Forest of Demons (21 page)

“Is it here?” Earl asked.

Hera nodded.

“Praise the Divine!”

Hera swallowed nervously. “We should . . . we should go.”

Fen tsked. “What, and not see the new addition to the family?”

Hera was looking more and more uncomfortable.

Realization dawned like a slimy worm pushing its way up from the dark recesses of Aryan’s subconscious. “Hera? The baby . . . is it . . . all right?”

Hera pressed her lips together, the skin around her mouth paling with the pressure. Her eyes glittered, and a wretched sob broke from her lips. She slapped her hand over her mouth to smother it, then glanced back toward the house.

Earl went to her, pulling her into his arms, whispering in her ear to calm her.

Fen and Bojan were alert now, both warriors coming to the same realization that Aryan had but a moment ago.

“Crud!” Bojan kicked at the ground lacing his hands over his head.

Fen hung his head, arms on hips.

Aryan moved toward the door.

“Wait!” Hera held out her arm. “I promised . . . I promised I would give them some time with him before we . . .” Her voice broke. She turned her face into Earl’s shoulder.

Aryan nodded, crossing his arms across his chest. His chest was burning; his head felt too tight. He realized that he was furious. This should not be happening! He couldn’t wait any longer. Pushing past Hera and Earl, he strode into the house and knocked on the bedchamber door.

A soft sob was followed by rapid whispering.

“I’m coming in,” Aryan said, pushing open the door.

Cadoc was on his feet, his face contorted with grief and anger.

Alma clutched the tiny bundle to her breast, her face streaked with tears and mucus.

“Aryan?” Cadoc said. His eyes narrowed to slits.

“Let me see,” Aryan demanded.

Alma glanced at Cadoc in panic. Cadoc’s shoulders slumped. He nodded.

Alma laid the bundle on the bed and unwrapped it carefully, reverently. The tiny body squirmed and kicked and opened its tiny mouth, letting out an angry wail.

Aryan scanned its body seeing nothing but clean, perfect skin. He looked questioningly at Alma. Alma raised the baby’s arm, revealing the mark hidden in his armpit. Rosy and smooth, it was barely noticeable.

Aryan looked into Alma’s frightened eyes and made a decision. “A perfect child.”

Alma gasped.

“Aryan?” Cadoc’s voice was hoarse, unsure.

“A perfect healthy boy. Congratulations on your son, brother.” He left them to their newborn and found his way back outside.

Earl looked at his empty arms and then back toward the house.

Aryan smiled. “A perfectly healthy boy.” He chuckled. “The fools mistook some birthing mucus for a mark.”

Hera stared at him for a long beat, her eyes widened in comprehension. “I was . . . overcome. The delivery was . . . hard and I . . . I should have checked. Thank The Divine!”

“Frack!” Fen said. “You had me worried there. Look, I better get home—Valasea will be waiting up. Give Cadoc my best. May we meet again, brothers.”

They watched him leave.

Bojan turned on Aryan. “Birthing mucus? Are you sure you want to do this?”

Aryan considered his words carefully. Only Hera had seen the child’s imperfection. He had given her a lie she could hold him to if questioned. There was no need to muddy Bojan’s conscious, or to confirm the truth to Earl, so when he spoke he injected the right amount of confusion into his tone.

“Do what, Bojan?”

Bojan met his gaze levelly for a long beat, and then his handsome face split in a wide grin. “You never fail to surprise me, Chief.”

Earl looked between them in confusion.

Aryan maintained a neutral expression. “I should get going. Mia will be waiting. May we meet again.”

He could feel their eyes on him as he walked away. He had lied, sick of the death and loss, but their conscience could remain clear. Ivor’s intelligent face swam before him; his voice had not yet broken when he left for the Forging. He wondered if it had broken while he had been away. He wondered what he would have sounded like, wondered what he would have become if he had not been sent away. Could a boy become a man without the Forging? He slammed the lid on that dangerous thought. One act of rebellion was enough for the day.

Aryan slipped into the scalding baths. The silence was soothing, the darkness comforting. No one would interrupt his thoughts. Mia would wait up for a while, but eventually sleep would claim her. He would not have to lie to her face tonight.

He closed his eyes, allowing his decision to really sink in. By not reporting the imperfection of Cadoc’s son he was breaking the law, going against the will of The Divine. But the mark had been so small, so insignificant, and the child . . . the child had been perfect in every other way. Darius’s broken face came to mind. He had lost a child also. He’d given up his daughter. But the mark had been on her face. Would he have hidden it if he could? How could anyone give up his own flesh and blood? Aryan had never allowed himself to question the law, but recent events now forced him to confront these neglected questions.

There had been a time when Borean males had been born in all shapes and sizes. There had been sickness, disease, and immorality, but The Divine’s teachings—the divine light—had cleansed them. By following the laws, they had succeeded in eliminating sickness. Borean males and Borean-born females were strong, and perfect in every way with their light eyes and hair. They were beautiful to behold. It was due to the citizens’ sacrifices and unwavering devotion that this had been made possible.

His brow creased in a frown. By breaking the law, he had taken the first step in bringing evil back in to the City, or at least that is what The Voice would preach. But how could a baby be evil? Maybe if the mark had been larger, in a more visible location, maybe he would not have taken such a risk. He hoped to never find out.

“Aryan?”

Aryan sat up fast, water sloshing about him.

“What are you doing here?” He stared at Valasea in horror. “Go home.”

She stood, arms wrapped around her waist, eyes bright in the darkness. “Fen is sleeping.” Her eyes traced his bare torso hungrily.

“Frack, Valasea, this cannot happen again.”

She swallowed hard, nodding. “I know, I just . . . I had to see you. I . . . miss you.”

She sounded so dejected, so sad, that his heart melted. He held out his arms.

She dropped her robe and slid into the waters, skin meeting skin.

He forgot the baby, forgot all, and lost himself in her honey sweet scent.

Mia stirred in her sleep as he slipped into bed beside her, heart pounding with fresh guilt on so many counts. Cadoc and Valasea. Two secrets he would have to keep from his life-mate. Secrets killed relationships, Da had said, secrets bred lies and murdered trust. He had taken the first steps on a dangerous path, and he was afraid that there was no turning back.

Mia nestled into him, inhaling him. Her smooth brow creased in a delicate frown, eyes fluttering. “Sweet.”

Aryan tensed. Frack, Valasea. “Sleep, my love.” He smoothed her brow. He would need to be more careful next time, because he had realized when he had kissed Valasea good night, when she had rubbed her cheek against his, tears glistening on her lashes, that there would be a next time.

“It’s like another world,” Earl said.

Aryan barked a command that brought the hounds to a halt at the edge of the forest. Darkness lay beyond, a home to beasts they were unfamiliar with.

Fen, Bojan, and Cadoc grabbed their tools, stamping their feet, eager to get to work. The journey had been a long three days, and the sooner they were done, the sooner they could be on their way back to the City.

They had three sledges to fill and all the daylight they could manage. Aryan took the lead into the trees, his eyes scanning each one, touching each one.

“This one, this one. This one too.”

Fen marked the trunks with a slash of his dagger.

They remained on the edge of the forest, wary of what lay within. Other Hands had spoken of eerie wails and moans coming from the depths of the forest, grown men who had been filled with fear by the ethereal sounds.

Aryan and his warriors got to work chopping and stacking. In a few hours they had filled two of the three sledges they had brought.

“Take rest,” Aryan said, cold sweat clinging to his brow and nape.

The men put down their axes and rope, then found a spot to take water and break bread. They chewed on leathery, dried strips of meat, and cracked their teeth on hard biscuits.

Aryan leaned against one of the trees, unscrewed his skin of water, and tipped back his head for a long drink.

Bojan squatted beside him, and Fen joined them. Earl took the spot beside Cadoc further to their right. Cadoc inclined his head in Aryan’s direction, his eyes hooded. Ever since the lie two weeks ago, their relationship had been strained. It was as if Cadoc were waiting for reality to slap him in the face. Aryan deliberately avoided speaking of the baby, who had been named Magnus. He hoped it would make Cadoc realize that he would stand by the lie, but Cadoc remained vigilant, his body full of tension. It was no way to live, and Aryan resolved to speak to him in private about the matter soon.

Bojan nudged Fen. “So what crawled up your ass and died?”

Aryan glanced at Fen, noticing his sour expression, bruised eyes, and generally disheveled appearance for the first time.

Fen’s lips turned down. “I think Valasea is defective.”

Aryan’s heart jumped; he quickly brought his skin to his mouth to cover his shock.

“What? No!” Bojan exclaimed.

Fen shook his head, lips in a tight line. “She’s been different, distant, unresponsive.”

“When you say unresponsive do you mean . . .”

“Yes, when we fuck she simply lies there like a sack of meat, a rag doll with her thighs open, and her face averted.” His hands balled into fists. “You know how that makes me feel?” He exhaled in exasperation.

Bojan’s eyes darkened. He dropped his head. “I’m sorry, brother.”

This couldn’t be happening. Frack! Aryan would have thought Valasea would have had more sense than to show her disinterest so openly. Even though the thought of Fen’s hands on her made him sick, he knew it was the lesser of two evils. It was a male’s right to have periods of disinterest in his life-mate, but a female could not do the same. It was her duty to give her body willingly and with passion whenever her life-mate desired. Valasea was playing a dangerous game, and Fen, despite his youth, was no fool.

“Have you spoken to her about this?” Aryan asked.

Fen snorted. “What? And let her think I’m desperate for her affection?” He pushed out his jaw in defiance.

Aryan bit back his annoyance. “A female is a complicated beast, made for more than fucking and keeping house. You should speak to her. If she is unhappy, as her life-mate, her male, it is your duty to fix it. You were happy to begin with, so I can only deduce that something is upsetting her, and that maybe she doesn’t know how to speak to you about it. Maybe her disinterest is a cry for help.” Even as he spoke the words, he realized that they reeked of musk ox crud but was unsurprised to see Fen’s eyes light up. The warrior would rather believe the lie Aryan spun than accept the truth that maybe his wife did not desire him.

He could feel the heat of Bojan’s glare. The warrior had been giving him many heated glares of late. Aryan was beginning to suspect that Bojan knew more that he should. It bothered him, but there was little he could do.

Fen was silent as he considered Aryan’s advice. Aryan waited for the guilt, but it was curiously absent. In fact it was absent more and more these days. Each time he fucked Valasea, each time he returned home to Mia and lay beside her, Valasea’s scent still clinging to his shaft, each time he waited, but it did not come.

He screwed the lid back onto his skin, brushing crumbs off his furs. “Let’s get to work and fill up that last sledge.”

The warriors finished their food, and then followed him back into the forest.

For the next hour the only sound to be heard was the grunt of their labor and the thud of an axe as it bit into wood.

Aryan placed his mind elsewhere as he worked. He cast it back to his last encounter with Valasea. Her skin silky and soft against his, her mouth hot and tight as it sheathed him. He wondered if he were mad for her. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her.

A low moan filled the air. He paused with the axe midair.

He glanced about at his Hand. They stood frozen, heads cocked, axes raised.

The forest was silent.

Aryan frowned. He knew what he had heard, and so did the others. They exchanged worried glances. Is this what the warriors back home had been speaking of?

Another moan rose up around them.

Aryan nodded at his men signalling for them to backtrack.

They quickly collected what they had felled, and began to move through the trees to the clearing beyond.

A menacing growl rumbled across the forest floor. He felt it vibrate through his boots. Something was coming. Something big.

“Run!”

They dropped the wood and broke into a sprint. The edge of the forest loomed before them, so near, and yet Aryan feared too far.

A yelp of surprise had him breaking his stride. He glanced over his shoulder as a scream ripped the air, his eyes popping in horror at the sight of Earl, suspended four strides in the air, soaked in crimson.

“Earl!” Aryan began to race toward him. There was something, darkness, a mist with no shape. It was moving over Earl, covering him, smothering him with its inky mass.

“Frack, Frack!” Bojan screamed.

They skid to a halt a few strides away, wanting to take action but completely confused by what they were seeing.

Earl raised a hand in the air, pleading for help, his eyes rolled back in his head.

Frack, he wasn’t waiting around for his brother to die. Aryan hefted his axe in the air, let out a roar of rage, and plunged into the darkness.

The world melted. He found himself standing within the crumbling ruins of some large structure. The fallen stones were charred black, but there were hints of something golden and shining beneath the sticky soot. Ash and bone crunched under his feet. A large, murky brown pool sat in the center of the sad ruins. A series of steps remained, leading up toward the crimson sky. He took them, two at a time, until he reached the top. It was a sheer drop into nothingness. In the distance was nothing more than a blackened and charred wasteland. Then the voice spoke.