, but it wasn’t the kind of scream that Eric expected. It wasn’t
the terror-stricken scream of a woman in pain. It was something else, something
that made Eric’s blood run cold.

 
CHAPTER NINETEEN

Eric had never lost his head like that before. It almost
felt as if the darkness were being drained out of him, but when he broke away
from Natalia, it surged back into place. Every scrap of pain was replaced,
exactly the way it was. It was like all the darkness within him momentarily
vanished. It wasn’t just that the agony was appeased, or that it lay dormant,
waiting to rear up again. It was gone. In those few short seconds Eric could
breathe. His soul no longer ached. Anger no longer coursed through his veins
like a deadly poison. But he didn’t understand. Usually when he was with
someone like that—they were afraid—and that fear fed his lust, but that wasn’t
what happened with Natalia. The truth was
,
he didn’t
know what happened.

Eric fled from her after that, leaving her alone in her
nightmare of a bedroom.
That bedroom.
Those paintings.
He never felt so exposed in his life. It
was like the girl saw straight through him, like a cheap piece of velum. There
was no way to hide anything from her, and yet, she didn’t seem to understand
what she saw. He was grateful for that. If she understood what he was doing,
she might try to stop him.

But no one would stop him tonight.

The moonlight cut through the splintered trees making jagged
shadows on the ground. Eric
effonated
to the exact
point where he knew the man would be. There was no mistaking this residence. Even
in the darkness it stood like a gem in the center of a minefield. While the
rest of the world went to hell and half the people starved, this Martis lived
in opulence, squandering his wealth instead of protecting and providing for the
people who starved at his gates.

Until that day, he didn’t think the man could have become
so cruel, but hearing the woman’s words—the poor beggar with the lifeless child
in her arms—it changed his mind. It was beyond him how this could happen, how
he could get this way. The man was blind, and he’d destroy him, as he did
Julia.

As Eric paced the immaculately decorated blue bedroom his
eyes tried not to linger on the flashes of wealth—the gold gilded headboard,
the crystal chandelier, the fur rugs, or the silks that draped from floor to
ceiling. All those things disgusted him, feeding his rage, and at every turn of
his head there was something else.

Eric finally stopped pacing and took a spot, leaning on the
wall across from the door. He folded his arms over his chest and crossed his
legs. His stance was calm, like he was waiting for a bus, not waiting to
assassinate the eldest Tribunal member. There was no repentance for the Martis.
They failed to see what they’d done, or correct it, in all these years since
Ivy granted them a stay of execution.

Eric didn’t move when voices drifted down the hallway and
into the dark room. He could hear Thomas’ voice. It sounded exactly the same as
it did the last time he heard it in the courtroom. Thomas couldn’t believe that
Eric would protect Ivy, that he didn’t slay her on sight. The Martis were so
fucked up. They completely lost sight of their purpose and Eric intended to
remind them.
One by one, if needed.

The metal in the doorknob scraped against the latch as it
turned. Eric’s perfect ears heard every footfall, every voice. He knew there
were five people with Thomas. As the door swung open, the hallway light bathed
his target. The men surrounding him were fools. He felt no remorse for them
when
he
 
opened
his palm and blew brimstone dust in their direction. The dust swirled across
the air, curling and bending in the rays of light. The men froze, watching it, not
yet seeing Eric waiting in the shadows. No one realized what it was. Each of
Eric’s assassinations was done differently, but he knew one person would see
the commonality. One person would condemn him for his crimes.

Ivy.

The dust swirled through the air like a snake poised to
attack. It swept past Thomas before it collapsed in a spray of powder, covering
every single person who stood behind him. As they held out their hands to
examine the tiny black grains, Eric spoke from the darkness, “It’s not soot—it’s
judgment for everything you’ve ignored since your reprieve.”

Their heads snapped in the direction of the light as the
remnants of the dust fell on their flesh. That was when the searing pain began.
With a wave of his hand, and a few silent words, Eric used his power to grab
Thomas before he could flee, and shoved his dying guards into the hallway. As
the door slammed shut, Eric could see their faces contorted in agony as the
black brimstone dust
spidered
across their skin. Their
pain was palpable. He wished he could sit on a chair and revel in it, be at
peace for a few moments before they died—but he couldn’t. Eric was there for a
reason, and they weren’t it.

Thomas’ voice was husky, like he smoked cigars for five
lifetimes. He glared at Eric with eyes like steel, “So, Julia’s blood was not
enough? I thought as much.” He laughed to himself as he walked, half bent over,
stopping in front of an ornate chair that was covered in supple blue velvet. He
lowered his feeble body, ignoring Eric, “After I learned that you lived, I
thought it was only a matter of time. One can’t condemn a man to death and
expect him to be anything other than a savage if he breaks free.” He glanced at
Eric, looking him straight in the eye. The expression on his face made Eric’s stomach
twist. “Can he?” Eric didn’t answer. He stood with his hands in his pockets,
staring at the old fool.

“Ah, you had so much promise,” Thomas continued. “You were
such a fine young warrior, but you let that girl turn your head. You gave up
everything for her, and look where it got us. Death, destruction, and
you—you’re more of an abomination than she is. At least Her Highness remains
with the evil creatures of her realm. But you—you walk in the light like it
was
made for you.”

The words pelted into Eric. This was someone who had been
like a father to him. Thomas was Althea’s counterpart at one time. When Al had
first taken Eric in, and saved him from the Valefar, she cared for him. So did
Thomas. But as time passed, Thomas thought Al’s logic was becoming too far
removed from the way of the Martis, and he left. The sad part was that Al was
straight and true, never bending, always walking in the light. As Thomas spoke,
it reminded Eric of Al, and it felt like someone was strangling him. She’d been
a mother to him before dying at his hand. It didn’t matter that he didn’t
realize what he was doing. Eric didn’t blame Kreturus, the Demon King, for
forcing his hand. He took the blame for that death, and many others. Every
snuffed life lay heavily on his shoulders, like an inky darkness that no amount
of water could wash away.

As Thomas said his last sentence, Eric lifted his palm. The
old man’s eyes grew wide as he watched a stream of light form in the air. It
was one of the only Martis abilities that remained in his grasp. The light was
barely a shape, but it moved toward the old man. To his credit, he didn’t try
to run or plead. Thomas knew his fate the moment he saw Eric, and he held his
head high like he was a fucking martyr.

Eric spoke as he manipulated the beam, “Light was not made
for me, Thomas. I consume it, I devour it. There is hardly any left within me,
which is why I can tell that
there
is no light within
you.” Eric pushed off the wall, and walked toward Thomas with his head tilted
to the side. “Light calls to light. Darkness calls to darkness. That’s what you
are. That’s what you’ve done. Do you not see it? Can you seriously tell me that
condemning me to death was right? Or even that you should have such wealth
while the beggars die at your gate?” Eric watched the man, but he didn’t blink.
Defiance washed over his face in every wrinkle, every inch of his weathered
skin.

A soft laugh bubbled up from Eric. He shook his head, and
folded his arms, “You didn’t know that there were literally dead people at the
gate of your house—that there are children, and mothers, men too weak to work,
and all with their fingers wrapped around the bars that lead to your front
door?” Eric sat down across from the old man. “For old time’s sake, Thomas,
tell me...” Eric folded his fingers in his lap, and leaned forward, his golden
hair falling in his eyes, “what is it that Martis are supposed to do?”

Thomas sneered, “Don’t you dare think that you can judge
me. I have lived a just life. I have given plenty. I...” but Eric was through. This
man was not the Thomas he knew so long ago. He was not the Thomas that Al was
fond of. That man was long dead, and his body would soon follow.

At Eric’s command, the swirling white mist stopped and
thickened into a cloud. It drifted to Thomas, surrounding him in his chair. There
was no way for the man to move, the airless mist was like lead. Its viscous
vapors deprived his lungs of oxygen, as they settled over him.

Eric leaned back in his chair, fingers
steepeled
as he watched the man in front of him die. Every ounce of pain, every moment of
agony was deserved—unlike some of Eric’s past actions—so he made Thomas’ demise
last as long as possible, reveling in it. As he sat watching, Eric couldn’t
help but notice that the old man’s pain was different. It was more an old
burned piece of meat than an elegant meal. It still satisfied Eric’s hunger,
but in a less palatable way.

Without meaning to, it made Eric think of Natalia. He
pressed his fingers together harder, knuckles turning white. He didn’t
understand. What she did to him was so different. Her fear was almost—it almost
made him crave more. When Eric realized what he was thinking he crushed the
thoughts instantly.

Eric watched every deplorable second of the end of Thomas’
life, smiling while he did it. As the mist lingered on the old man’s skin, it
began to burn. The scent of charred flesh filled the air, but no one came. No
one could save the Martis now. Eric tapped his fingers together—waiting,
watching—his golden eyes never leaving Thomas’. Every ounce of agony that the man
felt was strewn across his face, until Eric finally allowed him to collapse.

With a flick of his hand, Eric banished the mist. Thomas
moaned from the floor, looking up at Eric who was standing over him. His old
gray eyes were wide, filled with terror as he rasped, “You’re a demon.
A monster.”
Hair stuck to the side of his face, dripping
with sweat.

Extracting his brimstone from the pocket of his jeans, Eric
turned it to a black dagger in his hand. It was a demon’s weapon, straight from
the Underworld. Raising the weapon above his shoulder, Eric gripped it tight. The
jagged edge glinted softly in the light. Thomas’ wide grey eyes fixated on the
weapon. Without another word, Eric slammed the dagger into Thomas’ heart,
cracking it through his bones as he swung. Thomas screamed. It was the kind of
scream that soothed Eric. Raw terror filled the air, soothing Eric’s pain. For
an instant it vanished like chalk washed off the sidewalk. The traces of it
were still there, but the intensity was gone. It was the kind of scream that
Natalia should have given. He couldn’t put the thought aside. Assassinating
Thomas made him realize there was something about that girl. She wasn’t normal,
but it was beyond that.

The scream died as the tip of the blade pierced Thomas’
heart. Brimstone flooded his system and beat by beat, the man was destroyed
from the inside out. Eric watched his body as it contorted with pain, not
offering any comfort. Thomas’ eyes grew wide, terror coursing through him faster
than the brimstone.

The massive hole in Eric’s chest, the place where the
darkness reigned, felt solid for a moment.
Sated.
It
was no longer threatening to crush him from within. The irony wasn’t lost on
Eric. He knew that he only felt good when he was doing horrible things. That
worried him. How far would he go to feel this way? Was it something he could
maintain forever? He was strong enough, powerful enough to sustain death after
death. There was only a tiny part of him that didn’t want it, and it was that
tiny part that made his kills methodical. There was a reason, a plan behind all
the blood. In the end, it would all work out. It had to.

Silence filled the room and with it the pain that crushed
his chest began to build again. The old man’s eyes rolled back in his head,
dead. Staring at him for a moment, Eric was sickened to realize that things
ended like this. Both the people who saved him died horrifically at his hand. Eric
brought death with him everywhere he went. It was just the way things were and
he’d accepted it. Yanking the blade from the man’s corpse, Eric withdrew it and
turned it back to a stone, placing it carefully in his pocket. With his other
hand, he extracted the vial.

Eric leaned close to the old man’s face, remembering his
last words, accusing Eric of being a monster. Tipping a drop from the vial he
whispered, “Likewise.”