Inferno of Darkness (Order of the Blade #8) (6 page)

"It's dark red," he said quietly. "I can see the drops of blood swirling in it, and the glitter of jewels." He passed his hand over the surface of the water. "It contains so much power. Enough to bring down armies with a single blow. Even rogue Calydons."

Elisha's heart fell at his description. The sword was showing him everything that would tempt a man. Power. Destruction. Wealth. "It will destroy the earth," she said again, her hand sliding to her hip where she'd hidden the dagger in the folds of her dress. After being so close to Dante and breathing in the deeply masculine scent that was his, she didn't want to kill him and deliver him to a death worthy only of the beasts who so willingly carried out her mother's commands. She wanted him to touch her again, to show her that kindness she'd glimpsed a moment ago. She wanted him to ignite in her those swirling desires that felt like wildfire unleashed upon her soul.

Dante turned his head to look at her, and she saw a sheen of sweat across his forehead. Pain? Temptation? His eyes were blazing, and she knew that the sword was calling him fiercely, and that he was fighting with every bit of strength to resist its call. "What would you have me do instead?" he asked.

Hope leapt through her. "Walk away."

He met her gaze. "And then what?"

"Then stay away." Was the man dense? Was it not obvious?

"No." He turned toward her, until they were only inches apart. "I mean, Elisha, what then? Will it haunt me night and day? Will it ever give up?" He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Because I'm not a machine, Elisha, and I won't be able to resist it forever. That thing is burning through my flesh right now. I can feel it in my hand. I know exactly how the handle will fit against my palm. I can hear the tones of its energy humming through my head. It's a low, violent rumble that bleeds power. I can see the carnage spread out before it as I raise it above my head. I can see my enemies fall, crumbling beneath its power."

"It's a lie," she said urgently.

"No, it's not. The sword is that powerful, and we both know it." He looked again at the pool. "Do you know who my enemies are, Elisha? They're my own kind. Rogue Calydons who destroy innocents. Women. Children. Good men. No one is strong enough to stop them." Regret and bitterness were heavy in his voice. "No one except me, and I'm dying." He reached out a hand, and she tensed, her heart pounding as he flattened his palm over the surface of the water, not touching it, but so close. "But this sword could do it. It would bring down anyone I wanted. Do you see, Elisha? With this sword, I could bring peace all by myself." His voice faded, and his expression became grim, almost as if he, too, could see the dangerous fate for any who wielded it. "It will corrupt anyone who touches it," he whispered. "It's like my father himself."

"It will bring death," she hissed. "It's a lie!"

Dante dropped his hand suddenly and leapt backward, throwing himself a far distance from the pool. He landed on his back, skidding across the earth before he finally stopped. He sat up, draping his arms over his knees, but he did not rise. Sweat was streaming down his face, rivulets streaking the dried blood and dirt still on his body from the battle he'd been engaged in before he'd come. "It feels so fucking real to me," he said, his eyes blazing. "It will give me the one thing I want."

She leapt to her feet. "It will give my mother what she wants." Instinctively, she pushed air against him, building a wall between him and the pool.

Dante laughed softly, brushing his hand through her protection. "You can't stop me from taking it. That's why the sword picked me. Because I'm stronger than you."

"I will stop you." She pulled the dagger out of her dress and let him see it. "The Blade of Cormoranth," she said.

Dante's gaze went sharply to the blade that she knew he'd heard of. All warriors had. It was legendary. It would kill whatever the person wielding it wanted to destroy. There was no defense against it. None at all.

Dante studied the blade, and he dragged his gaze to her as he stood up, his long, muscular body unfolding so gracefully from his seated pose. "And what if you kill me, Elisha? Won't the sword call another instead?"

"I'll kill him, too."

"And another? And another? And another?" He took a step toward her, and Elisha stiffened. "I know the legend of that blade. The poison in it will eat away at the mind of the person wielding it, until the very person who used it to destroy becomes its worst victim. It will destroy you, and then the sword will be free to claim its new owner, won't it?"

"I don't care." She tightened her grip on the handle of the dagger. "I'll do whatever it takes."

"Instead of killing me," he said, easing to a stop in front of her, "you can believe that I'm as good as the sword thinks I am, and realize that I, and I alone, might have the power to control the sword, instead of it controlling me. I might own it and bend it to
my
will." Even as he said it, more sweat beaded on his brow, and he swayed, as if he were going to fall.

Instinctively, she reached for him, her hand closing on his arm. He went rigid under her touch, his hooded gaze intense on hers. "Do you know how weak we all are? No warrior that I know can resist the corruption that absolute power can give. No one." He looked past her at the sword again. "I cannot allow anyone else to be burdened with it. It is my duty. That is why it called me." He rubbed his finger over a mark on his wrist, his face grim. "It fucking has to be me, doesn't it? I'm the one who has to wield it and be stronger than it. I can't walk away and let someone else deal with it instead."

For a split second, hope leapt through her at his words, at his conviction that he could defeat the sword. But at the same time, she knew it was a false hope. "No one is stronger than that sword."

"No?" Dante looked at her. "My name is Dante Sinclair," he said again, his voice low and dangerous. "My father raped my mother to create me, and then kidnapped me when I was five. When she came after me, he slayed her in front of me, claiming that the right of the Order to create more of their kind trumped all else. I watched all the other Order members do the same. They raped. They kidnapped. They beat their sons to make them tough. And then each of them met their
sheva
and went rogue, desecrating the very earth that they were sworn to protect. I've seen darkness. I've lived hell. And I will not,
will not
, allow that kind of darkness to spawn in my world, and I will
not
allow a sword to turn me into that kind of monster."

His words were so raw with emotion and pain that her heart seemed to freeze in her chest, and tears sprang to her eyes. Dear God, who spoke like that against terrible things? Who lived a life in protest of it? "I don't understand," she whispered, stunned by his words. By all he had suffered. By his hatred of the things she lived with every day of her life. She didn't understand how he could mean what he said, how he could truly live the passion that he'd spoken.

"You don't understand?" Dante limped forward, sliding his hand behind her neck, as if to force her to understand. "I'm all that's left," he said. "I'm it. I'm the last hope that the innocents of this earth have to protect themselves from those who used to be my friends, my brothers, and my teammates. I am all that stands between them and their demise. I won't abandon them, no matter what. A sword bewitched by a queen of darkness means nothing to me. It cannot ensnare me, not at the cost of the innocents I swore to protect. Nothing,
nothing
, can deflect me from my purpose. I will protect them!" He suddenly strode past her, plunged his fist into the water, and grabbed the sword.

Elisha screamed in protest as Dante touched the sword, but it was too late. An explosion of colors filled the clearing, sending sparks of blue, turquoise, orange, red, yellow, and green cascading through the air, shooting into the night sky, falling in colorful remnants to the parched earth. The air filled with the screams and whistles of a thousand armies, saluting their greatest master.

Dante raised the sword above his head, pointing it to the heavens as smoke poured from the end of the blade, great billows of darkness so intense that the clearing was instantly consumed. It became as dark as the blackest night, until the only light that remained were the fading sparks fighting for a last breath. He raised his face, and smoke poured down his arms, coating his flesh with black soot, owning his body, his soul, and his mind.

For a moment, Elisha stood transfixed, stunned by the sheer power flooding the area, and by the way Dante's already muscular body seemed to swell with vile, tainted strength. Dismay filled her chest as a bellow erupted from the depths of his soul, the battle cry of victory, of a man who had secured his greatest desire. For a moment there, during his speech, she'd felt the intensity of his conviction, and she'd believed that maybe, just maybe, he was the man who could end all this...

Yet there he was, a statue being consumed by the sword that was so much more powerful for an earth-bound male—

"Wind! Give me wind!" Dante's voice ripped through her mind, a command so fierce that it shattered the hold that the moment had on her.

She responded instantly, throwing out her hands and blasting him with such force that his skin rippled and the trees behind him flattened. With a howl of outrage, Dante spun around and swung the sword, hurling it at the very trees she'd leveled. It flew from his hands, streaking through the air like an enchanted stream of black magic, and slamming hilt-deep into the roots of the nearest tree. The tip was jammed so deeply in the trunk, it was as if it were trying to sever the tree's soul from its physical form.

Disbelieving shock froze her. He'd managed to release the sword!

The moment Dante let go of the sword, the night screamed in fury, the smoke vanished, and the colors faded. He dropped to his hands and knees, his head bowed, his body shaking violently, his torso heaving as fierce breaths fought in his chest.

Elisha raced over to him, stunned by what had just happened. "You let go of it. You broke its hold on you." She couldn't believe it. She'd never seen anything like that happen before. Ever.

Slowly, Dante raised his head to look at her. His eyes were streaked with red, and there was blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "I must confess," he said grimly, "that was a hell of a lot more difficult than I thought it was going to be."

She almost smiled at the enormity of his understatement. "Did you think I was lying about the power of the sword?"

"No. I just thought you didn't realize what a hero I am." With a groan, Dante collapsed, and then rolled onto his back, his chest still heaving. "Turns out, the queen of darkness makes a better sword than I gave her credit for. Or, conversely, it turns out that I'm weaker than I imagined."

"You're not weak, Dante. For you to be able to release that sword after it had claimed you is incredible. You're powerful beyond words." Elisha sank down beside him, her body shaking with relief. How could he sound normal after that? "How did you release it?"

"I don't know." He draped one arm across his forehead. His flesh was burned and swirling with the power of the sword that was still inside him. "It all happened so fast I wasn't ready for it." He glanced at her. "The wind helped."

She smiled. "Better than the Blade of Cormoranth." Then her smile faded. "So, you'll walk away now?" Even as she asked the words, regret filled her. She didn't want him to depart. Not this powerful, incredible man who spoke of protecting innocents with such passion that she'd felt it in her own heart. Not this man who had somehow, incredibly, been able to break the sword's hold on him. Not this man, whose mere nearness seemed to pulse deep inside her, to call her, to beckon to her. "You must walk away," she added, forcing herself to say the words she had to say. "You must understand now how dangerous it is."

Dante let out his breath. "I saw the destruction that it carries. I felt it. The sword is..." He looked at her. "It's the worst suffering, the worst hell, the most brutal death that could ever be conceived of, a thousand times over, for an eternity. It's ruthless destruction, at all cost, with no conscience or humanity. It's worse than the Order."

She nodded, surprised that he had been able to grasp the depths of the darkness that lived within the sword. "That's my world."

"Well," Dante said quietly, "I can't let it be this world. It can't be turned loose." He met her gaze. "No man can resist that."

"No. I don't know how you did."

"You did it."

She looked sharply at him. "What?"

"You did it. You kept the corruption at bay." A faint smile touched his face, and he brushed his hand over the ends of her hair. "I kept hearing your voice," he said softly, haltingly, as if he were articulating a truth even he didn't quite grasp. "Through all the noise the sword was making, I kept hearing your voice, telling me to come back to you."

She frowned, her heart pounding at the intimacy of his touch. "I didn't say that."