Inferno of Darkness (Order of the Blade) Page 4

  All he knew about purity and innocence was from watching it be destroyed by his father and the rest of the Order. And yet, here, this woman…it was like a soothing balm had been laid over his soul, easing the torment of over a hundred years.

  Her gaze went to his. “You have freedom here, in the earth realm. I can sense it about you. Your heart—” She laid her other hand on his chest, moving even closer to him. “—it beats differently than mine. I can feel its freedom. It’s like the purest magic, born of innocence and honor.” A sense of awe appeared on her face, and Dante felt his world begin to close in on him as he tumbled into her spell.

  Unbidden, his hand slid to the back of her neck. He needed to touch her. To kiss her. To claim her. To make her his.

  Her eyes widened, and she froze, going utterly still. “No,” she whispered. “This cannot be.”

  “Just like how you don’t exist in the earth realm?” He bent his head, his lips hovering a breath from hers. He had to kiss her. He had to know she was real. He had to know that something as pure and beautiful as Elisha actually existed…and that he could be a part of it. “Because you do exist. And this can be, because it’s happening right now.”

  “No!” A gust of wind suddenly slammed into his chest and thrust him backwards. He landed ten feet away, on his ass, a pawn in the grasp of her power.

  Damn. That was impressive. A woman who could defend herself against the poison of the Order? Perhaps she was the answer he sought, not the sword…but even as he thought it, there was a fresh surge of compulsion from the sword, still relentlessly calling to him.

  With a groan that he didn’t mean to let slip, he vaulted back to his feet, unsettled that he’d let his need for her dictate his actions. Had he really just considered seducing her when his last hope for saving innocents before he died lay hidden behind her, only a half-day’s run from the carnage that Louis had caused? Shit. He was weak, too weak to bear the mark of the leader of the Order.

  Cold, steely focus was required to discharge the duties of the Order, not a man so weak that his desperate need for a woman could interfere with his duty. He lowered his head, studying her more carefully. The power of a woman. Not just a woman. This woman. Never had he been tempted like this before. What the hell was she? A princess? What in the hell was going on? “Who is the Queen of Darkness? And what realm are you from, if you’re not from the earth realm?”

  Elisha was facing him, her hands dangling loosely by her sides, her gaze blazing. “You must leave,” she said urgently. “You must.”

  There was no chance of that. “Where is the sword from, Elisha?” He began to walk toward her again, fighting to keep from favoring his bad leg, but this time, it wasn’t about seduction. It was about his mission, his job, his calling. “How is it calling me?”

  “No.” Once again, she sent air at him, pushing him backwards, but this time he was ready.

  He simply braced himself and shoved forward, cutting through the invisible wall.

  Her face tightened with fear. “Halt!” she commanded, with the imperious force of the royalty she’d claimed to be.

  He stopped. “Tell me why.” She was soon going to be some man’s consort? Really? Shit. Why was he thinking about that when he was facing down an enemy? He schooled his thoughts away from seduction, desire, and temptation, and faced the princess. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  ***

  Dante was far more than she’d even imagined. His dark eyes were intense, staring at her as if he would not hesitate to pry every last bit of information out of her that he wanted. But his hands…she couldn’t stop thinking about what it had felt like to have his fingers in her hair. It had been so gentle, so incredibly enticing. He hadn’t hurt her, and he hadn’t even tried. The man was covered in blood. His clothes were tattered. Deep wounds were already healing in his flesh. His foot was mangled and blackened, contaminated with the terrible dark aura of the nether-realm. His short, dark hair made him look young, but his eyes carried many years of pain and hardship, and his well-muscled body was chiseled with the stress of a physical life.

  Although she was no longer touching him, she could still feel the prickle of whiskers beneath her palm. She would never forget the warmth of his skin, or the way his hand had pressed onto hers. She had never experienced anything like it. There had been so much humanity and gentleness in his touch. It had been so beautiful to experience physical contact that hadn’t been initiated for a dark purpose, but had occurred simply because it felt good. Was that how it was on earth? Or just with Dante?

  As he stared at her, waiting for her answers, a slow sinking feeling of dread formed in the pit of her belly. He would ruin her, if she gave him a chance. He would ruin everything, here and now, and when she returned.

  She had to make him understand and get him to leave. Now. Fast. Before he could shift the tide in the wrong direction. “My mother is the Queen of Darkness,” she began.

  “I know. You said that.” Dante looked past her, toward the sword, which was hidden at the bottom of a clear pool. “I’m going to check on the sword while we talk.” He strode right toward her, and she stepped aside as he passed, knowing that she had to give him the illusion of his own power. Dante would not yield if pushed. She had to make him understand and choose the right path. Force was only for the last, desperate moment. “Who is the Queen of Darkness?” he asked.

  “The queen’s darkness is a realm on the far side of the nether-realm,” she said, hurrying to catch up as he walked. His gait was uneven, and she suspected his foot was as painful as it appeared.

  He looked at her sharply. “The nether-realm is where demons are spawned. Calydons were created from a stream tainted by the nether-realm. It’s the underworld. There’s nothing past it.”

  “There is. It’s—” She hesitated, having no words to describe the horror of what it was. “It’s more than the nether-realm.”

  Dante paused, looking over at her. His eyes narrowed, and she saw a sudden alertness in them. “What do you mean, ‘more?’”

  For a moment, the need to explain burned inside her, a desire to show him what life was like for her, to show him the ugliness that lay fermenting inside her, but suddenly, she couldn’t bear to do it. She wanted him to keep looking at her as he first had, as if she were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, not the tainted ugliness she really was. No one had ever looked at her the way he just had, and she didn’t want to let that go. Not yet. “My mother is thousands of years old,” she said instead. “She wants more than the queen’s realm to rule. She wants the earth.”

  Dante was facing her now. “And?”

  “There’s a veil between the queen’s realm and the rest of existence. The magical filament was put in place thousands of years ago by the earth’s protectors. They could not destroy my mother, but they could contain her. She has spent the last thousand years having this sword crafted, the sword that has been calling you. It’s been forged in the shadows of the queen’s darkness, fed with the blood of the greatest beasts, and cursed with black magic so powerful that only two beings can harness it.”

  Dante’s eyebrows went up. “And why is it calling me?”

  “Because it was sent to this world to find a warrior strong enough to wield it.” She met his gaze. “If you touch it, it will own you. You’ll be compelled to take it into the mountain and sever the curtain that binds the queen’s darkness. Her world will spill into this one, and all hope will be lost.” Elisha took a step forward. “You cannot touch it, Dante. If you do, you’ll destroy all life.”

  His face was inscrutable as he studied her, and she had no idea if he believed her. The sword’s call was getting stronger. Was he strong enough to resist it? “Dante—”

  “I want to see it.” Then, before she could stop him, he turned away and sprinted toward the hidden pool, the one that would be visible only to those that the sword had chosen. She raced after him, her feet landing soundlessly on the rough ground as she ran.

  Dante reache
d the pool and went down on one knee, his dark eyes riveted on the surface of the pool. Elisha knelt beside him, following his intense stare. The sword lay at the bottom. It was a smoky black, undulating as if it were alive. The blade was long and curved, with a triple spike on the tip for piercing the veil. The handle was plain, not a jewel to be seen, yet it seemed to dance and sing with a beauty beyond words. Elisha glanced at Dante, unsure what image the sword would reveal to him. “Do you see it?”

  “It’s dark red,” he said quietly. “I can see the drops of blood swirling in it, and the glitter of jewels.” He passed his hand over the surface of the water. “It contains so much power. Enough to bring down armies with a single blow. Even rogue Calydons.”

  Elisha’s heart fell at his description. The sword was showing him everything that would tempt a man. Power. Destruction. Wealth. “It will destroy the earth,” she said again, her hand sliding to her hip where she’d hidden the dagger in the folds of her dress. After being so close to Dante and breathing in the deeply masculine scent that was his, she didn’t want to kill him and deliver him to a death worthy only of the beasts who so willingly carried out her mother’s commands. She wanted him to touch her again, to show her that kindness she’d glimpsed a moment ago. She wanted him to ignite in her those swirling desires that felt like wildfire unleashed upon her soul.

  Dante turned his head to look at her, and she saw a sheen of sweat across his forehead. Pain? Temptation? His eyes were blazing, and she knew that the sword was calling him fiercely, and that he was fighting with every bit of strength to resist its call. “What would you have me do instead?” he asked.

  Hope leapt through her. “Walk away.”

  He met her gaze. “And then what?”

  “Then stay away.” Was the man dense? Was it not obvious?

  “No.” He turned toward her, until they were only inches apart. “I mean, Elisha, what then? Will it haunt me night and day? Will it ever give up?” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Because I’m not a machine, Elisha, and I won’t be able to resist it forever. That thing is burning through my flesh right now. I can feel it in my hand. I know exactly how the handle will fit against my palm. I can hear the tones of its energy humming through my head. It’s a low, violent rumble that bleeds power. I can see the carnage spread out before it as I raise it above my head. I can see my enemies fall, crumbling beneath its power.”

  “It’s a lie,” she said urgently.

  “No, it’s not. The sword is that powerful, and we both know it.” He looked again at the pool. “Do you know who my enemies are, Elisha? They’re my own kind. Rogue Calydons who destroy innocents. Women. Children. Good men. No one is strong enough to stop them.” Regret and bitterness were heavy in his voice. “No one except me, and I’m dying.” He reached out a hand, and she tensed, her heart pounding as he flattened his palm over the surface of the water, not touching it, but so close. “But this sword could do it. It would bring down anyone I wanted. Do you see, Elisha? With this sword, I could bring peace all by myself.” His voice faded, and his expression became grim, almost as if he, too, could see the dangerous fate for any who wielded it. “It will corrupt anyone who touches it,” he whispered. “It’s like my father himself.”

  “It will bring death,” she hissed. “It’s a lie!”

  Dante dropped his hand suddenly and leapt backward, throwing himself a far distance from the pool. He landed on his back, skidding across the earth before he finally stopped. He sat up, draping his arms over his knees, but he did not rise. Sweat was streaming down his face, rivulets streaking the dried blood and dirt still on his body from the battle he’d been engaged in before he’d come. “It feels so fucking real to me,” he said, his eyes blazing. “It will give me the one thing I want.”

  She leapt to her feet. “It will give my mother what she wants.” Instinctively, she pushed air against him, building a wall between him and the pool.

  Dante laughed softly, brushing his hand through her protection. “You can’t stop me from taking it. That’s why the sword picked me. Because I’m stronger than you.”

  “I will stop you.” She pulled the dagger out of her dress and let him see it. “The Blade of Cormoranth,” she said.

  Dante’s gaze went sharply to the blade that she knew he’d heard of. All warriors had. It was legendary. It would kill whatever the person wielding it wanted to destroy. There was no defense against it. None at all.

  Dante studied the blade, and he dragged his gaze to her as he stood up, his long, muscular body unfolding so gracefully from his seated pose. “And what if you kill me, Elisha? Won’t the sword call another instead?”

  “I’ll kill him, too.”

  “And another? And another? And another?” He took a step toward her, and Elisha stiffened. “I know the legend of that blade. The poison in it will eat away at the mind of the person wielding it, until the very person who used it to destroy becomes its worst victim. It will destroy you, and then the sword will be free to claim its new owner, won’t it?”

  “I don’t care.” She tightened her grip on the handle of the dagger. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “Instead of killing me,” he said, easing to a stop in front of her, “you can believe that I’m as good as the sword thinks I am, and realize that I, and I alone, might have the power to control the sword, instead of it controlling me. I might own it and bend it to my will.” Even as he said it, more sweat beaded on his brow, and he swayed, as if he were going to fall.

  Instinctively, she reached for him, her hand closing on his arm. He went rigid under her touch, his hooded gaze intense on hers. “Do you know how weak we all are? No warrior that I know can resist the corruption that absolute power can give. No one.” He looked past her at the sword again. “I cannot allow anyone else to be burdened with it. It is my duty. That is why it called me.” He rubbed his finger over a mark on his wrist, his face grim. “It fucking has to be me, doesn’t it? I’m the one who has to wield it and be stronger than it. I can’t walk away and let someone else deal with it instead.”

  For a split second, hope leapt through her at his words, at his conviction that he could defeat the sword. But at the same time, she knew it was a false hope. “No one is stronger than that sword.”

  “No?” Dante looked at her. “My name is Dante Sinclair,” he said again, his voice low and dangerous. “My father raped my mother to create me, and then kidnapped me when I was five. When she came after me, he slayed her in front of me, claiming that the right of the Order to create more of their kind trumped all else. I watched all the other Order members do the same. They raped. They kidnapped. They beat their sons to make them tough. And then each of them met their sheva and went rogue, desecrating the very earth that they were sworn to protect. I’ve seen darkness. I’ve lived hell. And I will not, will not, allow that kind of darkness to spawn in my world, and I will not allow a sword to turn me into that kind of monster.”

  His words were so raw with emotion and pain that her heart seemed to freeze in her chest, and tears sprang to her eyes. Dear God, who spoke like that against terrible things? Who lived a life in protest of it? “I don’t understand,” she whispered, stunned by his words. By all he had suffered. By his hatred of the things she lived with every day of her life. She didn’t understand how he could mean what he said, how he could truly live the passion that he’d spoken.

  “You don’t understand?” Dante limped forward, sliding his hand behind her neck, as if to force her to understand. “I’m all that’s left,” he said. “I’m it. I’m the last hope that the innocents of this earth have to protect themselves from those who used to be my friends, my brothers, and my teammates. I am all that stands between them and their demise. I won’t abandon them, no matter what. A sword bewitched by a queen of darkness means nothing to me. It cannot ensnare me, not at the cost of the innocents I swore to protect. Nothing, nothing, can deflect me from my purpose. I will protect them!” He suddenly strode past her, plunged his fist into
the water, and grabbed the sword.

  Chapter Four

  Elisha screamed in protest as Dante touched the sword, but it was too late. An explosion of colors filled the clearing, sending sparks of blue, turquoise, orange, red, yellow, and green cascading through the air, shooting into the night sky, falling in colorful remnants to the parched earth. The air filled with the screams and whistles of a thousand armies, saluting their greatest master.

  Dante raised the sword above his head, pointing it to the heavens as smoke poured from the end of the blade, great billows of darkness so intense that the clearing was instantly consumed. It became as dark as the blackest night, until the only light that remained were the fading sparks fighting for a last breath. He raised his face, and smoke poured down his arms, coating his flesh with black soot, owning his body, his soul, and his mind.

  For a moment, Elisha stood transfixed, stunned by the sheer power flooding the area, and by the way Dante’s already muscular body seemed to swell with vile, tainted strength. Dismay filled her chest as a bellow erupted from the depths of his soul, the battle cry of victory, of a man who had secured his greatest desire. For a moment there, during his speech, she’d felt the intensity of his conviction, and she’d believed that maybe, just maybe, he was the man who could end all this…

  Yet there he was, a statue being consumed by the sword that was so much more powerful for an earth-bound male—

  “Wind! Give me wind!” Dante’s voice ripped through her mind, a command so fierce that it shattered the hold that the moment had on her.

  She responded instantly, throwing out her hands and blasting him with such force that his skin rippled and the trees behind him flattened. With a howl of outrage, Dante spun around and swung the sword, hurling it at the very trees she’d leveled. It flew from his hands, streaking through the air like an enchanted stream of black magic, and slamming hilt-deep into the roots of the nearest tree. The tip was jammed so deeply in the trunk, it was as if it were trying to sever the tree’s soul from its physical form.