A Kiss of Ashen Twilight (Ashen Twilight Series #1) (16 page)

“On my mark, release the dogs o’ war!”

Catapults were released in the air behind them. Julian held his sword up and gestured forward. The distance between them closed, the first sword was drawn, followed by a succession of others.

Swords clashed against one another. Julian fought from his horse until he felt his body pulled down with the strength of the beast falling below him. He scrambled to his feet and dodged an oncoming blade headed for his face. He blocked, jabbed and jammed the sword into his enemy’s chest.

He turned, his senses immediately assaulted with the smell of blood and dirt, thick in the air. The greenery ran dark and red with the spilled blood from the bodies of the fallen soldiers from each side. As moments passed, more and more bodies collapsed to their death; left and right and all round him.

Julian blocked the oncoming attack toward Roman, his second in command. He swung his sword toward his opponent’s neck and felt the thin blade cut through skin, muscle and bone, knocking them toward the blood soaked ground. The fire of battle burned within his chest and he quenched it with another swing into the chest of his opponent.

Roman patted his back with satisfaction. “To victory, mo brathair.”

They continued, striking any opponents in sight. Smoke and ash blocked the area and before he could react, Julian felt a sharp blade cut to his skin, clear through his chest, impaling him. The wind was knocked out of him. He fell to his knees as a shadow came overhead. The clashes, screams and sounds from the atmosphere faded into the back of his mind. Roman ran toward him, his mouth open and screaming but no sound emerged. Julian heard no sound at all except for the beating of his own heart. He fell backwards, watching as his assailant smiled with pride. Then he opened his mouth in a war cry and raised his sword to strike one last time. Behind him, Roman swung and thrust his sword forward into the soldier
’s
neck as his own fierce cry spread across the lands. The Englishman’s body went stiff, his dark eyes widened within the window of his helmet. His body grew limp and fell to the ground. After the opponent had fallen, Roman pushed the dead body away and raced to Julian who lay on the ground.

“M’lord Archane,” Roman held him close to his body.

Julian winced at the searing pain beating within his chest. He choked, feeling the blood rising within him. This couldn’t be the end. He wasn’t ready to go before seeing his wife’s sweet face. He needed to touch her, hold her in his arms, feel the strength of the love between them. He needed to see his child grow into a young man, to carry on his name and title. Sadly, that would be a wish never to be fulfilled.

He reached up to grab his second-in-arms by the neck and pull him close.

“M’lord?” Roman’s voice quivered as he raised his eyebrows.

“To victory, mo brathair.” Julian said, his words strained and weak.

Pursing his lips, Roman nodded, he understood. Slowly he rose
to his feet and raised his sword as he left Julian’s side. The battle continued but Julian’s mind was becoming a barren wasteland. Soon the sounds of battle died around him and only dust remained. He felt the bodies surrounding him among their Earthly tombs as he danced between life and death, struggling to stay alive. Was anyone else out there? Would he be the only one left alive? He had to gather enough strength to make it home. He had to try. As his mind filled with questions and self-coaching, Julian’s
body froze as he heard a sound. Shoes crunched against the soft beds of grass. He couldn’t help wondering if he was going mad in his last moments of living.

He opened his mouth to speak as a blurred shadowy image blocked his view of the darkening sky over
head. Despite how many times he blinked, Julian couldn’t make out the image of the soldier, nor the words that fell from his lips.

“Archane,” was the only word Julian could make out.

Julian struggled to move as he stared up at the blur. He blinked and in a
flash, the soldier dived down to him, attacking his neck.

Julian felt his strength depleted. He struggled to fight the man as a searing pain shot from his neck and throughout his body. The lifeforce fell from him as he discovered— this man was sucking his
blood? Was he being bled dry?

He found his voice and screamed, thankful for the release despite the sound stifled by the soldier’s body. The figure above him arched his back and roared like a primal beast into the rapidly approaching night.

With the last of his strength, Julian lurched forward onto the figure and slammed his body back against the ground. He noted a sword jutting upward from the ground, still impaled into a fallen soldier’s chest. The soldier’s body moved slightly as Julian pulled the blade
from his body.

“Wretch’d creature!” Julian swung with all his might and embedded the sword in the shadowy figure’s side, cutting off his robed arm in the process. The figure screeched like a preternatural animal as he fell over and finally gave out his last dying breath.

Julian turned to move but his knees immediately gave out below him. He felt like a dying rag doll, absent of any will or strength left. That creature had nearly drained him! He realized it as the adrenaline quickly left his body only to be
replaced with fatigue. He couldn’t stay here. He had to find what was left of his men and return home.

“You must rise up against the son of the dragon,” the figure’s raspy voice was accompanied by a soft chuckle. “A revenir that will send them running for
the hills. They keep our people there to die. But you will stop that, won’t you? They said you could because you were a true leader.”

“This can’t be.” Julian lifted his head up from the inviting bed of Earth below him. “I have killed ye already,” he said in a low whisper.

The figure seemed to spring up into Julian’s view without any movement of his limbs. The sword still remained embedded in his side. Julian couldn’t see the figure but he felt it smiling beneath the cloak of darkness. With his only hand, he reached over and plucked the sword from his side before tossing it into the field below. He raised his robe to display the flesh that was cut off at the elbow. Right before Julian’s very own eyes, the body regenerated and placed itself back together as bone, muscle, and tissue. Finally, skin repaired itself into a new arm the figure proudly showed off. Julian remained frozen as he watched, yet his body was paralyzed with cold fear. What sort of abomination of all creation was standing before him?

The figure inhaled deeply and laughed.

“Incorrect once again, m’lord.” He lifted his new wrist to his mouth and bit hard down into the veins of his arm.

Julian smelled the blood. Blood that rushed toward the surface of his skin, like a dam releasing a river long held against its will. The figure knelt down to him and overturned his wrist allowing the blood to fall in drips to Julian’s open mouth.

“Nay!” Julian cried. “I won’t drink! I will kill ye again and again before ye make me an inhuman beast like yerself! I care not how many times you resurrect yerself. Death awaits you by my blade!”

“No, m’lord,” the creature said smoothly. “I cannot die. And you will feel such a gift yourself—if you drink.”

Julian struggled against the cold, pale wrist hovering over him. No matter which way he turned, it was there. Finally, with no more fight left in his body, he stopped and it was then he knew that tiny moment would change his life forever. For he felt the sweet essence that dropped upon his dried lips. His vigor was leaving
him while regenerating him at the same time. He needed to taste more of this sweetness. He had to have it.

“More,” he said in a strained voice, making his need clear. “Please.”

The figure leaned in and gently raised Julian’s head to his open wrist. Julian
gripped it and drank the sweetest nectar to ever pass his lips. He drank and drank, hearing the union of their two heartbeats pounding in their respective chests. The blood raced through him with a rise of pleasure, overtaking his body. He wanted more and
yet the sweet satisfaction of release was all too tempting. The figure caressed his dark locks as he fed. Then as moments passed, he ripped his arm away, leaving Julian in a height of desire. His body tingled with the passion, the scent of blood still emitting from the figures body. He still couldn’t see him as but a shadowy blur. Still his form was all too clear as an outline.

“What— What did ye do to me?” Julian screamed. “You’ve made me into a monster! I’m drinking blood!”

He swiped his finger across his lips and teeth, saw the dark red traces on his finger. He should have felt sick. Repulsed even. But deep down he was changing, the life and body he had always known now felt like it was slipping away.

“I gave you a chance at life,” the figure said. “You shall do with it as you will, but do not show yourself to your family or you will be hunted down and killed like a rabid animal.”

The figure turned and leaned down to reach for a piece of cloth to place over his wounded wrist. Julian grabbed the opportunity to reach for his sword as he continued talking.

“Besides, I won’t be the only one to suffer now.”

Julian swung as the figure faced him. The blur was nebulous. Yet he could still see the head separate from its body as it flew in the air, twirling toward t
he ground.

Julian forced himself to breath as a charge of energy ran toward him. He fell to his knees realizing that he was alone in the midst of the battleground surrounding him. This could be his end, but his mind raced with only that of his family’s well being. He wondered if he had received a second life. Despite losing all of his men to this battle, he lived to tell of how gallantly they fought to defend their lands from the English invaders.

He had to make it home.

Feeling a renewed energy with the fall of night, Julian stood and began the trek back home to
Leith
.

* * * *

“That was after my mother died,” Jace said entering the bedroom. “The three of us became a new family together throughout the centuries. Lovers came and went, but our family remained and grew even stronger within the Ashen Twilight House.”

Jace chuckled once he noticed her curious gaze. “I couldn’t help overhearing.”

“And your sword is from those times?” she said sitting up.

Jace turned to his sword on the wall. “That it is. A gift from Julian before our war with
Romania
.”

“What do the symbols mean?”

“The symbols on the top represent
Scotland
, my home, and the Archane coat of arms. The inscription—” Jace’s tongue rolled eloquently in the native language before he translated aloud. “
Na sir‘s na seachainn an cath.
Neither seek nor shun the fight.”

“Beautiful language.”

“It’s Scottish Gaelic. A dying language from my time, The English outlawed it for a time. When they also outlawed tartans and weapons.”

“
Nunya, adidoe, asi metunee o.
”

Jace smiled at the exotic words slipping from Ariya’s lips. He chuckled softly. “And what does that mean?”

“Wisdom is like a baobab tree; no one individual can embrace it,” she gave a small laugh. “It’s an old Aziza proverb. I think there will come a time when you and Julian will understand what happened in the past and what it will mean for the future.”