Braeden shoved his master out of the way and caught Sam’s limp body in his arms. She was frighteningly pale, the pallor of her skin marred by splotches and streams of crimson. The wound in her chest vomited blood like a fountain, pooling in the valley between the slopes of her breasts. Her body seized as it went into shock. Oh gods. Sam.
“She’s dying,” said his master. “There’s nothing you can do.”
Ignoring him, Braeden ripped the left sleeve off his robes and applied pressure to the wound. Her blood, hot and thick, soaked through the cloth and coated his hands. “You will not die,” he told her. Glaring at his master, he said, “She won’t die. I won’t allow it.”
“She can’t survive a wound to the heart,” said his master. “She’s not you, Braeden.”
His master was wrong. Braeden’s heart, too, was dying. “I will never forgive you for this,” he said, a hot pressure building behind his eyes.
“You’ve grown arrogant,” said his master. He bent over and touched Braeden’s jaw. The tip of his finger glistened with a single, pearly drop. “And weak. You’ll come to learn that I’ve done you a favor.”
Braeden stared long and hard at the man who had raised him. “Never,” he said. “I will never think that. Sam was—is—all that is good and right with this world. You tried to destroy that. And for what?” He felt a rush of wetness on his cheeks, and he knew the tear his master had stolen from him was replaced by twenty. “You and I are done.”
“Done?” said his master. “I own you.” He made a dismissive wave of his hand. “Now leave her.”
Braeden waited for the familiar tug of compulsion to take over, but it never came. “No,” he said. The word tasted strange in his mouth.
His master’s face was a dark cloud. He tore off Braeden’s other sleeve. “What did you do?” His gaze was fixated on the broken lines of Braeden’s tattoo.
Braeden glanced at the still-healing scar that bisected his shoulder. “It met with a demon’s tooth and a surgeon’s scalpel,” he said. His eyebrows drew together. “You told me its purpose was to seal off my demonic nature.” Now he wondered what really was in that ink.
“I sealed you with my blood,” his master snarled. “To bind your demon, I had to bind it to me. How is it that you haven’t slaughtered half the kingdom?”
Braeden lifted his chin. “I don’t need it anymore,” he said. “Just like I don’t need you.”
They both turned at the sound of clanging and heavy breathing. Tristan pushed his way into the room, blood-spattered and disheveled. “They’re unending,” he said between lungfuls of air. “I’ve never seen the like.” His eyes widened as he registered first Braeden’s master and then Sam.
“High Commander,” said Tristan grimly. Braeden's master nodded in acknowledgment.
Braeden’s mouth went dry—no wonder his master had pushed him towards joining the Paladins. Braeden had thought that by becoming a Paladin trainee, he would be out from under his master’s thumb, but instead Braeden had been caught in the web of his master’s machinations. Had his master always been the High Commander, or had he stolen his form in pursuit of some unknown agenda? Braeden wanted to believe that the Paladins had been founded to restore the natural balance to the world that the innovation of demons had upended, but the legendary deeds of the High Commander were too great for any ordinary human to achieve. And his master was anything but ordinary.
“Who is that woman?” Tristan asked, cutting into Braeden’s ruminations.
His master—the High Commander—guffawed, slapping his knee. “Too funny,” he gasped, wiping away tears. “You always had more brawn than brains, Lyons. It’s why I liked you.” He shook his head. “It would have been better for all of us if you never started thinking.”
Braeden looked down at Sam’s too-pale face. I’m sorry, he thought at her. It should have been you who told him. “This is Sam, Tristan.”
Tristan’s sword clattered to the floor. “No.” He crossed the shelter in two strides and knelt beside Braeden. Tristan cupped Sam’s face with both hands. “Oh gods, it’s really him. Her.” He turned to Braeden. “You knew?”
“Aye.”
“How long?” Tristan asked, his question edged with a thread of anger.
Braeden dropped his gaze. “For a while now.”
Tristan’s voice shook. “How did you not tell me? How did she not tell me?”
“We all have our secrets,” said Braeden. His master smirked at that. “Sam wanted to tell you, but she was afraid.”
“Afraid? Of me? She thought I would betray her?” His hurt was evident in his tone.
“She was afraid you would hate her.”
Tristan fell silent.
“You don’t, do you?” Braeden asked. “Hate her?”
“No,” Tristan said hoarsely. “Oh gods, is she dying?”
“No,” said Braeden just as the High Commander said, “Yes.”
“He did this to her,” said Braeden, glaring daggers at his master.
Tristan stood up quickly. “You go too far. Your grievance is with me and that’s where it should have stayed.” He went for his sword.
“No,” said Braeden. “He did this to her because of me. This is my fight.”
The High Commander’s musical laugh filled the room. “The prodigal son returns to challenge the father. I will show you no mercy, Braeden.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.” From his master he had learned brutal efficiency, nothing of compassion.
“We’ll fight him together,” said Tristan. “You haven’t seen him fight.”
“I have,” Braeden said quietly. “He taught me everything I know.” Before that admission could settle in, he said, “Stay with Sam, Tristan. See that she gets help.”
“It should be you that stays with her,” said Tristan. “She trusts you more than she does me.”
Braeden clenched his fists. He wanted nothing more than to stay by her side, to abandon his fight to Tristan. But he would do right by her, at least this one time. “Stay with her, Tristan. She’s your bride, not mine."
Uninterested in seeing Tristan’s reaction to that revelation, Braeden left the shelter abruptly, knowing his master would follow. Outside the shelter, he and Tristan had left behind a graveyard of demons, littering the beach with their corpses. It was the renewed blitz of demons that had taken Braeden away from the shelter, and foolishly, he had thought to let Sam sleep. Now, in retrospect, he realized the demons had been a distraction.
Demons trailed behind the High Commander like obedient puppies. Their obedience was a gift unique to his master, a gift Braeden had once craved. For the price of obedience his master had offered him control, and Braeden, a child who didn’t understand the monster inside him or why it did such unspeakable things, leapt at the bargain. The berserk rages stopped, and for a while Braeden had been content. He allowed his master to shape him into a weapon, and if his master was sometimes cruel, Braeden told himself that far fewer would suffer than if he were left to roam the earth unleashed.
His master would disappear for stretches at a time—for a week or a few months, and once, an entire year. During those disappearances, Braeden was free to spread his wings, only to have them clipped. People were cruel, he discovered, if less overtly than his master.
It was after his year-long disappearance that his master suggested Braeden join the Paladins. And Braeden, who thought he had shed his innocence long ago, naively clung to the hope that the Paladins were truly the bastion of goodness they presented. Here was his chance at redemption.
Staring into the grinning face of the High Commander, Braeden now knew he’d been a fool to believe the gods would give him such a chance, and Sam was the cost of his folly.
The High Commander’s daggers still dripped with Sam’s blood, and a white ball of fury formed in the place where Braeden’s heart had been. Swiftly, Braeden drew two katar from his robes. The short blades were wide and triangular, and the H-shaped hand grips sat right above his knuckles.
“You said it yourself,” said his master. “I taught you everything you know. Why fight a losing battle?”
Braeden rubbed his katar together, relishing in the metallic sound. “You reap what you sow,” he said. “I’m no longer holding back." He sprinted at the High Commander and thrust with both blades.
The High Commander shifted to the side and clamped his daggers around Braeden’s left katar. He wrenched the blade from Braeden’s grasp, and then the two of them broke apart. “Give up,” said his master. “You’re down to one knife.”
“You can’t be serious,” said Braeden. A new katar dropped into his empty hand. He jumped forward and slashed, raking the High Commander’s chest. “If you hope to disarm me, we’ll be here all night.”
His master sliced diagonally. Braeden ducked and rolled, throwing a katar as he somersaulted. The blade lodged itself in the High Commander’s kneecap.
His master pulled it out with a grimace. “Thanks for the extra knife.” As soon as the blade was free of his flesh, he chucked it at Braeden’s head.
Braeden snatched the katar out of the air, the tip grazing his forehead. The edges of the blade cut deep into his palm, but he disregarded it. “You’re getting slow in your old age,” he said, “or perhaps I’m getting faster.” Braeden threw his katar, and ran forward, following the blades’ trajectory. Daggers slid into his hands as he ran.
Braeden’s knives were inches from his master’s neck when something barreled into him, knocking him to the ground. Massive jaws snapped near his throat, narrowly missing his carotid artery. Braeden stabbed upwards, through scale and skin, and shoved the demon’s dead weight off his body. “No fair,” he growled, scrambling to his feet.
His master laughed. “If I’ve taught you anything, I’ve taught you this: There’s no such thing as fair fighting, only winning and losing. Anything goes.” The High Commander crooked his finger, and two of his demon entourage launched themselves at Braeden.
Braeden avoided the swipe of a clawed paw and cut off the offending claw at its furry wrist. The demon stumbled awkwardly on its three legs and stump, and Braeden put the creature out of its misery.
Jagged teeth took a small chunk out of his shoulder—the same shoulder that he’d injured before—and Braeden’s vision blurred. He flexed his bicep to stymie the pain. The demon attacked him again, teeth first, but this time Braeden rammed his knife into its maw. The next stab of his dagger was into his own heart.
It hadn’t been long since Braeden last invoked his demon, and the change came over him quickly. Blood surged through his veins in waves and his muscles pulsed and swelled. A red haze settled over his eyes, while his pupils elongated and twisted. His senses sharpened. He could feel the restlessness of the demons that surrounded his master as if it were his own.
“Attack!” his master ordered, and the air thickened with the threat of violence. Lips peeled back and haunches coiled, ready to spring at him.
No, Braeden thought. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Behind his lids were malleable blobs of darkness connected by thread to a central point—his master. Mentally, he pulled at the thread. Obey me. The demons halted mid-spring, frozen in their tracks. Braeden bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. They were his to command.
The High Commander flinched. “I see you’ve learned a thing or two,” he said. “But can you hold them?” Braeden felt a tug as his master tried to wrest away control. The demons snorted and stomped, caught between the two men as they each vied for dominance.
“It seems we are at a stalemate,” his master gritted out, sweat coating his brow.
“So it would seem,” said Braeden, equally as strained. It would be so easy to let go—it hurt.
The High Commander held out his hand to him. “Come with me, Braeden,” he said. “There’s nothing for you in their world. You belong with me, not with those who would reject you for what you are. There’s so much more that I can teach you. We can ride the world of dreams together and fashion our own reality. A better reality. One without man’s inanity or prejudice—”
“Without demons?”
His master laughed lightly, like a flute on the wind. “Oh, Braeden.” His hand stroked through the red-gold mane of a lion-eagle hybrid. “You are a demon. My greatest experiment—the best of man and imagination. You’re meant to be their king.” His voice softened. “Even if your Sam were to survive, she’s not for you.”
Braeden met the High Commander’s gaze and held it. “I know that,” he said. “It’s enough if she lives.”
His master’s face turned ugly, lit by unrestrained glee. “You really don’t know, do you? Whether she dies by my blade or by demon, you’ve doomed her.”
Braeden’s upper lip curled. “What do you mean?”
“This poison you feel for her,” the High Commander spat, “is a contagion. You’re the king among beasts, Braeden, and your desires are theirs. Every time you look at her, every demon within range turns into a lovesick puppy.”
Braeden shook his head. “I don’t understand. Demons are incapable of love.”
His master sneered. “Aye, that they are. But they are capable of want and lust.” He took a step closer to Braeden, his small eyes glittering. “You want Sam, Braeden. Well, so do they. And they won’t stop wanting her until you either give up this foolish infatuation or she’s dead.”
Bile rose in his throat. “No,” Braeden whispered. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” asked the High Commander. “Ask yourself this—what do you want more than anything?”
Sam. Her name came unbidden to his lips.
“Concentrate, Braeden,” said his master in soothing tones. “What do the demons want?”
Braeden closed his eyes again and felt the pulsating storm of the demons’ savagery. There, at the center of the maelstrom, was Sam. Their violence warped his desire, and the outcome was a singular, focused bloodlust. He’d felt their pull towards her before, but never had he made the connection.
“You see?” said the High Commander. “Let her be with that idiot Tristan.”
Braeden’s resolve hardened. “Tristan’s no idiot,” he said. “And neither am I. Whether I choose to leave Sam or not, you’ll try to kill her either way. Tristan, too.” His voice deepened with menace. “I won’t let that happen.”
A/N: Yeah...so secrets have been revealed! Discuss! Hopefully this sheds a wee bit more light on the previous chapter part. And Sam's fate--I promise--will be revealed in the next chapter. Look forward to your thoughts and feedback in the comments, and please vote! 'Tis how I get new readers :)
P.S. Beautiful banner to the side is by both Prisim and ForeverMalak. Cool, eh?
P.P.S. I am too lazy to edit right now, so if I made an error, point it out!