Stephanie Rowe - Darkness Unleashed (11 page)

Dumbass. That was what he was.

She narrowed her eyes, a slow fire fuming in them. "So, if tying me up was actually a polite and respectful thing to do, then what are you apologizing for?"

That one was an easy answer. "Kissing you like I was some savage beast who wanted to consume you." As he watched, her fingers slowed to a thoughtful caress on those same lips he'd just been kissing, making his loins tighten. Shit, what was she doing to him?

"You've got it wrong." She watched him warily.

"Yeah?" He leaned closer to her, seduced by the temptation of this siren from heaven. "How so?"

She held up her bound hand, making his hand move with hers, controlling him. "This is what you owe me an apology for," she said, indicating the restraint. She lifted her chin, her eyes blazing with accountability. "No apology for the kiss. It wasn't a one-sided thing. I'm as responsible as you are."

He stopped his approach, his gut clenching with raw need. Intense lust began to howl through him at her confession, and he stood up, needing to put some distance between them before he acted even more inappropriately. "Listen," he said, running his free hand restlessly through his hair, while he had to leave his other hand down by his hip, close to hers. The damned two-foot vine was not long enough. Not even close. Jesus. He needed to get away from her, and he couldn't. "We'll camp here, and then break for Dante's mansion at first light. We'll have to travel in a southern arc around the town."

Again, intelligence flickered in Catherine's eyes, an acuity that made him want her even more. "Why can't we go north around the village? Wouldn't that be a more direct route back than the way we came?" Her question seemed casual, but he sensed a purpose behind it, one he couldn't quite decipher.

"Yeah, it would," he acknowledged, "but north has things that you don't want to run into. South is safer—" He paused at the sudden expression on Catherine's face. The fierce determination, the resistance, the clear and focused visage of a warrior. "What?"

She lifted her chin. "I have three things to say."

He almost grinned at her statement. Her determination and feisty spirit were hot shit. She was no delicate angel, that was for sure. "What are they?" If anyone else had given him that look and that attitude, he would have snarled and considered decapitating them. But with Catherine looking at him like that, all he could do was think she was sexy as hell, and damned brilliant.

She held up her index finger, as if she were speaking to a small child with the inability to grasp the most basic concept. "First, I'm not the Order's guardian angel."

He shrugged impatiently, dismissing her statement. "Like I said, the others didn't realize they were either at first. We'll figure it out when you're safe."

Completely ignoring him, she held up two fingers. "Second, I'm not going back with you."

His good humor vanished. "Of course you are."

She met his gaze, and in her eyes he saw a desperation that made his heart twist. "And third," she said. "You will be my guide into the nether-realm."

* * *

Ryland stared at her for a long moment, so long that her heart started to pound with hope.

She sat up. "I know you're familiar with the area. It's obvious." She grabbed her backpack, which had somehow ended up on the ground beside them after Ryland had tackled her. "See, I have this map, but one of the markers is gone, so—"

"No."

She looked up and her heart sank at the haunted darkness on his face. "You have to—"

"No." His refusal was almost a growl, and his upper lip was curled, as if he were baring fangs at her, not regular human teeth. "We're going home. No arguments. No—"

"Hey!" She jumped to her feet, grabbing his arm as he started to turn away. When she tried to force him back to face her, he spun around so quickly she almost fell over. He grabbed both her upper arms, trapping her. "We're not going to the nether-realm," he snarled. "You're not, and I'm not. End of story."

"No, it's not!" She knew she should be afraid of him, but she was too mad to drum up that kind of emotion. Here was the man who could help her, and not only was he refusing to help her, but he was going to ban her from going herself? "My daughter is trapped in the nether-realm," she snapped. "There's no chance in hell that I'm going to leave her there to suffer for an eternity. She's four years old, for God's sake, Ryland. Four!"

Ryland's eyes closed at her words, and he tipped his face toward the night sky, as if he was trying to make her words go away. "Jesus, Catherine."

Darkness and death were flowing off Ryland, increasing by the moment, but at the same time, she felt a wash of intense emotion from him. She couldn't quite identify it, but it gave her hope. Ryland was not the stoic, harsh man he seemed. Well, he was, but there was something else there. The man had committed his life to protecting innocents. There was no chance he could be immune from the plight of a four-year-old girl. "Ryland," she said urgently. "I have to get there now. I'm almost out of time."

His eyes opened, and darkness glittered in their tormented depths. "Why are you out of time?"

God, the truth was too complicated to explain right now. He'd never help her if he knew what she was dealing with. And why would he help her anyway? She had no leverage to motivate him to help her, nothing except trying to call upon his promises of protection and support, as well as his basic humanity. "Because in three days, there will be no chance to save her." Three days if she was lucky.

Ryland stood for a long moment, and she could feel the battle raging within him. Something was brewing inside him. The aura of death was stronger now, the violence lurking in his eyes. Finally, he met her gaze. "I'm sorry, Catherine, but no."

Then he turned his back on her and ended the conversation.

* * *

Ryland had made it only two feet when he felt the vine around his wrist tighten. Dammit. He'd forgotten about the restraint. Swearing, he turned around. Catherine had folded her arms over her chest and was glaring at him. Not just a glare. The cold, calculated face of a woman who would not give in.

Admiration flickered through him. He understood her need to go after her daughter. He'd had that same need to go after Thano. To preserve Dante's Order. To protect those in his charge. He understood what was driving her. He really did. Not that he would change his mind, but damn if he didn't like her for that loyalty. He walked back over to her, not that he'd been able to get too far with the vine. "Listen, Catherine," he said. "I get it. She's your daughter. I know. But I can't help you. Taking you in there is death to both of us—"

"So what?" she challenged. "Since when does the Order of the Blade fear death?"

"I don't." Jesus. He ran his hand through his hair. Memories of a time long past assaulted him, and that same sick feeling pulsed through him like the rancid stench of a rotting soul. "I can't go back in there."

She pounced on his words. "Back in there? So you've been there before?"

He hesitated, then shrugged. "Yeah, I've been there. I was born there. I lived there for twenty-five years before Dante tore me out of there and gave me another chance."

Intelligence flared in her blue eyes. "So, he rescued you? You couldn't get out on your own? Don't you owe someone that same favor? Where would you be if Dante hadn't rescued you?"

Ryland swore as sweat began to trickle down his spine. He knew damn well where he'd be if Dante hadn't pulled him out of there, and he knew where the rest of the fucking world would be as well. "Listen, Catherine, when Dante pulled me out of there, he gave me a purpose. I will never forget the night at his shack in the woods, the first night away from this cursed region. I was still—" Shit. How could he even explain the darkness that had still gripped him that night? "I almost murdered him that night," he said softly. "Not on purpose, but because I couldn't stop it. If it hadn't been for Dante, all would have been lost, but that night, he saved me from hell. I owe him, Catherine. He was a great man, and his legacy has saved the world in ways you can't imagine. I can't walk away from that, and I can't let you put it in jeopardy. It's so much bigger than you know." He stopped, cutting off the long-winded explanation. What was he doing explaining himself to Catherine? He didn't explain. He didn't engage in discussions. He did what he needed to do. And that was it. "Never mind," he said, turning away to head back to camp. "We're not going."

"Dante? Your former leader was named Dante?" Her voice was a stunned whisper.

He glanced back at her, frowning when he saw her skin had gone ghostly white. "Yeah. Dante Sinclair."

Her face was stark with shock. "He had a shack in the woods? In Oregon?"

Ryland turned back to face her. "I didn't say it was in Oregon," he said softly.

"Did it have a door? Or was it a simple hut about twenty-five yards from a river?"

A cold foreboding began to simmer through Ryland. "No door. Near a river. Why? How do you know that?"

She pressed her hand to her forehead. "Was his weapon a spear?"

Jesus Christ. He grabbed her upper arms and hauled her over to him. "What do you know about Dante?" he demanded. "What do you know?"

She looked up at him. "I took his soul," she whispered. "I took it."

Ryland stared at her in disbelief. "What are you talking about?"

"When he died, I was there to take his soul." She closed her eyes. "I took his soul that night, after those weapons did their job, after those men killed his body."

Ryland went cold, ice cold as his fingers dug into the arms of the woman he'd wanted to make love to only moments ago. He remembered all too well what Ian's
sheva
, Alice Shaw, had told them about Catherine. "No one's soul dies unless you kill them," he echoed. "You are the forever death." His mind shot back to that moment when Dante had visited him after his death, when he'd said he couldn't come back again. Was that the moment Catherine had killed him? The moment when his existence ended forever? Jesus Christ. Was Dante's spirit gone as well?

"I am forever death," Catherine said. "This is true."

"Jesus." His fingers tightened on her arms as he fought to stay in control. He was holding the woman who had killed the man he had dedicated his life to? No, no, no! Furious, he tore his grip off her and turned his back on her, clasping his hands behind his head as he fought to rationalize what was going on. "You're an angel," he said. "Angels aren't evil." He knew they weren't. They were beautiful and amazing, merciful creatures who brought light into darkness.

She laughed softly, a chuckle with no mirth. "No, I'm not evil. But I
am
hell." She touched his arm, and he instinctively stiffened. "I'm sorry, Ryland. I didn't mean to do it, if that is any consolation."

"Didn't mean to?" He spun around to face her, suddenly furious. "How can you kill someone and not mean to? You have to be stronger than that! If you're given the gift of being able to take a life, you have to control it! You can never unleash it by accident!"

Fury blazed in her eyes. "I am strong," she snapped. "I would have killed a lot more if I wasn't! And Dante's not dead forever! They took his soul from me before I could destroy it. So—"

"They took his soul from you? Who? Who has his soul?" Jesus Christ, was Dante's soul still alive somewhere? "Where the fuck is he?"

She met his gaze, and in it he saw the ultimate regret. "He's in the nether-realm," she said.

Ryland stared at her. "What?"

"The nether-realm. They took him."

"They?" But he didn't need to ask who 'they' were. He'd been born in the nether-realm. He knew what it was like there. He knew the creatures who ruled those lands, and he knew what drove them: greed, power, and pure, untainted evil. He knew, because he'd been one of them. "Jesus," he whispered, sinking down onto a damp rock. He bowed his head and ran his hands through his hair, fighting to stay focused. "Dante's soul is trapped in the nether-realm?"

Catherine nodded. "Same as my daughter, except her spirit is still in her body," she said. "I'm going to get her out."

Ryland's fingers dug into his scalp, and he suddenly realized that his fingers were elongating. Silver claws jabbed out of the tips of his fingers. "Jesus Christ." He jerked his hands off his head and fisted his hands, willing the claws to recede. "I can't go back in there," he said. "I fucking can't."

"Why not?"

"Because it will turn me back into this!" Ryland grabbed the collar of his shirt and tore it open with a roar of fury, showing Catherine the secret that he had kept for so long, the secret that only Dante knew.

* * *

Emblazoned on Ryland's chest was a drawing of a fanged monster with massive wings, blood dripping from its teeth, and claws plunged deep inside the chest of a woman. The creature's eyes raged with violence and death. Its body was covered in spiked scales, its head tipped upward in what could only be a howl of victory. Strewn around the creature were dozens of dismembered people, their faces still etched in the terrified screams of a violent death. It was like an ancient biblical drawing of a horror unleashed upon the earth by the very devil himself.

The image of the creature was a black outline on Ryland's flesh, as though someone had sketched it but never had time to fill it in. As she watched, the eyes of the creature seemed to move, rolling toward her as if targeting her as its next prey. Sucking in her breath, she tried to scramble backwards, stopped only by the vine that bound her to Ryland. "What in God's name is that?" she whispered, too horrified to speak. She could almost see its ribs moving with each breath, its nostrils flaring as it scented her.

"Me." He jerked his shirt closed, and she saw the sharp tips of something silver poking from the ends of his fingers.

Catherine gasped. "How can that be you?"

"It's what I was born to be," he said, his eyes almost boiling over with violence and anger, and death. So much death. "If I go back to the nether-realm, I will become it again." He met her gaze. "And the first thing I'll do is kill you."