Dark Desire (18 page)

The house Darrion had chosen had been random. It could have been any house on the block in downtown Boston, but he had just walked up to this one and decided. Fading inside, he’d found a family just sitting down to eat dinner together.

One big happy family, as it were.

Seeing them sitting together—a father, a mother, an older son and a younger daughter—Darrion had to block out memories of his own family, of them sitting down together to break bread and talk about the happenings of the day. His hatred had taken over then. He hadn’t thought about his family in more than a thousand years, yet the scene he had invaded was suddenly bringing all those memories back …

And he hated them.

He hated what they represented.

He hated that he would never have that again.

Ignoring their demands that he tell them who he was, he pulled a blade out and threw it into the face of the mother, seconds before fading behind the father and slitting his throat with another. The children screamed, their high-pitched cries reminding him of a screaming horse being cut down. He felt no pity. To him, they were two loud, annoying things that needed to be silenced.

He turned towards the girl first. The sound of metal slicing the air silenced her, her small body slumping down in the chair, his blade buried to the hilt in her throat. The boy stopped screaming at that point, staring blankly at the red stain spreading across the tablecloth under his sister’s limp form.

He turned towards Darrion, his blue eyes blinking slowly. Darrion was sure there was more screaming to come, but the boy simply stared at him. Blood gurgled and foamed from his sister’s lips, creating an eerie soundtrack. With a sneer, Darrion pulled one more blade free and flicked his wrist towards the kid’s chest.

The boy winced when the knife sank home, dropping his eyes to look down at the handle. Darrion watched— fascinated—as the color drained from his cheeks and a trickle of blood dribbled from his mouth.

His upper body drooped a second later, the hilt propping him up on the edge of the table. When his body grew still, Darrion pressed his index finger against the boy’s shoulder, pushing him back into his chair. Gripping the handle of the knife, he dragged it from the flesh of the boy as a trickle of blood escaped the large wound—the gash a grotesque grimace in his chest.

Some of his blood had dribbled down the handle of his knife, pooling on the table. Darrion ran his finger through the congealing pool on the dark wood table, soaking through the pristine white tablecloth. Moving to the boy’s sister, he slid his weapon from her throat, too, wiping the blade clean on her shirt.

At last, he came to the mother. The look of terror frozen on her still face brought a smile to Darrion’s lips. He pulled the final blade free and re-holstered it along with the others.

Darrion wandered around the lower levels of the house, inspecting every room. It would be perfect for what he required. He had needed to find a new place to stay, needed to be close to his guild. He’d been keeping his eyes on all his Walkers, tracking them but staying hidden. He knew where every single one of them was, with the exception of Nieven.

His longest serving Mare was off the grid, and had been for a little less than a week. To Darrion that could only mean one thing.

He was dead.

Darrion made one round of the house, eventually circling back to the dining room, taking in his handiwork. It was almost … poetic. The tables had turned. He was the one wielding the weapons while the defenseless family fell beneath his hand.

Satisfied the house was completely empty after a sweep of the upstairs bedrooms, Darrion went back down to the living room and dropped onto the sofa.

The night before, he had gotten into Taer’s dreams just like he had been doing for the past month—ever since he realized Korvain had taken his prize from him and saved her life. Darrion was sure he was driving her insane. Every night, she had to relive her brother’s death as if she had been conscious for the whole thing.

Her fear—her pure, unadulterated, raw fear—seemed to permeate the dream completely, saturating his skin, sinking into his pores and filling his nostrils. He fed off it, letting it nourish him.

It had been so easy too. Her mind was unguarded, simple to manipulate. All it took was a single thought and he was in there, taking her greatest fear and greatest regret—killing her brother—and using it, pushing against the door of her mind.

Smug, he remembered just how easily she had yielded to him. It had taken Darrion a long time to perfect the art of Dream Walking. Njord had told him he wasn’t a natural, but with effort, dedication and practice, he would be as good—if not better than—any other Mare.

Tonight, Darrion would invade her subconscious again. He’d been taking it easy on her. He’d been letting her ‘drive’ for the most part, letting her own horrific memories run unrestrained, but tonight he was going to ramp things up a little.

Stretching himself out on the sofa, Darrion closed his eyes and thought about the young female. Her hair was thick—a glossy, black lacquer pouring over her shoulders and back. Her pale green eyes held an intelligence unexpected in a female, with a quiet spark in them. He had to admit that when Adrian had first told him of her desire to go through the training and become a blooded Walker, he’d been shocked—a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

Curious as to how Taer would go, Darrion had allowed the training to commence, but made Adrian solely responsible for her instruction. From what he had seen, she was shaping up into a fine Walker, but there was no way she could pass the Final Test, not when the others in her quinary were all male and physically much more able.

And now here she was. Her brother dead; her whole world shattered; and Darrion would destroy her mind along with it. He knew she must be intent on revenge, and with nothing left to lose, Taer was a dangerous enemy.

Oh, yes, he knew she would be gunning for him now. Korvain might have been Adrian’s best friend, but he would give Taer the honor of killing his murderer … that is, if they could catch him.

But he never stayed in one place for longer than necessary. He knew there were a lot of people searching for him.

With his whole body relaxed, Darrion was able to find the door to Taer’s mind. He looked it over, knowing every inch of it.

It was as black and as smooth and lustrous as her hair. There were new cracks in the wood, and he wondered whether his repeated invasions had been responsible for putting them there, and if her fragile mind was starting to fracture.

He hoped she was cracking. Her brother had had a weak mind too. He was easily manipulated and controlled—a near-perfect soldier.

Reaching out his hand, Darrion pushed against the ebony wood, feeling it ease open from the gentlest pressure. The space inside was black, a dream yet to form. With a satisfied smirk, Darrion conjured up his own memories of killing Adrian and made the scene materialize once more.

Without even needing to glance over his shoulder, Darrion already knew Taer was there. Stepping from the inky shadows of her own subconscious, her eyes would be running over the scene in front of her. He turned, enjoying the way her eyes widened and tears trembled on her lashes. Until now, her dreams had been from her own perspective—she had witnessed the scene through her own eyes, seeing it from down on the floor, where she had fallen—but tonight was going to be different.

Exhausted didn’t even begin to describe how Taer was feeling. Despite that one day of solid, blissfully, dreamless sleep, the same nightmare that had been plaguing her for over a month now was back. Only … it was worse.

It was different.

And she
felt
different in it.

This time around she wasn’t underneath Adrian, inhaling the scent of his blood and feeling his dead weight on her chest. She was standing apart, looking down upon the scene in a disembodied sort of way. Looking at Adrian’s body from this angle made her aware of just how much damage Darrion had inflicted.

She moaned pitifully. Her brother’s head was barely connected to his body, his throat a bloody, gory mess. Taer swallowed the burning at the back of her throat, unsure whether it was bile bubbling up from her stomach, or the tears she was still refusing to shed for her brother.

The hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood on end, fear making her scalp prickle. Fighting her instincts to run, Taer took in a deep breath and let it out.

“You did this.” The words were a graveled purr, the speaker somewhere behind her. She spun around, squinting at the edges of darkness skirting around her fuzzy subconscious.

“Who’s there?” Her fear was receding, making way for the rage bubbling and boiling up within her. “I asked who was there!”

She knew she was alone in this room, yet she sensed a presence. A shiver ran down her spine as something touched her ear.

“Your worst nightmare,” the voice said again.

“Darrion,” she spat out venomously, goosebumps traveling over her bare arms.

“Yes,” he whispered.

She had to remind herself that Darrion was not physically in her dream. Curling her hands into fists, she said, “You killed my brother.” She wanted to rip out his black heart and burn it.

He paused for a moment, and when he spoke again, she could hear smugness in the mother-fucker’s voice. “Yes.”

The weight of his admission left her bereft all over again, her rage draining away as she was overwhelmed by grief. “Why?” Her voice was so small and shaky that she wondered whether he had even heard her at all.

“Because I could.”

The dismissive way he said it relit the spark of her anger. A growl built in her chest. “I’m going to put you in the ground, you bastard.”

It was a promise.

It was a goddamn oath.

Darrion’s amused laughter had her squeezing her eyes shut.

“Get in line,” he whispered into her ear, his warm breath cascading over her neck. She was completely and utterly repulsed, but worse than that?

She was petrified of him.

And of what he could do to her if she was to fail.

Taer had woken from that nightmare exactly five hours ago. It was just barely dawn, but she could hear Korvain moving around in the apartment. Sliding from her bed, she carefully closed the bedroom door behind her so Eir could keep sleeping undisturbed.

When she padded out into the kitchen, she found Korvain starting up the coffee machine. He looked up with a smile, which turned into a frown.

“You had another dream, didn’t you?” he asked, keeping his harsh voice low so he didn’t wake up the rest of the apartment.

Bristling, Taer replied, “It’s fine. I can handle it.”

Taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, Korvain gently tilted her head until her pale eyes met his. His fingers tightened when she refused to meet his intense stare.

“It’s not fine, Tay. I’ve—” Korvain clamped his jaw shut abruptly, releasing his hold on her and stepping away. His hardening eyes gave away his clear frustration.

He knew something. He fucking
knew
something. “What were you going to say?” Taer’s voice was hard, icy.

“Nothing,” he said quietly. Picking up a mug from beside the sink, he filled it with coffee. He was effectively dismissing her, but she wasn’t going to allow that to happen. The dream was getting worse, and the only thing that would make her feel marginally better about them was to see Darrion bleeding out on the floor in front of her.

And in order for that to happen, she needed more training.

“Will we be doing any training today?” She tried to make her question sound offhand. She didn’t want him to see just how desperately she needed this.

He scowled at her over the rim of his mug. “Not today,” he replied, grudgingly adding, “Tomorrow, maybe.”

Taer spun around. “Fine.” She threw the word over her shoulder, slipping back inside her bedroom. She got dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and a fitted black tank before pulling her hair into a high ponytail at the top of her head.

Looking over at Eir to ensure she was still sleeping, Taer opened one of the drawers in her bedside table and pulled out the card Aubrey had given her the other night. She grabbed her phone and typed out a text, then sat back and waited for the light elf’s reply.

He responded almost immediately with an address, and it wasn’t the address of the War Hammer.

Taer bit her bottom lip, staring at the screen. “Fuck it,” she said to herself.

Taer waited until she could hear the shower running in Bryn’s bathroom before she left the apartment. Once outside, she closed her eyes and faded to the address Aubrey had sent her.

She couldn’t see the house from where she was standing. An imposing red-brick wall loomed in front of her, covered with creeping ivy. A black wooden gate was set into the brick, a silver box with a speaker and one button beside it. Looking up and down the quiet street, Taer reached out and pressed the button, which lit up with her touch.

“Winter Fox.” Aubrey’s voice came from the metal box, a mellifluous drawl. “Come in,” he added, a small
snick
indicating that the gate had just been unlocked. Taer let out a breath and pushed against the gate, her eyes rising up to take in the front of the imposing house.

Taer’s gaze was drawn to Aubrey waiting at the front door, no more than a dozen feet away. “I’m surprised,” he said, assessing her suggestively. Dressed in a pair of dark gray jeans and a loose-fitting white shirt, he looked every inch as delectable as Taer had tried to convince herself he wasn’t.

“You shouldn’t be,” she snapped back. “I need training. You’re providing me with that.”

One pale brow arched as he stepped away from the door. “We’d better get started then.”

Taer stalked into the house, finding herself standing in a grand entranceway, with a large stairway leading up to the second floor directly in front of her.

“You live here?” she asked, surreptitiously inspecting the antique furniture and rich fabrics in the rooms to her left and right.

“I do,” he replied close to her ear, his hot breath tickling her neck. Taer stepped forward, away from his warmth, and turned to face him.

“It’s nice—a bit douchey, but nice,” she added when she saw the satisfied grin on his face. Aubrey laughed.

“Come,” he said without looking back as he opened a door beneath the stairs and disappeared. A yellow glow emanated a second later, beckoning Taer to follow. She stepped forward, finding a set of stairs leading down to what she assumed was a basement. Descending the stairs, she could smell the richness of leather and the scent of cleaning products. When she reached the final landing, Taer looked around the room, taking in the sparring mats and the weapons hanging from the walls.

“Why are we here, Aubrey?” she asked, wary. She’d expected him to tell her to come to the War Hammer, as they’d trained there before.

With an aloof smile, he started to unbutton his shirt. Taer watched—unwillingly riveted—as his shoulders shrugged off the shirt. She had to force herself to look away from his bare chest. She wasn’t there to be seduced.

“Don’t like what you see, Winter Fox?” he asked.

“I swear if you unbutton your jeans, I am out of here, Aubrey,” she warned.

He tutted gently. “You’ve seen a lot more of me than this,” he reminded her. “A simple bare chest shouldn’t cause you to blush this much.”

“I’m not blushing,” she shot back, turning her angry eyes on him. “I asked you to train me today. That’s all. I didn’t ask you to try to seduce me, and I certainly didn’t ask you to undress in front of me.”

Aubrey chuckled. “Relax, Winter Fox.” Picking up a tank top slung over a weapons rack, Aubrey pulled it over his head, covering his partial nakedness. “I was just getting changed.” His clear eyes studied her. “You’re wound up too tight, do you know that? And do you know the best way to release that tension?”

Taer shot him a lethal look. He stepped in close to her, uncomfortably close. Taer held her ground, but his advance forced her to crane her head back.

Her green eyes were stuck on his gray, her mouth suddenly dry. One half of her wanted to get the hell away from him, but another part wanted to stay just where she was.

When all she could see was him, and all she could smell was his scent, he leaned down so they were eye to eye.

“Fucking,” he whispered seductively. His warm breath caressed her skin as he spoke, her nostrils filling with the sweet scent of cinnamon.

She let out a breath, making sure her next words were filled with a snide confidence she didn’t feel. “With you? No thanks.”

His smile faltered. “Liar.”

“I’m a liar? All right. I’ll make you a deal, Aubrey. The day I voluntarily touch you—when we’re not training together—is the day I’ll let you fuck me.”

He stuck out his hand. “Deal,” he said with a cocksure grin.

Taer eyed his extended hand with contempt. “Nice try, light elf,” she muttered, walking away to study the weapons on the wall. Her eyes took them all in, but she drawn to one in particular—a katana in a black scabbard with a pale green handle.

She reached out a hand to touch it, then stopped and looked over her shoulder to Aubrey for permission. She realized he’d been watching her the entire time. He gave her a small nod and Taer turned back around. She picked up the sword with both hands—one on the peg and the other on the scabbard.

Very slowly, she withdrew the weapon from its cover, revealing the smooth, dangerous blade. It was the single most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her life. All through the steel, embedded veins of pale green twisted and writhed—looking almost molten. She felt a pull towards it, as if it was in her blood to wield this sword.

“The ancient samurai warriors of Japan used these blades in open combat,” Aubrey said beside her, his voice silken, and almost … reverent. “But it wasn’t the Japanese who invented this blade. It was one of the gods. Some say it was Odin himself who showed them how to construct them. Others say it was Tyr, working with the Japanese god of war, Hachiman. Nobody really knows for sure, though.”

Taer touched the steel, and it seemed to warm under her fingertips. In that instant she knew everything there was to know about the weapon. She knew just where and how to grip it. Holding that blade made her feel like she was home.

Finally.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Aubrey asked. He didn’t need to explain what he meant.

“Yes.”

The light elf shook his head. “I’ve heard of dark elves finding their affinity, but I’ve never witnessed it before.”

Her affinity. Is that what it was? Taer’s eyes returned to the katana resting in her hands. For Korvain, it was the karambit, and for Darrion it was the throwing knife. And for Adrian …

A great sadness swept over Taer. She knew her brother had never found his affinity. He had never had this feeling of absolute …
knowing
. It was almost as if part of her soul that had been unknowingly lost had come back to her.

“Are you ready to train?” Aubrey asked her. She looked to her right, seeing him staring at her intently.

“What weapon will we be using today?”

Without uttering a word, Aubrey picked up the other katana that had been hanging beside her green one and unsheathed it. His blade was just as beautiful as Taer’s, but where hers was green, his was exquisite silver. He held it confidently in front of him, indicating that Taer should do the same.

Taer brought the sword upright, one elbow raised to the side to be in line with chest, her right hand close to the guard and her left hand snug behind it. She lowered her center of gravity by bending her knees and kept her fingers loose on the sword, instinctively knowing that this was how it was done, turning the blade out away from her skin.

She watched Aubrey about six feet away from her, adopting a similar stance, but she could see his flaws: his grip was too tight, the blade slightly turned in towards his body.

“Ready?” he asked, his expression serious. “Remember to leave all emotions at the door. I’m just a target for you. You’re just a target for me,” he reminded her.

She let out a breath.

Taer was ready for him, but she wasn’t ready for the speed at which he struck. Within seconds she found herself flat on her back and staring up at the light elf. She should have known he wasn’t going to go easy on her.

Ignoring his proffered hand, Taer got back onto her feet, making sure to keep her eyes on Aubrey the entire time. He had retreated to the other side of the room, ready for round two.

Getting back into position, Taer prepared for his next attack. She listened to her body, but mostly she listened to the blade, which had become an extension of her hand.

She was soon in a steady pattern of striking, parrying and blocking, and as the minutes dribbled into hours, her mind and body felt more in tune with her katana. Aubrey had succeeded in nicking her skin a few times, but each time they reset their stances, she could see that he had more cuts than she did.

Simulating a slash across Aubrey’s belly, she blocked his counter, whirling around behind him and making a final slash down the length of his back. “Dead,” she said. Dropping her stance, Taer stepped away, relaxing her body.

“Good, Winter Fox. We’re done for the day,” he told her, his shoulders rising and falling with his heavy breath. Nearly every uncovered inch of his skin was obscured by dark red blood. Some of the deeper wounds were still bleeding a little, but they would heal within the next couple of hours.