Legacy of the Demon (15 page)

Thorns burst from Xhan's hilt, writhing as they sought to entrap Mzatal's fingers. Sweat broke on his brow, and I felt the depth of his battle of wills with the knife. Mouth tight as if steeling himself, Mzatal set the knife against his bleeding palm and closed his fingers around it. Blood hissed and sizzled on the blade as he slowly drew it from his fist. He held it at arm's length, his body taut and teeth bared while his free hand dripped blood onto the nexus.

Xhan's voice whispered in my head.
You are mine. You are mine.

“No,” I breathed. “What the ever living fuck is he doing?!”

Rhyzkahl's attention remained riveted on Mzatal and Xhan. “He is not strong enough,” he murmured. “The fool will doom us all.”

I shot Rhyzkahl a scathing look then crossed to the nexus.
Warding shimmered around the perimeter, but my experience and instinct told me none of it targeted me. I stepped onto the stone then staggered, throwing my arms wide for balance as potency unlike anything I'd ever felt seared through my bones and threatened to rip me apart cell by cell.

Drawing demigod-like power and focus from the nexus, I centered and stabilized. I was still in one piece, but I needed to adapt to the frequency if I wanted to stay that way. As soon as I felt balanced, I moved behind Mzatal and wrapped my arms around him. He tensed as I made contact but didn't hesitate to tap into the support. We'd worked as one more times than I could count, and even though we no longer had an open connection, I knew him and he knew me.

He drew a deep breath, and I
felt
him intensify his efforts to subdue the blade. I joined the battle, using all of my nexus-derived ability to concentrate on beating Xhan into submission. My scars flared with burning pain, real and remembered. I clung to the sensation, used it as focal point to overpower the very knife that had carved the sigils.

Treacherous. Traitor.
The words slammed through me like a scream.
Vile oppressor.

Teeth clenched, I willed the blade to shut the fuck up and settle.

As each drop of Mzatal's blood struck the nexus, potency pounded from my feet to my head. Mzatal entwined his aura with mine, and our power increased tenfold. Unintelligible words screamed through me as Mzatal wrested control from the blade and sent it away. Arcane silence filled the void it had left. Mzatal shook from the effort, his breath labored. Sweat soaked his shirt, and mine as well where I embraced him, but I didn't care.

Rhyzkahl looked on with an expression of grudging awe tinged with envy.

I held my beloved for a few heartbeats longer, then reluctantly released him and stepped back. I'd intruded upon his self-imposed isolation for long enough, though I didn't regret a single second of it.

Mzatal lifted his bloodied hand high and tightened it into a fist. When he opened it again, the wicked slice was healed. In a fluid motion, he turned to me, stripped off his sweaty shirt and cast it aside.

I stared at his chest, where a new, intricately beautiful pattern
of raised scars formed a sigil, much like the ones that covered my torso. Yet while my sigil scars represented each of the eleven demonic lords, the sigil over his heart was mine.
My
sigil. Tears spilled over as I lifted my eyes and found his gaze upon me, if only for a heartbeat.

When he began to dance the shikvihr ritual, tracing and igniting the sigils of the first ring with fluid grace, I danced my own right along with him. We moved in harmony, each creating our own shikvihr. Trace, ignite. Trace, ignite.

Ring after ring of sigils flowed from us until we reached my skill limit at the culmination of the seventh. Without missing a beat, Mzatal ignited my shikvihr before continuing on with his. Joy and power and exhilaration surged through me as he danced the eighth ring around me. I stood motionless, adapting to the energies.

Mzatal completed the eleventh sigil of the eleventh ring and ignited his shikvihr. We stood at the center of a vortex of potency like nothing I'd ever felt before. The full power of Mzatal. The full power of me.

But he wasn't finished.

With delicate movements, he drew spider-silk strands of potency between his shikvihr sigils and mine in an act of unspeakable intimacy. I turned as he turned, watching every movement, feeling them as a caress on my essence. Now I understood why he bore my sigil. Closed off and merged with his essence blade, Mzatal was ruthless and formidable. He commanded unmatchable resolve and focus that allowed him to stay a thousand moves ahead of his opponents, and see and anticipate distant potentials. He'd been closed off once before—a solitude that lasted two thousand years, with all distractions shut out and full focus on his goals.

But this time one of his goals included me. He'd carved the sigil as a lifeline, to maintain a connection despite the barriers. A hope for a life beyond his self-made prison.

Together we can do anything. Even if we aren't together.

He finished the intricate weave of our potency. “Remove your shirt,” he said, voice uncompromising. I tore my gaze from the connected sigils. His face was as hard and intense as ever, an unreadable mask of stone. But his eyes . . . I drew a steadying breath. His eyes held the emotions he dared not otherwise reveal.

I stripped off my shirt and tossed it aside. He moved the leaf
from where it lay over my heart to rest on my shoulder, then he placed his palm over his sigil scar in the center of my chest. “Damaged.”

“Only the sigil,” I said, mouth dry. Curves and patterns severed when Szerain had thrust his essence blade into my heart in order to save my life.

Without a word, Mzatal began to slowly trace the loops of his sigil on my skin, his touch sensuous, light, and undeniably powerful. Where the lines were broken, he repaired them, and with a final touch ignited the sigil with searing fire that faded to comforting warmth in a heartbeat.

He replaced the leaf atop it and covered both with his hand. “It is of better use whole.”

I spread my hand over the sigil on his chest. “
We
are better whole.”

Rhyzkahl gave a rude snort.

Without taking his eyes from mine, Mzatal sent a shrieking bolt of lightning from his free hand to strike Rhyzkahl square in the chest. While Rhyzkahl writhed among the zucchini, Mzatal moved behind me and set his hands on my shoulders. As he slid them down my arms, the strands between our sigils flickered with golden light to match the morning sky. He covered the backs of my hands with his, laced his fingers between mine as the strands glowed strong and steady.

Moving as one, hands united and arms sweeping in graceful arcs, we called forth the full union of our shikvihr. When our dance was done, a new construct surrounded us. Not a pair of eleven-ringed shikvihr entwined, but a thrumming single circle of potency that flowed like liquid light in an endless loop. Beautiful, with a purpose and function that shone with dazzling clarity. Two months ago, Mzatal had gifted me the power of a lord via the nexus and Rhyzkahl, but this addition, this
super-shikvihr
would remain in place and allow me to tap into that power even away from my property.

I leaned back against him, enjoying the contact, the
touch
I knew we might never share again. Fingers still joined with mine, Mzatal wrapped his arms around me and crossed our wrists over my heart. After a moment, he shuddered then stepped back, breaking away before his will crumbled.

As I turned to face him, he caught my left hand and stripped the stoneless ring from my finger. While I watched, baffled, he placed it in my palm and folded my fingers over it, then clasped
my hand between his. Heat flashed within my fist, gone before it could register as pain. Mzatal released me, wheeled away and strode from the nexus. The demahnk Helori appeared in human form beside him, and then they were gone.

I let out a shaky breath and opened my hand. Mzatal had given me this ring last Christmas, and the stone was broken not long after during a terrible argument. I'd kept the ring as a reminder of that schism—one we never wished to repeat. Later, Rowan had destroyed the stone, but after Szerain ripped her away from my
Self
, I'd stubbornly continued to wear the twisted ring. Now it lay on my palm as a raw lump of gold and silver alloy.

“I can work with this,” I murmured. Mzatal hadn't destroyed the broken ring. Instead he'd made it ready to be created anew. A fresh start. Drawing potency from the super-shikvihr loop, I reshaped the lump into two slender rings, gleaming and unadorned. The smaller one I slipped onto my finger. The other, I threaded through the cord that held the grove leaf, keeping it safe until the ring's rightful owner could bear it.

A laugh bubbled up. “My preccccioooouuussss,” I whispered. Grinning, I pulled my shirt on and headed inside, while Rhyzkahl twitched in an inglorious heap.

Pellini handed me a cup of coffee when I stepped into the kitchen. “I was about to call for security until I realized it was Mzatal out there with you.”

I smiled and took a sip, pleased to find it perfectly over-sugared and mega-creamed. “Guess you saw my topless act.”

His mouth twitched in amusement. “Nothing I haven't seen before.”

“It has to be getting old by now,” I said. A couple of years back, Pellini had been among the Beaulac PD personnel who saw me appear naked in the station break room after I died in the demon realm and returned to Earth. And, after Angus McDunn stripped my abilities, Pellini had busted into the bathroom to drag me from the tub and my spiral of despair.

“Looking at boobs
never
gets old,” he said with a grin.

Laughing, I rolled my eyes then moved to the kitchen window. Rhyzkahl had stopped twitching and dragged himself up to a sitting position. “Can you see the changes in the nexus?” I asked Pellini.

He squinted out the window. “I saw the sigils when y'all were laying them, but now there's only a shimmer, like heat waves. I feel like there's more, but when I try to
see
, it slips away.”

“It's plain as day to me. Mzatal created—” I stopped and shook my head. “No,
we
created this super-shikvihr loop that extends my range. It'll be a game changer for me.”

Pellini frowned. “What exactly is he doing on Earth?”

“I don't know specifics, but I have no doubt it involves countering the Mraztur, and that has to be good.”

“Uh huh.” He made no attempt to hide his dubious tone. “I'll add him to the DIRT Alpha-level watch list.”

I bristled, but I made myself take a sip of coffee before speaking. “You mean the list that has Kadir, Angus McDunn, Tessa, and Katashi's people on it?”

Pellini's gaze remained steady on me. “That's the one.” Though he didn't say it, I clearly heard the added
Do you have a problem with that?

And my initial gut reaction was,
Yes, I have a huge problem with lumping Mzatal in with confirmed assholes.
But I forced myself past the knee-jerk loyalty to consider where Pellini was coming from. It wasn't doubt in Mzatal, but a perfectly sensible caution where any of the lords were concerned. To Pellini, the lords were guilty until proven innocent, and he intended to remain alert and suspicious of everything they did. I couldn't find it in myself to blame him, especially in light of how the plans and actions of the lords had fucked up Earth. In fact, I held the same attitude, except about Mzatal, of course. He'd already proven himself in my eyes.

I took a deep breath and nodded. “Personal bias aside, it sounds reasonable to me.”

Pellini's shoulders relaxed.

“But,” I added and hid a smile as he tensed again. “If Mzatal takes his shirt off anywhere on this planet, I want a priority rush on that footage to my inbox.”

Pellini let out a strangled laugh. “God almighty. I don't know whether to be thrilled or terrified that you're in charge of defending the planet.” Shaking his head, he retreated to the war room.

“I can save the world
and
enjoy sexy pics of my hot hunny!” I called after him.

“Earth is fucked,” he shouted back.

Still smiling, I returned my attention to the nexus in time to see Rhyzkahl pull himself to his feet and stagger around his circuit. My amusement drained away, and I took a long drink of coffee to cover my twinge of guilt that I'd enjoyed seeing him put in his place.

He collapsed to sit with his back against the grove tree, head lowered. My guilt gave way to sympathy. Mzatal hadn't shown mercy with that blast. Then again, it was possible the blast had given Rhyzkahl an attitude adjustment. And I had questions that he might only answer in a weakened state.

We didn't have tunjen fruit on Earth to make the demon
realm restorative drink, but I created the best equivalent possible with what I had available—a concoction of lemon, orange, and carrot juices. Glass in hand, I headed out back with my bribe.

Rhyzkahl didn't lift his head as I stepped into the deep shade of the tree.

“Have you come to gloat?” he asked, voice ragged and face hidden by his hair.

“I've already done that,” I said. “But I'm trying to not be cruel. You let Amkir zap me back when I was at your palace, so I know how much it sucks. I'm sure a Mzatal lightning bolt is a hundred times worse.” I crouched and held out the glass. “Here, I brought you some juice.”

For an instant I thought he'd play the stubborn lord and refuse, but he finally lifted his head and took the juice with a trembling hand. “Mzatal proved himself to be a true chekkunden,” he said, then drained the glass.

My eyebrows lifted. “Because he slapped you down for being a dick?”

“For drawing you into his game.”

I gave a harsh laugh. “Are you kidding me? First off, there's no game between us, and he hasn't drawn me anywhere I wasn't willing to go—though that's probably impossible for your devious little mind to understand. And second, if he's a chekkunden for loving me, empowering me, and treating me like an equal, what does that make you?” I cocked my head. “What's the demon word for lying scheming treacherous back-stabbing asshole son-of-a-bitch motherfucking deceiver?”

“Qaztahl.”

“Give me a break. You expect me to buy that all the lords are shitstains like you? Seretis?
Elofir
?”

He leaned his head back against the white bark of the tree. “Believe what you will.”

“Certainly nothing
you
say.”

“You did not come to me simply to provide sustenance.” He tapped his finger against the empty glass. “What is it you want?”

“You're right. Comforting you isn't on the top of my to-do list.” The voice of the essence blade echoed in my mind. “Who is the vile oppressor?”

He flexed his scarred hand. “You will believe nothing I say.”

“Humor me. Who is the vile oppressor?”

Rhyzkahl regarded me with contempt. “You. Mzatal. It is difficult to choose which to name.”

I threw up my hands. “You're a captive because of
your
actions.”

“And you are an oppressor because of yours.”

“Serving justice doesn't make me an oppressor!” I caught myself before I blurted out further defensive justification. The asshole was baiting me. I stood and folded my arms. “Let me clarify. Xhan said, ‘Treacherous. Traitor. Vile oppressor.' What did it mean?”

His gaze narrowed on me. “Tell me how Mzatal came to be on Earth.”

Aha! It wasn't Rhyzkahl's weakness from the lightning strike that would dredge answers from him. It was his craving for information from beyond the confines of his prison. “I'll answer that one. Then you answer mine.”

“On my honor.”

I snorted. I'd been taught that demons held honor above all else, but Rhyzkahl and company had clearly demonstrated how much steaming bullshit that was. “You'll probably just lie, but I'm in a good mood.” I shrugged. “I'll play along.”

“Agreed.”

This would be interesting. “An Earthgate from the first age is open. Mzatal came through it.”

“An Earthgate? Where?” He staggered to his feet.
“How?”

“Sorry, dude. One question. One answer.” I spread my hands. “Your turn. Who is the vile oppressor?”

He ground his teeth and gave a grunt of frustration. “The one who held Xhan.”

“Do you mean today? Mzatal? Or you, before?”

“One question. One answer.”

“One
clear
answer,” I said.

“It is clear to me. Clarity for you was not specified in the agreement.”

“Fine.” I
clearly
showed him my middle finger. “The gate is about thirty miles from here”—I pointed in a vague southerly direction—“that way.”

He went lord-still. “Crystals?”

“Uh huh. Big and shiny. I gave you where and what. That's two answers.” He couldn't do anything with the information, so there was no harm in throwing him a few crumbs—extra incentive for him to answer my questions. “Now, tell me
clearly
, using a name I know, who your blade meant by ‘vile oppressor'.”

“Mzatal.”

“You owe me another one.”

“I owe you nothing. You volunteered a second answer.” He leaned close. “But I will tell you what I have told you before. Your lover's hands are not clean. Do you abide slavery?”

Cold rage filled my veins. “You're trying to implicate
Mzatal
in slavery? You who had your Earth flunkies kidnap innocent women to use as sex-slave currency for demonic lords?”

He gave me a smug look. “You know nothing of it.”

I swayed, dizzy.

•   •   •

Sunlight streams through the library window, but it cannot compete with his radiance.

Breath catching, I step closer. “I know my heart, my lord Rhyzkahl.”

His hand rests on the frame of my portrait. I seem so young, captured on canvas by Lord Szerain. Could it truly have been only a year past?

“Elinor, it is my will that you abide here.”

“Do you always get what you want?”

He lowers his head, eyes on mine. So beautiful. “Yes.”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The sound teases my consciousness.
My
consciousness. Kara. This is a vision. I need to follow the ticking. Marco Knight told me I can camera-fly, but how? Looks like I'll learn by trying. I reimmerse in Elinor's experience, aware this time.

I conjure Giovanni's face in my mind to give me courage, and I pray my voice does not tremble when I speak. “Forgive me, my lord. It is no longer my desire to abide.”

No, damn it, I'm still in Elinor's perspective. I need to escape it. I'll fly my camera-view up there, to the top of the bookshelf. I can do this. Uno. Due. Tre . . .

The world shatters and reforms.

One. Two. Three.

Moonlight floods the library. Rhyzkahl's back is to me.

A different time, but not the bookcase camera-view I was trying for. It doesn't feel like Elinor's perspective either. Did I screw something up?

His hands grip the frame of Elinor's portrait, and he drops his head. He heaves out a deep sigh and pushes from the wall. He gazes long at her image then drapes it in deep red silk.

Not Elinor's perspective. I'm me. Of course I'm me.

I sneer. “Did you fuck her over as badly as you did me?”

He turns on me, and his face twists in fury. “What are you doing? You should not be here!”

“I can be wherever I damn well please.” I lift my chin. Why wouldn't I be here? “You burned all of your tell-Kara-what-to-do privileges.”

He advances on me, grips my shoulders. Shakes me hard enough to make my teeth clack together. “Depart.
Now
.”

This is no meek Elinor he's dealing with. I snag a book from the nearest shelf—War and Peace, hardback—and whack him on the side of the head. For good measure, I drive my knee into his groin, delighted at his grunt of pain.

He releases me and staggers back, overturns a bookshelf. I sidestep, but he recovers in a heartbeat. Lunges. Grabs my hair at the scalp. Drags me. “Kara, go
home
.”

“Fuck off!” I slap my hands over his to hold them close to my head, twist my body in a move that should break his wrist.

He pivots with me, snakes an arm around my neck and gets me in a headlock. “Kara, stop! You need to remember—”

The world tilts. Shade and sunlight beyond. The nexus. Dizzy, I claw at the arm around my throat. The world tips back, wobbles drunkenly. The library and moonlight.

Rhyzkahl's hold is like iron. I kick and struggle to no avail. “Let me go!” The Nexus. War and Peace. Light. Darkness. What is he doing to me?

“You don't belong here, Kara.” Dappled shade. Red silk.

“No!” I fight down the panic and call up my rage instead, lash out with the one weapon I have in my grasp. “It's you lords who don't belong here! You don't even know where you came from!” Vicious mind control by the demahnk prevents the lords from even considering certain topics. I seize onto the deepest secret I know and wield it as a white hot spear of hatred. “What's your real connection to Earth? You and all you lordly types.”

Grass and flowers. The world stabilized. Heat. Humidity.
Home
.

No dream-vision, yet Rhyzkahl still held me. Breathing hard, I scrabbled at his arm. “How'd y'all come to be so high and mighty in the demon realm, huh? Where's your mama? Who's your daddy?”

Rhyzkahl released the headlock. I whirled, fists raised and ready to slug him, but he staggered back against the tree trunk and stared at me in open shock. His mouth worked, but nothing came out but an inarticulate gurgle. The leaves of the grove tree
rustled as if stirred by a wind I couldn't feel. Sinking to his knees, he gripped his head and moaned in agony.

The sound ripped through me like a horrific wake-up call.
What have I done?
He'd dragged me out of the Elinor vision after I screwed up the attempt to camera-fly, and I'd repaid him with crushing pain. My stomach clenched, and I tasted acid. Sure, I'd been disoriented, but I'd
wanted
to hurt him, to pay him back for the pain he'd inflicted on me. I'd overreacted, and now I had no idea how to fix this. Usually the demahnk intervened to ease the excruciating headache, or sometimes a sufficient distraction could pull a lord from the mind-loop of agony. But I'd unloaded on Rhyzkahl with the heaviest weapon in my artillery.

“I'm sorry,” I choked out, even as he curled into a fetal position against the trunk of the tree. The leaves murmured. I lifted my eyes to the brilliant canopy. “I swear I didn't mean to hurt him this badly.”