Darksoul (35 page)

Ash didn’t come for a while. As
Willa showered, Hunter rinsed his hand, and I thought I saw him inhale a sharp breath. He released it slowly. I remained where I was. I couldn’t bear to come closer.

“
Willa,” he said.

She poked her
head out of the water. “Yeah?”

“Put on your towel before you come out.”

“Eh? But why?”

“Remember what I told you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, throwing an arm over the edge of the tub, her fingertips brushing the soft pink rug. “Boys can’t see me naked. Blah, blah.”

“I’ll bring your clothes. Don’t come out until I do.”

“But you’re not a boy, Niko,” she protested. “You’re…you.”

Looking down at her, h
e raised an eyebrow. “So what am I, then? A girl?”

“You’re…” Suddenly, she clapped her hands together and giggled. “A teddy bear!” She stretched her
arms toward him, and water sloshed everywhere. “Come here and give me a hug!”

His face softened. “After you get changed.”

“But—”

“
Willa.”

“Okay,” she mumbled.

As she finished showering, he went to her wardrobe, picked out a couple of things, left it in the bathroom. Then he came back out and, after an inaudible sigh, started to tidy up the room. I stayed pressed to the wall. He straightened tea cups and smoothed the rug and brushed off her comforter.

Then he stopped. “Oh, there you are,”
he said, and reached for something under the pillow. When he took his hand out, a trembling
zokyie
lay cradled in his palm, curled up on its side. “It’s all right, little one,” he said gently, and deposited it on his shoulder. “She’s not always like that. You know that.”

The
zokyie
purred and edged closer to the curve of his neck. Hunter was about to drop the pillow back in place when Willa exploded out of the bathroom, struggling to put on a pair of too-big pants, her sleeves falling well past her fingertips. Sodden streaks of hair flew behind her.

“Niko, these clothes don’t fit!”

“No kidding,” I said.

Hunter dragged a hand across his jaw, considering her. “I could’ve sworn
I’d chosen the right size.”

She stomped a foot. “Also, they’re ugly.”

“They look like my clothes, Wil.”

“Exactly. They’re ugly.”

Crouching, h
e nodded for her to come closer. “We can make them work,” he said, reaching out and folding her sleeves up.

She
watched him, and then dropped her gaze. “If I had a mommy, pretty clothes wouldn’t be a problem.”

Hunter’s hands slowed. I felt like I should leave. This moment—this conversation—wasn’t for me to hear or see. But I couldn’t make myself move.

“I want a mommy, Kollie,” she said. Chin trembling, she swiped at something in her eye.

He started to work on the hem of her pants, lashes lowered. He remained silent.

A tear escaped from under her fist. “Could Hazel be my mommy?”

“Hazel can be your big sister.”

“But
we have the same eyes! So—”

With a start, I realized that was true. Our irises were an identical shade of green. It was strange, I guess, but it didn’t mean anything. Lots of people shared eye colors.

“—so you could be my daddy, instead of my brother. A-And then she—she could be—”

Something flickered across Hunter’s
face. Sadness, I thought. “Your father is gone, Willa,” he said quietly.

“I know! But you could pretend—we, we could pretend to be a family—”

Suddenly, he let out a low whistle. Three icy butterflies popped up next to her, and he said, “Braid her hair.”

Right away
, they got to work. Willa sniffled. “I’m sorry.”

“About what?”

“I like the clothes, Niko.”

His ey
es were soft. “It’s all right.”

The
door clicked open and I looked up just in time to see Ash come in. Willa squeaked his name, a faint blush creeping over her cheeks. I held my breath.

Hunter rose to his feet. “Impeccable timing,” he said, just as
she hurtled past him and threw herself at Ash, curling her arms around his leg. The butterflies, unbothered by the movement, continued weaving her white-blond locks together. “Can you look after her for a minute? I need a…”

Ash studied Hunter’s face, and then
asked something in quiet Russian.

“I’m fine,” said Hunter
. Willa tugged on the hem of Ash’s shirt and asked if he could make a
ceahel
castle for her. But Ash was busy staring after Hunter, who’d gone to the bathroom and locked himself in. After a moment, he met my eyes. I already knew what he wanted me to do.

“You know, this is really rude,” I said. “I can’t invade his privacy like that. This whole thing is just—”

Willa stole Ash’s attention, urging him to make the castle, and he turned away. Pointedly ignoring me. Not that he could’ve spoken, but still.

“I’m leaving,” I said.

Please?

“Please what, Asher?”

He created a
ceahel
pane and gave it for Willa to climb on. She eagerly obliged, giggling as she maneuvered it around and squealing when Ash pushed her faster.

Please go hug him. Please?

“See, this is us,” I said. “This is us, Ash. This is what our friendship is about. You want Hunter to be happy so you lug me around and throw me at him whenever you see fit. Well, you know what, fuck that. Fuck you. If Hunter wants to, he’ll ask for me. You have no business playing matchmaker with
me and him.”

He spared me a sidelong glance.

“Hey, hey, Luc!” Willa jumped off the
ceahel
and ran toward her pint-sized vanity. She rummaged in the top drawer and pulled out a piece of paper. “Do you think this will make Niko happy?” she asked, gesturing for him to come closer. “I drew a picture.”

Ash came up behind her and had to swallow back a smile. “It’s very nice.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide. “You don’t like it?”

“Of course I do.” Looking amused, h
e crouched beside her. “Let me see it again?”

Bit
ing her lip, she handed it over, and the corner of his mouth tilted up. “You know what, Wil,” he said, scanning the page. “You and I are very alike.”

“Uh-oh,” I muttered.

Her face lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said lazily. “I would draw the same thing. Except mine wouldn’t be as pretty as yours. Now.” He tapped
the paper against the tip of her nose. “I want you to pretend that Hazel is in this room with us. What would you say to her?”

I froze. What did any of this have to do with me?

Willa worried the end of her braid. “What would I say to…h-her?”

Ash smiled in encouragement. I came closer to look at the drawing and muttered a curse. A tall figure with blond hair. A considerably shorter blob with brown lines radiating from her head. Holding hands. Hearts
floating around them. A crudely-drawn bird sat on Hunter’s shoulder, and a gray curl with cat ears slinked around his feet.

“I’m out of here,” I muttered.

Once outside, I let out a slow breath. Then I took off down the hall, turned a couple of corners until my head spun, and pressed myself against the white wall. Emptiness pressed in around me.

I didn’t know
how the hell I was supposed to feel. It wasn’t as if the last twenty minutes had erased what had happened beforehand. Yes, Willa was cute. Yes, the whole thing was sweet—in a strange way. But I couldn’t forget the look on the man’s face when Hunter had eased the dismembered ear into his mouth. I couldn’t forget the sight of Hunter’s bloodied tattoos as he ripped out his heart. Much less the sight of the human’s curled-up soul.

I
massaged the bridge of my nose.
But why…

Why couldn’t I bring myself to be mad? Hunter’s actions hadn’t been morally questionable. They’d been morally wrong—period. There was nothing to doubt. What he’d done hadn’t been right.

But why…

Damn it.
Taking a deep breath, I started to walk down the hall, taking note of where I’d been so I could eventually make my way back. The corridor was still empty. My only ticket out of here was Ash, and he was busy being a second brother to Willa. I’d yet to see a demon, so instead of sitting here and doing nothing, I could explore, see the grounds, study the enemy’s territory—even if coming here again was out of the question.

The floor was a translucent white under me
, and the chandeliers looked like clusters of ice crystals suspended midair. As I stared up at them, hugging myself, I wondered. Was this Hunter’s house here in Haelvia? Did he live…alone? Back at that party—the one so many months ago—I’d asked about his parents, and to say that I hadn’t gotten an answer would be making the understatement of the year.
Did
he have any parents? Did Ash?

I suppressed a chill as I wandered on. The hall stretched on endlessly. My footsteps gained speed.
Images flickered behind my lids. A heart. Clumps of blood. The mangled ear. His soul. Curled up and trembling.

I was so focused on my thoughts that I didn’t notice when the wal
l cut off and got replaced with windows. The light shifted, brightened. Blinking, I turned to look.

T
he sight stole my breath away.

A garden.
That was what it was: a garden. But it was the loveliest one I’d ever seen. Trees with white leaves. Twinkling creatures weaving in and out of their dark branches. Snow. Everywhere. Small silvery bushes wove paths through the grounds, and a clear pond sat in the center, lined with pale rocks.

Wonderstruck, I reached out to touch the glass. Even though the
vaehn
marks still curled across my temples, the surface reacted to my touch, spidery webs crackling out underneath my fingertips. Holding my breath, I glided out.

Oh, Jesus.
Ice crystals hung in the air, small and clear and imperceptible in the light. They turned slowly, and I reached out to touch one of them. It glided away. Collided with another one. Then they returned to their lazy suspension, easing away when I stepped through.

Damn. This was…it was lovely.
I couldn’t believe this was the demon world. Ash had showed me that day, of course, but it didn’t compare to seeing it this close, to tasting it, breathing it. I trailed my fingertips across the tops of the bushes. Winged little beings stirred under the leaves, alerted of my presence but not really seeing me—not with the
vaehn
marks.

The pond was even more breathtaking up close. I crouched next to it
, looking into its icy depths. There were fish. Of course. But they looked nothing like the ones on Earth: their fins were long and ruffled, laced with curls of silvery light. They swam slowly. Lazily. Everything about this world was unhurried—even tranquil. Strange, because I would’ve expected the demon world to be a grotesque mess, full of fire and ugly things. It was the complete opposite. No wonder most Haelvian demons didn’t bother to go to Earth. Who in their right mind would want to leave this place?

And then I heard it.

A whisper.

Tensing, I stood.
Readied myself to bring my wrists together. But when I took a terse glance around, I saw that I was alone. My brow scrunched up. What the hell?

Whispers again.
Movements between the trees. Indiscernible figures darted through the trunks, and I pressed my lips together. Could they see me? Were my
vaehn
marks gone?

A light touch to my temple told me all I needed to know.
The coolness had faded, and I didn’t know how long I’d been vulnerable to unwelcome eyes. Probably not long. I had nothing to worry about. Whatever awaited me, it couldn’t be worse than the Queen herself. So—
Suddenly, something furry and s
quishy tumbled into the back of my ankles, and I jumped. But when I looked, I saw only a ball of fluff, three small wings protruding out of its back. Much like Io, its paws were shapeless, with no fingers or separate claws—just soft mitts. It blinked up at me and opened its mouth.

And then it screamed.

It wasn’t a loud scream, more of a tinkling thing, and I blinked before laughter bubbled up inside me. Pursing my lips to hold back a smile, I crouched and said gently, “Hello.”

It stopped screaming. A sudden hush fell over the garden. Its mitts curled and uncurled at its sides. Then, in a squeaky breath, it said something in a language I couldn’t understand, and I blinked again. It could speak?

I looked up at the trees. A couple more of the furry shapes huddled behind the trunks, trembling as they stared on. Residents of the garden. I wanted to laugh again. This had been the threat?

“I won’t hurt you,” I said
. My voice carried in the stillness, and I slowly lifted my hands. “See? It’s all right.”

There was a moment of uneasy silence. The representative—that’s what I’d call the l
ittle creature for now—shifted and glanced back at its comrades. Its wings gave a restless flicker, and then it turned toward me. Slowly, it extended a mitt, as if to make a peace treaty. I moved to return the gesture.

“Oh, this is funny,” a lazy, unfamiliar voice said behind me.

And then a boot dug into my back and shoved me into the pond.

I gasped as the shatteringly cold water swallowed me whole. Ice flooded my mouth. The fish stirred around me, swimming closer, the ruffles of their fins curling around my legs and arms as i
f to keep me down here. At first glance, the pond hadn’t looked that deep—but they kept pulling and yanking and the more I fought, the more the ground fell away, creating impossible depth. An illusion?

Coughing, I struggled to resurface. Laughter seeped through the
liquid clogging my ears. A black-clad person stood at the edge, looking down at me—white-blonde hair, the glint of gray eyes, a sardonic smile in a startlingly youthful version of Hunter’s face—
It couldn’t be.

I flopped uselessly about and managed to get my head out of the water. But then a boot dug into the crown of my hair and pushed me down. Hard.

“Nope, you can stay down there,” he
drawled. “Fishies, fishies, here’s the meal I promised you.”

I reached up and grabbed his leg and yanked, hoping to make him topple over. But he acted as if it was child’s play, pulling out his boot—along with me—
and then tossing me to the side like a useless sack of flour. My body tumbled into the bushes and a flurry of silvery wings burst forth, drowning me. I coughed and batted them away.

Dark boots came closer and rested in front of my face. The tip of one nudged me under the
chin. “Mousy little thing, aren’t you?” he said. The boot moved to the sodden tips of my hair, nudging them aside as if they were clumps of seaweed. “Hideous. Ever heard of a brush?”

I glared up at him.

And stopped.

Fifteen.
He couldn’t be more than fifteen. Same face, same eyes. Considerably shorter—probably five foot eight, five foot nine. His arms were bare of tattoos, and his jaw definitely had a more boyish shape, but there was no doubt. This had to be—
“You must be his new toy,” said Hunter’s younger brother, and smiled. A
devastatingly perfect dimple surfaced on his cheek. “Can I play with you, too?”

Before I c
ould move away, he leaned down and yanked me up by my ponytail. Shocks of pain shot across my scalp and I cried out, not sure if I should unsheathe my swords or hold on to my head. It hurt too much and I reached up to shove his hands off me, kicking out with my feet.

“Oh, that’s f
un,” he said, laughing. “I like that. You kicking. It’s kind of—”

Suddenly, a
scarred hand grabbed him by the shoulder, yanked him around.

A
nd then his head whipped to the side as Hunter backhanded him across the face. Hard. So hard that something snapped. I tumbled to the ground, scalp stinging and lungs gurgling with water. A startled hush descended on the garden. The little creatures huddled at the edge of the trees. The representative rolled into a nearby bush, trembling.

Hunter was wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. The only thing I could see was the bottom half of his face. His lips were straight. Unreadable. His voice,
quiet and steady. “Get her a towel.”

The younger boy
did not move. My stomach crawled with centipedes. Last thing I wanted was to see Hunter. Although I was wet and cold and shivering—the temperature seeped through my guard, chilling me to the bone—the only thing I could think about was the ear. The soul. The dead man. I would’ve preferred to deal with his little brother by myself, even if I wasn’t doing a good job.

“I’m not in the
mood to deal with you, Nikolas,” Hunter said quietly. “Get the towel.”

The boy’s cheek shone an alarming red in the silvery light. “You’re never in the mood to deal with me.”

Silence. My fingertips were numb.

His tone turned mocking. “All you ever do is go around saying Willa this, Willa that, Lucien this, Lucien that, and then I bet this worthless little bitch, too, takes up most of your time.”

Hunter’s expression didn’t change. But Nikolas must’ve seen something on his face because he edged forward, looking under the shade of Hunter’s cap. “Aw,” he said, jutting out his lower lip. “What is it? Did I hurt big bad Nikolai’s feelings?”

No visible response.

A flash of anger passed over Nikolas’ features, along with frustration and something else I couldn’t place. But then it smoothed over, and a scornful look replaced it. “I forgot,” he said. “Big bad Nikolai is too good for feelings. I won’t make the mistake of thinking otherwise again.”

Hunter stared down at him. Then: “The towel.”

Nikolas looked as if he wanted to punch Hunter’s lungs out of him. But then he took a step back, his hair falling over his eyes. The corner of his mouth gave a faint quiver and he pressed his lips together. Tight.

“I hate you,” he whispered, his voice thick.

He pushed past Hunter and flashed through the paths, the bushes rustling in his wake. An array of flickering wings stirred from the leaves, fluttering around before settling again.

Hunter sighed and turned to
face me. Jerkily, I scrambled back and stumbled against the bushes, snow digging into the heels of my palms. He watched me, his eyes barely visible under the shade of his cap. Then he stretched out his scarred hand toward me.

I tried not to recoil. The slashes were deep and grotesque and he seemed to sense I was reluctant to take it. His fingers curled a little,
hesitated, and then extended his other one to me. In it I saw the cradled soul. The dead heart. His skin was clean and there wasn’t a drop of blood in sight. But I still couldn’t bring myself to move.

Before either of us could say a word, a towel smacked into the back of Hunter’s head. He turned just in
time to see Nikolas flash away. I watched, numb. His lithe form blurred before settling on the rooftop, then blurred again and disappeared.

And then: plush softness. Falling
on me and settling around my shoulders. Hunter crouched and dried my hair, and I shied away from his touch. The towel tumbled over my eyes and the only thing I could see was his tattooed collarbone. In the light, the ink looked darker. Startling.

“I’m sorry ab
out his behavior,” said Hunter. The towel slid down and settled around my neck. “It won’t happen again.”

I said nothing. Didn’t meet his
gaze. The only thing that skirmish had taught me was that I needed some serious practice when it came to hand-to-hand combat. Also, that my height made me useless when it came to fighting teenaged demon boys. And that I needed to learn how to breathe underwater. That had certainly played a role in my weakness.

Hunter whistled a soft, faintly familiar tune. Three butterflies popped up in front of me, their wings flickering like candlelight. I kept my eyes lowered as I sunk a finger into the snow.

His voice was quiet. “Do you mind?”

My shoulders lifted and fell against my will. Right away, the butterflies fluttered to the back of my head and began to work their magic, grabbing
frosty locks and intertwining them with one another. Around us, the garden was quiet. The imperceptible crystals hanging in the air glimmered like broken diamonds.

At last, he asked, “How much did you see?”

“Everything.”

A pause. Then: “Ah
.”

There was another moment of silence. The butterflies tickled as they gently tugged at my hair.

“Would you like to leave?” he asked quietly.

I knew what he was asking me. I knew what lurked under that question. If I wanted to leave. Forever. If I was angry at him. If our friendship was over. But the pro
blem was that I didn’t want to go. Not just because the place was lovely, but because the images had changed. Now I saw bruises. Now I saw a little girl kissing her brother’s scarred palm and asking if he was okay, tears in her eyes.

“What you do is none of my business, Hunter,” I said.
And I’d leave it at that.

His voice was still soft. “No?”

Pressing my lips together, I gave one shake of my head.

“You were the last person…” He buried the bottom half of his face into the crook of his forearm, his lashes
falling. “I didn’t want you to see that.”

I said the first thing that came to me.
“Will you kill Ash for bringing me here?”

To my surprise, Hunter let out a short laugh. “No. Killing him would be like killing myself.”

For some reason, that took me off guard. But Hunter was already moving on. “I’m sorry,” he said at last. “About the ear. It’s just—puppies—” He reached up and massaged the bridge of his nose, looking like he badly needed a smoke. “I’m sorry. I can get a bit extreme.”

“I can…see that,” I managed.

He glanced up at me from under his cap. I briefly wondered why he was wearing it.

And then I saw.

His eyes. Bloodshot. Slightly puffy. He must’ve seen something on my expression because, suddenly, he stood, pulling the rim lower. I sat there, stricken. Then I stood, too, though with much more care, much more slowness.

“Hunter—” I started.