Haunted by the King of Death Read online

  He was kind and gentle, as brave as Valador had been, but with it he was intelligent and strong, able to make tough decisions and a skilled tactician. She had fought beside him in battle once, and the First Realm could wish for no better male to lead them now.

  She nodded. “I will go with you, Frey.”

  He managed a smile and turned his back on her, sitting on the edge of the bed facing the wall and the door to the corridor.

  “Put some clothes on though. We do not wish to frighten the guards.” His rich baritone held a warm note, and she smiled for a moment at the sound of it and the promise of better days, but then what he had said sank in.

  Isla looked down at herself and realised she was only wearing a small red satin nightgown.

  She shot up in bed and quickly gathered the blue sheets over her. “Who undressed me?”

  Frey chuckled.

  Isla slapped him on his bare back, sending him jerking forwards, and he scowled over his shoulder at her. She pulled the sheets higher, covering more of herself even though he had already seen her in the ridiculous excuse for sleepwear.

  “It was not me. I swear it. I only removed your boots and your holster.” He turned away again. “I last checked on you a day ago and you were wearing your leathers then. You must have woken at some point and been uncomfortable.”

  She didn’t remember it. She looked around her white room and spotted her cerulean leather trousers and corset strewn across the floor, while her boots were set neatly near an armchair beside the fireplace and her holster with her two blades rested on the blue seat. Two of the three drawers in her white wooden dressing table to the right of the room were open, with clothes spilling out of them.

  Isla peered down at herself under the covers, at the red satin slip she hadn’t worn in a very long time.

  One Grave had given to her and she had meant to throw away, thought that she had but obviously she had failed in that task and had pretended to herself that it was gone.

  Grave.

  The mark on her back tingled and warmed. Did he know the reason she had hurt him?

  Or was he oblivious and had spent close to a century bound to her, hurt by her, without ever knowing what he had done to deserve it?

  Had it all been for nothing?

  All of his pain. All of hers.

  She didn’t want to think about it, couldn’t right now when her heart ached for Tarwyn and Melia and she was weak. She was afraid of what she might do. It would be too easy to fall into Grave’s arms and beg him to forgive her, and hope that he was unaware of why she had broken from him. It would be a foolish move. Even if he didn’t know, and he did forgive her, one day he would find out and then the hurt she would feel would be soul-destroying because she wouldn’t just love him, she would be in love with him again.

  “Turn away,” she said and Frey’s powerful bare shoulders shifted in a deep sigh.

  “As if I want to look at you naked. It is like looking at my sister.”

  That was rich. Frey had looked upon her very differently from the way a brother would look at a sister when she had first arrived. His interest had quickly waned though, his love of war more powerful than any emotion he could feel for a female who wasn’t his fated one.

  Isla slipped from the bed and gathered her clothes, and returned to the spot directly behind Frey where he couldn’t see her. She faced him as she dressed, pulling her blue worn leathers on under her slip and fastening them before she removed it. She quickly slipped her corset on over her head and yanked on the two laces dangling from the back of it, tugging them until the top tightened, hugging her torso. She tied the strings at the base of the corset and strapped on the holster so it fit snugly against her back.

  “There.” She fastened the final silver buckle over her stomach.

  Frey stood and came to face her, his blue eyes running down the length of her. “As formidable as ever.”

  She shook her head at his teasing and scowled at him even while silently thanking him for trying to act normal in some vain attempt to lessen the aches in their hearts. They couldn’t pretend nothing had happened. Neither of them were capable of such a thing.

  A hunger for vengeance burned in her heart like an eternal flame, and it shone in Frey’s eyes too, blazed in his soul.

  He wanted the demon to pay for taking Melia and Tarwyn from them.

  She wanted that too, with every drop of her phantom blood.

  He preened his blond hair back and fastened it at the nape of his neck before extending his hand to her.

  Isla looked at the long braided length of leather in it, gold and black twined together. She couldn’t wear a torc as the demon males who lost their mates did, but she could wear this smaller token of mourning for her sister and nephew. She took it from Frey, pulled her white hair up into a ponytail, and wrapped the leather thong around it and tied it tightly, allowing two long strands of it to fall down the back of her hair for all to see.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, put her boots on and fastened them, and then stood again and pulled down a deep breath to settle her nerves. She had to pay her respects, even when she hated the tomb and its reminder of death, a shadow that felt as if it was looming over her as the seconds ticked by.

  Frey opened the door and Isla followed him out of it.

  She kept her eyes on her feet as she walked, unable to look at the corridors around her or the grand rooms they passed through. Everything reminded her of Melia. Everything brought her fresh pain.

  Everything made the hunger for revenge burn hotter in her blood.

  By the time they reached the tomb deep in the bowels of the castle, that hunger pounded fiercely inside her, driving back the cold, filling her with fire.

  Frey entered the candlelit chamber before her. It was little more than a cave dug into the rock that the castle stood upon, but it was so much more than that at the same time.

  The sound of metal striking stone filled the chamber, a song of sorrow that had her eyes lifting from the smooth white flagstones to the statue of noble Valador and the demon males dressed in black tunics and trousers beside it, working tirelessly on another block of white marble.

  Already her sister’s face was emerging from the stone, her beauty captured perfectly by the skilled hands of the sculptors in a pose so like Melia. She gazed upon her demon love, and he looked down at her in a way Isla had never noticed before now. She had been to the tomb before, and at the time she had thought Melia had asked the demons to sculpt her fallen mate in a fashion that he would be looking at her when she visited, but now Isla realised Melia had asked them to sculpt him in a way that he would be looking at her statue when she joined him in eternity.

  Isla lowered her eyes and closed them, sending hot tears rushing down her cheeks.

  Frey placed his arm around her and she sank against him.

  Sank into him.

  He sharply turned towards her. “Leave us.”

  The sculptors hurried from the room, leaving her alone in the silence with Frey. She lowered her eyes to the floor between them and waited for him to say something, aware that he had seen her fade, her shoulders shimmering for a moment before she had become solid again.

  “I understand Melia’s words now,” he murmured and took a step towards her. “Seek the help you need, Isla… do it now.”

  “I tried.” She looked up at him and then away, her eyes falling on the block of marble. Her sister’s words echoed in her mind. “I tried and look where it got me. Nowhere. Grave will not help me and when I tried to fix this alone by finding a mage… Tarwyn… Melia—”

  She couldn’t bring herself to finish.

  Frey placed his hands on her shoulders and hunkered down in front of her, bringing his face level with hers. “Try the vampire again.”

  “It is hopeless. He will not help me, Frey.” She met his gaze and held it this time, needing him to see that Grave was a lost cause. He hated her too deeply and had made it clear he would sooner die than help her live.
/>   Frey’s handsome face darkened and his pale horns curled, flaring forwards as his pointed ears flared back. Fangs flashed between his lips as he growled.

  “Then find the mage… because you are the only family I have now and I will not lose you too.” His grip on her shoulders tightened. “I will send men. However many it takes.”

  Isla pressed a finger to his lips. “Thank you, but I will go alone. I will not drag anyone else into this. The demon prince is looking for me and I cannot stomach the thought that more of your people might die.”

  Frey closed his eyes and nodded, took her wrist gently in his hand and drew it away from his mouth.

  His eyes opened again, meeting hers, determination flashing in them. “I will help you in any way I can then. Whatever you need. Supplies. Coin. Even me. I am not my people.”

  “No. You are their king.”

  He looked off to his left and sighed, and she lifted the hand he held and pressed it to his cheek, hoping to comfort him and reassure him at the same time that staying here in the castle was the right thing to do and that she would be fine.

  She would do as Melia had asked. She would not fade. She would find a mage to make her solid once more, powerful again, and then she would hunt the demon who had taken everything from her and Frey and would bring vengeance down upon him.

  For both of them.

  “I appreciate your offer, brother dearest… and there is something I can use from you.”

  His gaze sought hers. “Name it, Sister.”

  “Teleport me somewhere.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Four days.

  It had been four days since he had experienced what he was now certain had been Isla’s pain. Four days since his walls had crumbled, his hatred of her not strong enough to withstand the force of the love that still lived in his heart for her, and he had been driven to find a portal and go to her.

  Four maddening days since his younger brother had destroyed all of his plans to save Isla mere seconds after he had formed them.

  Night had asked where he intended to go.

  Grave hadn’t been able to give him an answer.

  He didn’t know where Isla lived, where to begin looking for her. It had taken him wasted hours at Bastian’s mansion to decide to scout the demon castle in the Devil’s domain, and then he had wasted days reaching it only to discover it lay in ruin. The only sign of life in the area had been him and Snow.

  When he had suffered another attack, his hands fading as they descended the mountain on which the black fortress stood, Snow had taken command.

  Since then, his cousin had been more than insistent that they find a phantom mage to fix his problem before he weakened further, and Grave could hardly argue with him when he made a valid point. He needed to be strong if they were going to find the demon and stop him.

  But the longer he traversed the lands of Hell in search of a phantom mage, the deeper the ache within his heart grew, and now he could think of nothing other than Isla. She haunted his every waking and sleeping second, filling his mind with thoughts of her, and clouding his heart with emotions that he could no longer contain nor deny.

  Gods.

  His gloved fingers were on the pendant beneath his black combat shirt before he was even aware of what he was doing, tracing the pattern of the silver Celtic knot, and his thoughts turned to Isla again, going from light to dark as they ran the course they always did.

  Something had happened to her. Something terrible.

  His breaths came faster, shifting the strip of black cloth that covered the bottom half of his face, and his heart accelerated as panic sank its claws into him.

  He clutched the pendant and focused on the mark on his back, and it warmed and tingles spread along the lines of it, so he could see it easily in his mind. His heart settled as the connection to her opened, the familiar sensation comforting him for once.

  She was alive, out there somewhere. His bond to her told him that much. It gave him hope.

  Hope that he kept to himself, together with his need to see her again and discover what had happened to her.

  Snow’s steady gaze landed on him as they trekked across another featureless black valley, heading towards an imposing spire that rose from the centre of it to tower almost one hundred metres high. Grave kept his eyes on that castle, refusing to look at his cousin, afraid that if he did Snow would see the fear in his heart, and everything else he hid there.

  Saving himself wasn’t the real reason he had hunted down three phantom mages so far.

  If he had been mistaken and she was free of the demon, Isla would be looking for one too.

  He was trying to find her.

  Needed to find her.

  Gods, he needed to see her again, needed to reassure the darker part of himself that she was fine. He hadn’t felt any pain from her since that day, but it wasn’t enough to reassure him that she was well. He had to see it with his own eyes in order to make his wretched softer side believe it.

  He felt Snow’s gaze leave him and mentally breathed a sigh of relief.

  He wasn’t sure Snow would understand if he allowed him to see beyond the walls, but then he wasn’t sure his cousin wouldn’t understand either. Snow had been through countless ordeals, had suffered tremendously in his years, and seemed stronger for it. Grave still didn’t feel like putting himself out there, risking everything to share something with his cousin that was private.

  If Snow didn’t understand, if he said something wrong in response to discovering that Grave still harboured love for Isla, despite the things she had done to him and everything he had told Snow about hating her, then Grave wouldn’t be able to stop himself from attacking his cousin.

  His bloodlust was a deadly beast liable to rage if anyone said a word against Isla, more than ever now that he hadn’t fed in days and his dark thoughts of her being in danger kept it constantly close to the surface, on the verge of emerging and seizing control of him. He had given up trying to subdue it, because it was impossible when the warrior in him knew he would need it if he found her and she was in trouble.

  He would need it in order to save her.

  “Hopefully this one will be home.” Snow’s hushed voice broke the silence, muffled by the cloth over his face, drawing him back to the black world around them as they hunkered down behind an outcrop of rocks just a few hundred metres from the eastern side of the tower.

  Grave nodded as he shifted the angle of the blade hanging at his waist to make it more comfortable and grasped a boulder, peering over it to scout the high black wall that encircled the base of the tower. No sign of guards. Or a gate. He would have assumed it was on the western side he couldn’t see from this vantage point, one that was close to a forest of gnarled bare black trees, but there was a path worn into the dark earth that led to the wall on this side.

  Maybe there was a gate or something he couldn’t see from this distance, even with his heightened sight.

  Maybe someone had shored up the entrance and the castle was empty.

  Grave’s heart did a strange kick in his chest at that thought, a brief surge of adrenaline rushing into his blood, shaking his hope but not enough that he lost hold of it.

  This one had to be alive.

  He was growing weaker, running out of time. If the demon chose to attack his family now, he wouldn’t be strong enough to protect them.

  He wouldn’t be strong enough to protect her.

  He glared at the castle, willing a mage to live in it still. He was Grave’s last hope.

  The previous two mages they had tracked across Hell had been dead ends, literally, and it had left him with only this one to pursue. He scanned the dark grey sky, heart beating steadily against his chest despite the trickle of fear that began to run through his blood, a sensation he had been fighting from the moment they had neared the valley.

  Snow leaned against the boulder beside him and he glanced at his cousin. Blue eyes shifted to him, the only thing visible between the black face mask
and skull cap. Their clothing was a necessary precaution.

  Not because of the phantom mage.

  It was the fallen angels he was worried about.

  They were the reason he and Snow were now dressed head to toe in black, as much of them covered as possible so they could slip into the valley unnoticed. The last thing he wanted to do was alert a fallen angel to their presence. He was no match for them in his current condition, and he wasn’t sure even his cousin could take one down. Any passing fallen angel would view them as easy prey.

  An easy meal.

  The plan was to get into the castle, and back out, without being spotted.

  Although, he hadn’t seen any fallen in the vicinity since they had arrived. There had been one in the distance then, beyond the tower, lazily circling something on the western side of the valley. It had disappeared from view a moment later and he hadn’t seen it since. He didn’t like not knowing where it had gone. If he had seen it fly into another valley, or teleport, he would have felt more at ease, and more in control.

  Darkness bubbled just below the surface of his skin, a black hunger for violence that he struggled with as he scouted the tower, fighting to keep it under his control. His stomach rumbled, loud enough that Snow looked at him.

  He glared at his cousin, warning him not to say anything.

  They had agreed they would feed once they had followed this lead to its conclusion, and that was still the plan. It wasn’t as if there was anything to feed on in this godsforsaken valley anyway.

  A scent swept past him, carried on a warm breeze that rolled across the valley.

  One that made his gut clench and heart ache.

  Isla.

  He scoured the lands for her, gaze tracking fast over everything, half of him sure he was imagining her.

  His eyes darted back to the edge of the forest.

  She stood out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of black, her blue leathers and white hair making it easy for him to see her even though there was at least six hundred metres between them and very little light in the valley.