Darkyn's Mate (#3, Rhyn Eternal) (14 page)

“Didn’t think this silly little girl that
believed your lies for years had it in her?” she asked in a bitter
tone.

“I didn’t think you’d hesitate to help
someone if you could.”

“I’m not. Offering you a deal is helping you
both.”

He considered.

“No obligation to hear the terms. You can
always walk away,” she told him, repeating the words Darkyn used to
lure her into the deal they made originally.

“Very well. What are the terms?”

“If this solution works, you owe me a favor
of my choosing. If it doesn’t, you owe me nothing.”

“Carte blanche?” He shook his head firmly.
“No, Deidre.”

“What’s it worth for you to be able to leave
here? Darkyn always keeps his terms. You don’t have a solution.
You’re running out of time,” she reminded him. “Whether or not you
take my deal, I’ll help her. It’s just the when that I’m looking
at.”

“You won’t help her today, if I don’t
agree,” he said.

“No.”

“You’d let Darkyn torture or kill me,
knowing my death is on your head.”

“It’s not on my head. You have a chance to
save yourself. If you choose not to take it, it’s your decision,
not mine.”

“And if I tell Darkyn you’ve got a
solution?” Wynn challenged. “He checks in daily.”

“You think he’ll choose to spare you?”

Wynn studied her for a quiet minute. Deidre
held his gaze, heart quick but calm in her decision.

“It’s right here,” she said and held up the
vial. “Your ticket out of Hell. I know it’s a high price.”

“Carte blanche is beyond high,” he said. His
gaze, however, was riveted to the vial.

“If it doesn’t work, no harm, no foul,” she
said. “If it does, wouldn’t you rather take a chance to owe me than
be in debt to Darkyn?”

He was thinking hard about it. She sensed
weakness and dwelled on the instinct for a moment. He was going to
fold. One more push. She’d never before been able to tell when
someone lied to her or when they were manipulating her.

Was this how Darkyn knew how to make deals?
Was this a benefit of her bond to him?

Oh, to have had this instinct years ago,
when she met Wynn!

“You’ll have to trust me, Wynn, the way I
trusted you for all those years,” she continued in a hushed voice.
“You’ll have to trust I’m nothing like you, that what I eventually
ask of you doesn’t do to you what you did to me.”

“Agree or I’m fucked,” he summarized.

“Yes. You can take credit for curing her, if
it works.”

Another long pause. Wynn wiped his face.

“Very well,” he said reluctantly. “I agree
to your terms.”

Deidre rose and held out her hand. He
hesitated once more but took it. Cold energy sealed the deal as
official.

“Don’t toy with what time I have left,” he
said. His features remained stoic, but she felt his concern. She’d
judged right; he’d do whatever it took to survive.

Deidre twisted the top of the vial open and
neared the girl.

“Wait,” Wynn said. He repositioned Selyn’s
head then gripped her chin and squeezed her cheeks until her mouth
opened. “Okay, now.”

Deidre held her breath as she poured the
mystery blood down the pale girl’s throat. Blood speckled her lips.
Deidre tipped the vial to tap the last of the liquid out and
glanced up at Wynn.

“I wonder how long-”

Selyn’s eyes fluttered open. She started
coughing.

“Prop her up,” Wynn snapped.

Deidre helped him lift the hacking girl into
a sitting position. Wynn propped her upper body with pillows.

“Bring me that tray,” he ordered Deidre,
indicting the table to his right.

She scampered around the bed to obey, beyond
thrilled that the blood worked. She took him the tray. Selyn
appeared confused at the sight of them, her dark eyes unfocused.
Her skin began to flush until it was pink enough to look human
rather than the sleep of the dead.

“Omigod, Wynn,” Deidre exclaimed. “We did
it!”

“Hush.”

She clamped her mouth closed, watching him
check Selyn’s vitals with the urgency and diligence of a man whose
life depended upon the results.

“Can you hear me?” Wynn asked. He lifted
Selyn’s eyelids and shone a light to watch her pupils.

The girl’s opened her mouth to answer. What
came out was a pitiful squawk.

“Your vocal cords did not heal correctly,”
Wynn told her. “If you can move your head, nod for yes, and shake
for no. Understand?”

She nodded.

“Are you in pain?”

A shake.

“I’m going to check your reflexes.”

Selyn watched him with unease that bordered
on alarm. Deidre put her hands over her mouth to keep from
squealing and stepped back to give Wynn room. She met Selyn’s
confused gaze as the girl looked around the room.

“Some muscular atrophy. She’s malnourished
and dehydrated,” Wynn said. “Deidre, the notebook on top of my
desk.”

Deidre whirled and went quickly. She read
through the notes on the first page as she returned, unable to make
out Wynn’s medical jargon and short hand. She gave it to him, and
glanced up, feeling Selyn’s eyes.

The girl appeared stunned.

“You’re going to need some serious physical
therapy,” Wynn said and took a few notes.

Selyn’s squawked once more and pointed.

Deidre looked behind her, expecting to see
Darkyn behind her and relieved that he wasn’t. The girl continued
to stare at her.

“Your back, Deidre,” Wynn supplied.

Deidre twisted to display the tattoos
marking her as Darkyn’s.

“You’ve missed a few things,” Wynn said with
an amused look at Deidre.

“Is she okay?” Deidre spoke finally.

“Nothing rest and therapy can’t fix.” He
sounded beyond relieved.

“We did it!” Deidre exclaimed again in a
near-squeal.

Selyn’s brow furrowed. She’d yet to look
away from Deidre.

“Demons don’t act like that,” Wynn said then
addressed Selyn. “Your father’s mate was human. He turned her
recently. She retains many of the less appealing human
qualities.”

“You’re welcome,” Deidre said, annoyed at
him.

Human
. Selyn mouth the word.

“Horrifying, isn’t it?” Wynn replied.
“Deidre, it’s been lovely dealing with you. I’m about to summon
Darkyn.” He raised his eyebrows in a hint.

Deidre nodded. She smiled at Selyn and left
the room.

She’d done two good things today. She walked
to her chamber then paused, thinking about the ugly creature that
was Zamon. Not wanting to wilt in her room with the energy of
excitement in her blood, she padded down the hallway and followed
the path she’d taken the other day.

She checked her hair twice to make sure no
part of her marks were obscured. Darkyn said Hell would do what she
asked, so she willed her hair shorter and blonde. Even demons
feared Past-Death; she’d ride on the small woman’s reputation. She
checked her locks to make certain they turned. Still, her step
slowed the first time she crossed demons. To her surprise, they
bowed and moved on. The next one to pass her did as well.

Deidre made it to the library a few minutes
later. Zamon looked up as she entered.

“Come,” he said.

She sat across from him at the large desk.
He appeared to be in the middle of recording things again.

Deidre studied him. She tested Hell’s
powers. Zamon’s wings turned pink, and she laughed.

“It is not becoming for a demon,” he
grumbled.

“You look great in pink.”

“The deities,” he started, glaring at her.
He pushed her a book and opened it. “You are learning about them
today.”

Cheered by the pink demon, she looked from
the unfamiliar writing to him. He frowned at her then touched the
book. The words swirled off the page and morphed into images of men
and women.

“There are two classes,” he said. “The Seen
and Unseen. The more powerful the deity, the more restricted. The
Dark One is the most powerful, and he grows more so, as the
population of the worlds increase. His power comes from the
depraved and the forbidden. There have been two deities in the
position of the Dark One, rendering him one of the oldest.”

An image of Darkyn appeared forefront before
the images swirled and began to play a disjointed movie. It showed
him in battle, his hardened body moving with unearthly speed and
agility against enemies that were obscured. He went from battle to
the halls of Hell to a horse, leading a rebellion of the demon army
across the mortal plane. She watched the battle with the Dark One –
the one Darkyn lost – and saw him banished to the bowels of Hell. A
born warrior, he earned his way out by honing his dealmaking
skills. Battle made him ruthless; Hell made him shrewd.

She covered her eyes when she saw him take
his demon form.

“To restrict his powers, he can move between
Hell and the mortal world but not beyond without the permission of
those deities who rule the other domains,” Zamon continued. “He
cannot enter Death’s domain or other areas of the Immortal world
without invitation. His magic is limited on the mortal world as
well. He must rely upon physical prowess and dealmaking skills to
lure Immortals and mortals to Hell in order to tap into the great
stores of magic.”

Darkyn spent much of his lifetime in battle,
she noted. If not with Hell’s enemies, then within the ranks of
demons. He fought his way from a lowly demon to the position of
Demon Lord and finally defeated the Dark One. Merciless, cutthroat,
aggressive, he purged the oldest demons from the demon ranks. Any
contender for the Dark One position was slaughtered by Darkyn
personally. The demons remaining were all young and loyal, trained
by him over the years. It made sense he was so skilled a warrior
and dealmaker, if his magic was so limited in the mortal world.

Deidre watched the movie in both fascination
and fear. Violence and command weren’t second nature to Darkyn;
they were his first. Her eyes traveled over the image of him
training others, his whip-like upper body bare to reveal the roped
muscles of his shoulders and chest, the tucked waist and flat abs.
He wore black pants that hugged his lower body to reveal the lean
hips and long, muscular legs. He was lean and agile. He handled
weapons as if they were extensions of his body, never dropping them
or misplacing a strike. He was a brutal disciplinarian with no more
mercy for his demons than he showed humans who lost deals. He also
generously awarded those who helped him win battles. His men were
fanatically loyal, revering.

Watching him move made her blood heat. She’d
never seen anything like it.

She glimpsed Selyn and even herself in his
story. The image of him drawing her blood for the first time on the
landing scared her. She’d been terrified that day, unaware she’d be
mated to him twenty four hours later.

The images faded and morphed back into words
that dropped to the pages. Deidre studied them, pensive. Darkyn
dealt with her the same way he did everything else in his life. He
allowed no room for error, no alternative but for his victory. He
forced her to face her reality from the moment she awoke with his
name on her back. He didn’t lose at battle. He didn’t lose at
dealmaking. He was both a strategic thinker and capable of detailed
execution. No false hope, no redress, no going back. He fought and
conquered.

“Death,” Zamon said. He turned the page and
touched it. More words leapt from the page. “The second most
powerful deity and the second most restricted. His domain extends
to the mortal plane. His magic comes from the souls of the dead,
which are kept in the underworld. There have been nine deities to
serve in this position.”

She watched in dismay as images of Gabriel
played. The entirety of his history with Past-Death unfolded before
her, from the moment Past-Death discovered the seventeen-year-old
Gabriel, the lone survivor of demon attacks led by Darkyn.
Past-Death adopted Gabriel, trained him, turned him into a killing
machine, her top assassin and lover.

Deidre couldn’t help staring at Past-Death
in the history. Seeing Gabriel was painful. Seeing her mirror image
was a reminder that Deidre was created by a goddess with the sole
intention of using and discarding the human she made.

Seeing them together made Deidre’s chest
ache. They did love each other. Deidre watched their history and
their love grow then become stale, not because of what they felt,
but because of the steps Past-Death began taking to ensure she
never lost him. In doing so, she drove Gabriel away.

Deidre’s eyes misted over. She swallowed
hard. It was a tragic love story, one she knew the end to and
dreaded seeing how it came to be that way. By the end of the chain
of events that led to Past-Death’s rebirth in Hell, Deidre was near
tears, hating herself and the woman who destroyed the worlds of all
three of them.

Who was Deidre to interfere in something
that spanned so long and involved two people who cared so much for
each other? Who was Past-Death to create a new life simply to
discard it? Deidre never felt she belonged in the mortal or
Immortal worlds, because she didn’t. She’d been molded to exist for
one reason and expected to step aside when her purpose was
fulfilled.

It hurt more than glimpsing the one scene
the book recorded of her interaction with Gabriel, their first
night on the beach, the one that condemned her eventually to
Hell.

She couldn’t bring herself to see what
happened when Past-Death returned to the mortal world five days
before. Deidre dropped her head to her arms on the table. She
feared seeing them happy again, knowing she really was nothing more
than a disposable stand-in until they were able to be together
again. Just as much, she feared seeing them miserable, because of
her brief involvement in the mix. She wanted Gabriel to be happy
but couldn’t bear to see it, not when her own world was still so
new and frightening.