Darkyn's Mate (#3, Rhyn Eternal) Read online

Deidre. She frowned, not recognizing the voice. Darkyn said nothing about leaving Hell after they returned from her apartment. She hesitated, though, not wanting to walk into another trap of Harmony’s death dealers. Darkyn wore her out, and when she’d woken, she was alone.

  On her way to see Zamon, she stepped into an empty hallway before trying to call a portal. She saw someone waiting for her in the center of the in-between world and recognized Rhyn. At ease with the half-demon friend of Gabriel, she entered the shadowy land. He waited for the portal behind her to close.

  “Thought I’d check up on you,” he started. “Figured you had to make a deal that broke bad for you.”

  “Um, no. Why?” she asked curiously.

  “Five minutes after you left, he called off the attacks.” Rhyn eyed her. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself to make a deal that benefits me. I’ll make a deal with him first.”

  Deidre grinned. With a whoop, she twirled in the middle of the shadow world.

  “So you did do something,” he said, waiting.

  “I think so,” she replied. “I basically asked him to stop.”

  “Just like that.”

  She blushed, smile on her face.

  “This is the creature that nearly wiped out the planet and the human race, who’s building an Army of Souls to make a second go at it, who has eaten more people than you’ll ever know, even if you live forever, and who’s got the largest source of power of any deity,” Rhyn said. “You asked him not to kill a few kids, at the request of the half-breed he fucking hates, and he just agreed.”

  “It’s purely on his terms,” she added. “Why he chose to agree, I don’t know. I think …” She was pensive for a moment. “No, I have no idea. I’ve been trying to figure him out for the past few days and have no clue. I didn’t know what to do after you showed me those pictures, Rhyn. I knew I had to try. I can’t out-deal him. I can’t lie to him. I can’t manipulate him. All I could do was ask. Maybe he’s got something worse planned. I don’t know why he agreed.”

  Rhyn studied her. “I think I do.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “You’ll figure it out,” he said. He held out something to her. “I brought this, in case you needed a negotiation tool to use to protect yourself from him.”

  She accepted the small vial. It was the size of her thumb and filled with blood.

  “A little birdie in my spy network fills me in on shit going on down there from time-to-time,” he started. “Past-Death said Darkyn kept Wynn, and the birdie told me awhile ago the reason I think he did. Darkyn’s daughter?”

  Deidre nodded.

  “That is the solution.” He raised his eyes at the vial. “Not enough for him to duplicate, but enough for you to make a deal.”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “My mate’s blood.”

  She met his gaze, surprised.

  “She has an anomaly that makes her immune to young and old Immortal magic, all the way back to the Ancients. Whatever my half-brother did to her, that should fix it,” he explained. “Consider it a thank you. Use it how you will. If you need the negotiation tool, use it. If you want to use it elsewhere, do so. No one will know but you and me.”

  “Wow,” she breathed. “Thank you, Rhyn. But really, he humored me for his own reasons. What if it starts up again tomorrow?”

  “It won’t.”

  “You know this how?”

  “His game isn’t the one you think he’s playing. I’ll leave it at that. Just promise me one thing,” he added. “Don’t give that vial to Wynn. He’ll bargain a way home and swallow it on his way out. If you use it for his daughter, dump it in her mouth yourself. If you keep it, hide it somewhere safe until you need to make a deal. Darkyn will know what it is the minute he sees it.”

  “I promise. I know better than to trust Wynn,” she said with a sigh.

  “You did what no one else has ever done and convinced the Dark One to stop slaughtering innocents. Be proud of that,” he said. “Now, get your ass back to hell before your mate hunts me down.”

  She gave him another smile and turned away, retreating through the black portal. She emerged on the landing and stopped to study the vial. He was right. It’d make a good bargaining tool for a deal. Her thoughts returned to the sight of the girl in the bed.

  How many days, months, years had she prayed for a miracle like the one in her hand? Diagnosed with a brain tumor as a child, she was pronounced terminal over three years before. The pain, the surgeries, the rollercoaster of hope and despair. Was the girl in pain?

  Should it matter that she was Darkyn’s daughter? Deidre wasn’t certain what to feel in that regard. The daughter of her mate for eternity, who terrified her and ordered the slaughter of innocents.

  Who’d stopped because she asked him and showed some sign of yielding to their bond, if not to her.

  In either case, Deidre never put a stupid deal over the life of another suffering as she had. She’d be helping Wynn out of Hell as well. The idea he got out causing all her suffering made her frown. Deidre wasn’t vindictive, but she still didn’t fathom the amount of evil in one’s heart it took to kill them slowly while smiling and saying they’d get better.

  Yet the alternative was that Darkyn probably killed Wynn tomorrow, when he failed. It was too easy of a death for the first Ancient.

  She’d make him a deal. One he couldn’t turn down.

  She wrapped her hand around the vial and focused on calling a portal back to her room. The hole appeared, and she cringed as she went through it. She’d never liked the portal system outside of Hell; this one was scarier. There were no doorways, just a hole.

  She ended up in her room as expected and left for the girl’s room three doors down. She knocked, and Wynn answered.

  “I hope you have good news,” he said and pushed the door open, stepping aside. “I don’t.”

  “Just checking in,” she murmured. Her eyes fell to the girl. “What’s her name?”

  “Selyn.”

  Deidre crossed to her and touched the girl’s forehead. Wynn paced to the desk in one corner, pushing the papers around with frustration.

  “Your time is almost up, Wynn. What will you do?” Deidre asked carefully.

  “I don’t know, Deidre. Chances are he kills me or sells me back to Rhyn at some great cost.”

  “Or leaves you here somewhere,” she mused.

  “That would be the worst of the options. Have my magic stripped and turned into a blood monkey for demon scum.”

  “Can you make him a deal?”

  “Maybe. I’m well aware of his reputation, though.”

  “I wouldn’t make him a deal, and I’m his mate,” she said with a snort. “I get Hell for eternity and you get …death. Or to leave.”

  “Fate is a cruel master,” Wynn said.

  His nonchalance made her angry. She sat down and pulled her knees into the chair.

  “Do you have any regrets, Wynn? I mean, this time around, I guess.”

  “You want me to say I regret what I did to you.”

  “It’d be nice to hear you wish you hadn’t almost killed me.” Deidre smiled sadly as he glanced at her. She rested her head against the back of the chair. Nervous about proposing a deal, she also feared doing it wrong. Darkyn’s first few lessons returned to her. She went over the wording of the deal in her mind.

  “I do,” Wynn said in a considering tone. “In some respects.”

  “I think you do a little. I mean, why else did you want to ask me out to dinner at the end?”

  “I did what little I could to assuage my guilt.”

  “But not for my sake,” she murmured. “For yours.”

  “The greatest lesson I’ve learned this life is survival. In my previous life, I was nearly invincible. My magic was stunted this time around. It’s made me cautious and appreciative of the importance of self-reliance. Caring for someone is a vulnerability.”

  She heard what was behind his message, the cu
nning edge Darkyn didn’t try to hide behind pretty words like Wynn did. No, she didn’t trust the Dark One, but she doubted he’d cover up what he was.

  “I miss my friend Wynn,” she admitted softly. “I trusted you with everything I had.”

  “See where that got you,” he teased.

  “Well, what if our roles were reversed?” she started with thoughtfulness. “What if I could help you meet your deadline? Would you trust me?”

  “I imagine if you had that ability, Darkyn would’ve discovered it.”

  “What if he didn’t?” she asked. “What if the silly, innocent, clueless little girl you spent years lying to actually had something that you need to leave here?”

  “What are you saying?” Wynn faced her, alerted by the note in her voice. His sharp gaze took her in.

  “Just that,” she said with a shrug. “What if there was something I could do to help you?”

  “The Deidre I know wouldn’t put politics over helping someone in need, like Selyn,” he replied.

  “True,” she agreed. “Though I could always wait until tomorrow, after Darkyn deals with you.”

  “You’re not vindictive. I know how good you are. You’ll forgive Past-Death for hurting you. You’ve probably already forgiven me. You’ll be the one person in the universe who finds an ounce of good in that creature, Darkyn.”

  His words struck home. They always did. Only now, she understood he was manipulating her. Darkyn’s shared sense warned her. She heard it in Wynn’s, saw it in the ruthless gleam in his eyes. The knowledge made her want to scream, knowing she’d spent years blindly letting him talk to her like this and encourage her with pretty words, while he ensured the tumor in her head killed her.

  This was the kind of man whose depravity Darkyn preyed on.

  “I have forgiven you,” she said. “Not because you deserve it, but because I understand you had a weakness that consumed you.”

  “Darkyn’s bond has given you insight.”

  “Either that or being screwed over by everyone you trust,” she replied. “It doesn’t matter. I have forgiven you, Wynn. I am sorry you did what you did. I’m even sorrier to know that it didn’t change you.” Her throat tightened at the words. “You’re right. I’m not vindictive. I don’t want to see you hurt here or killed.”

  He appeared wary for the first time since she’d known him.

  “I have a solution that might work. It’s not guaranteed, but it’s a shot,” she said.

  “Why should I trust this?”

  “Because if it fails, it costs you nothing. We both walk away, and it never happened.”

  “You are offering me a deal.”

  “Didn’t think this silly little girl that believed your lies for years had it in her?” she asked in a bitter tone.

  “I didn’t think you’d hesitate to help someone if you could.”

  “I’m not. Offering you a deal is helping you both.”

  He considered.

  “No obligation to hear the terms. You can always walk away,” she told him, repeating the words Darkyn used to lure her into the deal they made originally.

  “Very well. What are the terms?”

  “If this solution works, you owe me a favor of my choosing. If it doesn’t, you owe me nothing.”

  “Carte blanche?” He shook his head firmly. “No, Deidre.”

  “What’s it worth for you to be able to leave here? Darkyn always keeps his terms. You don’t have a solution. You’re running out of time,” she reminded him. “Whether or not you take my deal, I’ll help her. It’s just the when that I’m looking at.”

  “You won’t help her today, if I don’t agree,” he said.

  “No.”

  “You’d let Darkyn torture or kill me, knowing my death is on your head.”

  “It’s not on my head. You have a chance to save yourself. If you choose not to take it, it’s your decision, not mine.”

  “And if I tell Darkyn you’ve got a solution?” Wynn challenged. “He checks in daily.”

  “You think he’ll choose to spare you?”

  Wynn studied her for a quiet minute. Deidre held his gaze, heart quick but calm in her decision.

  “It’s right here,” she said and held up the vial. “Your ticket out of Hell. I know it’s a high price.”

  “Carte blanche is beyond high,” he said. His gaze, however, was riveted to the vial.

  “If it doesn’t work, no harm, no foul,” she said. “If it does, wouldn’t you rather take a chance to owe me than be in debt to Darkyn?”

  He was thinking hard about it. She sensed weakness and dwelled on the instinct for a moment. He was going to fold. One more push. She’d never before been able to tell when someone lied to her or when they were manipulating her.

  Was this how Darkyn knew how to make deals? Was this a benefit of her bond to him?

  Oh, to have had this instinct years ago, when she met Wynn!

  “You’ll have to trust me, Wynn, the way I trusted you for all those years,” she continued in a hushed voice. “You’ll have to trust I’m nothing like you, that what I eventually ask of you doesn’t do to you what you did to me.”

  “Agree or I’m fucked,” he summarized.

  “Yes. You can take credit for curing her, if it works.”

  Another long pause. Wynn wiped his face.

  “Very well,” he said reluctantly. “I agree to your terms.”

  Deidre rose and held out her hand. He hesitated once more but took it. Cold energy sealed the deal as official.

  “Don’t toy with what time I have left,” he said. His features remained stoic, but she felt his concern. She’d judged right; he’d do whatever it took to survive.

  Deidre twisted the top of the vial open and neared the girl.

  “Wait,” Wynn said. He repositioned Selyn’s head then gripped her chin and squeezed her cheeks until her mouth opened. “Okay, now.”

  Deidre held her breath as she poured the mystery blood down the pale girl’s throat. Blood speckled her lips. Deidre tipped the vial to tap the last of the liquid out and glanced up at Wynn.

  “I wonder how long-”

  Selyn’s eyes fluttered open. She started coughing.

  “Prop her up,” Wynn snapped.

  Deidre helped him lift the hacking girl into a sitting position. Wynn propped her upper body with pillows.

  “Bring me that tray,” he ordered Deidre, indicting the table to his right.

  She scampered around the bed to obey, beyond thrilled that the blood worked. She took him the tray. Selyn appeared confused at the sight of them, her dark eyes unfocused. Her skin began to flush until it was pink enough to look human rather than the sleep of the dead.

  “Omigod, Wynn,” Deidre exclaimed. “We did it!”

  “Hush.”

  She clamped her mouth closed, watching him check Selyn’s vitals with the urgency and diligence of a man whose life depended upon the results.

  “Can you hear me?” Wynn asked. He lifted Selyn’s eyelids and shone a light to watch her pupils.

  The girl’s opened her mouth to answer. What came out was a pitiful squawk.

  “Your vocal cords did not heal correctly,” Wynn told her. “If you can move your head, nod for yes, and shake for no. Understand?”

  She nodded.

  “Are you in pain?”

  A shake.

  “I’m going to check your reflexes.”

  Selyn watched him with unease that bordered on alarm. Deidre put her hands over her mouth to keep from squealing and stepped back to give Wynn room. She met Selyn’s confused gaze as the girl looked around the room.

  “Some muscular atrophy. She’s malnourished and dehydrated,” Wynn said. “Deidre, the notebook on top of my desk.”

  Deidre whirled and went quickly. She read through the notes on the first page as she returned, unable to make out Wynn’s medical jargon and short hand. She gave it to him, and glanced up, feeling Selyn’s eyes.

  The
girl appeared stunned.

  “You’re going to need some serious physical therapy,” Wynn said and took a few notes.

  Selyn’s squawked once more and pointed.

  Deidre looked behind her, expecting to see Darkyn behind her and relieved that he wasn’t. The girl continued to stare at her.

  “Your back, Deidre,” Wynn supplied.

  Deidre twisted to display the tattoos marking her as Darkyn’s.

  “You’ve missed a few things,” Wynn said with an amused look at Deidre.

  “Is she okay?” Deidre spoke finally.

  “Nothing rest and therapy can’t fix.” He sounded beyond relieved.

  “We did it!” Deidre exclaimed again in a near-squeal.

  Selyn’s brow furrowed. She’d yet to look away from Deidre.

  “Demons don’t act like that,” Wynn said then addressed Selyn. “Your father’s mate was human. He turned her recently. She retains many of the less appealing human qualities.”

  “You’re welcome,” Deidre said, annoyed at him.

  Human. Selyn mouth the word.

  “Horrifying, isn’t it?” Wynn replied. “Deidre, it’s been lovely dealing with you. I’m about to summon Darkyn.” He raised his eyebrows in a hint.

  Deidre nodded. She smiled at Selyn and left the room.

  She’d done two good things today. She walked to her chamber then paused, thinking about the ugly creature that was Zamon. Not wanting to wilt in her room with the energy of excitement in her blood, she padded down the hallway and followed the path she’d taken the other day.

  She checked her hair twice to make sure no part of her marks were obscured. Darkyn said Hell would do what she asked, so she willed her hair shorter and blonde. Even demons feared Past-Death; she’d ride on the small woman’s reputation. She checked her locks to make certain they turned. Still, her step slowed the first time she crossed demons. To her surprise, they bowed and moved on. The next one to pass her did as well.

  Deidre made it to the library a few minutes later. Zamon looked up as she entered.

  “Come,” he said.

  She sat across from him at the large desk. He appeared to be in the middle of recording things again.

  Deidre studied him. She tested Hell’s powers. Zamon’s wings turned pink, and she laughed.

  “It is not becoming for a demon,” he grumbled.

  “You look great in pink.”

  “The deities,” he started, glaring at her. He pushed her a book and opened it. “You are learning about them today.”

  Cheered by the pink demon, she looked from the unfamiliar writing to him. He frowned at her then touched the book. The words swirled off the page and morphed into images of men and women.

  “There are two classes,” he said. “The Seen and Unseen. The more powerful the deity, the more restricted. The Dark One is the most powerful, and he grows more so, as the population of the worlds increase. His power comes from the depraved and the forbidden. There have been two deities in the position of the Dark One, rendering him one of the oldest.”

  An image of Darkyn appeared forefront before the images swirled and began to play a disjointed movie. It showed him in battle, his hardened body moving with unearthly speed and agility against enemies that were obscured. He went from battle to the halls of Hell to a horse, leading a rebellion of the demon army across the mortal plane. She watched the battle with the Dark One – the one Darkyn lost – and saw him banished to the bowels of Hell. A born warrior, he earned his way out by honing his dealmaking skills. Battle made him ruthless; Hell made him shrewd.

  She covered her eyes when she saw him take his demon form.

  “To restrict his powers, he can move between Hell and the mortal world but not beyond without the permission of those deities who rule the other domains,” Zamon continued. “He cannot enter Death’s domain or other areas of the Immortal world without invitation. His magic is limited on the mortal world as well. He must rely upon physical prowess and dealmaking skills to lure Immortals and mortals to Hell in order to tap into the great stores of magic.”

  Darkyn spent much of his lifetime in battle, she noted. If not with Hell’s enemies, then within the ranks of demons. He fought his way from a lowly demon to the position of Demon Lord and finally defeated the Dark One. Merciless, cutthroat, aggressive, he purged the oldest demons from the demon ranks. Any contender for the Dark One position was slaughtered by Darkyn personally. The demons remaining were all young and loyal, trained by him over the years. It made sense he was so skilled a warrior and dealmaker, if his magic was so limited in the mortal world.

  Deidre watched the movie in both fascination and fear. Violence and command weren’t second nature to Darkyn; they were his first. Her eyes traveled over the image of him training others, his whip-like upper body bare to reveal the roped muscles of his shoulders and chest, the tucked waist and flat abs. He wore black pants that hugged his lower body to reveal the lean hips and long, muscular legs. He was lean and agile. He handled weapons as if they were extensions of his body, never dropping them or misplacing a strike. He was a brutal disciplinarian with no more mercy for his demons than he showed humans who lost deals. He also generously awarded those who helped him win battles. His men were fanatically loyal, revering.

  Watching him move made her blood heat. She’d never seen anything like it.

  She glimpsed Selyn and even herself in his story. The image of him drawing her blood for the first time on the landing scared her. She’d been terrified that day, unaware she’d be mated to him twenty four hours later.

  The images faded and morphed back into words that dropped to the pages. Deidre studied them, pensive. Darkyn dealt with her the same way he did everything else in his life. He allowed no room for error, no alternative but for his victory. He forced her to face her reality from the moment she awoke with his name on her back. He didn’t lose at battle. He didn’t lose at dealmaking. He was both a strategic thinker and capable of detailed execution. No false hope, no redress, no going back. He fought and conquered.

  “Death,” Zamon said. He turned the page and touched it. More words leapt from the page. “The second most powerful deity and the second most restricted. His domain extends to the mortal plane. His magic comes from the souls of the dead, which are kept in the underworld. There have been nine deities to serve in this position.”

  She watched in dismay as images of Gabriel played. The entirety of his history with Past-Death unfolded before her, from the moment Past-Death discovered the seventeen-year-old Gabriel, the lone survivor of demon attacks led by Darkyn. Past-Death adopted Gabriel, trained him, turned him into a killing machine, her top assassin and lover.

  Deidre couldn’t help staring at Past-Death in the history. Seeing Gabriel was painful. Seeing her mirror image was a reminder that Deidre was created by a goddess with the sole intention of using and discarding the human she made.

  Seeing them together made Deidre’s chest ache. They did love each other. Deidre watched their history and their love grow then become stale, not because of what they felt, but because of the steps Past-Death began taking to ensure she never lost him. In doing so, she drove Gabriel away.

  Deidre’s eyes misted over. She swallowed hard. It was a tragic love story, one she knew the end to and dreaded seeing how it came to be that way. By the end of the chain of events that led to Past-Death’s rebirth in Hell, Deidre was near tears, hating herself and the woman who destroyed the worlds of all three of them.

  Who was Deidre to interfere in something that spanned so long and involved two people who cared so much for each other? Who was Past-Death to create a new life simply to discard it? Deidre never felt she belonged in the mortal or Immortal worlds, because she didn’t. She’d been molded to exist for one reason and expected to step aside when her purpose was fulfilled.

  It hurt more than glimpsing the one scene the book recorded of her interaction with Gabriel, their first night on the beach, the one that condemned her eventual
ly to Hell.

  She couldn’t bring herself to see what happened when Past-Death returned to the mortal world five days before. Deidre dropped her head to her arms on the table. She feared seeing them happy again, knowing she really was nothing more than a disposable stand-in until they were able to be together again. Just as much, she feared seeing them miserable, because of her brief involvement in the mix. She wanted Gabriel to be happy but couldn’t bear to see it, not when her own world was still so new and frightening.

  Deidre’s heart felt like it was breaking. She was never meant to outlive meeting Gabriel. From what she saw, Past-Death and Wynn were supposed to make sure of that.

  Darkyn claimed there was, but she saw no silver lining to her existence. She was in Hell, because there was nowhere else for her lost soul to go.

  Chapter Seven