Born in Darkness Read online

  I stood there, my palm throbbing in pain as I drank in those vibrant tones carried on his masculine scent, floating away on a sensory mist. The man was sex personified, so silky and sensual that I could concentrate on nothing else, even though a deeper part of my mind was screaming that this was off, that I needed to push through the mist. That whatever I felt in the presence of this man, it absolutely wasn’t real.

  I didn’t care. I could stare at him forever, drinking in the sensual pleasure, relishing the tingle that his mere proximity sent coursing over my skin.

  I sighed, my body humming even as through the haze, I saw his hand tighten around the hilt of my knife.

  The steel glinted in the spackled light, the flashes an encoded warning only for me—Wake up, wake up, wake up!

  The mist parted and I understood—I’d failed. And now it was my turn to die.

  The blade slashed down, breaking the spell. I grabbed Zane’s wrist with my sore hand and pulled, bringing the blade dangerously close to my chest, but also pulling him off balance.

  He tumbled toward me, and as he did, I shifted, taking his arm with me as I rolled over. The haze evaporated, drowned out by the singular need to survive.

  My hands locked on his wrist, and I pressed forward, ignoring the sting from the wound in my palm, wanting only to move the knife as far away from my flesh as possible.

  And, yes, wanting to cut the son of a bitch who was trying to take me out.

  I heard a sharp snap as his wrist broke, going limp as I forced the blade through the taut, caramel skin. Blood flowed, warm and sticky, and I opened my mouth, a wisp of an oh filling the otherwise silent room.

  “Ma petite coeur,” he whispered as a blood bubble formed on his lips. “Je suis mort.”

  14

  Mortified, I fell to my knees, pulling the knife free as I tried to take back what I’d done—even as I watched the final spark of life fade from Zane’s eyes.

  “No,” I whispered, letting the knife clatter to the floor. My gut clenched as something strange and otherworldly seemed to fill me—a surge of power followed by a burst of sweet, almost sexual pleasure that had me biting back a moan.

  What the fuck?

  I forced myself to open my eyes, as embarrassment, lust, and desire ricocheted through me, not to mention the abject terror that Clarence would slip a knife into the back of my neck and finish the job that Zane had started.

  I flinched, my mind holding me steady while fear urged me to cut and run.

  But Clarence wasn’t moving toward me. Wasn’t even looking at me.

  Instead, he was watching Zane’s body. And when I turned in that direction, I knew why. Beneath the rent in the material of Zane’s shirt, his skin was knitting back together, as if I were watching an autopsy in reverse.

  I swallowed, more fascinated than scared, my attention moving from his chest to his mending wrist and then to those dull, dead eyes. Dull, that is, until I caught a glint of something that seemed to come from behind the irises. A something too deep to be a reflection, but instead seemed to be a pulse of pure, internal energy.

  I watched—astounded, flabbergasted, the whole range of shock-and-awe emotions—as Zane blinked, stretched, and sat up.

  For confirmation’s sake, my eyes dipped once again to his chest, but the man was healed.

  More than that, the man had come back from the dead.

  “So did you,” Clarence said, his voice making me jump. I’d forgotten he was standing there, watching me even as I watched Zane.

  “But I—but—” Honestly, what was there to say?

  Zane rubbed the spot on his chest, then flashed me a smile so knowing it made my cheeks flush.

  I took an involuntary step back. He would, I knew, finish what he’d started. And this time, the trainee wouldn’t be victorious.

  The expression that crossed his face as he looked at me, though, lacked any murderous intent. On the contrary, what I saw reflected back at me was . . . pride.

  “Bravo, Lily,” he said, taking my knife from the floor and then standing up, his shirt ripped, but the flesh underneath pure and perfect. “You understand now.”

  I stood there, my throbbing hand screaming for attention. But I wasn’t interested in the pain right now. I shoved it away, compartmentalized it, and focused on the miracle of this man now standing before me. “How did you—”

  “We all got gifts, Lily,” Clarence said. “Zane trains. Makes sure we got the best warriors, and that they’re gonna do whatever they got to live. To keep on fighting.” He shrugged. “Wouldn’t do much good if he permanently died each time a warrior passed the test.”

  I swallowed, his words enveloping me. Passed the test. “Then I really did kill him?”

  “Oh, yeah. You nailed him. And you’re stronger for it.”

  I frowned, at first assuming he meant metaphorically. But I soon realized he meant more than that. The blood seemed to pump through my veins with more purpose. My muscles primed. My senses acute.

  I’d killed—and I was stronger for it.

  I’d killed—and I’d enjoyed it.

  “You got it, kid. Each kill with your blade makes you that much stronger. That much more of a fighter. That much more unbeatable.”

  I looked at Zane, who’d come back from the dead. “So what are you? An angel?” He certainly looked the role. Masculine beauty with eyes that seemed to go on forever, and a sensual allure that pulled you in, featherlight, but with a warrior’s fire.

  “Far from it,” he assured me. He moved closer, making my skin tingle as if I’d stepped too close to a live wire. “Remember, ma chérie. You can’t let anything distract you. Not compassion, not curiosity, not eyes that look like your sister’s,” he added, looking back at the still-immobilized demon. “You have the skills. You lack only in commitment.”

  “I’m committed,” I said. “I got you, didn’t I?”

  “She’s not one to be trifled with, I see,” he said to Clarence. “And oui, you did. But only after. And if I’d nailed your ass, chérie, where would you be now?”

  Burning in hell.

  His eyes suggested I was exactly right.

  “Do you wish to survive, Lily? Do you want to fight our fight? Prevail in our cause?”

  “Absolutely,” I said, turning to stare at the little bitch who’d almost sent me to hell. “Absolutely, I do.”

  “Good. Then train,” Zane said. “You complete your assignments. You don’t hesitate. You go after the mission in the most single-minded of manners. Doubt will get you killed. Second-guessing is a doorway to death. You are not here to minister to them, to bind their wounds or cure their ills. Remember who we are fighting; their methods are tricky, their soldiers strong. But if you obey—if you focus—your gifts will see you through.” He put his hands on my shoulders. “Can you do that, Lily?”

  “Yes,” I said, because no other answer was possible.

  As I spoke, Zane moved with graceful intensity toward the girl, still on the ground, her face contorted with pain as she clutched the back of her neck.

  He bent down and then, almost lovingly, stroked her hair before pulling down the neckline of her shirt, revealing an odd, raised tattoo. A serpent coiled around a sword, his mouth open, fangs bared, and poised to swallow the tip of the blade. “She is a vile demon, Lily. A Tri-Jal. You see this mark? That is the sign of the Tri-Jal, and they are the worst of the worst. So violent—so deadly—that even their sense of reality shifts. This girl only appears to be flesh, to be human. But there is no humanity in her, nor was there ever. She is a demon, Lily, through and through. Less than that, even. She is an attack dog, and evil is her master.” He bent down toward the girl’s face. “Woof.”

  She snarled in response even as she grimaced against the pain from the device in her neck.

  “Some are able to be trained. They walk. They talk. They blend in. An elite force, if you will. A most dangerous breed. One day you will meet another one. And I’ll tell you right now, that day won’t be prett
y.”

  I licked my lips, eyeing the girl warily.

  “This is what you let live, Lily. This is what would have killed you.”

  He held out my knife. The one I had lost in the fight. The one that she had cut me with. The one I’d killed him with. “Come,” he said. “Finish the job.”

  I hesitated only a moment, then took the knife from him. He took a step back. “Now,” he said, pressing a button on the remote.

  The demon girl howled, then stood tall. Her skin rippled, as if something were living beneath it, moving around, disfiguring her, but when she looked at me, her eyes still belonged to Rose.

  “The hell you are,” I said, and I lunged. She countered, but I was ready, and I tackled her, sending us both to the ground. I could feel the new strength in me, burning through me, filling me. And damned if I didn’t put it to good use.

  I had one hand on her neck, holding her down. Those eyes opened, but I looked away. “You’re not her,” I said, even as I slashed my blade straight across her neck.

  An unearthly yowl split the air as the black goo oozed from the wound. I jumped back, then watched, fascinated, as the body shifted into a bottomless pit of slime that seemed to suck her out of this dimension and into some other unknown space, leaving nothing behind but a slight greasy mark on the mat, and me, suddenly broodish and dark.

  I looked over the rest of the mat and noticed that it was stained in a number of places. The blood of demons and humans tainted the place, and there I was standing in the middle, the heir to it all. “I did it,” I said.

  “Indeed you did,” Zane responded, with a small nod.

  I frowned, thinking back to the Hell Beast. He’d also turned to goo, but his wound had been to the heart. “I sliced her throat,” I said, only now recognizing the incongruity. “And she turned to goo. It doesn’t have to be a heart wound?”

  Zane looked between me and Clarence, clearly perplexed by my question.

  “Earlier. When the Grykon—” I stopped myself, eyes on Clarence, unaware if I could share the fact that I’d actually encountered two demons—and that I’d let one walk away scot-free.

  “Deacon Camphire has been up to his tricks,” Clarence explained. “He took out the demon with his own blade in a rather obvious attempt to win Lily’s trust.”

  I bit my cheek, forcing myself to stand there silently and accept the dressing-down.

  “I see,” Zane said. He lifted the short blade and showed it to me. “It is the blade, ma chérie, not the nature of the killing blow. A demon taken out by a proper blade wielded by the blade’s owner will not come back.”

  “Oh. So why didn’t I have a proper blade before you guys sent me to the pub? I mean, I’m this kick-butt assassin chick and I had to grab something from the trash.”

  “Your test was fitting into Alice’s life,” Clarence said. “We didn’t expect—”

  “No,” Zane said, interrupting. “She is right.” He nodded to my hand, where I still held my knife. “A hunter makes a knife his own by spilling his own blood on the blade. She cut you across the palm with your own blade.” I glanced at my hand, fascinated to see that the wound was already healing. “It is now yours, as you have seen. Use it well.”

  I licked my lips, unsure. “So this is all I need? A knife?”

  “Do what you were made for and you cannot fail. Utilize your skill; take advantage of the element of surprise. Do that, and you will prevail.”

  I looked between him and Clarence, torn between going with the mystical assassin-chick flow, or diverting over to earthly practicality.

  I chose the practical. “How about a gun, too? Just in case skill and surprise don’t cut it.”

  “And what would you do with that?”

  “Shooting between the eyes when the creature charges me leaps to mind.”

  “That would do you no good, ma chérie. A bullet will not harm demon flesh. For that you need a blade.”

  I nodded to one of the many weapons cabinets. “Crossbows?”

  “Slow them down, no doubt about that. And yes, perhaps a gun would do the same. But when it’s time for the killing blow, that must come from your blade. Your blade, ma chérie.”

  “Or else they come back,” I said.

  “Indeed.”

  I licked my lips. “So, they just stand up and come back to life?”

  Zane shook his head. “It is not the body that returns, but the demonic essence. Use your own blade, and you kill that as well. It cannot find a new home. If you do not, the demon will find a way to return.”

  “Oh.” I started to slide my new blade between my jeans and my belt, but Zane stepped forward. “Here,” he said, removing the sheath from his thigh. He leaned over and strapped it to mine, his touch practical and economical, yet arousing nonetheless.

  The transfer complete, he stepped back and nodded approval of my appearance. Then he returned to the ring and moved with a cat’s grace to the place where I’d killed the girl demon. He rubbed the ball of his foot on the last bit of stain, then looked up at me, the import of what he was about to say telegraphed in his expression.

  “You’re here to eliminate demons,” he said. “That is what you do now. If you don’t do it, you’re useless to us. And that,” he added, returning to stand before me, “would be a shame.” His eyes met mine, fierce, but with something buried deep that made me shiver, a reaction that only intensified as his eyes moved purposefully over me, taking measure of this tight new body I was coming to call home. “That really would be a damn shame,” he added, as I instinctively reached for the knife sheathed on my thigh.

  I closed my fingers tight around it, even as I fought the urge to move closer, to press my body against him and abandon all my responsibilities to the drunken frenzy of being lost in his arms. It wasn’t real, though. That longing. I knew that, and I fought it. Like a virus, Zane had infected me, and instead of giving in to the fever, I backed off, crossing my arms over my chest and hugging myself. Whatever it took to feel less vulnerable. Less exposed.

  Less goddamned horny.

  If I wanted to survive, I needed to keep my focus. Most important, I needed to learn the rules of my new world.

  And, I thought, glancing back at the barely discernible oily black stain, I needed to learn them fast.

  15

  I trained for another hour and killed three more demons that night—each one delivered to me in a cage and set loose in the ring. They came at me like feral beasts, some with blades, some fighting with only their hands. Some could toss me across the room with the power of their mind, and others leaped upon me, mouth open, trying to steal my soul. Zane taught me how to fight them all, how to protect myself. And most of all, how to handle myself with my knife. I can’t say that my skill was elegant or refined. Mostly, I was scrapping, albeit with more skill and strength after each kill.

  And the bottom line was that I survived.

  Between sessions, I’d regroup on the sidelines, and Clarence would run me through Introduction to Demons. Showing me pictures of various types, telling me what type of mischief each was famous for, and relaying various bits of history. Tons of information, actually, and way more than my already overloaded brain could handle.

  Honestly, it was easier to just fight, and that was what I did the most of, with Zane coaching me (or berating my skills, depending on your politeness factor) from the sidelines.

  As for me, I thrust, parried, kicked, and lunged, all with an eye toward keeping myself alive and turning the demons into oily memories.

  If that was the ultimate goal, I’d have to say I succeeded.

  Which raised the question of why my mood was so black when Zane called for an end to the night’s training. Truth was, I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to pummel something. I wanted to rage against everything, to wail and beat and scream until the world shifted back to the way I wanted it to be. I wanted what I wanted and didn’t much give a shit about anyone or anything else. I wanted to lash out against anyone who stood against
me, and at the same time I wanted to curl up and let the darkness cover and console me.

  I didn’t like the mishmash of feelings, and I sure as hell didn’t understand where they’d come from. I wanted this life. And dammit, I liked that I’d been handpicked. Liked even more that I’d survived the testing.

  But it was there, this sinister, moldering mood. Like one of those dark cartoon clouds following just above my head. And try as I might, I couldn’t shake it.

  And that, of course, made me even pissier.

  “Come on, pet,” Clarence said as we walked toward my bike. “Lighten up. This too shall pass.”

  I squinted at him, trying to decide if he’d been poking around inside my dark mood. I’m certain I’d been broadcasting it loudly enough.

  “Didn’t have to poke,” he said. “You’re like that Peanuts character. What’s his name? The one with the dust that follows him everywhere? That’s you, only it’s a funk that’s surrounding you.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “You’re a big help. I feel so much better now.”

  He stopped walking, then turned and really looked at me, his expression managing to be both serious and compassionate. Quite a feat, really, when you factored in his overall amphibian-like countenance. “It’s gonna pass, kid. Don’t let it drag you down.”

  “And by it you mean the Pig Pen-like cloud that’s making me want to curl up inside a blanket for the next millennium? Either that or go out and beat a perfect stranger to death.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “That’s the it I mean.”

  I made a noise. I didn’t actually tell him to fuck off, but I think the sentiment was there in my tone.

  He chuckled, apparently not put out by either my attitude or my actions. “It’s the change, kid. I mean, come on. You’ve crammed a month’s worth of living into less than a day’s worth of hours. Got yourself a new bod, a new career, and one damn serious mission. So don’t go blaming yourself if everything up here starts misfiring.” He tapped his head and gave me a knowing look. “Go home. Get some sleep.”