Beautiful Salvation Read online

  “She has to die?” Kirill’s cobalt eyes flashed as he focused more intently on Saamal. “If that is what has kept you from waking her, let me tell you with every confidence, death is not always an ending. In my personal experience, it has actually been quite empowering.”

  Eurydice eyed the vampire, searching his face for some trace that he was teasing. The vampire remained composed, observing Saamal intently.

  “I am Death.” Saamal drew himself up, in that moment looking every inch of his six foot height. “It was one of my names before…” His shoulders drooped as if he were a puppet whose strings had been severed and his gaze fell away from Kirill’s. “Thus far, I am obviously not worthy to wake her.”

  “So you’ve been trying to wake her with a kiss for the last hundred years, but it hasn’t worked.” Adonis tilted his head. “For my own curiosity, how well do you know Aiyana?”

  Saamal glanced back at the demon. “I have never met her. After her naming ceremony, my powers were severely reduced. I have many powerful enemies, and I did not want to draw them to Aiyana. I formalized our betrothal and then set out to find someone who could help me bolster my power until the curse could be broken.”

  “Her parents simply let you claim her?” Patricio raised an eyebrow.

  Eurydice shivered as the god focused that fathomless stare on the angel, his defenses once again in place as his face refined itself into an emotionless mask.

  “They did what I told them to do.” His voice was even, matter of fact.

  “Interesting.”

  The vampire’s musing and the rustling of paper drew everyone’s attention to Kirill. The Dacian prince had a scroll and a quill out and was taking notes. The scratching of the writing instrument over the parchment filled the air, dispelling some of the tension. His eyes had a glassy, far away haze to them and Eurydice could practically see the wheels in his head spinning. Her lips twitched in muted amusement. A master strategist, her vampire. If anyone could think of a way to break Aiyana’s curse, surely it would be him?

  “Does the girl know she’s…betrothed, to you?” Etienne crossed his arms, regarding Saamal like a father might view a prospective suitor for his child—a suitor with no money or social position. A suitor who may have been rolling around in a manure pit.

  Saamal opened his mouth then closed it. “No.”

  Adonis’ eyes sparkled and the corners of his mouth twitched as if he were fighting not to laugh. “So your plan is to wake this woman up and tell her to put on her wedding dress because you’re getting married?”

  “At the time the marriage was decided—”

  “By you,” Adonis interjected.

  Saamal pressed his lips into a thin line and inhaled slowly through his nose. “Yes. By me. At the time the marriage was decided, I was a different man. It was not in my nature to consider individuals. My concern was with the land and the people as a whole. More power for me meant more power for the land, and for the people.” He stepped closer to Adonis, crushing the grass beneath his boots. “I am an earth god, Adonis. I pour my blood into the land, I share blood with the kings and bind them to the earth they rule. I did not ask permission to perform my duties, to keep the kingdom and the land itself alive.”

  Seemingly unfazed, the demon peered up at Saamal, his body completely relaxed even with the god looming over him. “And on a grand scale, that makes perfect sense, but on an individual scale—on an individual female scale—‘marry me because I said so’ is more likely to get you a broken nose than a bride.”

  “The demon has a point.” Patricio’s feathers ruffled as he crossed his arms, mirroring Etienne across from him in a disapproving father stance. “So far, none of our mates have been human. If this girl has magic in her, it might be her lack of consent that’s keeping you from ‘being worthy.’”

  Eurydice’s eyebrows met her hairline at the astute observation as Kirill’s quill exploded in another flurry of furious writing. She’d never considered that. Could she have sped up Saamal’s mating process if she’d tried earlier to get to Aiyana’s spirit?

  “And what do you propose I do about that, hmmm?”

  Saamal’s voice lashed out at the angel like a whip, tearing Eurydice from her thoughts. Saamal aimed the full force of his frustration at the angel, those miasmic charcoal eyes twin swirling pools of shadow, darker than Charybdis on a moonless night. Eurydice put a hand to her throat, unease rolling through her at the sharp spike of aggression in the clearing. Patricio bristled at Saamal’s tone, wings rising and his hand drifting down to the hilt of his heavy broadsword.

  “She is asleep, under a curse. Do you think I wouldn’t talk to her if I could?”

  “Well, she’s not exactly sleeping.” Adonis stood and approached the god, apparently oblivious to the skin tingling ire between Saamal and Patricio. He faced the god with a contemplative wrinkle between his brows. “If she’s under a spell that’s kept her unconscious for a hundred years, then you’re talking about displacing her consciousness, holding it trapped in another dimension.”

  Saamal gaped at Adonis, whether for his intriguing suggestion or his audacity to step between him and the angel, Eurydice wasn’t certain. He recovered quickly, brows lowering as he smoothed the emotion from his face.

  “Making her sleep was not the curse, the curse was for her to die. It was through my power and the balam’s intervention that death was mitigated to sleep.”

  Adonis waved a hand, brushing off the distinction. “Same principle applies. No one sleeps that long, the consciousness is too powerful. Trust me, the lovely Aiyana’s mind is not in stasis—it’s on the astral plane.”

  Eurydice leaned forward as far as the trunk of her lower body would allow her, excitement flowing through her veins and making her muscles twitch with anticipation. “What are you saying, Adonis?”

  “I’m saying, that Saamal’s lady fair is probably existing—spiritually speaking—on the astral plane.” He grinned at Saamal. “And I can help you get there.”

  For a split second, Saamal’s eyes brightened, more like polished obsidian than dark pits, revealing a glimpse of true hope. Then, like clouds passing over a full moon, they grew dark again. “No. It would not work. I am a god of the earth, bound to the land. I could not travel to the astral plane.”

  The demon’s wings rose in indignation. “I don’t offer help I can’t provide.” Adonis stood up, brushing himself off as if to rid himself of the insult. “Being an earth god only means you’ll need help from the earth to get to the astral plane. There’s a plant called sinicuichi—”

  “I’m familiar with that plant,” Saamal interrupted. “It is used to brew the elixir of the sun. It is known for allowing a man—or god—access to the Dreamworld, but it also renders the body weak and vulnerable.”

  Adonis rolled his eyes. “Do you want to talk with Aiyana or not?”

  “Of course I do.” Saamal shoved a hand through his dark hair, his perpetual composure seeming to crack. “But I must remain alert. I have enemies, enemies more powerful than you could imagine, who would be on me in an instant if they sensed such weakness. If I were to weaken…”

  “Do you have any treaties with other creatures that will allow you to call upon them for aid?” Kirill queried, no doubt thinking of his own fierce negotiations with the magical beings of Dacia.

  Saamal crossed his arms. “I do not. With my full power, I…” He pressed his lips into a thin line and let out a deep breath through his mouth. “I did not need help. Now that I have lost much of that power—”

  “You have nothing to offer.” Kirill muttered something that sounded like “Poor planning” under his breath.

  “I will guard you while you are on the astral plane,” Etienne volunteered.

  The werewolf prince stood with his arms crossed, the stance lacking the grace it would have had if the muscle of his chest wasn’t quite so thick. The prince of Sanguenay eyed Saamal as if trying to see inside him, trying to see what was truly behind his desire to wa
ke Aiyana. His offer indicated he was giving the god the benefit of the doubt.

  “Your offer is generous, and much appreciated, Etienne.” The skin around Saamal’s eyes tightened. “Unfortunately, my enemies… I wouldn’t want to put you in their path. Immortals—”

  “Do you know what my experience has been with immortals?” The lycanthrope’s golden eyes flashed and he bared his teeth in a feral mockery of a grin. “It always comes as a great shock to them when they get bit.”

  Kirill snorted and rolled his eyes. Adonis barked out a laugh, and even Patricio seemed to be fighting not to smile. Saamal appeared to be the only one who found no amusement in Etienne’s confidence.

  “Accept his offer of help, Saamal,” she begged earnestly. “For over a century you’ve tried to do this on your own, but you are alone no longer. Let your new friends aid you.”

  Kirill’s eyebrow twitched at her use of the word “friends,” but he didn’t speak. Eurydice didn’t miss the contemplative glint in his eyes and she wondered exactly how much of an influence the vampire’s enigmatic wife had managed to have on him.

  “Very well.” Saamal bowed to Etienne. “I graciously accept your help.”

  Some of the weight she’d been carrying slid off of Eurydice’s shoulders, but something about the darkness in Saamal’s eyes kept her relief from being all consuming. Have a little faith, my god prince. I need you to have a little faith.

  Chapter One

  “Defend yourself and your land.”

  The voice came from Aiyana’s throat, rattled her vocal cords, but it wasn’t her voice. The deep booming tones echoed into the night, carrying a weight no human voice could ever manage. A god’s voice.

  She stood at a crossroads, facing a young man, no older than eighteen. His dark hair hung in braids to his chest, and the skin showing around the cut of his summer tunic showed no scars or lines, nothing to mark him as a warrior. He noticed her standing in the crossroads and the blood drained from his face, leaving his copper skin pale in the moonlight. His lips parted as Aiyana stepped into the road in front of him.

  She was larger than she should have been, large enough to completely block the youth’s path. She glanced down and it wasn’t her body. It was a man’s, dressed in full battle regalia, her skin painted with streaks of jade and tar, her arms and shins adorned with gold plated sheaths. A wickedly sharp spear was clutched in her right hand and her heart skipped a beat as the arm that came from her strange new body threw the weapon at the boy’s feet.

  Aiyana closed her eyes, but nothing she did could stop the images. Tears streamed down her cheeks as the boy set his mouth in a firm line, put down his pack and picked up the spear. The fight was over in a miserably short time, the youth obviously no match for a grown man, let alone a god.

  Blood. Gore. Intestines spilling to the dirt road as the boy’s body fell to its knees, the eyes empty of life. The sickly sweet copper scent mixed with the unmistakable odor of death filled her senses, warmed her skin as it flooded over her hands. She shook her head until her teeth rattled, but the nightmare remained. The youth’s corpse toppled over to the ground and she averted her eyes as it hit the dirt. Left it in the road to feed the scavengers. An offering to the predators of the night.

  “No!”

  Aiyana shot up off the bed, her pulse thundering in her ears, drowning her in a cacophony of sound. She drew a hand across her forehead, the sweat feeling all too much like blood. She gaped down at her glistening hand and for a moment her nightmare laid its grisly images over reality.

  Aiyana threw back her silken coverlet and leapt off the bed, her body thrumming with a wild, disturbing song of energy. She paced around the room, quick, rapid steps. She shook her hands, trying to rid herself of the alarming tingle of power, the ache in her fingertips. Her chest rose and fell with each breath and she closed her eyes, concentrating on her breathing, tuning out the chaos.

  Bit by bit, the nightmare evaporated and when she opened her eyes she could finally see her room, see the opulence that was so out of place after the carnage she’d witnessed. The golden silk of her curtain shone like polished treasure in the light of the wall sconces, casting deep shadows on her bed. The elaborate chandelier hung from the ceiling in the center of the room, more gold glowing at her as if the sun itself had been set in her bedroom. Paintings full of rich, vibrant colors hung on her walls, depicting the White God in the midst of some of his most remembered acts of mercy and justice. The sight of the White God failed to inspire her, to comfort her. His brother the Black God was still too fresh in her mind. Not just in her mind…

  Aiyana groped for her robe that lay draped across the settee beside her bed. The rose-colored silk was a pale accent against the deep crimson of the cushion. She snatched up her robe and quickly slipped it on as she rushed to the door of her chambers. She flung the door open.

  “Your Majesty, are you all right?”

  Aiyana stopped short as she nearly ran into the guard posted outside her door. The worn leather of his boots barely made a sound as he faced her, the overlapping bones of his breastplate sliding against his thick leather tunic. He clutched his spear in his hand, the sharp obsidian point humming with quiet magic. The spears were from a time long ago, a time when they’d worshipped the Black God. The legend said the Black God had blessed the spears, that wounds inflicted on an enemy with the jagged points would require magic to stop the bleeding. Aiyana shoved that thought from her mind, unable to bear it after her nightmares. The nightmares that reminded her the Black God’s legacy was not limited to their weapons.

  For a moment, Aiyana couldn’t tear her eyes from the bone breastplate. The nightmare ate at the edges of her consciousness, her opponent’s bones sticking out like macabre porcupine quills, shining bright white in the moonlight where the sharpened ends stuck out through the blood and gore. The bones on the guard’s breastplate were small—animal bones. Just animal bones.

  “Your Majesty?”

  With no small effort, Aiyana refocused her attention from the guard’s armor to his eyes. His brown eyes shone with concern even as his grip on his spear tightened and he peered behind her as if searching for an enemy. The guard on the other side of the door stiffened and gripped his own weapon. Aiyana didn’t miss the way the second guard’s spear twitched in her direction, his lips tightening into a thin line even as he tried not to stare at her. That one was afraid of her.

  As well he should be, Aiyana thought miserably.

  Forcing a peaceful calm to her face, Aiyana clasped her hands in front of her to hide their trembling. She stood tall, composing herself and offering the guards the most serene expression she could manage.

  “I’m fine. I was simply going to get a glass of water.”

  “Please, Your Majesty, allow me.”

  “No, please, I want to—”

  “Chayton, guard the princess, I’ll return shortly.”

  The other guard stood to attention, his hands tightening on his spear even as he lowered it. Aiyana inclined her head once, acknowledging his attention, then stepped back into her room. She closed the door as gently as she could manage, then pressed her forehead against the cool wood. Fisting her hands in frustration, she waited for the guard to arrive with her water. She’d needed the walk, needed to get out of her chambers where the nightmare was too fresh. The gods take it, she was an adult, not a child. She could get her own water!

  For a moment, she wanted to force her way out. She was the princess, she could command them to let her get her own water. Of course, then they’d follow her. Like guard dogs. And they’d likely tell the king and queen in the morning. That would mean another safety lecture.

  But safety for whom? Me or them?

  Power sparked to life in her blood, responding to her emotions. The adrenaline slid through her veins like a thick poison, awakening her nerve endings and making her skin tingle. She glared at the door. How dare they seek to keep her imprisoned in her own room, locked up under the pretense of keeping her
‘safe?’ She was no weakling, no vulnerable fawn to be hidden away—and well they knew it. An ache grew along the bones of her fingers, followed by the increasingly familiar prick of claws growing where her flat human fingernails had been. The small sharp crescents of white clicked against the door where her hand was pressed flat to the slick, polished surface. A jaguar’s claws—the Black God’s favored animal. Perhaps it was time she let them see what she was really capable of, let them see the raw power that was hers to command. They already thought her a monster, what was the sense of hiding it anymore? Blood would flow…

  “Your Majesty, I have your water.”

  The guard’s voice drew Aiyana’s attention and she stared at the door as if she could see through it. His companion was no doubt still gripping his precious spear, itching to drive the carved obsidian point into her flesh. He would be the first to suffer.