When Darkness Ends (23 page)

Anthony stood in the center of the stone circle, dangling an amulet in one hand while he tossed a strand of gray hair into the flames that burned on the altar.

The amulet would allow him to focus his magic, while the hair would call to the one he was seeking.

Muttering the words to his spell in a low breath, he felt a familiar tug of power deep inside him. He allowed it to spread through his body, at last releasing it in a small burst to open a hole in the thick illusions that held his prisoners.

The flames flickered and with an audible pop the magic grasped the druid that Anthony had been seeking, yanking him into the stone circle to land at Anthony's feet.

The opening slammed shut and Anthony bit back a groan of agony.

Druid magic was intended to work in harmony with nature. When he forced it to mold the environment to meet his needs, there was always a price.

Usually a painful price.

He grasped the edge of the stone altar, waiting for the recoil of magic to pass. The greater the magic, the more unpleasant the whiplash.

At last confident that his knees would hold him upright, Anthony straightened and watched as the elder druid rolled onto his back with a low moan.

The man was dressed in a worn brown robe with his long silver hair pulled into a tail at his nape. His face was narrowed and lined with age, while his hands were swollen from the arthritis that had nearly crippled him over the past few years.

Once Caydeyrn had believed himself to be the oldest and most powerful of the druids. Then Anthony had returned from his latest sabbatical, revealing that he hadn't died as they'd all hoped.

The fool had tried to condemn Anthony to death, claiming that his determination to rid the world of demons made him a traitor.

Idiot.

It hadn't taken Anthony long to prove that his place was at the top of the druid hierarchy, and that he was willing to destroy anyone who tried to stand in his way.

With a rattling cough, the elderly man forced open his eyes.

In the firelight he looked every one of his hundred plus years, his narrow face ashen and his pale blue eyes watery as he glared at Anthony.

“You . . . fiend,” he hissed. “You should be shamed to show your face to me.”

Anthony narrowed his gaze as he watched the druid struggle to a seated position.

“The shame is yours, old man,” he spit out, feeling the annoyingly predictable frustration surge through him.

Why could they not understand he was doing this for all of them?

Humans were meant to rule the world, not demons.

To stand aside and allow the evil creatures to maintain their stranglehold on power was nothing less than a sin against nature.

Caydeyrn tilted his chin, putting on his holier-than-thou expression.

“I have lived a righteous life devoted to caring for the weak and the helpless,” he said in lofty tones. “I have protected our mother earth and—”

“You are a coward who sold your soul to demons to protect your own ass.” Anthony interrupted the tediously repeated speech.

God. How many times had he had to listen to the claims of lofty morals that were nothing more than a shield to hide the druids' lack of a backbone?

“I honor the treaties of our ancestors.”

“Treaties?” Anthony made a sound of disgust. “There were no negotiations. No concessions offered. We were neutered by the fey king and our blessed ancestors lay down and took it.”

Caydeyrn hunched his shoulder, clearly unwilling to admit that the ancient druids had allowed the King of Chatri to turn them into a bunch of sniveling weaklings.

“We devoted ourselves to peace,” he said.

“You became servants in the name of peace.”

“Better a servant in peace than a master in death.”

The condescending tone made Anthony's teeth clench.

He crouched down, meeting the watery blue gaze with open disdain.

“So pious,” he hissed.

“It is who we are.”

Anthony shook his head. When he'd first returned, he tried to work with this man and the rest of the elders.

Well, perhaps he hadn't tried to work
with
him.

After all, he was born to lead, not follow.

But he'd been happy to allow the other druids to become a part of his inner circle as he sought to rid the world of demons.

It was entirely their own fault that he'd been forced into drastic actions when they refused to follow his commands.

“No, it's what we have allowed ourselves to become,” he reminded Caydeyrn. “Once we stood tall, capable of ruling the world.”

The old man shook his head, clearly refusing to admit even to himself that the druids had once been destined for greatness.

“Ruling the world is your dream.” He gave a slow shake of his head. “Not ours.”

“Because you're weak.”

“I have a heart,” Caydeyrn snapped, still filled with his bloated sense of self-worth despite the weeks he'd spent locked in the Labyrinth spell. “To commit mass murder for the sake of your own glory . . .” The older man gave a dramatic shudder. “It is wicked.”

Mass murder?

Anthony rolled his eyes. The old man was truly a drama queen.

“The demons aren't people. They're a cancer that must be destroyed before they take over the world.”

The druid grimaced, something that might have been pity twisting his features.

“Anthony, you've allowed your lust for power to corrupt your soul.” His lips flattened. “I blame the witches. You should never have traveled to meet with them.”

Anthony surged upright. Over ten years ago, he'd traveled to meet with Edra. At the time her coven had been responsible for guarding the human vessel for the Goddess of Light.

The witch claimed that they had discovered a spell capable of ridding the world of demons. Anthony had been dubious. Such a spell would take far more power than a mere coven of witches could conjure, even if they could somehow tap into the power of the Phoenix.

He'd declined her invitation to include the druids in her daring scheme. A stroke of luck considering that a year ago the vampires had managed to destroy Edra before the spell could be completed.

Or maybe it'd been the Goddess of Light who'd struck the killing blow.

Anthony had never gotten a clear answer. And truly it didn't matter.

He'd learned from their mistakes.

Of course, his caution hadn't halted him from traveling to Edra's home to steal the spell just hours after her death.

He wasn't going to rush into certain disaster, but he wasn't going to ignore the potential opportunity.

So he'd waited and plotted, searching for the best means to ensure the spell's success.

The key, of course, was finding a suitable power source.

Nothing human could possibly have enough strength to actually close down the portals. And even among demons only the Commission had the necessary magic.

For weeks he'd been convinced it was impossible.

Then his insatiable research had uncovered the fey potion that could amplify the druids' power.

Suddenly he had a plan to actually accomplish what the witches had failed to.

“They opened my eyes to the possibilities,” he murmured, his lips twisting at the memory of Edra's arrogant command that the druids combine their power to assist in the casting of the spell. “Of course, there was no way that I was going to join forces with them. The bitches thought I was willing to bow to them while they took control of the world. That was never going to happen.”

Caydeyrn grimaced. “So instead you stole their spell.”

Anthony shrugged. It'd been sheer luck that he'd been on his way to visit Edra less than a half an hour after her death. It meant that he'd been able to jerk the fragile scroll out of her dead fingers and protect it from being destroyed by the binding spell that all witches put on their personal papers.

“They were dead,” he said. “Obviously they didn't need it anymore.”

The older man heaved a heavy sigh, his condemning expression becoming one of deep pity.

“Your father would be so disappointed.”

Anthony jerked as the druid hit an unexpected nerve.

His father, Henlin, had not only been a highly respected leader, but he'd been beloved by both druids and fey. The sort of man that could draw people to him with the sheer force of his personality.

Anthony had been in equal awe of his father, wanting nothing more than to walk in his footsteps.

But unlike Henlin, Anthony had no personal charm to earn the approval of his peers. And worse, he couldn't disguise his disgust for the demons who were constantly seeking his father's advice.

It was painfully obvious from a young age that he would have to use force to claim the position he so desperately desired.

“You know nothing of my father,” he rasped.

“I know that he was a man of great honor.” Caydeyrn pressed despite the fact that Henlin had died long before he'd ever been born. “He is a legend among the druids.”

Without realizing he was moving, Anthony had reached for the dagger he'd laid on the altar, his entire body clenched with fury.

“Don't,” he warned in a lethally soft voice.

Either indifferent or blind to the danger, Caydeyrn refused to back down.

“I only speak the truth.”

Anthony lifted his hand, distantly aware that his hand was shaking.

“My father was blind.”

The pale blue eyes narrowed. “He saw you clearly enough,” the older man accused. “Which is why you killed him.”

With one swipe of his arm, Anthony was slicing the knife through Caydeyrn's throat.

That shut up the old fool, he grimly acknowledged, mechanically reaching for a wooden bowl as the druid tumbled to the ground, blood leaking from a thin red line at the base of his neck.

Adjusting the bowl beneath the dead man's neck to capture the blood, Anthony sat back on his heels and grimly struggled to squash the memory of his father.

It hadn't been his fault that Henlin refused to listen to reason.

He'd devoted years to proving to his father just how dangerous the demons were to their world. But had the stubborn old man believed him? Hell, no. In fact, he'd dared to bring one of his fey whores into their home.

That had been the final straw as far as Anthony was concerned.

Henlin was clearly determined to put his love for demons above the welfare of humans. It was time for him to go.

So he'd done what was necessary.

Slamming a mental door on the image of his father staring up at him with a deep sadness as his own son had shoved the dagger into his heart, Anthony rose to his feet.

This was no time for maudlin reminiscing.

Holding the bowl filled with the druid's blood, he peered into the flames, sending a silent message to the fairy sleeping upstairs.

Twenty minutes later a wary Yiant entered the stone circle, his long curls freshly brushed and his jade robe immaculate. Just as if he was about to enter a ballroom.

Anthony narrowed his eyes as he realized the little prick had kept him waiting so he could fuss over his appearance.

“It's about time,” he growled, taking pleasure in the fairy's abrupt horror as he caught sight of Caydeyrn lying dead on the floor.

“Blessed saints.” Yiant took an instinctive step backward. “What have you done?”

“We must all make sacrifices.” Anthony glanced at the motionless corpse. “Some of us more than others.”

Yiant was shaking, his eyes wild. “This is madness.”

“Get yourself together, fairy,” Anthony snapped. “I need to travel to the Oracles.”

“No.” Yiant took another step back, his horror turning to anger as he glared at Anthony's calm expression. “This is wrong.”

Anthony moved forward. How dare the stupid fey believe he could judge the leader of the druids?

“It's too late for regrets, fairy. We're in this together.”

Yiant shook his head. “I didn't know what you were doing.”

Anthony gave a sharp, humorless laugh. “You spineless bastard. You might not have been familiar with the finer details of my plan, but you knew that I wasn't using the potions to sway a handful of humans into voting for more land for the fey,” he scoffed. “But you were reveling in your power as I helped you to expand your royal domain, so you didn't bother to ask any questions that might have unpleasant answers.”

The fairy paled, but typically he was swift to try and defend his lust for glory.

“Everything I've done has been for my people.”

“I can say the same thing,” he mocked, his face abruptly hardening. He only had a limited amount of time to use the blood before it started to lose its potency. “Open the portal to the Oracles, Yiant.”

The fairy shook his head. “I can't.”

“I did mention the need for sacrifices.” Anthony deliberately glanced toward the dead druid. “Do you wish to be the next?”

“I mean I can't locate them with a portal.” Yiant licked his dry lips. “I've never been to their lair.”

“Damn.” Anthony ground his teeth. This was all Keeley's fault. The imp was supposed to be here to take him to the caves. Instead he'd forced Anthony to kill him. Ungrateful wretch. Now he had little choice but to get as close as possible and find some other means of transportation. “Return me to the King of Vampires.”

 

 

Tonya knew she should be desperately searching for a way out of the labyrinth.