The Chosen Soul (30 page)

breeze that only blew in the places you dreamed.

“Raven, please. Open your eyes!”

But it was fading.

Raven, I’m begging you. Wake up! Drink. Let me make you strong.
Please
…

Now his voice was much closer, louder, right beside her.

In her head.

She felt his warmth all around her, in such contrast to her chilled body. It nearly

burned. He reminded her of a talking, breathing fire. A fire that was holding her in its

arms, clutching her tightly to its chest.

Something warm and sweet trickled over her lip and ran over her tongue.

She swallowed automatically.

And the world exploded around her. She bucked as a cacophony of color erupted

behind her eyes and the warm, sweet perfection of his blood on her tongue shot down her

throat, through her body and into her limbs. Her hands came around his arm, holding his

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wrist to her lips. Her tongue unwittingly traced the gash he’d made there, and she felt him shiver against her. With each long draw of his blood, the powerful liquid raced through

her like wildfire, ruthlessly igniting her senses and awakening them to a kind of pleasure

she’d never before known.

Mine…

She heard his thought slip past the boundaries of her mind. She felt herself drowning

in his influence, wondered if she should pull away, all the while knowing it didn’t matter.

She couldn’t have pulled away if she’d wanted to, and she knew instinctively that he

would not have let her.

The inherent, ancient power in his veins forced itself into her, infusing her body with

forbidden magic, with strength, and with terrible passion. Her back arched as heat and

moisture pooled between her legs and she moaned low in her throat. She felt his arms like

bands of steel around her body, heard his returning growl of desire as he fed her and she

drank and the rest of the world melted around them, became obsolete, disappeared.

Compared to this, Adonides’s blood had been as water was to wine. Drake’s life

force was infused with something so archaic, so intrinsically potent, it bordered on…

divine
.

She opened her eyes and gazed up at him.

His molten mercury gaze held hers, penetrated her core, seared her soul.

What are you?

There was no answer forthcoming. But the heat, the power, in that gaze told her

everything she needed to know. His indomitable blood racing through her veins answered

her question for her.

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And she knew. She knew who he was. And, hence, who his father was.

Drake stared down at the woman in his arms. His blood stained her perfect lips red

and flushed her cheeks pink. Her eyes sparkled beneath the moonlight. She gazed up at

him in awe, in understanding. And he realized that she knew.

No one had ever taken his blood before. He had never shared it. But when he’d seen

her in Cruor’s grasp, her strength gone, her body and spirit weak, he’d known he would

do it, without a second thought. He would always care for her, give her what she needed.

Always.

It was inevitable that she would come to realize who – and what – he was. How

could she not? The blood that ran through his veins was older than time itself. It held

power immeasurable.

He’d shared it with her, knowing she would stare up at him as she did now.

In shock, in amazement… in
fear
.

He cursed the fate that had brought them together in this manner. If only there were

time to explain. If only they were alone, no elven princes with swords, no Death Mages

with apocalyptic designs. If only the cards had decided, just once, to fall in his favor.

Give her the dagger, Tanith.

Drake jerked in surprise at the sudden strong invasion. A voice was in his head. Loud

and commanding. The time that had slowed down around he and Raven once again

moved at normal speed. He tore his gaze from hers and she let go of his arm. He glanced

behind them. Astriel and Cruor were several yards away.

Give her the dagger. Only the Chosen Soul can truly kill Cruor.

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Tanith shook his head, more than a little bothered by the booming voice inside his

mind. He moved his gaze away from Astriel and Cruor and settled it upon Raven’s

brother. The priest was staring at him with eyes that glowed as brightly as the sun. His

body gave off a brilliant radiance, his red hair moved with a warm wind and appeared as

if it was on fire.

Haledon
, Drake thought,
the Sun God’s avatar. Born again.

Drake stared at the avatar, suddenly torn with indecision. Haledon would know who

he was. What he was. He would surely just as soon see Drake dead as do anything to help

him.

I care not who you are, Tanith. The world needs Raven now. She is the Chosen

Soul. She must do what she was Chosen to do. Give her the Corrigan Dagger!

“Give me the dagger, Drake.”

Drake spun around and gazed down at Raven. She was smiling at him. Her eyes had

gone solid black, from corner to corner. He stared at her. She rose from the ground in one

graceful movement, and he struggled to rise with her. Once they both stood, she

continued to smile up at him, her expression at once calm and utterly eerie.

“
Trust me”.

Drake did not hesitate this time. He held it out to her, hilt first. She slowly took it,

her fingers grazing the skin of his hand, never breaking eye contact with him.

On the other side of the clearing, Astriel lunged at Cruor. The Death Mage was

expecting the attack, and he ducked to the right, bringing his left hand up in a block that struck the Prince’s blade with an uncanny ring of metal against metal. In the next instant,

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he reached his other hand toward Astriel’s chest, palm facing outward, and hastily spoke

the words of a terrible enchantment.

Astriel gritted his teeth and brought all of his power to the fore, creating an

immediate and strong barrier between his soul and the man who sought to steal it.

“You’ll have to do better than that.” He took a step forward, preparing to once again

attack the Death Mage in the manner for which Astriel was best qualified. Respectively,

Cruor took a step back, his expression now wary and a touch uncertain.

Astriel continued, his voice daunting yet calm. “I am not one of your weakling

students. I am the son of Oberon. Have you forgotten?”

Cruor smiled ingratiatingly. “Not at all, my prince. The royal bearing of your soul

will make it all the more delicious when it surrenders to me.”

Astriel answering smile was a bitter mirror to his opponent’s as the Prince swung his

sword in a circle, bringing it with blurring speed toward the other elf.

Cruor bellowed another arcane word, and a sword of the same make as Astriel’s

appeared in his gloved hand, already poised to block the Prince’s attack. But, as if Astriel had known he would take such an action, the Prince’s sword suddenly changed direction,

moving so fast it was nearly untraceable, and, instead of coming down in the arc that

Cruor had expected, it shot beneath the Death Mage’s constructed defense and stabbed

directly toward his midsection.

Cruor could not react in time to deflect such a blow. He merely had enough time to

glance downward and watch as Astriel’s shining blade penetrated the magical barrier

around him and shot on through to pierce his flesh, puncturing deep, sliding in until the

tip of the long sword exited the other side.

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Astriel shoved it deep, and then, as he brought his body flush with Cruor, he looked

the Death Mage in the eyes and gave the blade an evil twist.

Pain of immense design registered in the mage’s eyes.

“That is for touching her,” Astriel whispered, his words dripping with menace. He

twisted the blade the other way and Cruor gasped at the new agony, sweat erupting on his

brow. “And that is for hurting her.”

They remained frozen there for the space of an endless moment. And then Astriel

ruthlessly wrenched the blade free and took a step back.

Cruor stumbled backward, his body impacting with the trunk of a large tree, his

hands coming out to steady himself. He stopped and then clutched at his stomach, his

gaze locked on Astriel’s as one would watch a dangerous animal.

“You can run me through a thousand times, Prince, and it will not kill me,” he gritted

out between clenched teeth.

“I know. I never meant to kill you, Cruor. I only wanted to hurt you. And that, I have

done. It’s Raven that will kill you.”

At that, Astriel slowly turned, his gaze sliding from Cruor to the black-haired woman

who stood facing the Death Mage, several yards away. Cruor followed his gaze and

leveled it on Raven’s now erect and obviously much more powerful, physically stronger

form.

He gazed at her steadily, several emotions chasing each other across his handsome

face. She watched him in silence, her expression unreadable, as he straightened, lifting

off of the tree, his wound healing rapidly before her eyes.

She took a step toward him, and he toward her.

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And then they each raised their left hands in a slow, graceful, synchronous

movement, and the clearing faded into white, vanishing into bright nothingness within

seconds, leaving only Raven and the Death Mage, face to face, alone on a plane of flat,

frozen emptiness. Snow and ice stretched into the horizon as far as the eye could see.

Nothing moved to mar the perfection of the wintry world. Only a hollow wind blew

across the vast expanse.

This was the end, and they had chosen their battle ground.

He approached her slowly, his hands at his sides, his expression subtly sad, his deep

blue eyes devoid of the wicked spark they’d held as he’d touched her only a few minutes

before.

She came toward him in the same manner, her steps deliberate and calm, until at last,

they stood together, a mere foot apart, a study in spatial conservation in this endless plane of frost.

“I promised you that which no one else, not even Haledon, can guarantee. Why

would you so carelessly toss aside your brother’s sworn good fortune?” Cruor asked

quietly, his expression genuinely curious and a touch bemused.

Raven smiled gently. “You and I are not the granters of destiny, Cruor. As an empty

body and a tired soul, we make poor substitutes for human choice and freedom of will.

We are the
vessels
of fate, nothing more.”

He furrowed his brow and shook his head slowly. “Is this truly what you want? A

continuance of war and violence and a ‘freedom of will’ that sees innocents to their

graves?”

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Raven laughed softly. It sounded like a wind chime of ice crystals, blown by the

breeze of their private realm. “If I give you this soul, Cruor, you will lay
all
innocents to sleep in beds of death.” She cocked her head to one side and stared deeply into his eyes.

Her expression became one of puzzled curiosity. “Why do you continue to dispute a

cause that you know I can never join?”

Cruor lowered his head slightly, his gaze intensifying. His jaw set and the cold air

around them began to charge. “Because, Raven, I know you. I know you as no other ever

could. I remember you as you
were
,” he reached down to gently grasp her right hand, and, unafraid, she did not pull away, “the
first
time your soul took form.” With that, he placed her hand against his chest and closed his eyes.

She closed hers.

And then opened them to find herself standing alone in the center of a wide open

field. It was night and Kriver’s two moons shone full up above. White wildflowers

swayed in a gentle breeze. She could smell smoke from a cooking fire and she turned

slowly in place to see a small cabin at the base of a mountain in the distance.

She took a step toward it and was suddenly there, standing in the doorway of the log

house. The door unlatched and swung slowly inward. Firelight and warmth greeted her

and she stepped inside.

The man sitting at the table glanced up and smiled warmly. He was so handsome.

She knew him well.

He rose from the bench on the opposite side and quickly came around to greet her.

He stood tall before her and reached down to gently take her hands in his. He was warm

to the touch. She felt safe in their home.

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“How do you fare?” he asked softly.

“Well,” she answered quietly. She was tired, but peaceful. “The babe has been

dancing all day, I fear. A boy, I would wager, as he has your energy, not mine.”

The man laughed, his long black hair shimmering in the firelight from the hearth as

he shook his head admonishingly. “You’re the one who kicks, wife,” he said through a

chuckle. “I’ve the bruises on my shins to prove it. The night you sleep without giving me

your heel is the night I erect a statue in Haledon’s name.”

She laughed and then gasped as the babe kicked once again. She placed her hand to

her swollen stomach and the babe stilled. Then she took her husband’s hand and placed