Lights of Aurora (The Stone Legacy Series Book 3) (7 page)

Sarian closed the Popol Vuh and scooped it under his arm. He shifted his weight. Zanya had never seen him look so nervous. “Stop playing games, Contessa.” He scanned the bloodstained valley. “Where is he?”

“Who, pet?”

“The king. I assume you are here because you’ve informed him of my plans. Or are you here for another reason?” His shoulders relaxed, and he leaned on the altar with a smug grin. “A second chance at earning my good favor, perhaps?”

“As much as it would please you to have me groveling at your feet for an opportunity to claim the throne you once promised me, that’s not at all why I’m here.”

A shadow fell over Sarian—the first shadow Zanya had seen in this realm. It loomed over him and stretched across the altar, then down several of the stone steps.

Sarian stood up straight, his brows furrowed.

Contessa smiled widely. “I merely came to watch.”

Zanya froze, her eyes wide and her breath stalled as Sarian slowly turned, finding himself face-to-face with a beast. Its muscular legs quivered under sleek black fur as if it had just learned to stand. Probably thirsty and weak like the others, it was most likely drawn there by the scent of blood.

Zanya pressed harder on her wound, but her hands were already coated in scarlet. Perhaps hers would be lost in the scent of the rest of the other blood.

The beast bared its teeth. The pads of its paws flattened against the stone when it took a step forward. Its breath blew a strand of Sarian’s hair away from his face, now drained of color.

Zanya held her breath and hoped the creature didn’t hear her pounding heart. Its dark eyes gleamed with specks of gold. Sleek, midnight-black fur covered its entire body. The only exception was a patch of gold on its chest.

The underworld animal snarled and lunged at Sarian before he had a chance to change and match the beast’s size and strength. The animal’s jaws clenched around Sarian’s shoulder, and it thrashed its head side to side until the ground was dotted with a fresh coat of red.

Sarian’s frantic efforts to morph into his beastly form only seemed to anger the creature. He managed to slice the animal’s face with a sharp blow. It snarled and threw Sarian’s mangled body against the altar, then towered over him. The beast’s snout came within an inch of his face. Sarian dropped the book to the ground and reached out in a placating gesture, his hands now trembling as if he were a child. He opened his mouth to speak.

The beast didn’t give him the chance. It snapped down and tore off Sarian’s head. Blood sprayed over the steps as the animal discarded its trophy. Sarian’s head bounced down the steps until it rolled to a stop at Contessa’s feet.

Bile rose in Zanya’s throat. She pressed her hands over her mouth and dug her back into the stone—as if curling into a ball would somehow make her invisible. She remembered doing the exact same thing in the orphanage while drifting off to sleep, hoping Sarian wouldn’t be waiting for her in her dreams. It didn’t work then, and she had no idea why she was doing it now. Maybe instinct. Maybe just wishful thinking.

Contessa stared down at the remains. She tilted her head to one side in morbid curiosity, and then she stepped over Sarian’s head, as if it was merely a piece of garbage littering the ground.

Chapter Nine

“Rise up and stop cowering on the ground.” Contessa paid no attention to Sarian’s limp body lying beside the altar.

Zanya frantically searched for the beast.

“Child.”

Contessa’s cold tone brought Zanya’s focus back to the woman—and the corpse. Sarian’s hand twitched. Zanya clenched the wound on her gut. It would be
her
withering in the unforgiving sun if she didn’t heal soon. The ache in her side grew into sharp spikes of agony.

Contessa stooped down, grabbed a handful of Zanya’s hair, and lifted her head just enough to bring Zanya’s ear to her lips. “Hear me, child. I will not repeat myself twice.” Zanya swallowed and nodded the best she could. “You have done me a great justice today, and although it pains me to admit it…” Her lips puckered as if something bitter coated her tongue. “I am in your debt. Even the damned believe in honor.”

Zanya would take what she could get, as long as it meant going home. “I want to get the hell out of here.” The blood from her wound had formed a pool beneath her, but she couldn’t leave without taking back the one thing she’d come for in the first place. Not after everything that had happened. “But first I came here to get Jayden’s soul back.”

“That’s right.” Contessa let go of Zanya’s hair, allowing her cheek to slap to the ground. “You still desire to retrieve your comrade’s soul?”

Zanya struggled to sit up against the stone wall. “Yeah, but why do I get the feeling you know something I don’t?”

“I know many things you do not.”

Everything about Contessa’s tone made Zanya uncomfortable. “Like?” She continued to probe, struggling to ignore the pain radiating through her muscles.

Contessa examined her face for a moment before speaking. “I shouldn’t have expected you to understand.” She sighed. “When you came to me for help after your comrade’s passing, I found an opportunity I could not resist. I am not the only enemy Sarian has made over the years.” She extended her hand to the quiet realm. “You see how little regard he has for the souls of the underworld. Many despise him, though none more than I.” She dropped her hand back to her side, and her focus moved to the Sarian’s corpse. She dug in his coat pocket and pulled out Zanya’s stone. Zanya gasped and snatched it from Contessa’s grasp, then hugged it to her chest.

Contessa stood, staring down at her. “I have no use for your little stone, child. When I approached him with your lock of hair, he was all too eager to agree to the trade. Your hair and a spell to finalize his control over the stone, in exchange for the Popol Vuh.”

Zanya clenched her jaw. Of course Contessa would use Zanya’s hair against her. But if Contessa lied to her once, then she could have lied about anything. “What about Jayden’s spirit?”

Contessa cupped Zanya’s chin delicately with her fingers. Zanya wanted to slap her hand away, but figured it better not to. “I knew who that foolish boy was as soon as I laid eyes on him, and I anticipated him following you here.”

“Jayden didn’t follow me. I followed him, in case you already forgot.”

“I am not speaking of your fallen friend. I speak of the other—the dark one. I had no doubt he would exact revenge, which is no fault of mine, of course. The king can’t possibly hold
me
responsible for the death of his general by—” She paused in consideration. “Well, the rest isn’t important for now.” She stood and pivoted away.

“Wait.” Zanya reached out for her, and her breath caught in her throat. She swallowed, trying to block out the pain. “Are you talking about Arwan? The one with dark hair?” She hadn’t seen him since they’d been submerged in the portal, and the reality of what may have happened to him nearly broke her. “He could be dead.”

“You may have thanked me if that were the case.” Contessa picked the book up off the ground and trotted down the hundreds of narrow steps.

The roots above them writhed as Contessa continued down the temple toward the miles of blood-soaked ground. If Zanya stayed where she was, she’d die. Well, maybe not. But
not
dying here was worse than dying in the middleworld. She’d have to make nicey-nice with Contessa before she vanished—along with any chance of returning home.

Zanya ground her teeth and pushed to her feet, snatched up the loose pages from the book, and folded them in her pocket. She wobbled down the steps as fast as she could without losing her balance. It didn’t help that every movement hurt like hell. “Wait.” The temptress didn’t stop walking. “Contessa, please. You didn’t answer my question about Jayden. Where is he? Did you lie about Houn?”

The witch didn’t reply.

“You said you were in my debt, remember?” If Arwan were in the underworld, he would have found her by now. If he was still in the caves, she had to find him. “I just want Jayden’s soul, and I want to go home.” Desperation cracked her voice.

Contessa paused on the final step of the temple. “Is that so?”

Panting, Zanya nodded. “Please.” She swallowed. “Just help me get Jayden back and send me to the middleworld. I won’t ask you for anything else.”

Contessa turned to face her, one side of her mouth curling into a grin. “Very well. I will get his soul from Houn and have it returned to his body.”

Zanya couldn’t allow herself to feel any relief. She didn’t trust Contessa. Unfortunately, she didn’t have much of a choice.

Contessa gestured behind Zanya. “I believe you two have met.”

Zanya turned to see the bearer of souls gliding over the first layer of the underworld, which was now eerily silent.

“He happens to owe me a favor. A few, in fact. And considering it’s been some time since I’ve indulged, this is the perfect opportunity to call on such a favor.” She locked her sights on Houn, and her bright green eyes grew black like onyx. The monster lurking just under her skin—the same glimpse of her ugly, damned soul Zanya had first seen on the streets of Moscow—flashed beneath her milky complexion.

Houn glided to Contessa’s side and slowly removed the leather sack from his back. Contessa poised her hand over it. Houn pulled it open, and Contessa slowly reached inside.

Her eyes fluttered shut as her fair skin darkened with shadows. The pouch glowed, and screams filled the dead realm. Zanya clasped her hands over her ears and dropped to her knees, grinding her teeth under the assault.

The tree hadn’t spared any souls. No one was left to scream. Zanya’s gaze danced from the pouch to Contessa, who was somehow interacting with the trapped souls.

Zanya’s lips parted and her stomach dropped.

No. Not interacting. Consuming.
Gorging
.

Zanya stood, still clasping her hands over her ears. Slowly, the screams faded. As each scream died, a distinct voice began to emerge.

A man’s voice. A voice she recognized.

Zanya gasped. “Jayden!”

Contessa pulled her hand away from the empty carrier of souls and opened her eyes, now swirling with magic. “Stay back.” Her voice was angelic, as if tiny bells were tinkling around them.

“What did you do to him?” Zanya shifted, balling her fists. “
What did you do?
”

“I intend to keep my word, though I’m afraid, child, your woes have just begun.”

With a slight gesture of Contessa’s hand, a root lunged from the earth above them and curled around Zanya’s waist. Barbs stuck into her skin, and it jerked her into the air. The sudden movement made her stomach roll, and she screamed. On instinct, Zanya clenched her eyes shut just as her back slammed into the soil, knocking the air out of her lungs before she was sucked into the earth above.

***

Arwan

Cold shocked Arwan’s body. He gasped in a scorching breath as he pried open his eyes. The dark cave did little to help him see, but from the humidity in the air and the sound of raindrops pattering on the ground outside, he knew he’d returned to the middleworld.

There was no rain where he was from.

With every movement his muscles weakened. A gust of wind ran over his naked body. It had been decades since the last time he changed, and he hadn’t been dressed when he returned to humanity back then, either.

Thankfully there were extra clothes in the pack he’d left behind. His body trembled as he slipped on a pair of sweats and a cotton T-shirt, and though his fingers were like ice, the warm jungle air had begun to thaw them out.

He’d fled the underworld after he’d torn Sarian apart, leaving Zanya behind. He had to find her. If anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself.

His gut wrenched when he recalled the way she’d backed away from him in the caves. What she must have thought. The horrors that must have reeled through her mind. They would all be justified. He
was
a monster.

Arwan extended his hands and examined the lines tracing his palms. His life would never be the same. She had seen his true form. Worse, he’d killed Sarian right in front of her—as a beast. He still tasted the blood. Saliva pooled under his tongue, and he fisted his hands. He was no better than the world he came from or the monsters that lived in it.

Perhaps death would have been more merciful.

The echo of Zanya’s moan made him jump. He peered out of the cave’s entrance to see her lying on the ground outside. Arwan scrambled to his feet and stumbled toward her, using the cave’s stone walls as support. He pushed hair out of his face and staggered out of the cave, then dropped to the ground beside her.

The heavy rain drenched him in seconds. The soil had been dry for so long, it wouldn’t absorb the water. The downpour sat on top of the ground, collecting pools and puddles in the places where it had nowhere to run.

Zanya lay on her stomach with her eyes closed and hair splayed over her face and neck. He gently brushed strands away from her cheek with the tips of his trembling fingers. “Zanya.” Her name scraped out of his throat.

Her back rose and fell with shallow breaths. She was alive, and in the middleworld she would heal from her injuries. He grabbed her shoulder and rolled her over. Her fingers uncurled, and her stone slipped from her hand.

Zanya moaned and clenched her ribs. Her lips pressed tightly together while her fingers curled around her shirt, soaked in blood. He pulled it up to reveal a deep wound in her side, and watched, waiting for it to heal. But it only continued to bleed.

His turned his attention to the stone. It wasn’t lit up or churning with colors. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think it was just a regular river pebble. He grabbed the stone and a volt of energy threw him back to the ground.

Warm rain fell over him while he stared up at the sky. His inner beast rooted deeper inside of him like a blot of ink staining his soul. Arwan turned his head and stretched his fingers to touch Zanya’s hand. This could be the last time he touched her.

A deep growl caught his attention, and he looked to see the speckled paws of a jaguar pad past him. Arwan tilted his head and met the animal’s yellow eyes peering down at him.

“Foolish boy,” spat an old woman’s voice. The sound of hasty footsteps on wet ground grew louder until a woman with wrinkled skin and graying black hair loomed over him, blocking the big cat from his sight. With her hands perched on her hips, she seemed angry rather than concerned.

He furrowed his brows as his vision blurred. “
Tia
Drina?” He tried to focus, unsure if she was a hallucination from all he’d been through. Drina lived in Belize. They were nearly twelve hours away by bus from her village near Renato’s home.

The woman held a stick in her hand and waved it in his face as she scowled. “I will build a fire,
t’en
beat you.”

He exhaled, and his muscles relaxed against the cool, drenched earth. Without a doubt, it was Drina.

The crackling of the fire woke Arwan. The rain had stopped, leaving a humid, musky scent in the air. Tia Drina crouched on the soil beneath the jungle canopy, grinding herbs with a pestle and mortar. The frail woman’s shoulders hunched as she toiled over the mixture, and a bead of sweat collected on her brow. She wiped it away with the back of her hand.”

The warmth from the fire radiated across his skin. Zanya lay asleep on the other side of the flames. He observed her silhouette and listened to her steady breathing until he was satisfied she was all right. His senses seemed to be even more heightened now. He didn’t have to strain to listen to the rhythmic
thud
of her heart.

He turned back to Drina. “How did you get here?” His voice was still raspy, though it was better than before. Most likely thanks to one of Drina’s herbal treatments laced with magic.

“When Cualli calls, t’ere is no room to refuse.” She huffed and pushed a lock of hair away from her face. “Even for an old woman.”

“Cualli? She’s here?”

Drina glanced at him, though it was more like a glare. “You are too eager. And foolish.” She pounded the tool faster and with more power. “Nearly get yourself killed. And her.” She gestured to Zanya with a nod. “You forget what is important and chase after revenge. Like a blind, scared animal.”