Eternity of Darkness (Divisa Huntress Book 3) Page 14

  Ashor replied with a shrug as if the deed was not monumental. “True. Thank you for agreeing to this meeting.”

  “You brought your entourage,” Angor commented, his shrewd gaze flashing over the Wild Hunt.

  Ashor leveled him with a flat look. “They go where my mate goes.” The message was sent clearly to the kings—I was not to be harmed.

  Trist’s attention snagged on me. “Ah, yes. The human mate. Quite controversial."

  “Half-human,” I corrected, speaking for the first time.

  At the mention of my heritage, Angor’s eyes blazed like a furnace.

  “Should we get to it, then?” Trist suggested, sweeping a bony arm toward the empty table, cutting through a bit of the tension between Angor and me.

  I didn’t like him. Not one bit. And it looked as if the feeling was mutual.

  Fucking demons.

  With not an ounce of trust, the eight of us shifted to the table, muscles tense and stiff as we took our seats. There was no head of the table on either side, putting us all on even ground—a deliberate placement, I was sure, but by whom?

  Angor cleared his throat, a scowl marring his cruel lips. “We’re here. What is it you want from us?” Such a lovely note to start the meeting on. Though he wasn’t wrong in thinking Ashor wanted something from him, because he did. But Angor and Trist would both benefit from agreeing to an alliance. They had to see that. Didn’t they?

  It was hard to be hopeful sitting across the table from the likes of Angor and Trist.

  Ashor’s expression remained mild. “As king, it is your responsibility to know what goes on in the underworld, including the other kingdoms, so I know you’ve heard about the attack on Gardeness.”

  “The crown you now wear,” Angor pointed out in a way that said Ashor wasn’t innocent in this. “If I’m not mistaken, you were part of the attack.” His tone suggested Ashor’s goal had always been the crown, that he had designs for power and glory just like his mother.

  Nothing could be further from the truth.

  As someone who had a direct line to his feelings, I knew what he truly desired, despite the secrets he kept from me. The one thing Ashor wanted was to protect me—keep me safe from the world in which he lived and find a way for us to be together. That came later. Once the threat of his mother was dealt with.

  But I had to wonder if we were fooling ourselves. If we did manage to stop Kali, who was to say that another wouldn’t take her place—absorb her hunger for power? It could very well be Angor or Trist who took up her crusade for supreme.

  Demons were untrustworthy assholes.

  Ashor blinked. “I had little choice in the matter. Would you prefer if my mother wore the crown?”

  Absolute silence greeted him in return.

  “That’s what would have happened if I had not killed Verena myself,” Ashor said plainly. “There was no other way, not with the forces of darkness evading the kingdom. It is no secret that the Court of Envy wasn’t designed to fight battles. Something I mean to change.”

  Unlike the vicious strike upon the kings’ arrival, the second one Angor attempted was far less conspicuous, but still, I felt the trickle of magic and the slithering of evil work its way into my head, poking at Ashor’s darkness wrapped around my ward as a secondary reinforcement.

  I flinched at the invasion. My fingers curled under the table, nails digging into my palms. The charge at which Angor used his magic would have shredded my defenses like they were made of tissue paper. The knowledge that I wasn’t strong enough, that I might never be able to stand up against either of these kings, smacked me in the face.

  “How do we know you aren’t under the command of your mother?” Trist asked. “The Court of Darkness now controls two kingdoms in Hell.” He jerked his pointy chin to me. “And your mate is close to the abandoned mortal queen. You can see why we are suspicious.”

  Slouched back against the stone slab of his chair, Ashor said, “I can indeed. The only way for me to stop my mother from killing Verena was to take the crown myself.”

  Angor’s laugh promised violence. “You always were an arrogant little shit. Still are, it seems.”

  Apollo and Erlik, who sat on either side of the kings, looked as if they were holding back snarls. The Hunt was here for added security, not to offer an opinion, but I could see that they had plenty of shit they would like to say to Angor.

  “Thank you, I think,” Ashor replied, voice cold as ice.

  Reclining back against the stone chair, Trist folded his skinny arms. “Let's pretend that what you claim is true. That you indeed have designs to stop the queen. How do you plan to do so?”

  “War is upon us. This you must recognize. The only way we can stop this is if we are united.”

  “So you want a unified army?” Trist asked.

  A single lift of a brow. “Unless you have another suggestion at stopping my mother from becoming supreme,” my mate stated wryly. “Make no mistake, she is coming for your crown. She won’t quit until she is the sole ruler of the underworld.”

  King Angor rapped his nails against the arm of his chair. “I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of a solo leader. Perhaps it’s time we join worlds—with the right king, of course.” What the asshole meant was himself. If there would be a supreme, Angor wanted it to be him.

  Ashor’s mouth tightened. “You do realize what you’re saying. For that to happen, you would sacrifice your soul. As strong as your kingdom might be, I’m telling you that against my mother, you would lose.”

  The King of Misery did not smile with his lips, but his eyes gleamed. Madness. Lust for power. “Not if we joined our resources as you suggested.”

  “That is not what I’m suggesting,” Ashor quickly shut down, his voice dangerously low. “I won’t support a supreme. You would not live to see the chaos it would bring upon the worlds.” It might have sounded like a threat, but for Ashor, it was a promise.

  “Perhaps,” Anger replied. “Though if I remember correctly, your mother may be cunning, but she is also an opportunist.”

  Ashor’s eyes flared like purple flames. “Are you implying you would offer her a bargain? Join forces with the woman who will undoubtedly cross you at the first opportunity? Then you really are as dumb as they say.”

  Angor’s clawed hand slammed down onto the stone table. The tips of his nails dug in as ire contorted his features. “What you propose gives me nothing. Your kingdom has very little to offer me, yet yours would benefit greatly from mine. How precisely is that a fair deal, prince?”

  The Wild Hunt shifted in their seats, Draven cracking his knuckles as if would like five minutes alone with King Angor to beat some respect into him.

  “Perhaps we can strike a deal?” my mate offered, my gut sinking at his words. “What do you want in return?”

  Ice trickled into my veins, and I had to stop myself from making a scene. I wanted to stand up and scream, No! Don’t do this. Not with him. The idea of Ashor being indebted to a demon oath with King Angor made me sick.

  But not as sick as when the bastard’s gaze drifted to me. Something twisted and wrong tugged at his crusty lips. The king stroked one of his tusks. I wasn’t ready when Angor declared, “Her.”

  I gasped. I didn’t mean to do so out loud, but the reaction tumbled out of me before I could control my emotions—a rookie mistake.

  But my response was mild compared to my mate’s. Veins of darkness spread out around his eyes, trailing down his cheeks. The violet hue in the center began to glow, rimmed lightly in bright starlight. Flecks of red blended into the purple of his irises. Darkness swelled in the air about our heads, threatening to swallow the table whole.

  “Shit,” one of the Hunt muttered under his breath. I wasn’t sure which one, though it didn’t matter.

  If Angor’s goal had been to rattle my mate, he’d succeeded.

  “No,” Ashor replied flatly. The single word went off in the clearing like a bomb.

  What the fuck was with demons
constantly bargaining with sex? First Verena and now Angor. I got that it could be used as a powerful tool, especially to someone like Ashor. Full-blooded demons rarely mated. They didn’t have the emotions capable of bonding to a person like Ashor and I had. And, of course, the King of Misery would go straight to the one thing that would gut Ashor.

  Angor pushed, his leering gaze openly roaming over my body. “A night, then? Surely the king could part with his queen for a single night. Her mother is a succubus, is she not?” he taunted, implying that sex should be no big deal.

  Wrong choice of words.

  I closed my eyes for just a second at the sudden swell of wrath that swam through our bond like a tidal wave of darkness.

  Ashor’s composure cracked. He shoved out of his seat, black wings springing from his back as he let his demon free from its cage. He slammed his palms on top of the table. Those clouds of darkness hovering above our heads turned into hundreds of daggers, poised to strike at his command. I guess it had been too much to expect this meeting to go off without a hitch—without bloodshed. Demons were such confrontational creatures. Angor had come here not to contemplate peace but to start a war of his own.

  The Wild Hunt dropped their masks, answering Ashor’s outrage with their own. Their features turned into something dark, frightening, and deadly, like the skeleton of death flashed over their faces.

  In a rain of daggers, his darkness fell, each blade strategically placed around Angor. They were even between his fingers and embedded close around his cock in the stone chair. Ashor’s control and precision were outstanding—but my mate was exactly that. Remarkably so. But the warning didn’t stop there. His darkness threatened to tear the world in half, and the trembling didn’t cease until I put my hand over his. Even then, little tremors continued to rock the earth—aftershocks.

  A breath passed. The dark smudges under Ashor’s eyes continued to stain his cheeks. “I didn’t call this meeting to whore out my mate. She is not a part of this. If you want to hurt me, find another way.”

  Angor surged to his feet, fury glowing over him. “The Court of Misery will not involve itself in the middle of family matters. This is between you and your mother.”

  “And what will you do when her armada is sailing to your shores, King Angor?” Ashor breathed.

  Fists balled, the king replied, “If she dares come for my crown, my own militia will defend my kingdom. I have the only force strong enough to defeat hers, which is precisely why you requested this pointless assemblage, prince.” Angor spat the title, deliberately referring to him as prince instead of king. It was a dig to inform Ashor he had no intention of recognizing him or his crown.

  “Your army, yes. But one-on-one, do you really think you stand a chance?”

  “You better hope that when the Court of Darkness knocks on my door, I don’t offer her what you so desperately need.” With that last threat, King Angor whirled, his beefy body marching to his Hellmount.

  10

  “Let him go,” Trist advised, laying a hand on Ashor’s shoulder. I didn’t even remember seeing him leave his seat, let alone move to stand beside my mate, a slightly disconcerting tidbit.

  In my defense, I had been focused on Angor, watching the vile asshole storm out of the clearing. I could still hear the thundering of his horse’s hooves as he galloped through the mist.

  “Good riddance,” I mumbled, then immediately looked up, realizing I had spoken the statement out loud.

  Something like a sad chuckle left Trist’s thin lips, which was a weird sight. How did one chuckle without their mouth moving at all? The King of Sorrow’s eyes slid back to Ashor. “She suits you well, Prince of Darkness and King of Envy. Such a burden you’ve tasked yourself with. Tell me, what do you have planned for the Court of Inferno? I’m assuming you have something up your sleeve.”

  Slowly, Ashor lowered his wings, tucking them behind his back. “I might, but I would need your oath before I divulge any information. Formalities, you understand.” His fury still beat inside him, but it steadily grew weaker.

  “That I do,” Trist concurred. “You don’t live as long as I have and not understand how these things work.” Trist hadn’t spoken much, and he struck me as a more reasonable and wise demon, but that didn’t automatically mean he would join us. They all had their shortcomings. Just what was his? “I also, like you, don’t have the numbers or strength that your mother and Angor have. At one time, I relied on Alastair to come to my aid if ever there was a need, but that is no longer an option. I’m not delusional to think she won’t target me next. I am the weakest link now with you on the throne in Gardeness.”

  “I will offer you what protection I can if you swear an alliance between our courts… just for this war,” he added, clarifying. No tricks or gimmicks. “Stand with me against my mother, and we might be able to save both our kingdoms.”

  “Under one circumstance,” Trist began, and hope surged inside me for the first time. “If you can get the Knights of Inferno to fight for you, I will swear an alliance oath.”

  The Knights of Inferno?

  Who the fuck?

  I assumed they were something more than just the disorder and abandoned demons dwelling within Angel’s court. Did my cousin-in-law know she had knights?

  “No offense, but a demon’s word is usually shit,” Ashor said. “However, you aren’t known to play games or create deceit.”

  “No, that is the Court of Darkness’s department, something you know all too well,” Trist replied coolly.

  “Yes, I guess we will both have to take the other’s word on faith. I will go to the Court of Inferno and rally the Knights. When I return, I will send word,” he declared.

  “Then you will have my alliance, and I will wait for your message. If I don’t hear from you… well, I’ll assume you weren’t successful.”

  A whoosh of relief whipped through me. It meant this convergence hadn’t been for nothing. Would it have been more meaningful if the asshole had also offered his aid? Definitely. But after meeting the King of Misery, I never wanted to see his face again.

  Ashor ended the gathering of the kings with a modest bow to Trist.

  Trist offered me a sad smile. “You and your queen are welcome in my court.” And with that unexpected invitation, the King of Sorrow mounted his horse with ease, thanks to his long thin legs, and disappeared into the mist, dashing off in the opposite direction Angor had.

  I leaned slightly into Ashor’s side, glad this meeting was adjourned for the time being. One task led right into another. As the saying went, you just had to put one foot in front of the other and keep moving. That’s what we had to do. Baby steps.

  “This was a small victory. Why do you all look so troubled?” I asked, glancing around at the five faces of my companions. They all bore similar forlorn expressions that made me wonder if Trist had done something to them—used a dash of sorrow voodoo, perhaps.

  Erlik turned to Ashor. “The fucking Knights?”

  Confusion clouded me. “Why do you make it seem like summoning the Knights of Inferno is impossible?”

  “Because it is,” Beck breathed.

  I tended to be a firm believer in nothing being impossible. “How so?”

  Ashor banished his demon, the wings disappearing deep inside his back. “The Knights of Inferno are nine servants to the Court of Inferno. They can’t be killed, or perhaps it’s the fact that they’ve never been killed that has given them the reputation of being immortal beings. As far as I know, they’ve never served another kingdom, only those who rule the Court of Inferno. They guard the court from any threat, including trespassers.”

  Like us. That’s why it had been so important that he received permission to enter Angel’s court. But would they honor the invitation from a queen who’d abandoned them?

  “We’ll find out when we go,” Ashor answered the question mulling around in my mind.

  Either the Hunt had grown accustomed to Ashor reading my thoughts and replying, or they just
didn’t give a shit. Not even one of them blinked.

  Shaking off his black hood, Draven expelled his demon face. “They are heartless, fearless, faceless, and soulless creatures. It is their lack of a soul that demons attribute to the idea of them being unkillable.”

  “So you’re saying this mission we’re tasked with to have any hope of stopping the queen is hopeless?” Dread curled in my stomach.

  Draven stroked his beard. “Overwhelmingly difficult, but not hopeless.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Same thing.”

  The past few days became a whirlwind of traveling, and it didn’t appear to be letting up anytime soon. I’d always wanted to travel. I just never thought it would be a world tour of the underworld. I had been thinking more along the lines of Paris, Seoul, Edinburgh, and Rome, just to name a few. Those dreams looked further and further out of reach, but there was one dream I couldn’t let go of.

  No, I took that back. I had two dreams.

  The first being Ashor and me together, not having to look over our shoulder or worry about being hunted.

  The second, to see my nephew born into my world.

  They might have seemed like simple dreams, but with our current situation, they were inaccessible, so far out of my reach.

  It was late when we got back to Gardeness, or early depending on how you looked at it. The sun would be rising in a few hours, which didn’t give us much time to sleep. I fell into bed, clothes still on; the only thing I managed to kick off was my shoes. My muscles didn’t have the energy to remove anything more. Perhaps Ashor would lend a hand.

  “I’d love nothing more, luv,” he purred, his voice silky like the sheets pressed against my cheeks.

  My lips curved, the only muscles that still worked.

  Ashor sat down at the edge of the bed, and I peeked at him through half-closed eyes as he ran a hand through his hair. “That went as expected.”

  Snuggled on the pillow, it took a moment for me to respond, and since I was too exhausted to form the words, I thought them instead. “So, you knew Angor would refuse, and yet you still reached out?” This was one time that Ashor reading my mind turned out to be damn convenient.