BOOK 2 - Viktoria Ch. 07

Jael flailed at the spiders falling onto him from above, washing over him in a constant cascade. He winced as fangs sank into his skin in numerous places, but their bodies disappeared as soon as they struck. The white light winked out, the waterfall of spiders vanished, and he was left wondering if they had been real. He blinked to clear his vision and froze.

Viktoria sat in a chair across the room, her head tilted back by the man from the gallery. He stood behind her, one of his hands tangled in her long hair, a gun in the other, pressed to her temple. Her dress was ripped to bare her shoulder, and a spider perched on her chest, its head close to her neck. A white-eyed mage sat on the arm of the chair, a spelled knife in his hand.

His Draga's eyes accused him of everything he'd ever felt responsible for.

Two swords and too many threats to Viktoria. Even if he threw his blades across the room he couldn't take out all the dangers before one of them hurt or killed her.

"I've been expecting you. Throw your swords in the fire." The mage shifted the knife so the point lay against Viktoria's skin. "Or I will kill it."

So this is how it would end. Three thousand years of killing mages because they murdered his wife and daughter, only to find his Draga and have her end up in the hands of a mage and die himself. Why hadn't she listened to him? He'd rather be dead than live with failing yet another person he cared about and had vowed to protect, but he had to make sure Viktoria got away.

The blades in his hands tugged towards the fireplace, as if offering to sacrifice themselves.

"Let her go." Jael inched forward, eyes darting around the room, searching for something, anything else he could use. "Give her, and the others she came with safe passage out, and neither you nor any other mage will so much as think about her or any of her family ever again. I'll stay."

"I think not." The mage sliced the knife down, cutting through skin and cloth, straight towards Viktoria's heart. The spider lunged, fangs aimed at Viktoria's neck.

"No!" For the first time, Jael dropped his swords. Unwilling to see them burn, he opened his hands, expecting them to fall to the floor, but they soared through the air and clattered into the fireplace.

The fire blazed the same blue that had burned down his village. His blades withstood the heat, holding their shape in defiance for a few moments before they curved and bent in the unnatural flames. That was almost enough to break Jael, but he stood, stoic until the hilts melted, freeing the medallions. The clinks as they landed on the floor of the fireplace fractured his very being.

A gurgle, the sound worse than any scream, tore Jael's eyes away from the destruction of his swords, back to Viktoria. The mage's knife was lodged in her chest.

Jael's world crashed down around him.

A ghostly image of Viktoria rose from her body and hovered over the floor. She looked back at herself, and when she faced Jael again her face was full of pity.

"It's okay Jael," Ghost-Viktoria said. "It's not your fault you can't save anyone. I don't blame you. I'm just the last in your long line of failures to protect those you've said you would, aren't I?"

Jael and Riordan rode their horses through what was left of the fifth village. Limited by their low tolerance for daylight, they'd arrived too late, and no one had been spared. The bodies of men, drained by vampires, shredded by shifters, and blasted by mage magic, lined the way to what they knew they would find at the end of the path laid out for them—the women.

"I never thought I'd see mages, vampires and shifters working together." Jael said. "I wish I hadn't seen it now."

"I think the mages have forged this alliance with the aim of annihilating those they cannot control. The strygoi have always been rare, never so numerous as they've become. Strygoi magic is wild and resistant to being taken. For mages to use it, it must be surrendered." Riordan waved a hand at the bodies. "Who wouldn't surrender for the chance to save their loved ones?"

They reached the end of the village and stopped. Riordan swore and Jael's sword hilts burned hot in his hands. Mage magic lay heavy in the air. A pyramid of women's heads stood piled on a rock, their eyes open stared at Jael in accusation. The rest of their bodies, the pieces of them, lay scattered around the clearing. At the foot of the boulder lay three heaps of ash, a set of mage manacles atop each one.

Riordan knelt, sifting through the ashes until he came up with a torque. "He won't have made it easy for them. They will have taken losses to do this."

"I told him I would stand by him," Jael said. "I should have come with him."

Riordan stood and offered the torque to Jael. "He chose to live here with his Draga. We all thought everyone would be safer if most of us scattered and hid so they would focus on us in Dacia. We came as soon as he sent word."

Jael turned the torque over in his hands. "I will avenge him. I will avenge them all."

"If they intend to slaughter all the strygoi it won't be long before they come seeking the first. As long as Selene lives, there is always the possibility of more. You must return to Dacia. I will continue searching for the others. Any I find alive I will send to Selene. I will do what I can to whittle their army's numbers as I go."

"But—"

"I can take care of myself," Riordan said. "Selene is preparing to take us somewhere else, but she needs time, and I need you to make sure she has it, in case I do not return. I will hold them off as long as I can. Your job is to protect Selene, Tazraus and Resquiescere. And my sons." Riordan took Jael by the shoulders. "Above all, make sure my family is safe."

A naked Viktoria assembled herself out of the pieces of dead women and sauntered towards him. "Didn't save your friend, did you? Where are Resquiescere or Tazraus, Jael? No one's heard from them in a thousand years. And Riordan, where is he? Killed after you abandoned him to fight on his own? Selene may as well have been dead for years, her sons without both of their parents, because she had to save herself and you." She shook her head in disappointment. "But no one should be surprised, right? You destroyed your family, too."

Faba held onto his arm, her eyes filled with tears and pleading with him."Don't go. They are treacherous men. You cannot believe anything they say. Let's leave this place and find a new home."

"Don't worry foolishly, wife. I'm going to negotiate peace. We are under a truce. If we cannot come to an agreement with them, we'll talk about leaving when I return."

"Shame on you, Jael. She wasn't a Draga, but she was your wife. She deserved to be protected, didn't she? And yet you left her alone. And not just her, your daughter, too."

"You could have been there to protect them. She begged you to stay," Ghost-Viktoria said. "They didn't deserve to die like that, did they? But even that's not the worst of what befalls those under your protection, is it?"

Everything around him burned in blue flames as he knelt in front of his house, too much of a coward to end his life in the flames that had robbed his wife and daughter of theirs.

Jael blinked, the face of a red-haired woman coming into focus. Not Ember. This woman resembled his Draga, but had a gap between her teeth.

"He's waking up! Is he well?" His Draga's voice, so rich before, cut into his soul.

"No," the red-haired woman said. "Worse is coming."

Jael closed his eyes as pain seared through his body and he screamed.

"You're not real," Jael said to Ghost-Viktoria as she materialized beside him again, wearing a tailored dress in black.

"It doesn't matter if I'm real. It matters that all your failures are." Viktoria flashed him a brilliant smile. "Show me how you protected your daughter, Jael. She would have been strygoi."

Jael made his way down the corridor, swords in hand. Magic pressed in around him, forced and corrupted. Weaker than when he'd first entered, but still present. He'd killed four mages as they slept, but least one mage, Mordecai, the Jackal Mage, still lived.

He gripped the hilts of his swords tighter, once again grateful to the witch who had spelled them for protection.

Finding no one on the upper floors, he stood at the top of the stairs leading down to the lower levels. Mages liked their cellar rooms. He'd never found anything good in the underground spaces of a mage's residence.

He searched each room. In what was some sort of workshop he found numerous scrolls and sheets of papyrus, all written in a language he didn't understand. Some were kept in neat rows on shelves, but many were strewn in a pile in front of the shelves, like someone had searched for something in a hurry and dropped everything else on the floor. Across the room a long table held potions of all colors.

Jael used the razor sharp blades to slice scrolls and papyrus into shreds, crossed the room and picked up vials and bottles of potions. He threw them, shattering glass against the shelving and letting their contents drip onto the scrap pile.

If he couldn't find the mage, he could at least ruin the work.

Smoke drifted up from the sludge, and the room filled with an odor that made his nose wrinkle. When he heaved the last potion, sparks erupted from the heap, and flames licked at the shelving.

Even better to let the place burn.

He stalked out of the workshop into the long corridor. Cells lined the hall on either side, but they were empty. Smoke filled the passage, and he turned to leave. He didn't need to breathe, but his eyes stung and he didn't want to burn.

A muffled pounding turned him back around. He blinked, staring at a place on the wall that wavered in and out of being. He moved to stand in front of it and extended one sword into the portal. No, not a portal, an illusion, disguising a wooden door, smoke curling under it and through a small window. The voices of two women screamed for help.

Jael prodded the door with one sword. When nothing happened he sheathed it and reached for the latch. He lifted the hasp and slid the bolt free. The door opened. He extended his sword over the threshold searching for wards. Finding none, he stepped into the room. Waving smoke aside he squinted, able to make out two shapes.

"Come on, we have to go. This whole place is going to burn!"

One woman helped the other to her feet. They wore scraps of clothing and bruises in shades from yellow to black. Stunned, he could only stare as the girls approached him, the smaller one hiding behind...

Jael felt like his dead heart had stopped again. "Faba."

The woman standing in front of him was his wife. He blinked. No, this woman was too young to be his wife. His daughter had always been a small copy of her mother, though.

"Maescia." The world tilted and his legs felt weak. The fires had burned too hot to leave bodies behind, but he'd found parts of two skulls, one bigger than the other, and with the medallions left behind, he'd thought Faba and Maescia had perished in blue mage fire.

She squinted up at him. "Papa?"

Shrugging out of his sheaths, Jael ripped his tunic and undershirt over his head and held them out to his daughter and her friend, his gaze averted.

Maescia accepted the clothing and pulled one shirt over her head, then helped the other woman do the same.

Jael pulled her close in an embrace. "I am so sorry I didn't find you before. I thought you were dead. I... I would have looked for you if I had known."

"I know Papa. Mama told me."

"Your... is she here, too?"

"No, Papa. She visits me in my dreams. She said you would bring what was needed to save us one day."

"Come with me." Jael shifted his swords to one hand and extended his free one to Maescia. "The smoke is getting thicker."

Maescia accepted his hand and reached for her friend. "Come on, Iya. He's not like the other men. He won't hurt us."

Iya let her friend lead her from the room.

"I don't think there's anyone left here, but stay behind me." Jael took them through the lower levels, into the main area and out the door. "Run," he urged them. "Get to the woods."

Just before they got to the forest the girls screamed and fell, their skin lighting up with runes and symbols so bright they showed through the clothing he'd given them.

Jael fell to his knees beside them. "What's wrong?"

"Spells on us," Maescia gasped. "They won't allow us to cross the boundary."

Jael dragged the girls backwards until the glowing symbols on their skin faded. "My swords were spelled by a witch with protections." He helped Maescia to her feet and handed her one. "Do you think you can you cross the ward holding the sword?"

Iya held out hand for his other sword, and he handed it to her.

"We'll try." Maescia held Iya's free hand and they took tentative steps, holding the swords out before them. But they'd only made it half the distance Jael had dragged them back when their skin lit up again, even brighter than before.

Iya fell to the ground, but Maescia screamed and staggered, trying to push through.

Scooping them up, Jael ran further back, until the symbols faded again.

"It hurts, Papa."

"We can't leave." Iya's voice was raspy, as if she didn't speak often. "The spell will push us back farther each time we try to move forward."

"And the pain—" Maescia went rigid, her body contorting in violent spasms, Iya seizing a few moments later.

He did the best he could to cradle their bodies as they shook and thrashed.

Maescia coughed, blood erupting from her mouth onto the grass. He turned her on her side, waiting for the fit to end.

"Can you hide yourselves, like you did before?" Uselessness warred with fury within Jael. He hated leaving them in this place, but he couldn't get them out. No one knew where to come looking for him, he'd stumbled on this place looking for a different mage. The only option was to go for help. "I'll come back. I know some witches. They're stry—strong. I'm sure they can take down these wards. Or I can search for Mordecai and kill him, but I think that will take longer."

"Too... weak..." Iya could barely get the words out. Her eyes met Maescia's. "Only... one... left."

"Yes, I killed the other four. Only Mordecai is left."

Maescia choked, blood pouring out of her nose and mouth."Won't go back. Kill me. You do it. Not a mage spell."

Jael's world collapsed into ashes. He jumped to his feet and paced."But I just found you. I'll—"

"No time. Kill us. So Mages don't win."

Jael recoiled, staggering back a step.

"Won't go back." Maescia grit the words out.

"Won't go back," Iya echoed her sentiment.

Maescia and Iya each picked up a sword, and stabbed the other.

"No!" Jael gasped in horror and fell to his knees. He was an assassin, not a healer. "What have you done?" He gathered both of them close as blood from their wounds poured out.

"We... chose." The girls has serene looks on their faces, as if they felt no more pain.

"You wish... Maescia... stay?" Iya asked.

Jael nodded.

"Wish it," she whispered. "Must... say... words."

Jael's eyes widened. "You're a djinn."

"Wish it," the girl slumped.

"I wish she could stay with me." Jael knew it was a bad idea. Djinn usually gave you exactly what you wished for, though not how you wanted it. But if he could save Maescia, he'd make it work.

"Granted." The girl's eyes swirled with shades of gold and red, and she smiled as she laid on her head on the ground. Her body turned to dust, leaving her gold collar behind.

"Papa." Maescia inclined her head. "Take that to her father. If she could have made her own wish, that would have been her last." She touched Jael's cheek with one hand. "You saved us, Papa."

Maescia closed her eyes, her hand fell away, and she was gone.

Jael sat, stunned as a silver aura formed around Maescia. It separated from her body and floated up, swirling around his swords. Its mass parted in half, and each flowed into one of the medallions embedded in his sword hilts.

Now Maescia would be with him forever, her soul and magic trapped in the blades she'd died on.

Jael roared, throwing his head back and filling the sky with fury and grief.

A lone jackal mocked him in short, yipping barks.

Jael surfaced from a black abyss, screaming.

"Hold him down!" The red-haired woman was there again, a woman resembling his Draga beside her. "Memory, take his memories."

"No!" Viktoria came into view. "He wouldn't want to lose them, whatever they are. Just fix them."

"I can, but it will take longer. It will hurt him a lot more."

Viktoria's eyes met his. "He's not afraid of a fight. He wouldn't want to lose himself. Don't make him forget."

His eyes closed.

Viktoria, wearing her dress made of strings, shook her head as she stood to one side of her bed, arms crossed. "You couldn't even escape from flimsy shadows to claim your Draga, could you, Jael? Too afraid of her. Not good enough for her. You were happy to let her slip through your fingers, weren't you?"

Bound by shadows on his neck and wrists, Viktoria astride him, moving up and down, he thrashed, but couldn't escape the bindings, ethereal as they were. His Draga threw her head back, her inner muscles tightening around him as orgasm took her.

Was she right? Had he let her make the choice so he didn't have to choose to make her his? Not this time.

His grief still fresh, Jael summoned strength he didn't know he had and wrenched his arms free, wrapping them around Viktoria. The collar around his neck vanished and he bore his Draga down to the mattress on her back. He shoved his pants down and kicked them away, letting them tangle around one ankle.

His vampire side took over. Fangs fully descended as he held her down with one big hand flattened between her breasts, the other hand seeking her nub between her legs. He gave her slow thrusts and stroked her in urgent circles, wanting her to come as he sank his fangs into her for the first time. When she clenched around him again, he lunged for her neck.

This time he would have his Draga, even if it turned into another bad memory.

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Jael's eyes opened. He lay half atop someone soft, his fangs poised to break the skin on her throat. Rearing back, he took in a bedroom all in white. Wintry air blew in through an open window, cooling his naked body. The view showed him a world made of ice. He didn't know this place. Was this a memory he'd forgotten? Another way to torture him?

Arms wrapped around his neck, stopping him when he tried to lever himself up.

"Don't stop. You're better now, but you need to feed to heal the rest of the way." Viktoria lay beneath him, a loose orange tank top pushed up to expose her breasts. One of his hands between them, pinning her in place, the other under her orange leggings, fingers on her sex, sliding through the wetness he found there.

"You." Jael narrowed his eyes at the woman under him.

"You were asleep, but you're awake now. It wasn't me in your memories," Viktoria whispered. "The mage altered them."

"How can I know this is real?"

"In your false memories, what did I call you?"

He blinked. "You called me my name. Jael."

She slid her arms from around his neck and framed his face in her palms, forcing him to catch her gaze. "And when have I ever used your name, Lurky?"

Jael squeezed his eyes shut. It hadn't been her. None of it had been her. She hadn't mocked him and reveled in his failures. He wanted to believe it. But it had been so real. The memories still felt real. And how would she know what she called him in his memories unless she'd been in his memories?

"We can be together now. I want to be your Draga."

But his Draga had been fighting him since they met. Why would she accept him now? He didn't know this place. He didn't recognize the red-haired woman who had been with her. His Viktoria would never wear clothes so shapeless and ill-fitting, or in the bright orange color. He could test her. His Draga would never let him bite her.