The Daughter Of Lava (#3 Reclaimed Souls Series) (12 page)

“These walls are very unforgiving,” he says by way of offering an apology. “Cat’s two bends up, waiting. Impatiently, I should add.”

“I don’t care.”

“I didn’t think you would,” he whispers. His breath hovers near my lips. I don’t think—I can’t think—when he’s around me and everything inside me wants to be on him. I want to strangle and kiss him at the same time.

I’m tired of stopping myself from showing him my love.

I crash into him, my lips harsh against his. He staggers back in a surprised, yet appreciative way, and captures me into him, pulling me in. Absorbing me. Pressing me against the sharp wall. The chain mail protects me, but I know his arms won’t come out unscathed.

My arms wind around his neck, back, head, and I pull him into me as well, until I feel that we are a single entity.
 

“You’re my soul… my heart…” he breathes into me in the same manner a dying man gasps for one last breath of air.

Tears well up and threaten to spill.

“What am I supposed to do with you?” I ask in a shaky whisper in between the beautiful, tortuous kisses.

“Just love me. Just as I love you.” It doesn’t seem possible, but he gathers me even closer. His heartbeat pulses into me. My own heart matches.

I do love you. More than the wind loves carrying leaves.
 

“I…” A tear falls.

“Yes?”

I love you more than a million shooting stars bursting and exploding in the sky.

“I…”

I love you more than the darkened horizon eagerly awaits the sunrise.

“Yes?” he asks, more hopeful, planting kisses all along my jawline.

I love you more than what the largest hurricane in existence could ever summon in its destructive wake.

“I love you, Roland Rexus, my dark prince.” I finally vocalize the words that I’ve wanted to say forever.

“Oh, goddess,” he moans, scooping me up. I wrap my legs around his waist. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear.”

It’s all I’ve ever wanted to say…

His voice and breath are ragged in my mouth, neck, ear.

Roland sounds so desperate, so needy, so hopeless in his desire to be one with me, like maybe this is our last chance before all hell breaks loose.
 

But we can’t stay here. And we can’t make love. I can feel the change in him, too. It’s as if his heart heard mine and acquiesced.
 

He gently releases me and I slide down, my feet slightly unsteady against the stone. I’m still wrapped in his arms. I hear his little gasp of air, like a fortification, and I’m reminded of what he told me several nights ago:
I’ll earn your love the right way. One day, you’ll tell me you love me, and on that day I’ll know that I’ve become the man I am supposed to be.

I sense a fog of sadness around him now.

“It’s begun, then,” he whispers more to himself than to me. “The prophecy’s true.”

In the brief silence, the loud whooshing of water distracts me.
 

“You mean the flooding—” I say, but he interrupts me.

“No. By tonight, I’ll be dead.”

I shake my head to immediately dispel the image. “Don’t say that!” I hiss at him. I try to pull him back into me. I want to feel him, his heartbeat, I need to be next to him.

But he pulls away in every way imaginable. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.

It’s almost as if he turned off some switch in his body.

“It’s worse,” he answers, his voice flat.
What could be worse than Roland Rexus dying?
He’s silent for what seems like ages, decades, a millennia. Then he recites a well-known poem, one my mother used to tell me in her hand-language:
 

“By the hand of thy love, thy soul shall rise above. Armed with wise words the Sacred Soul slays, as earth II roars ablaze.”
 

I gasp.
Did he say what I think he said?

“I won’t kill you, Roland,” I declare stoutly. I don’t care if Cat can hear me. But my mind turns traitor.
You were going to kill him several days ago, Rahda.

“You won’t have a choice,” he whispers haggardly before he turns and walks away from me.
 

I stand there, numb. Deceiving myself of actually owning sterling qualities. I have none. Allegiance of one. Myself.
If one of us must die
, I think hopelessly,
am I willing to spare his life over mine?

But I’m unable to complete the thought: I hear something below me. More than the whooshing of water, though I’m not sure. It is muffled and gone instantly. Left alone in the darkness, I imagine all sorts of things.

I rush after Roland.

Twenty-Six

C
AT
IS
INDEED
TWO
bends up.

I walk toward the light. Cat holds the torch up high, peering at me, studying any immediate reaction, before she thrusts the torch in my hands.
 

“I think we are being fo—”

“Your turn to lead, Rahda,” she announces, interrupting me. Her face is stern and rigid, though her voice seems to have an ounce of compassion left. Her purple-silver eyes pierce me as if she’s reading my mind.
 

Your turn to lead
…

My whole life I’ve been a
follower
. Of Pareu. Of the army. Of the Grandfather. And now Cat and Roland.

I turn a sharp eye on Roland, but he avoids my stare. He seems resigned to whatever fate he thinks is his due.

“What does this path lead to? If it’s just to a waterfall, then I don’t see the point. Surely Mr. Underwood can be trusted to complete this task.” I’m looking at Cat, but it is Roland who answers me.

“It leads to the birthplace and burial ground of the Feeble Princess.”

I scoff. “It was destroyed during the royal revolution.”
 

“It wasn’t,” Roland answers.

“Don’t forget to mention Mirror Lake,” Cat adds cryptically, her eyes hard on me. Reading me. She seems to be waiting for a specific reaction.

My mind spins. A sudden memory jolts my brain so hard that I feel like I’ve been electrocuted.

Mirror Lake. Pareu used to talk about it in the same breath that he’d talk about the blueblood tree faeries.
 

A top a hill lies Mirror Lake. Soft as silk and pure. Look inside, and your soul will look back.

“Mirror Lake is a complete myth,” I say in an exasperated tone, waving the torch around. My heart pinches at the added memory of Pareu. “What does it have to do with
anything
? People are dying down below and it feels like we—the three of us—are running away.”

A voice below me joins in unexpectedly and I nearly drop the torch.

“Make that four,” a youthful male voice chimes in with a humorous, yet nervous, bite to it.

The zing of metal leaving its sheath fills the air. In the orange glow, Cat’s sword sparkles like a million yellow diamonds. She shoves me aside, steps in front of Roland, and poises, ready to strike.

“Whoa!” the voice exclaims. “Rahda, it’s me!”

I tilt the torch forward and immediately recognize the handsome face. His hands are up—weaponless—and by the goddess and all that’s holy, he’s shirtless. I blink several times. His dark tattoos cover him so completely that it almost seems like he’s wearing a shirt.

“Dev?”

I hear his relieved exhale. I forgot just how sexy the man was.

I feel Roland’s eyes on me instantly.

“A friend of yours?”

“Ah…” I hesitate. I’ve never been in this particular situation.

“Yes,” Dev breathes. “We know each other from the Old City. Tell your
gorgeous
bodyguard that she can stand down.”

Leave it to Devdan Osta, the Grandfather’s technician 34, to flirt with Cat while her sword is aimed at his throat.

“Are you alone?” I ask.

He nods, still starring at Cat’s sword, which is still two inches from slicing his head off. “A half-Patroxi tried to follow, but she couldn’t swim once the water gushed in.”

“How fortunate for us, then, that you can swim,” Roland states through clenched teeth. Then, under his breath, he says, “That must have been when you lost your shirt.”

“Yeah, about that,” Dev says. “I was kind of in the middle of a romance when your Gardens exploded. Didn’t have time to retrieve the shirt. It was a nice shirt, too. Don’t have too many of those.” Dev swallows hard, looking around. I inspect him from the waist down. He
is
wearing pants. “Um, Rahda, can you ask your friend to lower that thing?”

“Is he a singing romeo, Rahda?” Roland asks, also under his breath.

“That doesn’t explain your presence now,” Cat says, finally joining the conversation. While I can’t see her expression, she seems nearly ready for the conversation to be over so that she can kill him.

“I noticed figures on the opposite side of the hallway before it crashed down. At the time, I didn’t know it was you, Rahda. Couldn’t hear a damn thing, either. Just needed to escape, too. So we followed.”

“We?”
All of us ask at the same time.

“I’m having a tough time concentrating with your sword pointed at me!” he croaks in a higher-pitched voice. Cat lowers her weapon, but not completely. It’s now aimed at his crotch, which doesn’t comfort Dev at all. I hear him squeak.

“Well?” Cat purrs.

She
must
know what he used to be. I can tell she’s studying his marks. Do PPS personnel recognize one another, sort of like sensing a like-minded, damaged soul?

“My romance partner, you know, the half-Patroxi,” he answers sheepishly. “The water separated us not long after you started to climb the stairs. Couldn’t find her after that.”

“How convenient,” Roland mutters without much concern. “Did you overhear any of our conversations?”

Dev nods.

“Only all of it. Even with those scars, I know you’re Roland Rexus,” he spits out. I’m reminded instantly that Dev hates Roland, though I’m unaware of the reasons behind the hatred. “The beauty in front of me is Cat. Love your tattoos. Wouldn’t mind discussing them with you when all of this is over. The gorgeous creature you’re both protecting is Rahda Plesti. Or—” He tilts his head in a curious manner. “Maybe she is your prisoner. Don’t know. However, that passionate make-out session I just witnessed puts a new spin on things. If you want to know what I think, I think she’s pretending.”

Roland snorts. “I seem to be at a loss for words to describe just how painfully boring and time consuming your speech was to me just now. Is there anything else you’d like to enlighten us with?”

“Only that I’m in love with you, Rahda. I can’t get you out of my mind.”

“Here we go,” Cat says sarcastically. I can almost imagine her eyes rolling as she says it. “Get in line, pal.” She looks over her shoulder at me. “I don’t trust this one. His eyes do not match his mouth. Can I kill him?”

“No,” I say.
 

“Yes,” Roland says at the same time.

“Dear goddess,” I sigh. “Cat, sheath the sword. Roland, check him for weapons. I have a feeling that Dev might be useful to us.”

“Yeah, about as useful as a spit-wad in hell,” Roland growls, but does as I ask.

“You’re the boss,” Cat states in a monotone voice.

“I take it you didn’t get my message, Rahda,” Dev says quickly, his tone different, less flirty.
 

What message?
I think.

Roland’s face suddenly turns dark.

I hear loud slapping noises as Roland checks him for weapons. He finds a communicator tablet very similar to mine and hands it to me. I place it in the pocket with mine. Then there’s an
oof!
just before Dev collapses into his captor’s arms.

“Did you just punch him in the stomach?” I ask, but I don’t get a reply from Roland. I shake my head. “Alright, help him up and let’s go.”
 

To the birthplace and burial ground of the Feeble Princess…

It’s my turn to lead, even though I have no idea of what I’m leading us into.

Twenty-Seven

H
EAT
. O
NWARD
WE
GO
. Sweat drenches me. The path leads more inward now versus upward, and thin lines of red-orange viscous liquid ooze slowly in between fissure cracks in the walls. It creates a decorative and elaborate dance as it pulses. I hardly need the torch now.

“What is it?” I ask, but I already suspect I know. Besides, Roland has run out of ways to insult and demean Dev, and I’m no longer interested in hearing about how our
unwanted
guest is nothing more than a spy.

I resist the urge to poke a fingertip in the gorgeous molten liquid. I wouldn’t get it back.

“The daughter of lava,” Roland replies softly.
 

He’s directly behind me. He could lift his hand and touch me, that’s how close he is. Cat and Dev are behind us, chatting in the Patroxi tongue. Based on the distance and their low voices, I catch every third or fourth word, but I can tell it isn’t friendly. Cat pushes him along. Guarding him. Though what he could do to harm any of us is beyond me. He hasn’t a weapon to his name and there are but two ways to go: forward or backward. Both probably lead to death. Not a promising thought, either way.

“Why not just regular lava?” I ask, wondering how something can be the
daughter
of lava.

“In the depth of our continent, a great ocean of lava churns. Spitting. Burning itself over and over. It is ever so angry. You see, lava detests being held captive. But once it releases itself on the surface, it hardens and becomes one with the solid earth.”

“A rock, you mean?”

“Yes,” he answers. “It can’t stand either state of being. It doesn’t want to idle away underground and it doesn’t want to become a solid object above ground that will continue to keep its sisters trapped beneath the surface. But here, at this point in the mountain, it can roam through cracks and caverns and grooves without becoming something else entirely. Thus, it is called the daughter of lava. It reminds me of you, actually.”

“Why?”

“Because you will never be happy without complete freedom. With the Grandfather, you were like an ocean of lava. Angry without knowing why. Knowing you craved something different, but not knowing what that meant. And now, away from him, you’re suffocating in society rules and from our demands on you.
You
are meant to do great things, Rahda, but it will cost you. Now that your soul knows
who
you are and
who
you are descended from, I can feel your heart pulling away. You want something in the middle. As the Sacred Soul, your heart and soul will never be in agreement. You want to be the daughter of yourself. A better version, at least,” he says with a sad grin.