Night Shift (Kate Daniels #6.5)(91)

The priestess’s head tilted, as if considering his words as she came closer. She was small, not even of height with his shoulders. A black veil concealed her hair and face.

When she spoke again, her voice was no longer as light and as amused as it had been. “Is he a demon, young warrior?”

“Only a man,” Kavik said. “Though a demon who was freed by the Destroyer also plagues our land. If the goddess has power, she will know what to do.”

“If?” the priestess echoed. He could feel her studying him through the veil. Finally she said, “Vela has no quest for you.”

No quest? How could she refuse? His fists clenched. “My people need help. Too many have died. More still suffer.”

“That is true everywhere, young warrior.”

“Why is it true? You say to me ‘if.’” He spat the word back at her. “If your goddess truly had power, she would have stopped the Destroyer. She would have stopped Barin. So many need not have died.”

“You blame her for what they do?”

“I blame her if she had enough strength to destroy them and didn’t.” Sudden desperation joined frustration. What would persuade her? Gods and priests wanted worshipers. Kavik would crawl on his knees if it would help. “You can prove she has that power. Send me on this quest. When I hold Barin’s bloodied head in my hand, I’ll believe in her.”

Her laugh was light and amused again. Turning away from him, she said, “Vela does not seek the belief of one angry boy and she does not give quests to those with no real faith. Your only task is to leave this place in peace.”

Jaw clenched, Kavik stared at her retreating back, then retrieved his coin from the offering bowl. He would need the gold for his army. Better to leave an offering suited to charlatans who promised help and sat on their asses, instead.

Swaying, he pushed down the front of his brocs and took his cock in hand. The ache intensified, then released in a liquid rush onto the silver plate.

In the center of the chamber, the priestess froze mid-step. Slowly her veiled head turned.

Kavik stared back at her defiantly. This was victory. Now he felt like a god, because he had no power to stop this even if he’d wanted to.

The black veil fluttered as her whisper floated through. “Vela. Look upon this.”

A pale glow at the woman’s side drew Kavik’s gaze. The priestess’s hand. Though her skin was as dark as his, light shone through it as if viewing the moon through finely woven cloth.

All at once, a blast of icy air tightened his flesh. His breath billowed in a steaming cloud. His balls shriveled, and the seemingly endless stream of piss reduced to drips. Pulling up the waist of his brocs, he spun toward the door.

The priestess stood in front of him. Her hand shot up and gripped his throat.

As if he weighed no more than a boy, she lifted him off his feet. The glow through the veil almost blinded him, yet he could see her clearly, the shining skin and the eyes filled with cold moonlight.

“You little beast,” the priestess said, but now her voice was as clear and as cold as the ring of steel against stone. Each word echoed in his bones. “Even a dog knows better than to do that within his mistress’s home.”

Wheezing, Kavik tried to pry her frigid fingers away from his neck. They might as well have been made of iron. Terror splintered through his racing heart.

He could not die now. He hadn’t yet killed Barin.

“Heed this, Kavik of Blackmoor.” Her grip tightened, cutting off his air. “You have suffered, but you have suffered no more than any other that the Destroyer has touched, and many have suffered worse. I help those I can, and who ask it of me, but you will know what it means to have no help at all. Leave this temple. Buy your army. Do all that you can to save your people. And at the moment when you have lost everything, I will come to you again to twist the knife. Wait for the woman in red. When she arrives, you will know that the end is near, and that you will soon be on your knees again.”

She released him and flicked her finger against his armored chest. The blow hit him like a charging tusker, lifting him off his feet and sending him flying through the temple doors. He landed hard in the stone courtyard, back slamming into the ground, and he lay there, ears ringing, his lungs caught in an agonizing vise.

Pain still circled his throat, as if her cold hand was still upon it. Like a collar.

He rolled onto his side and retched. His eyes closed, but he could still see hers. He was suddenly certain he would dream of those cold eyes forever.

But when he finally fell into restless sleep that night, Kavik of Blackmoor dreamed of another woman, instead.





CHAPTER 1





Aragged cloth hung between the tall stone pillars at the head of the bridge. The frayed edges flapped in the spring wind, the snap almost drowned by the rush of the swollen river below. Whatever message that had once been written across its fluttering length was lost; the ink—or blood, more likely—had long since faded. Only a trace of the runes remained.

It mattered not. Mala could guess what the sign had said. She only had to look beyond the bridge and the message was clear. Turn around, fool. Death lies in Blackmoor. Or perhaps, Beware the beast!

Bones littered the roadside beyond the river. Rags still clung to rib cages, the limbs rived from their torsos and scattered by animals. Wagons lay in splintered ruins—but only on that side of the bridge, as if the travelers had been attacked as soon as they’d crossed over . . . or, if they’d started out from Blackmoor, attacked before they could escape the cursed land.