Eternity of Darkness (Divisa Huntress Book 3) Read online

  9

  Clammy and trembling, I sat on the bathroom floor, my head hanging between my knees. From the moment I had left the bed in a rush, Ashor had appeared in the bedroom. I didn’t know where he had been while I slept, but it hadn’t been in our bed.

  He hovered in the doorway of the bathroom, patiently waiting, understanding I needed a minute to calm myself. I hated throwing up, the way the bile burned in my throat and nose, the clenching of my stomach muscles as it heaved, the nasty aftertaste it left in my mouth. What was there to like?

  “Drink this,” he ordered, holding out a glass.

  I obeyed, taking the drink and swirling the water around in my mouth before spitting it in the toilet. Then I drank some, letting the cool liquid ease my throat.

  Without a word, he took the cup, set it aside, and scooped me up in his arms. “It was only a nightmare,” he murmured. “They are safe. Their blood is not on your hands.”

  The blood. My eyes darted to my fingers. No blood. A heavy sigh left me. “Where were you?” I rasped, my voice scratchy.

  He sat us down on the bed, cradling me in his arms. “I went for a walk. Not far,” he explained, his fingers rubbing soothing circles on my back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you.”

  “I’m okay,” I assured him, now that he was here. I didn’t want to dive back into the nightmare, relive what was still too raw—too real. Later I would think about it and how the Queen of Darkness got inside my head.

  “You’re not. But that's okay.” His hands moved to my arms, rubbing them up and down. “You’re shivering,” he whispered, his lips moving against my hair as he pressed a kiss to my temple.

  “Only because you’re so cold,” I replied, teeth chattering, a pathetic attempt to lighten the somber mood.

  He chuckled, a deep, husky sound that was just what I needed to warm my blood. Ashor sensed the sudden heat that flooded my veins and heard the tiny sigh of contentment that breezed through my lips. “Crafty. Aren’t you just a little witch?”

  It hadn’t been my intention to use the sound of his laugh to warm me, but it was definitely something I would keep stored in the back of my mind for future use if I ever found myself freezing to death in Hell. “I can’t help it that your voice has such an effect on me.”

  “Hmm,” he mused. “If the sound of just my voice does that, imagine what my lips can do.”

  This was what I needed. Him. After our spat earlier and then the nightmare, my body and mind needed a break—a distraction that only Ashor could provide. “I’d rather not imagine but have you show me instead,” I said, lacing my arms around his neck.

  “Naughty demon,” he playfully tsked, teeth grazing my cheek, and the shivering stopped.

  This was the Ashor I loved.

  I tensed in his arms.

  Had I just…? No, that’s not what I meant. It hadn’t been a confession of love. Just a fleeting phrase. People said it all the time without it really meaning anything. It was nothing more than an offhand comment in my head.

  But the thing was, my thoughts were never safe around Ashor. And I hadn’t meant it. Not literally.

  Right?

  But Ashor wasn’t about to let me off the hook that easily. The stupid grin on his lips made me forget all about the nightmare. “Just admit it, luv. You’re in love—”

  I slapped my hand over his mouth, quickly shutting him up. “Don’t you dare say it,” I snapped with narrowed eyes.

  His lips curved upward behind my hand, tongue darting out to lick at my skin and taste me.

  “Ashor,” I warned. “Do you want me to get mad at you again?”

  His grin only widened, and a moment later, he nipped me with his teeth as if he knew I’d already forgiven him.

  Curling up against him, I mumbled, “You’re the worst.”

  He combed his fingers through my hair, neither of us eager to sleep. “Is it so wrong for me to want to hear you say it?”

  Another conversation I didn’t have the strength to endure. I curled my fingers around the material of his half-unbuttoned shirt. “I can’t.” The admission was a mere whisper.

  He wasn’t deterred. Ashor never was, and it made me wish I had a fragment of his confidence. Was there anything this man doubted about himself? “Not yet, but you will. I’m a patient man. I’ve already waited a lifetime for you. I can wait for another.”

  I nestled my head deeper against him. “God, you’re old.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “How did you survive so long without this?” I’d only lived twenty-two years, but I couldn’t fathom having to spend decades alone. As far as I knew, Ashor had never been in a relationship.

  His voice took on a wistful tone. “The dreams I had of you were enough.”

  I breathed in his scent, comforted by his woodiness. “And what about before I was born? Did you have many girlfriends?”

  He snorted. “This is Hell, luv. The demons here aren’t exactly what I would call girlfriend material.”

  “Good.” The idea of him with someone else was both fury and pain. Did he feel the same? I had a boyfriend once. Had he seen that as well in his dreams?

  God, my mind was all over the place. I blamed the nightmare for rattling me so fiercely, but Ashor didn’t seem to mind.

  “I’m sorry about freaking out earlier,” I said after a moment of silence.

  His arms came to relax around me. “You’re entitled to freak out.”

  Picking at a thread from one of the buttons on his shirt, I muttered, “You never do.”

  “Not true. Every time something happens to you, I nearly lose it, which for me is a big deal. No one wants an unhinged Prince of Darkness.”

  Losing control with his kind of power meant leveling cities, destroying towns, bathing the world in darkness, shit like that.

  “I cause you undue stress.”

  “Hmm,” he agreed, dropping his forehead to mine.

  “Hold me until the sun comes. I don’t think I can sleep.”

  “Always. But you need rest, luv. The days coming up will be long. I can help, if you let me. She won’t get through my wards. No one will.”

  Snuggling deeper into him, I rested my head on his shoulder. “Your arms will be enough.”

  I might not know what our future would bring, the pain we might endure, but for now, I would hold on tight to my mate, even if that meant standing beside him and being his queen. The only way we destroyed his mother was by providing a united front. I would not let her take the one good thing in Hell.

  Fuck that bitch.

  The next day was a bustle of physical training, another round of mental shielding, and Ashor sorting out the heads of his court. The commotion of the day and late into the night kept my mind occupied, but as surely as day rose, night descended. Restlessness set in, and I could do nothing more than pace, nibble on my nails, and stress. I barely touched my dinner, and sleep? Forget it. I used the little time we had left to continue honing my warding skills. I needed to be flawless, stronger, and effortless.

  Unfortunately, by evening the following day, I was none of those things. I was better, but was I good enough to ward off demon kings? I didn’t know. And it no longer mattered because the time had arrived for the meeting of the kings. A rare occurrence, one that had only happened a handful of times over the centuries.

  I had no idea what to expect from an assemblage of three courts. It didn’t matter the numerous warnings I received not just from Ashor but the Wild Hunt as well. This was one of those things I had to experience for myself to fully understand. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about the other kings. Did they live up to their reputations?

  I also wasn’t stupid enough to not be afraid.

  A deep gold sank over Gardeness as Ashor and I prepared to leave. We’d be traveling at night to a neutral location, and because the underworld was divided into five factions, the only place not claimed by another kingdom was Hell’s Mist. I wasn’t eager about returning to the place
of limbo and waiting, a realm where some never found their way out. There were no safe spaces in Hell, and the In-between was as dangerous as any kingdom.

  According to Apollo, within the mist sat a clearing—a small pocket untouched by the thick fog coating the world that stood between Hell and all others. It was there that the kings would convene.

  What I hadn’t considered was that, despite this being Hell, appearances mattered. I had given no thought to what I would wear. The old Lexi would be aghast at the idea. To her, clothes and makeup gave her confidence. They were like esteem boosters.

  But Ashor had that covered too.

  I didn’t know how or when he had the time to make wardrobe decisions for both of us, but he had. The gown was sprawled out on the bed, a tamer version of what I had worn for my surprise coronation as Ashor’s queen. The title still didn’t seem real. I hadn’t processed any of it. In fact, I was pretty sure I was in denial. Hard-core.

  Braiding my hair on either side of my head, I crossed them over the top, securing the ends into place. It served as both elegant and practical since we would be riding into Hell’s Mist.

  The Wild Hunt waited for us outside the castle grounds with our Hellmounts, each dressed in a hooded black cloak just like the first time we met. Doom clung to them.

  I caught Beck's gaze shifting to me for like the fourth time amid an expression I’d never seen on his face.

  “Do you have something on your mind?” I asked, wondering what was up with him. Kora waited beside him, and her ears perked up at the sound of my voice.

  Beck’s lips twitched. “Being his queen suits you well.”

  I blinked. “Did you just compliment me?”

  He tugged lightly on Kora’s reins, but the Hellmount was already moving toward me. “Don’t get used to it. Blame it on the flurry of war.”

  Before Ashor could lift me, I hauled myself on top of Kora. Riding in a dress seemed like a task, but the two slits on either side of my legs made straddling possible.

  As the others mounted their horses, I braced myself.

  “This isn’t a battle yet,” Apollo said, noticing the stiffening of my spine.

  “Every day here is a fight,” I responded.

  Treachery made his way over beside Kora. “Don’t waste your energy on the journey,” Ashor advised. “You don’t want to burn out before we get there.”

  I nodded at him.

  “By now, the other kingdoms have learned of your ability and what you mean to me. They will try to not just pry for information but will look for weaknesses. They will break you if it means hurting me,” he warned. “We want their armies, but make no mistake, they will never be an ally, not in the true sense of the word. The best we can hope for is a temporary truce between our kingdoms.”

  This was a lecture I’d already been given, along with a rundown of the kings and their courts. Each was very different, just as the Court of Darkness was night to the Court of Envy’s day.

  Trist, the King of Sorrow, was the lesser of two evils. His abilities were nothing to sneeze at. Possession. Sublimation. Energy manipulation. He could suck anything remotely good or happy from not just a soul but from the land itself. Nothing lived within his court. River Cocytus ran through the Court of Sorrow, its shores made of bones. The dead walked aimlessly on its banks, howling, wailing, and eternally mourning. Perpetually covered in gray skies and gloomy clouds, it often stormed daily, the air sparking with lightning and clapping of thunder. It never saw the light of day or the shade of night. Just gloom and misery every hour of the day.

  It was no wonder King Trist never smiled or laughed. Those things didn’t exist in the Court of Sorrow. I was more than glad to not be traveling to Boxnia, the main city of Trist’s court. I’d shed enough tears in my life, felt more grief and heartache than a heart could handle.

  Angor, the King of Misery, was the embodiment of sadism. A merciless and violent demon. With his powers, he could silence his victims, inflict a network of agony, from snapping bones to slicing flesh and muscle, and then heal them for the torture to begin again, all with a single thought. One of his most interesting abilities was to cancel another’s power. Next to the Court of Darkness’s army, Angor’s was a force to be reckoned with. According to Draven, it was the only court that had a real chance of defeating the Fortress and the league of demons in Kali’s command.

  The Court of Misery was a nice way to say the court of pain, because that was truly what Angor’s kingdom was. Pain. He ruled his court with agony, suffering, and brutality. Cages lined the streets, hung from the towers, and decorated the halls. The entire kingdom had been designed as one giant torture chamber, torment waiting around every corner.

  The Court of Sorrow seemed like a walk in the park beside the Court of Misery. From the sound of it, I definitely preferred the darkness to either court. And that said something.

  What a fun bunch.

  No matter how they ran their courts, the kings were still demons through and through, their souls devised of pure evil. Their intentions were malicious and self-serving. I wasn’t to let my guard down.

  Ashor also apologized in advance for his behavior. Although he could project his words through our bond, he advised it wouldn’t be wise to do so in front of the kings, as they might be able to interfere and extract information he didn’t want them to have. Ashor had too many secrets—even from me.

  The fabric of my dress flapped in the wind as we raced through the mist, a relatively short journey compared to the one we traveled days ago. My lungs drew in a deep breath the moment we passed Hell’s Mist into the clearing.

  Such a strange place.

  Impossible to find unless you knew where you were going.

  Stranger still was the round table that sat upon a bed of vibrant green grass and soft moss shades darker. I counted the chairs. Eight in total. The exact number of participants for the gathering. Coincidence? Unlikely. Just another one of Hell’s puzzles.

  The chairs were crafted of cold stone, unfriendly yet sturdy. Torches lit the perimeter, flames flickering through the blackness of night. Within the In-between, it was impossible to tell if it was day or night, but in Hell, the rising and setting of the sun weren’t important. Some kingdoms never saw day, and others never had the darkness of night.

  Dismounting, we left our Hellmounts at the edge of the mist. Upon entering the clearing, a ripple hummed in the air. Rather than seeing the dome of magic, I sensed it. Well, my demon did; she could visualize the invisible shield that encompassed the clearing.

  Interesting.

  “It contains any conversation within the barrier,” Apollo explained, noticing my eyes gliding over the invisible ward. “No one passing or wandering about will be able to hear what is discussed on this night. Yet it does not cancel the noise outside. If someone approaches, we’ll hear,” Erlik added.

  Thump, thump, thump. The thundering of hooves pounded into the ground somewhere in the mist. It was difficult to tell from where, as the sound came from every direction. My ears strained to pinpoint the location, needing to see them as they approached. I didn’t want to be startled, but I struggled to remain calm, my heart rapid in my chest.

  “Whatever you do, don’t let him touch you,” Ashor warned, standing like a rock beside me.

  He meant Angor. “I don’t plan on it,” I muttered, my eyes staring hard into the mist.

  Like a lion leaping through a flaming hoop, the two kings appeared on massive Hellmounts hurdling into the clearing. They landed with a simultaneous thud that shook the ground, flames dashing up the legs of their horses, so bright I felt the warmth of them from where I stood on the other side.

  Flanking Ashor and me, Beck, Draven, Erlik, and Apollo prepared to step in front of us if things went sideways. I did feel better having them close. They might not be thrilled about protecting me, but they would die for Ashor, and that eased some of my apprehension.

  The kings swung off their horses and dropped to the ground. No introduction was neces
sary. It was easy to conclude who was who. Trist, the King of Sorrow, had a woeful, slim face. That slimness carried through to the rest of his form. Lanky and tall, he had at least six inches over Ashor, reminding me of a beanpole about to topple over, but something in his eyes warned me not to disregard him. Silver hair hung over his shoulders, tiny braids woven throughout. His cheeks were sunken, and his crimson eyes weren’t shifty or calculating but moved with slow purpose, drinking in the sight of me with keen interest. Long robes of drab gray dragged over the grass behind him.

  Angor, the King of Misery, was Trist’s counterpoint. Big, beefy, and a stout demon with horns that curled out of the sides of his head. He stalked with purpose, each step jolting the earth. Chains clanged with his movements, but he wore none. His thighs were at least four times the size of mine. Tusks curled over his lips as he snarled. Wild and untamed hair framed a bold face, bright like the inferno in his eyes. He had the face of how humans depicted demons in art, movies, and books. Three scars clawed down his face, as if a nasty beast had slapped the shit out of him, deep enough to leave permanent marks on a demon who could heal. Perhaps he left them there on purpose to intimidate those he tortured. They were definitely menacing and mean-looking, starting from the left side of his eye and ending at the right part of his chin.

  Before a word was spoken, a blast of power slammed inside my head, bouncing off Ashor’s shield. WTF. I shouldn’t have been surprised by the sudden attack before any pleasantries were exchanged. Just like a fucking demon. The scent of charred flesh burned the inside of my nostrils, and I glared openly at the king responsible, who I suspected was Angor.

  A brutal smile graced Ashor’s lips as the two kings halted in front of us. He gave a shallow nod. “Trist. Angor. It’s been a decade or two.”

  King Trist turned his attention to my mate. “Prince. Or should I say King Ashor.” Even his voice came out glum and depressing.

  “You heard,” Ashor replied, taking a single step forward.

  Angor gave a gruff nod. “Nothing within Hell goes unnoticed for long. Especially the changing of crowns.”