Arianna Rose: The Gathering (Part 3) (17 page)

A smile tugged at the corners of Desmond’s mouth as he crunched along the frozen path.  He knew that each step he took was a step closer to Arianna.  He inhaled sharply,
breathing warmth from his shield, and was about to exhale when the air inside him froze.  He had not dropped his defense, yet his lungs blistered with cold that seized them.  Every cell in his body screamed at once, warning racing through his core, spreading fiercely and singeing everything in its wake like wildfire. 

Something was wrong, very wrong. 

He could not pinpoint what was happening, just that a force other than his own was at work, a dark, dangerous force.  He could feel it, feel the vile fingers of pure evil reaching out. Desmond stopped walking and explored with each of his senses, but feared his powers had been taxed too heavily by travel and maintaining his shield.  He pushed his waning energy forward, searching, as he scanned the hostile plains before him.  Though he saw nothing, not a soul walking the white abyss, he knew he was no longer alone.  Evil stalked him; he could feel a slithering inside of him, slick and sinewy like a mighty serpent sliding stealthily before it struck.  And with it, dread slunk down the length of his spine. 

He spun to look behind him, felt his shield waver
, and saw no one.  But when he turned to face forward again, shock knocked the wind from him.

Thanatos loomed before him, his hulking form unmistakable. 

“Thanatos,” Desmond whispered and the beast advanced a step, the muscles in his thick legs twitching anxiously.

His mind began working overtime, questions launching headlong to
the forefront of his brain.  Why was Thanatos there with him?  Had his father sent the fiend to travel with him, or had his father dispatched his monstrous henchman to bring him back to the compound?  He did not know the answers to either.  And try as he may to answer them for himself, none of it made sense.  Thanatos was used for one thing, and one thing only.  He was a killer.

The fact that he was a killer raised a far more frightening question, one that made Desmond’s hand instinctive
ly finger the hilt of his blade.  Did his father want him dead because he’d learned of his love for Arianna?

“What are you doing here?”
he asked Thanatos, though he knew Thanatos could not speak.

The beast rolled his four hulking shoulders forward and co
cked his head from one side to the other, eliciting a sickening snapping sound from his neck. The cracking sound echoed through the tundra and chilled Desmond’s blood. 

Thanatos’
actions were meant to intimidate him, and they were working.  Desmond slid his dagger from its sheath and readied himself for a battle he would not win if the beast were to grab hold of him. 

“Be on your way.  I will not return to my father’s
home,” Desmond said with far more confidence than he felt.  “Go!”

Thanatos’
eyes, barely visible from the shadow created by his protruding forehead, narrowed briefly, murderously.  Desmond felt his muscles contract and gather, readying.  He knew all too well what the beast was capable of, had seen him tear adversaries, all supernatural beings with impressive powers, limb from limb.  He’d also seen him devour warlocks without killing them first.  Those images, all etched vividly in his memory, flashed before him and he realized he held his breath.  He locked eyes with Thanatos, felt the lethal weight his topaz stare clawing at his skin.  Yet, Desmond refused to back down.  He refused to look away.

“Go,” he ordered
Thanatos again.

Thanatos huffed several times
and saliva dripped from lips so purple they looked black before his eyes widened and resumed their normal appearance.  The nostrils of his upturned snout flared and shockingly, he broke eye contact.  Desmond wondered what the hell was happening, a sentiment that was only compounded when Thanatos turned from him and walked toward an unseen tunnel opening.

As he watched the beast lumber away with shocking coordination despite his impressive size, he felt the wild pounding of his pulse begin to subside. 
Relief flooded his system and swept some of the indescribable tension he’d felt from it.  For a moment, he’d feared the beast would attack him, an attack he was certain he would not have survived without being able to teleport.  But Thanatos had not attacked him, and Desmond had made his intent clear.  He would not leave.  He would go to Arianna and challenge the Tome of Ares.  Thanatos returning without him would be proof enough that he was no longer his father’s pawn.

Making a stand against both Thanatos and his father had been draining.  His head pounded and when finally he
exhaled, he felt a large part of him relax.  He strengthened his shield, the need for warmth more urgent as the sudden rush of adrenaline combined with the demand for his senses to be at their sharpest had weakened it. 

With his muscles relaxing and his body warming, he was able to return his thoughts to Arianna and how he would explain his father’s role in the prophecy of her existence.  He rubbed his temples
and closed his eyes for a split second before continuing on his journey.  But the thunderous sound of heavy footfalls caused him to open them and snap his head in the direction of the sound.

His eyes widened
briefly in shock and horror.  But he did not have time to react.  Nearly seven feet of monstrous flesh slammed into him and dropped him to the frozen ground below.  His shield collapsed completely and every part of his body smarted from the sting of cold and the deadly grip of four massive arms squeezing him so tightly, he felt his eyes begin to bulge.  Thanatos had him in his clutches.

Desmond twisted
desperately and thrust his arms forward with all his might, and managed to temporarily break the beast’s grip.  He immediately unsheathed his blades and sprung to his feet.  Thanatos rose, too, and a low rumble sounded from his chest.  Desmond did not waste time trying to figure out what the growl meant.  He knew he did not have a moment to spare.  He began attacking, swinging and lunging, an ancient dagger in each hand, praying to the gods above that he would survive this moment so that he may return to Arianna.  He slashed at the beast’s body, causing gashes in his flesh deep enough to ooze a putrid, green liquid.  Thanatos howled out, rearing his head and arching his back several times, but did not retreat.  He simply kept coming, and seemed to gain strength with every primal howl that escaped him, for in spite of his weeping wounds, he sidestepped Desmond’s bolder attempts with speed and dexterity befitting a small, lithe creature, not one of his gargantuan size. 

Desmond
struggled with every swing of his weapons.  His breathing was labored, the frigid air burning his lungs.  His arms began to grow heavy as cold and exhaustion conspired against him.  Blasts of icy air washed over his exposed skin, gnawing and scraping at his strength, at his defenses. 

Thanatos continually dove and grasped at him, trying to place Desmond within reach of his vice-like grip.  Desmond made every effort to keep away. 
He knew he needed to keep moving, keep himself out of the beast’s reach.  Each time the beast grabbed, he swung his daggers and sliced at Thanatos’ thick arms. 

But his efforts did little to slow the beast
, and his strength was waning.  Without his powers, his reserves were low and his ability to protect himself against the mythical beast was weakened.  Thanatos pursued him indefatigably, raking at the air with his claws. 

His
clawed hand thundered against Desmond’s blades, swatting and batting at them so hard, they nearly fell from Desmond’s hands.  And each time one of his talons struck, Desmond was pitched backward.  He needed to stay on his feet.  He needed to stay clear of Thanatos’ hold.  But the task was growing more and more difficult with each second that passed.  Desmond’s body was wearying fast.  His vision began to waver, and his arms felt leaden.  Thanatos knew he was tiring and vulnerable.

Desmond staggered, stumbling clumsily as he tried to dodge Thanatos.  H
e was no longer able to feel his feet and his fingertips had grown numb.  He swore the beast smirked as he ran his tongue over his pointed teeth just before he charged.  He tried to evade colliding with him and faked moving to the left before he dove right.  Only his actions were a fraction of a step too slow, and one of the beast’s shoulders slammed against Desmond’s side.  The wind was knocked from him and his lungs were bled of air.  He crashed to the ice-covered ground, landing with a solid thump.  He tried to stand, tried to scramble to his feet, but his legs refused to cooperate.  Leaden and heavy, they would not move as quickly as his brain commanded them to.  He looked up in time to see Thanatos’ body eclipsing the arctic landscape before descending upon him. 

Thanatos affixed his massive
limbs around Desmond, grappling him close, with arms that felt like tentacles made of steel, and began squeezing. 

He
wriggled and squirmed trying to free himself.  But the harder he tried, the harder Thanatos gripped him, pinning his hands to his sides.  And without his hands, he was unable to invoke his powers. 

Blood flow to Desmond’s hands halted.  He felt his blades begin to slip from them and fall.

Darkness teased the edges of his vision as Thanatos crushed his body.  Desmond winced as his mind spiraled, plunging headlong, deeper and deeper into a blackened abyss from which there was no escape.  Every part of him ached, yet dark, velvety oblivion beckoned him, tempting him with welcoming arms and numbness. 

Arianna, like an intangible apparition drifted before him, a brief beacon in the swirling ocean of black.  He wanted to reach for her, to touch her one last time before the darkness claimed him.

He struggled, stretching and reaching with every part of him, to feel her silky skin, to make contact, but the tide of darkness was too great, too inviting to resist any longer.  The pain was unbearable.  The darkness was its end.  He felt himself slipping away, embracing it; falling to it. 

Fleeting t
houghts ebbed then surged with intense clarity, flashing like a strobe light against the gloom.  His father, Agnon, rushed to his mind and with it brought realization.  And the realization caused a swell of pain more agonizing than the hold the beast had on him.  His father had not sent Thanatos to travel with him, and he did not send him to bring Desmond back to his compound.  He’d sent the beast to kill his only son.

“You were sent to kill me,” he gasped and choked
as he offered a final fight against the black current.  “My own father,” Desmond struggled and his eyes fluttered long enough to see closely spaced eyes the shade and severity of topaz glaring out from beyond a prominent forehead. Recognition flashed in their murderous glare, and Desmond felt his life slipping from him.

The beast snarled once and his lips twisted into a cruel smirk.  He swept his large
, black tongue over his lips and the two teeth that jutted from his jaw.  As he did so, Thanatos’ grip on Desmond lessened just long enough for him to lower his open mouth. 

Rows of sharp teeth veiled by milky breaths, crystallized by the cold, glistened with saliva as they inched toward Desmond’s throat.

“Arianna,” Desmond mumbled, but felt his lungs crush under the insurmountable weight of Thanatos’ chest as it leaned against him readying to feast.  He knew that if he did not do something soon, if he did not fight with every last drop of his fast fading life force, he would not live to see Arianna ever again.

Chapter 12

Arianna bolted upright, startled from a nightmare.  Sweat beaded her brow and dampened her hair
, and her face was wet as if she’d been crying.

The night before had been so horrific, she doubted anything could top it, yet her dream had, and it left her with a feeling of dread so potent, her chest actually ached.  She shivered
and drew her knees to her chest and realized she’d fallen asleep in the clothes she’d worn to the party the night before.  Dirt and dried leaves were littered in her bed, marring the pristine white of her comforter and sheets.  She shook her head and nearly laughed at the notion of concerning herself with something as trivial as dirty bedding, not after everything she’d been through. 

I
n recent weeks, she’d been exposed to more violence and bloodshed than she felt capable of coping with.  Last night had been no exception during both her waking and sleeping hours. 

She’d expected to toss and turn rather than sleep, tormented by images of Sarah and the others moving like puppets for the twisted entertainment of Scott and his friends.  But she had not.  After she’d
taken a cab from Jettison to her house, she’d collapsed into her bed and fallen asleep immediately.  Only instead of being plagued by images of a branch-wielding Sarah, another more nefarious boogeyman had appeared.

Hours earlier, she would have though it impossible to conjure something in her sleeping brain more despicable than what she’d seen at the party, but she had.  And while the details of her dream were beginning to fade, the feelings they’d brought forth remained razor-sharp in their clarity.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back as images swirled disjointedly through her mind.  As she did, the sensation of being crushed began to overwhelm her. 

Weight, overpowering and devastating, settled deep in her core, crushing and slaying everything in its wake.  She could not breathe.  Her lungs felt as though they refused to fill and remained frozen, like blocks of ice so cold their chill burned.  Her hands instinctively went to her throat and she tried to speak, but could not.  Her voice, her words, had been immobilized, suspended deep within a yawning pit of frost.  A sound rumbled.  Deep and throaty, it echoed like a vicious snarl, but was muddled and slightly distorted, as if she were hearing them from the bottom of an endless sea.