The Darkest Destiny, page 3
part #32 of 1001 Dark Nights Series
He had? Oh, yes. “You asked why Brochan is so full of awe for me. A question with an obvious answer. But go ahead and tell me your theories. I’ll let you know if you’re right or not.”
Crimson’s eyes turned to slits. “Brochan is a male with a single purpose. The salvation of his brother. Nothing and no one can stop him from pursuing his goal—except you. Why?”
“He loves and adores me. Why else?” Viola had done her due diligence and asked around. Rumors suggested her monstrous stalker had been a highly decorated Sent One, with more demon kills than any other. “If he blamed me, he would have attempted to kill me at least once.”
“Brochan will never desire his brother’s killer,” Crimson said. “He despises you with the whole of his being. Try again.”
Despised her? Viola winced, so sorry for this oblivious creature. “Wow. This is awkward. One of us is dead wrong, and it’s clear to everyone in the room it’s you. How embarrassed you must be.”
Crimson came up out of his chair and slapped her. Pain exploded through her cheek, the blow packing enough power to whip her head to the side. As she straightened, blood leaked from the corner of her mouth.
Calm. Steady. She breathed deeply, her heartbeat harmonizing with the click-clack of Gangrene’s claws as he paced at a faster clip. When Viola’s temper got the better of her, she shifted into a horrifying combination of Narcissism and…something else. Her other half.
She cringed. The most wretched abomination in all the lands…a common feline shifter.
Oh, how she burned with humiliation at the thought! Why had her mother cheated with a common alley cat? Why couldn’t that fact remain hidden from Viola?
“Do I have your attention?” Crimson asked, getting more comfortable in his seat. “You requested my theory. Well, here it is. When Brochan isn’t chasing you, he’s questioning others about you and a key to Nevaeh. I suspect you own one, and Brochan intends to steal it. So. What do you think? Is my theory correct?”
“Are you referring to the rumor started by me—I mean, someone other than me—claiming my body is a key to Nevaeh? Because it is.”
“Give me the key, goddess.” Crimson stated the words with enough fire to burn down an entire planet.
“Since you asked politely…no, thanks.”
He bared his fangs at her. “Give me. The key. Or you will suffer.”
“Oh, good gracious,” she said, simpering at him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were serious until just now. Sure, I’ll give you the key. I hid it in one of my fingers. Free the cuffs, and I’ll show you.”
He swung at her, his palm meeting her cheek for a second time. Her head whipped to the side with more force, her body jerking, pulling the shackles tight. The sharp sting set off a high-pitched ringing in her ears.
When she settled, she smiled at him. In a sing-song voice, she said, “You’re going to die screaming.”
“Enough!” Gangrene strode over and punched her with a balled fist. “Give us the key!”
This time, her brain butted up against her skull, searing agony radiating across her jaw. Dizziness swept in, and nausea surged as blood soaked her tongue. Did she back down? Not even a little. She spit at Gangrene, delighting as scarlet rained over his features.
He geared to strike her again, only to pause when electricity charged the air. A strange, wild wind blew in, snuffing out a torch with a soft pfft. Viola sat up straighter. Brochan?
First, excitement swept over her. Can’t stay away. Wants me too intently. All too soon, trepidation crept down her spine. What if she had maybe, possibly, perhaps…misread his feelings for her and the Fallen were right? What if Brochan despised her?
Not everyone was smart enough to realize her amazingness. If Brochan did hate her, he might attack the moment he learned the truth about that nonexistent key. A ludicrous idea, yes, but sometimes she must entertain even the most farfetched notions to discover a truth.
As Viola worked stealthily to unfasten the metal binding her wrists—yes! success!—she maintained a composed façade on the outside. “If Brochan plans to steal my key, as you suggest, he’ll do everything in his power to rescue me, yes? Even slaughter his kinsmen. Do you think he’s here now?”
Crimson ran a forked tongue over an incisor. A revealing tell. He feared Brochan greatly. “Go up. Ensure we remain alone,” he told Gangrene, who flashed seconds later, vanishing from view. Scowling at her, Crimson grated, “Want to keep your pretty face? Reveal where you’ve hidden the key.”
“Pretty face? I knew you desired me. Lust is practically seeping out of your pores.”
Growling now, he unsheathed a serrated blade. “I’ll start with your tongue. It’s coming out, one way or another.”
A strange noise quieted him—a heavy thud and roll. In unison, Viola and Crimson glanced to the side, watching as Gangrene’s head trundled into the cell—without his body.
Brochan was here.
She jolted, the urge to free her ankles and flash to the nearest safe house too strong to disregard. For Fluffy, she found the courage to resist. A good scheme always cost a bit of sanity. She’d put a plan into motion, and she would see it through.
Crimson leaped, flaring his wings and bracing to attack. Too late. Brochan materialized a few feet away, a seven-foot tower of pure strength, his claws long, sharp and already arching through the air. Her captor’s head flew to the ground, joining Gangrene’s. Blood spurted as the rest of him toppled.
Mouth drying, Viola peered up at the male who’d tracked her for so long. Such power. Sometimes, he struck her as monstrous. Other times, magnificent. Today, he was somehow both at once, and she kind of, sort of...liked it. Black horns had grown from his skull, curling backward with sharp tips pointing down. His forehead seemed more prominent than before. His cheeks and chin, too. Broad shoulders led to well-defined pecs and row after row of strength. Blue skin now possessed swirling designs that ran the length of his arms and over his hands. Claws grew from his fingertips and toes. And how cute was that?
She frowned. He had no right to showcase such smoldering sex appeal at a time like this. She had too much work to do, and distractions wouldn’t be tolerated.
Viola exhaled with determination. Must play this cool. “Um, Brochan? Hi. It’s me, the glorious object of your greatest obsession.”
Looking as if he’d just returned from a century-long bender of steroids, testosterone and undiluted evil, he shifted his blazing silver gaze to her and raised an arm, pointing.
“I’m Forsaken,” she said before he had a chance to speak. “Yes, I know. Be a dear and release me?” She batted her lashes, doing her best to appear distressed. “I’m so vulnerable…in such terrible danger, and I’m willing to bargain for my safety. I’ll trade anything. Surely, I have something you want? Your friends mentioned a key. I have so many. What do I care about parting with one?”
He remained in place, unmoving, not seeming to breathe. Deciding whether to kill her now or offer aid as he’d done in the past?
Either way, he died today. He was a danger to Fluffy—and to Viola.
“If you wish to aid me without receiving compensation, that’s fine, too,” she continued, playing her role to perfection. Meanwhile, she slid the metal bracelet from her wrist and gripped one end. She wouldn’t feel bad about Brochan’s demise. Not even a little. “Although, my happiness is probably the best compensation in town.”
He stared at her intently, as if determined to peer into her soul.
“Why have you aided me in the past, anyway?” she asked. Why not take advantage of this prime opportunity? “What do you plan to do with me?”
Minutes passed. He didn’t move a muscle. Finally, he spoke. “You’ll know what I decide to do with you as soon as I do.”
The most words he’d ever uttered to her. And in such a guttural voice. Wow! The tones and nuances washed over her, drawing white-hot goose bumps to the surface of her skin. Then he stomped over…
My plan is working? Of course, my plan is working. I’m brilliant!
The beginnings of her grin peeked out when Brochan leaned down to undo her manacles. Without hesitation, she swung her arm. Target? His throat. With her movement, the bracelet unfolded section by section, locking into a long, thin sword. Whoosh.
Like Gangrene and Crimson before him, Brochan lost his head. Shock etched into every feature. His body crashed to the floor.
“Sorry, but I went ahead and decided what you’ll do to and with me,” she told his bleeding corpse as she liberated her ankles. “You’ll be doing nothing. Enjoy.”
Unfettered at last, she stood. Swiping her hands together in a job well done, she stepped over each Fallen One and strolled away without looking back. Now, to finally see to her darling.
Chapter Two
Brochan opened his eyes amid a chorus of cursing, courtesy of the other two Forsaken who’d lost their heads this day. Reality crystalized. Killed again. By her hand. This was his fourth death, each one caused by the goddess in some way. Not that she knew it. This was the first time she’d overseen the deed personally, using a breathy plea and a razor-sharp blade he hadn’t seen coming.
Even as he lamented her very existence, he admired her creativity and cunning. Her beauty and charm. But then, his reactions to her had always swung from one extreme to another. From longing to resentment, disdain to desire, mercilessness to tenderness.
Hate her.
Crave her.
No doubt she believed she had slain Brochan for good. Soon, however, she would learn better. Fallen Ones like Brochan, Midian, and Joseph—those known as the Forsaken—were deathless. No injury, not even a beheading, kept them down for long.
After a demise, any demise, their minds flicked off for a short period, and their bodies transformed in some way. The first time, Brochan’s bronze skin had turned blue. The second, his navy eyes had lightened to silver. Then the feathers had fallen out of his wings. Horns had grown. What horrifying change awaited him today?
He scanned the scene of his newest resurrection. His head had yet to rejoin with his body. Same for Midian and Joseph. There was no sign of Viola, though her sweet rose scent lingered inside his nostrils.
Midian—a Forsaken with red skin and too much rage—snarled, “The goddess arranged your brother’s expiration date, and you opt to aid her over us, your comrades? Fool! We merely seek a key to Nevaeh. One we will share with you.”
“The goddess is mine,” Brochan snarled back. “Her pain and end are mine to mete. Only mine.” At some point, Brochan would strike at her. Until then, he must do everything necessary to ensure his hatred won the battle against his desires. “No one else is to touch her.”
He’d never hungered for anyone the way he still hungered for Viola. Had never yearned for anything this intensely.
How did he make it stop?
“You don’t seek the key,” Midian gasped. “You want her, just as she boasted.”
Declare his weakness for the goddess to another? Never! “I seek my vengeance, and I expect—demand—a clear path.”
Once, he and Midian had served together in the Sent One army. They’d fought side by side, battle after battle. The moment the male dared to bruise Viola, he had ended whatever remained of their friendship.
Suddenly, Joseph’s head went skidding across the cell, past the metal bars and down the hall as if yanked by an invisible string, mystically drawn to the headless body Brochan had left in a corridor above.
Midian’s body vibrated soon after, his head sliding over, closing in to begin the process of reattachment. Within seconds, the same thing happened to Brochan, searing pain ebbing and flowing.
He gritted his teeth. Deserved. He’d come for the goddess, not because he hoped to destroy her, as he should, but because he continued to lust after her.
Shame inundated him. Today, Brochan existed only to save his brother. Once he secured the lad in Nevaeh where time ceased to exist, McCadden would live forever without his wings or immortality. Then, oh then, Brochan would turn his attention to retribution at long last. There were so many ways to punish a goddess…
First things first. How did he obtain her key to Nevaeh? As soon as she’d announced to a crowd of males that she owned one, Brochan had changed course. Key first, vengeance second.
No matter how hard or often Brochan and another like-minded Forsaken named Farrow attacked the invisible veil that separated the timeless realm from every other, they failed to breach it.
“We will get that key,” Midian vowed, panting through his pain.
Threat! Brochan’s deepest instincts sharpened. Instincts he only managed to bury in spurts. Protect the goddess at all costs. Once an aggravation to be endured. Now a complicated but necessary endeavor.
All Forsaken combatted the same obsessive need to reenter Nevaeh. Himself included. Though his brother’s reentry mattered far more to him than his own. Now these males would stop at nothing to obtain Viola.
“Get in our way,” Midian snapped, “and we’ll rally the others. We’ll kill your brother outright and torture the goddess before she, too, greets death.”
Brochan laughed, the sound as crazed as he sometimes—always—felt. “Go ahead. Strike at my brother and the goddess en masse.” Three of the most powerful Sent Ones in existence guarded McCadden; Brochan made sure of it. As for Viola, the warriors must get through him to reach her. No one got through him. “I’ll turn my sights to you. Nothing pleases me more than the misery of my foes. You know this better than most.”
Malice pulsed from the other male. “Will I receive the same misery as the goddess? Tell me, mighty Broken. What horrors have you visited upon her, hmm?”
Brochan snared a curse, soon losing track of everything but his agony. Bones, muscles and arteries wove back together. Organs revived, and his lungs refilled. By the time he regained control of his limbs, no hint of his civility remained.
Inhalations coming shallow and fast, he jolted into an upright position—just in time to catch a swinging fist. Midian had gained control a split second before him. Maintaining an unyielding hold, Brochan came to his feet with a flap of his wings. Rather than attack, he hissed and shoved the other Forsaken.
Midian bumped into Joseph, who had just flashed into the cell. He snapped, “We will get the key from the goddess. One way or another.”
The two vanished, and Brochan barely stifled the urge to find the goddess. To punish her…to feast his gaze upon her again. To taste her lips at long last.
Gritting his teeth, he planted his feet and rolled his newly attached head from shoulder to shoulder. Bones popped, and mended flesh stretched. He stretched his wings too, blinking when he noticed ten ivory hooks protruding from the joints. Those hooks hadn’t been there before his run-in with Viola.
Well, well. This particular change earned his whole-hearted approval.
From experience, he knew three days had passed since his death. And yet, Viola’s sweet perfume hadn’t faded in the slightest, roses eclipsing the putrid stench of past tortures. He breathed deeply, because he must. The drugging fragrance fogged his head, kindling little fires in his blood, somehow calming and inciting him to violence all at once.
Where was she now?
Brochan had paid good money for the mystical tattoo etched into his forearm. A blood link forbidden to Sent Ones. The connection kept him apprised of Viola’s emotional state and location. As she relocated, the map changed, allowing him to flash straight to her.
She had no idea he tracked her this way or that he remained aware of her emotions. No one did. It was his deepest shame. Oh, how far he had fallen. How much farther would he fall?
He studied the lines and dots staining his flesh. Ah. Currently, his goddess inhabited the mortal realm. Specifically, a place called Oklahoma. She’d visited the area before. A land where wolf packs easily blended with society.
What should Brochan do with her now that other Forsaken suspected she owned a key to Nevaeh?
He must craft a plan before their next interaction. He should also visit his brother’s keepers.
Hands fisted, he flashed to the Downfall, where McCadden worked. The immortal nightclub was housed in a building with four floors, the club itself on the bottom, with offices and living quarters up above. Located in the third level of the skies, it was easily accessible by anyone with wings or an ability to flash or teleport.
Two burly bouncers—both Sent Ones—stood guard at the red double doors in front.
“I will speak with Thane, Bjorn or Xerxes.” Brochan’s gravelly voice turned the command into a threat.
The pair knew him by sight and no longer reacted to his less-than-stellar appearance. Though they said nothing aloud and remained in place, Xerxes arrived in the doorway soon after. All Sent Ones wielded the ability to communicate telepathically. A fellowship Brochan had lost when he fell, his connection to his fellow warriors severed. Another reason to despise Viola.
The white-haired, scarred Xerxes stood as tall as Brochan and just as strong. Eyes the color of radioactive blood gleamed with a surprising amount of concern. He wore a white robe, golden wings arching over broad shoulders. Those wings revealed his rank: an Elite 7. The fiercest and most unrelenting of soldiers.
Despite Brochan’s fall from grace, he considered Xerxes an ally. “What’s happened?”
“There are Forsaken determined to capture McCadden and use him against me. Be ready.”
“Always.” Xerxes waved him inside. Trimmed nails tipped his fingers rather than repulsive claws. One of a thousand differences between them. “Come in and speak with your brother. He’s worried about you.”
“I will come inside. I will not speak with McCadden.” Until Brochan found a way into Nevaeh or handled Viola once and for all, he had nothing of value to offer the boy—man—he’d raised.
“Tell me why,” Xerxes insisted.
“No.” Brochan wasted no more time, flashing to the attic apartment he kept at the Downfall. The door remained closed and locked, no one able to witness his entrances or exits. He showered and changed into clean leathers but left his feet bare. As usual. Sharp demon claws tipped his toes, as well. The sight made his jaw clench.
