Shadow and Ice (Gods of War) Page 9

  Why did he react so strongly to this woman? Why was she necessary to him? “If I come across your sister, and I’m not doing anything else,” he added in an effort to prove he couldn’t be manipulated by lust, “I’ll kill Zion and bring her here.”

  She sighed, as if disappointed in him. “Is killing the man a must in this deal?”

  “It is.”

  “Well.” She thought for a moment, cleared her throat, then nodded. “If you see Nola, but you can’t...uh, take care of Zion, please, I’m begging you, give her this backpack, anyway.”

  A favor, then. “I will do this...but you will owe me.” Tit for tat.

  “Yes, yes,” she said without hesitation, surprising him. “I’ll owe you.”

  “Don’t you want to know what I’ll demand as payment?”

  “Don’t need to know. I’ll do anything to ensure my sister is as healthy as possible.”

  Such loyalty was admirable, and Knox envied the girl. He’d never had a brother, sister or friend in his corner, never had anyone willing to so much as spit on him if he were on fire, much less aid him. Only Minka had loved—

  Blank your mind. Forge ahead. Motions clipped, he accepted the bag and hooked the strap over his shoulder.

  Needing space from his captive, he peered about twenty feet away from Vale, clinked the Rifters together and waved his hand through the air, at the same time summoning a veil of shadows. Air peeled back, revealing the ice mountains, but only to him. Vale couldn’t see past the gloom.

  Frigid winds blustered inside the bunker, snowflakes dancing with dust motes.

  She gaped and shivered from the sudden cold. Feeling oddly protective, he picked her up and carried her back to the bed, then draped the covers over her wet body.

  “I have working legs, was just about to run for cover,” she grumbled, scrambling to her knees. Armor still in place. “I’m not a doll.”

  “You are whatever I say you are.” She was a vision of loveliness.

  “So...did you just open a rift?” she asked, scrutinizing the array of shadows.

  “I did. And now I must go.”

  Without another word, he unsheathed his favorite daggers and entered the subzero terrain. A swift visual sweep revealed no one lurked nearby, and night still reigned, though the parade of skylights had faded.

  Knox waited for the rift to close, ensuring no one sneaked into the bunker and harmed Vale while he was away.

  No one harms my mortal.

  Determined to get this done and return to her—because he had more questions—he marched across the ice, his gaze scanning, scanning.

  Clang. Whoosh. Clang. His ears twitched as the telltale sounds of battle registered. At least two combatants were in the middle of a brutal sword fight.

  With shadows concealing Knox’s body, he trekked up a ridge. The only thing that gave him away was the snow crunching under his boots.

  Careful. He had to remember. The moment he had an enemy in range, that enemy had him in range.

  At the top of the ridge, he took stock of the fallen prison. Large hunks of ice had piled up, forming towers. There was no movement underneath to indicate life. Four ice towers had sprouted, each with jagged icicles protruding from their sides. Petra’s doing.

  Three combatants sparred: Bane, Celeste and Gunnar.

  The female and Gunnar worked together, attempting to corner Bane. The male was too skilled and repeatedly dodged their blows. Even the ones he couldn’t see. His goggles rested on the crown of his head, allowing him to track the pair with his beast-like senses rather than sight.

  A startling new development—Celeste had abilities Knox hadn’t suspected. She could disappear from view, then whisk to a new location. Because of Knox’s eye lenses, he was the only one who could see her when she vanished. But he only detected a hazy outline.

  The more he watched her, the more determined he became to end her. Celeste became intangible, too, ghosting through her opponents.

  Yes, she had to die. And soon. Before she gained more weapons from her kills.

  No mercy.

  His gaze returned to Gunnar. No real threat. There was nothing special about his sword—wait. There was something about it. Something had changed since the last battle. Now the eyaer suddenly shouted {Must have it.}

  Very well.

  Even though Gunnar hadn’t spoken to Celeste in more than thirteen hundred years, he fought to protect her, as if he loved her, using his power to move objects with his mind, exposing himself to injury in order to shield her. A mistake. When he used his power, his body freeze-framed for a split second.

  A split second could be the difference between life and death.

  Knox made his way down, quiet, quiet, nothing but a creeping shadow.

  When Celeste reappeared behind Bane, the warrior sensed her and tried to spin out of the way, but Gunnar blocked one side and an ice tower blocked the other.

  A triumphant Celeste took advantage, ghosting through to drive her sword into Bane’s sternum. The blade came out his back, stopped only by the hilt.

  Before she could render a death blow, he kicked her in the gut, sending her stumbling back—without her sword.

  Roaring, he yanked the weapon free. Blood rushed out, and he smiled coldly. Smiled viciously when he lifted his blood-soaked prize. Then his body began to turn, bones elongating and sharpening, muscles plumping, skin glimmering as if sheened with iridescent scales.

  He took one step toward Celeste, only one, before his knees buckled, the sword falling from his grip. Head thrown back, he unleashed a second beastly roar.

  Knox came to an abrupt halt. Celeste and Gunnar tensed, preparing to flee. Like him, they knew they would need help if Bane fully turned. The world would need help.

  Waiting...

  The transformation ceased, the male batting at the gash in his chest.

  Interesting. Rumors suggested Celeste’s sword leaked a poison capable of nullifying innate abilities. Knox had wondered, but she’d used it so infrequently it had been difficult to tell. He made a note in his mental file: the rumors are true.

  Want that sword!

  Celeste dove and rolled across the ice, picked up the discarded weapon to stab the thrashing Bane in the back.

  Gunnar rushed over, his own sword raised and ready.

  He’ll kill Bane. As he celebrates, I’ll strike. Still unseen, still quiet, Knox rushed forward.

  With one hand, Bane blocked the blow; with the other, he backhanded Gunnar so forcefully he flew into Petra’s thickest tower and slid to his ass. The pop of breaking bones rang out, his head hanging at an odd angle.

  He’d damaged his spine, then. For the next few minutes, he would be paralyzed. All right. Knox adjusted his game plan. He would take out Gunnar, the one closest to him, then Bane.

  Closing in on his target... The male remained awake and aware, radiating panic as he tracked the approaching cloud of shadows. He knew. He knew death had come for him.

  On guard just in case Gunnar sought to lure him into a false sense of security, Knox stepped on the sword, holding it down. No lure. Gunnar remained unmoving.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Knox thrust a dagger through the warrior’s throat. Once, twice, again and again, hacking, hacking until Gunnar’s head detached from his body.

  Twenty combatants stood between Knox and victory.

  Suddenly, crackling power surged through Knox, the ability to activate the sword taking root. Whatever the sword could do. Until he knew, he wouldn’t be using it.

  Kill Bane, then Celeste. Search for Nola—maybe. Return to Vale.

  “No!” Celeste screamed.

  Knox expected to find her ripped apart by Bane. Instead, the male was on the ground, still writhing in pain. Celeste stood between them, staring at Gunnar with horror, shock and anguish.

  Won�
��t feel guilty. It was him or me. I chose me, always.

  Win the war, gain my freedom.

  “There cannot be two winners.” Knox sheathed Gunnar’s sword, letting the blade rest against his back, and approached his next target. “I did you a favor.”

  “You did yourself a favor. You are nothing but a gutter rat, just like everyone says. You killed him. You killed the best person I’ve ever known.”

  “I killed him easily—and I enjoyed it,” he lied, deciding to razz her and use her emotions against her.

  A wise move. With a howl of rage, she advanced on him. Knowing he had to be swift if he had any hope of superseding her ability to ghost through him, he met her halfway. She swung her sword wildly, but he blocked, trapping the metal between his daggers. He kicked her in the stomach, just as Bane had, sending her stumbling backward, gasping for breath.

  Knox followed her down, pinned her shoulders with his knees and lifted the daggers.

  Sudden, crippling pain shot through his collarbone, spreading through every muscle in his body in seconds, making him feel as if he’d been roasted on an open flame.

  He’d been fast, but Celeste had proved faster. And despite the distractibility of her rage, she’d had the presence of mind to ghost, glide an arm up, up and stab him with her poisonous sword.

  As the sensation of roasting became more exaggerated, the shadows surrounding him dissipated without his permission.

  I’m weakening? His thoughts fragmented, black dots winking in front of his gaze.

  Going to pass out? Here, now?

  I’m defeated?

  No! Not tonight, not ever.

  Even as the dots expanded and bled together, Shiloh’s lenses prevented full-on blindness. Hurry. Knox readjusted his position and jabbed a dagger into—the ground. She ghosted and rolled. Not missing a beat, Knox rolled with her—over her. When she solidified, he worked to repin her shoulders. She bucked, nearly unseating him, but still he managed to nick her carotid.

  As her movements slowed, he wrapped his hands around her bloody throat and squeezed. But her skin was too slippery to clasp for extended periods of time, and his grip was too weak to do any harm. Growing feebler by the second.

  “Gunnar was a good man,” she screamed, clawing at his arms. “He had family, people who loved him.”

  “Bane has people who love him, and yet you planned—plan—to kill him.” Bane. Can’t forget he’s nearby. “To win the war, Gunnar had to die. You know this.”

  “No! We would have found another way.”

  This always happened. A group of combatants would band together, hoping to live in peace. As long as an All War winner wasn’t declared, the High Council couldn’t claim the new realm. In theory. But alliances never lasted. And trust between individuals tasked with killing each other could never be sustained.

  “There isn’t another way.” Feebler... Probably her intention all along. Waste time with conversation—distraction—then strike when he could no longer fight back.

  He had to face facts. He wasn’t going to prevail against her. Not tonight, not like this. He needed to run.

  Run? From an enemy? Oh, how the thought chafed.

  “You’re wrong, murk.” Celeste pounded her fists into his chest, and her knees into his back. “We would never hurt each other. We would have spent the rest of eternity here. If the All War doesn’t end, the High Council cannot invade. The rules—”

  “The rules mean nothing. The corrupt High Council controls Enforcers—the true power. They’ll get their hooks in this realm one way or another, no matter the outcome of the war.”

  Knox believed the High Council could use the Enforcers to overthrow every leader in every realm, all at once. He believed they continued to build their armies, intending to do just that. One day...

  A worry for another day. Today, now, he had to run or he was going to die. There were no other options.

  He lumbered to his feet and jumped back. Just in time. Celeste swung the sword, the blade slicking across his chest. More poison, more pain.

  With a hiss, he leaped into motion. Running, running, knowing his life depended on it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A REPRIEVE FROM her captor! Time to think up a way out of this mess and get her mind off the awesome awesomeness of “fiction” coming to life right before her eyes, and her body’s unprecedented, wanton reaction to Knox.

  Or not. Her mind wanted what it wanted—more time to dissect thousands of thoughts about Knox.

  At least she’d worked up the perfect rationale for her shocking desire for him. Trapped in the mountains, she’d been in survival mode, thinking she and Nola were going to die. It would have been weird if her body hadn’t reacted when a gorgeous dark knight entered the picture. Relief was a powerful aphrodisiac, probably the greatest aphrodisiac in the history of ever. She hadn’t read a scientific study about it or anything, but then, she didn’t really need to. She was living proof.

  And Knox had saved her life, whisking her away from the elements. He’d never actually harmed her. He’d even carried her away from the big, bad wind after opening a rift, and gently settled her on the bed, as if she were a treasure in need of protection. He’d ordered her to eat and offered her clean clothing.

  There was a wrench in her argument, though. While the big bruiser had saved her, he’d condemned her sister—maybe—the only person Vale loved. On the other hand, Knox believed Zion would take extra special care of her sis.

  Was Knox searching for Nola even now?

  The man was a puzzle Vale had no idea how to solve.

  Ugh. Wrong analogy. Puzzles had always intrigued her. As a teen, she’d spent hours with Carrie, putting together the most complex mechanical puzzles, while challenging each other with riddles.

  The more you take, the more you leave behind. What am I?

  Come on, Care Bear. Give me a tough one. You are footsteps. Duh! No way Vale was hanging around to try to piece together the intricacies of Knox of Iviland, though. If escape was possible, she was going to escape. Obvi.

  Mind set on a plan of action, she clambered from the bed, balanced on unsteady legs. She would dress, as requested, and pray her undergarments dried fast; at least the pool had cleaned them. Then she would search the entire enclosure for weapons and eat her weight in fruit.

  If she discovered a way out, she couldn’t use it until Knox Her Socks Off returned. Just in case he’d captured Nola. So, she’d also have to find somewhere to hide as she awaited his return. After he fell asleep, she could free her sister—if he’d tied her up—and get the heck out of Dodge.

  In the closet, she performed a quick inventory. Four racks, two on each side, overflowing with black shirts, pants and fur vests, each garment made of a fabric she couldn’t identify. Buttery soft, incredibly stretchy, seemingly more durable than leather, but made of natural fibers—natural alien fibers? She shuddered. Between the racks were five drawers, one stacked on top of the other.

  Vale selected a shirt and a pair of pants at random. When the two settled over her body—

  “What the—” She nearly jumped out of her skin as the shirt and pants shrank, conforming to her smaller shape and size.

  Suddenly they were a perfect fit. Not too tight, and zero sagging. Advanced technology, or resources or whatever it was rocked the house.

  In one of the drawers were folded socks. Like the other garments, they shrank to fit. The same thing happened with a pair of steel-toed boots.

  Dude. A girl could get used to this. Vale kicked out a leg, liked how powerful it made her feel, then kicked again.

  Okay, enough thrilling over her new out-of-this-world outfit. Time was a-ticking, and she had a lot of crap to do.

  She made her way to the bed and plucked a piece of purple fruit. Squishy like a peach, smooth like an apple. Scentless. If this thing tasted like burnt hair on
a donkey’s behind, there would be hell to pay, and Knox would be the one to get the bill.

  Tentative, she took a bite...and moaned. Oh, glory hallelujah. If cotton candy had married chocolate-dipped strawberries, this fruit would be their sugar baby.

  Oh, the possibilities! If she and Nola made donuts out of the fruit...talk about life-changing! And, even better, if the fruit was truly healthy, as Knox had claimed, sales would double—no, triple.

  Considering she experienced a new torrent of strength with every bite, she believed him.

  The shop isn’t a priority right now. Get your butt in gear. Right.

  Vale moved on to her next task: investigating every inch of the home, on the lookout for doors and windows...frick! Where were the doors and windows? Considering the immense height of the ceilings and the space needed for those trees, the enclosure was smaller than she’d assumed. And those trees...they were indeed thriving without sunlight. The only source of light came from the glowing—limestone?—walls, and the only source of water came from the waterfall that fed into the gorgeous cenote.

  Furniturewise, there was a bed and a table with a couple chairs. The bathroom had a sink and a mirror, but no toilet. Did he not have the same needs as humans?

  But, but... What if she had to go? Hopefully the toilet was just hidden. Lastly, she approached the alcove Knox had forbidden her to enter.

  Don’t want me messing with your stuff, don’t kidnap me.

  She peeked inside. Good size, but empty. Dull walls, no glow. So dark, in fact, it looked like an endless abyss. The same kind of darkness she’d experienced inside the ice cavern, and on the trek through the rift, when she’d watched shadows rise from the ground and encompass her. She’d been horrified but also fascinated, yet Knox had continued on, unaffected.

  Now she wondered if he could manipulate shadows. Ancient humans had considered him the god of darkness for a reason.

  Concentrate! Had he hidden weapons in here?

  Opportunity Knox.

  He might know if she entered, he might not. A visual search revealed no hint of a motion detector or sealing tape. Maybe he’d only wanted to scare her. Anything to keep her out of his inner sanctum, right?