Soul Deep: Dark Souls, Book 2 (40 page)

“Isn’t it obvious?” Micah gazed up through the fluttering leaves at the steel-gray clouds, as though willing them to keep lashing out their wet, cold fury. “The Ancients are practically extinct, and only a handful of firstborns remain. The amount of candidates among which to choose was quite low, significantly increasing your odds of being selected. The fact that you’re Athanatos’s son and the new leader of the Kleptopsychs tipped the scale in your favor.”

Kyros didn’t buy it. The angel was hiding something. He could tell. “What is it you hope to accomplish by empowering me? And don’t give me some bullshit about peace.”

Micah reflected. “I wish to restore the balance of power. If I have my way, the unworthy shall perish and the worthy shall rightfully inherit the earth.”

Kyros lapsed into silence again as rain slashed the air around them, striking the ground with brutal force. The smell of moss and rotting grass contaminated the atmosphere, overpowering the scent of wildflowers perfuming the breeze.

They finally emerged from the thickets, covered in grime and drenched to the bone. Beyond the mountains, lightning lacerated the sky moments before Micah came to an abrupt stop. “Our journey is at its end.” With a final glance over his shoulder, the angel indicated the opening of a cave about ten yards away. “Your prize awaits. All you need to do is enter to claim it.”

Regan grabbed Ben’s hand and swiftly turned toward the only exit, adrenaline shooting through her veins. “We have to get as far away from this place as possible.”

Marcus seized her by the shoulders, immobilizing her, his expression grim. “It’s too late. They’re here.”

Only then did she sense them, two conflicting energies just beyond the cave door, steadily approaching. Fighting an onslaught of panic, she pulled Ben closer. She reached for Marcus, ensured she had a firm hold on him as well, and attempted to fold space. Nothing happened.

She released their hands, defeated. “I don’t understand. Why can’t I teleport?”

Marcus pulled away from her, his gaze scanning the cave as though searching for something—a cloak or a shield that could potentially interfere with her powers. A glint of understanding came into his eyes, and he went to examine the walls. “The bastard’s thought of everything.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He didn’t pick this cave randomly,” he explained. “See these colorful specks embedded in the stone?”

Regan studied the clay-colored walls, for the first time noticing the sparkling fragments trapped within them. The words Ben had uttered when he’d awakened from his nightmare echoed through her mind.

A cave with jewels in the walls.

She had no clue what these stones were, but she knew one thing. This was the place. The place Ben had seen in his dream. The place where he had predicted he would die.

“It’s heliolite,” Marcus told her, unaware of the slow slide of dread spreading through her, “more commonly known as the Oregon sunstone. These rocks contain traces of copper. Just how much depends on their color.” He pointed to a pale golden speck. “Yellow stones have the smallest concentration.” His hand moved toward a cluster of emerald-colored gems. “The green ones have significantly more.”

Regan noted that most of the sunstones were a deep scarlet. She was afraid to ask, but she did so anyway. “And red?”

“Red stones have the strongest concentration of copper, twice as much as the green ones.” He met her gaze, his features as hard as the rocks he described. “There isn’t enough copper in these walls to harm us, but you can forget about folding space. Our only option is to fight our way out of here.”

Defiance swelled in her breast. Ben wouldn’t die here tonight. Not if she could help it. She bent over and retrieved the ruby-hilted dagger at her feet. The blade caught the pulsing light, shimmering with a liquid glow. There was something magical and powerful about this weapon. Something powerful enough to kill an angel.

“Fine by me. I’m through being strung along.” Handing Marcus his trench knife, she inhaled a bolstering breath and braced herself for battle. “It’s time to show this angel of divine intervention exactly who he’s up against.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

Kyros’s anticipation got the better of him, and he made a run for the cave Micah had indicated. He could already feel himself weakening, the water sapping his strength. He needed to replenish his energy, and soon.

Eager to get out of the rain and claim his prize, he propelled himself through the entrance…and found himself staring down the length of a gold blade, secured in the hand of Marcus’s trusted sidekick, Regan.

The woman pinned him with a murderous glare. “Not another step.”

He stopped, his glance flitting from her to Marcus, who promptly unsheathed his broadsword and aimed it at Kyros’s chest. Behind his old enemy, a young boy cowered, glowing brighter than the odd blue flames radiating throughout the cave.

Kyros turned on Micah, who now stood at the entrance, his large body blocking the only way out. “This was all an elaborate setup,” he accused. “A trap.”

Micah didn’t attempt to deny it.

Kyros spat at the angel’s feet. He’d been a fool. A blind fool who’d allowed his greed for power to drown out the warning common sense had kept screeching in his head. He’d known from the moment he’d met Micah that the angel couldn’t be trusted, but time and time again he’d ignored his instincts. Everyone kept betraying him—first Marcus, then Diane and now Micah.

But Kyros wasn’t completely without defenses. The time had come for him to pull the ace from his sleeve. “Guards!” The command reverberated off the cave walls, a hollow chime that rang with desperation.

He waited until his echo died down, but his troops didn’t appear. “Guards,” he called again, reaching for the sword at his waist.

Micah approached him, his expression void of shock or surprise. The angel either had an impressive poker face or he’d known all along that Kyros’s army followed. “I hate being the bearer of bad news, but your troops have been detained.”
 

Comprehension robbed Kyros of his last vestige of hope. “The scuffle in the woods.”

The angel smiled, satisfied. “Not the wildlife seeking shelter, but your troops crossing swords with a most formidable enemy.”

Kyros took a cautionary step back, muttered a virulent oath. “The Watchers.”

Deep in the valley, a vicious battle raged. The Kleptopsychs had taken the Watchers by surprise, and that had cost them several good men. Curtains of rain fell to cloud Jace’s vision, fusing his clothing to his skin and freezing him solid. Weakness clawed at his limbs as he fought, desperate to prevent the loss of any more Watchers tonight.

Lia wielded a sword beside him, her back pressed to his, her body shaking from the cold. If anything happened to her…

He tried to focus his thoughts, to ensnare his enemy’s mind, but the rain ran interference. He was too weak, too damn cold.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Cal bury his sword in a Kleptopsych. Black smoke curled around them, as did a compelling white light—the remains of an undigested soul. The creature Jace battled called the soul to him, absorbed it and grew stronger.

Jace released a colorful curse, his voice muffled by the storm.

His adversary gained the upper hand, sending Jace nose-diving into the soggy ground and leaving Lia’s back exposed. The Kleptopsych lurched toward her. Jace screamed out a warning, and she pivoted around just in time to deflect the blow.

Springing to his feet, Jace resumed the fight, unsure how much angel’s blood he had left on his blade. At the rate the rain was falling, all their swords would be washed clean in a matter of minutes.

Almost in answer to his thoughts, the rain ceased abruptly. A strange blue hue filled the night, as though they were at the brink of dawn and the sun would momentarily scale the mountains to reclaim its position amidst the clouds.

With a guttural cry, Jace ran his opponent through.

When the battle finally ended, only he, Lia, Cal and three of the eight Watchers they’d brought along with them still stood. The Kleptopsychs had all perished, each in turn finding an eternal resting place in the wet, hungry earth.

Jace yanked Lia hard against him, pressing her to his chest, relieved she hadn’t fallen with the others. His greatest fear was that he’d lose her to battle someday. But this was the life she’d chosen. The life they’d both chosen.

Cal walked up to them, his face streaked with dirt, his clothing torn and muddy. Weariness deepened the lines around his mouth and eyes. Here was a man who’d spent at least five millennia at war, and in that moment he looked it. “There’s no time to dispose of the bodies.” His voice rang flat. “We need to keep moving.”
 

Regan surveyed the man standing guard at the cave door. She’d seen him before on a sun-dappled highway, moments before she’d folded space and taken Marcus and Ben with her. She’d only gotten a quick glimpse of him, but she’d recognize his aristocratic features anywhere.
 

So she hadn’t been hallucinating after all. Micah had been there, and instinct told her he’d had something to do with her
epiphany
that day. In his roundabout way, the angel had saved them. But Regan still didn’t fully trust him.

“I’m guessing you’re the famous Micah,” she said, her weapon still trained on Kyros. “Nice to finally meet you.”

If the angel noted the sarcasm in her voice, he didn’t let on. He was transfixed, his gaze riveted to the blade she held. “Where did you get that dagger?”

“This little gem?” She indicated the knife in question with a flick of her wrist. “From the angel I just killed.”

Wrong thing to say. Kyros’s eyes flickered with interest, seconds before he unsheathed his sword and swung it at her. Regan ducked, and the blade sliced the air over her head. Marcus charged Kyros, his weapon poised and ready for the kill, but the Kleptopsych moved out of the way, and Marcus’s broadsword struck stone instead.

Kyros swung again, and this time his blade connected with Regan’s dagger, sending it cartwheeling through the air.

Micah raised his hand, and a bright light expanded through the cave. The dagger began to float toward him, displaying an unearthly phosphorescence. Before it could reach the angel, Kyros leaped through the air and caught the gold dagger in midflight. Almost simultaneously, he gripped Ben by the collar and pulled the boy to him.

“He’s mine now.” With a triumphant smile, Kyros pressed the deadly blade to Ben’s throat. “If any of you so much as twitch, I’ll cut him. I swear.”

Chapter Fifty

Ben made a sound so ripe with fear and agony that Regan nearly screamed with fury. With each deliberate compression of the boy’s Adam’s apple, she came a little more undone inside, and the soul she no longer possessed throbbed like a freshly carved wound.

She turned to Micah, expecting him to act, to do something to stop Kyros from slaughtering the child she’d come to love as though he’d sprung from her own womb. The angel stood frozen, his face an unreadable mask, hypnotized by the dagger’s liquid golden sheen.

Kyros dragged Ben toward the exit, keeping his back to the cave wall, his gaze never wavering from his enemies. “You promised me this soul,” he spat at Micah, “and I intend to have it.”

“Why not take it then, right now, directly from the source?” Micah challenged.

Kyros’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Do you think me a fool? I can see this boy’s essence is different. It cannot be ingested unless it’s broken first.” His expression grew feral. “Or released from its human shell with the help of a sharp blade.”

“Not with that blade,” Micah warned. “If you slit the boy’s throat with that particular weapon, you will not only kill him, but his life-force as well. Then your prize will be lost.”

Regan’s anxiety increased tenfold. With one flick of his wrist, Kyros would obliterate every trace of Ben—murdering both his body and his soul. Did he understand what he held in his possession? Did he realize he could kill three birds with one stone? What would happen if he did? She’d been about to reveal to Kyros that Ben’s essence would destroy him if he ingested it, but now she bit her tongue. The only thing that was keeping the Kleptopsych from slicing Ben’s throat was his twisted greed to possess the boy’s soul.

Kyros aimed the tip of the dagger at Micah, and Regan drew a shallow breath along with Ben. “Then perhaps I’ll use the blade on you instead.”

Micah’s expression remained cool and impassive. “You can certainly try.” Ice-hard hatred coated the angel’s voice, and Regan almost allowed herself to believe that maybe he wasn’t the enemy, after all.

“Let the boy go, Kyros,” Marcus rasped between clenched teeth. “Take me instead.”

Regan’s heart bucked in her chest. “Marcus, no.”

Marcus silenced her with a quelling look. “I know there’s something you desire even more than power,” he said to Kyros. “Revenge. Well, here I am.” He dropped his sword, and it clanged menacingly on the unfeeling stone floor. “Come and get me.”

Kyros’s expression darkened as caution warred with greed. “You think very highly of yourself. What makes you think I’d give up such a prized soul in favor of seeing the life leave your eyes?” Kyros studied Marcus like an entomologist dissecting a bug—with fascination and a trace of disgust.